Gearing up for my move to Takodanababa this Saturday, but it's goddamn complicated! How did I accumulate so many empty plastic bags, so many clothes I don't wear, so many scraps of paper / ghostly receipts on which I've written stupid drunken metaphors and then filed away amid boxes of condoms, notebooks of despair, and necklaces that don't mean anything to me anymore? It's a taxing job. Also, a friend who had offered to drive his truck to help with my move has unfortunately broken his foot -- get well soon, btw -- so I need to enlist a moving company but this has proven more complex than initially thought .... Hovering betwixt it all: the suspicious Slumlord, the Theft of Boxes, and random river beers with Dan-o-Rama. Thank you Greenery Day! Love the national holidays in Japan ...
But it's been a most excellent week.
You know about Monday and Tuesday.
Wednesday was notable for a series of lewd and unprintable text messages exchanged between myself and Mr. Vice, and would have ended with us meeting up except it was Prince Harry's last night in town before departing for America for 2 weeks, so I begged off and Harry and I went out for awesome Indian food. He's going to buy me deoderant in the States! Unless you've gone through summer in Tokyo, you have no idea how precious that is ... We drank expensive imported beer and conversed our hearts out. Back home, there were confusing phone calls from Monsoon and contemplative drinking/writing.
Thursday, the Urban Sage and I went out for an hour and a half of karaoke, but spent the first half hour ignoring the mics and venting about the various drama in our lives and also the nature of tomfoolery and religion's role therein. Most excellent!
Friday, I went to a work party, which was notable for a joyous reunion with MASA, world's coolest Japanese English teacher. He translated all the speeches for me, which was beyond awesome. A beautiful social studies teacher whom I have admired and lusted after from afar for AGES gave a speech, and when people were applauding I whispered to Masa, "He is soooo cute!" and then the son of a bitch stood up and ANNOUNCED that fact to the entire party of 40, whose heads then swiveled over in my direction in shock and innuendo. Gah, gah. Doesn't help matters that I turn SCARLET when I'm embarrassed. Everyone left for karaoke but Masa and I stumbled to the train station, got lost, and then had a beautiful conversation on the train. Hugged goodbye. I disembarked, and realized that it was 10pm and it seemed like a long, long time ago that I had awoken in my little room at 6am. Decided that the sensible thing would be to return to that little room and go to sleep. Went instead to Roppongi, for beers, seedy nightclubs, and beauty with Jude the Obscure.
Saturday, I awoke in a panic due to a business venture Monsoon and I are putting together that was to debut that afternoon, but for which I had not prepared. Prepared. Raced out to central Tokyo and we got shit done, but damn. I was all stressed and shit. Also worried: why am I mixing business with pleasure? Why? WHY? I AM NOT BECK! And I've got NO homework, know NOBODY named Heather, and wouldn't know pleather if it bitch-slapped me in the face. Fuckin hell.
Went straight from there to Yokohama, to catch Hiroki's gig. It was awesome and I bought their cd and I'll post the link to the band's web site as soon as I can get around to it. From there to Shibuya, where Jude the Obscure and I ate overpriced izakaya fare and angsted around the intersections and drank combini beers and played video games and had heated discussions about race and cigarettes.
Sunday I was a little worse for the wear, but managed to do laundry, write, and then go to a Butler Cafe (like a Maid Cafe but with dudes) with Ra and Jude for an international party. Had an awesome time, made loads of friends. Jude and I convinced several people that we were brother and sister -- there was skepticism initially -- until we explained that our mother was Indo and our father was a whitey. But then we got drunk and mixed up the story so it turns out Jude's wealthy family from Bombay adopted me in a fit of Christian charity, thus saving me from a white trash life of picking up tomato juice tins on the side of the highway. Sigh.
(Circa 1:30 a.m. -- about fifteen minutes ago. Setting: a seedy train station. Situation: walking past a British Man of My Acquaintance, who is smoking -- and repeatedly dropping -- an imported cigarette.)
BMOMA: How's it?
ME: Not bad.
BMOMA: Late.
ME: Yeah. Just back from Roppongi.
BMOMA: You all right?
ME: Fine. You just off work?
BMOMA: In a way.
ME: Well.
BMOMA: Fancy a drink?
ME: Huh. Okay.
BMOMA: Okay.
ME: Like a bar? Or a combini beer.
BMOMA: Oh, you know, thanks, but I'm waiting for a friend.
Monday night was remarkably stressful: was working on 4 hours of sleep and Moloch's hideous scalp-scraping claws, when I went out for dinner with Monsoon and proceeded to basically MULTIPLY BY A THOUSAND the amount of frustration and unexpressed angst that characterizes, for me, the effort to simply walk down a block without screaming. Finished with Monsoon and met up with Jude the Obscure in Shinjuku for several beers, which calmed me somewhat.
The downside being that I had yet another 4-hours-of-sleep night, which was fine on Tuesday, classes went well, and I hung out with Sage in Shibuya for 2 hours after work, drinking coffee and observing Yakuza and chattering away about philosophy and sex and global politics. Went home, ate relatively healthily (sushi), and cleaned my room, which left me feeling pure, then went for karaoke with Jude and came back to my place to read his tarot. He left to catch the Last Train back to his place, and I returned emails, then reached for my cel phone to set my alarm, pleased that I was going to bed just after midnight on a work night.
My phone wasn't there.
I searched for ages, then donned my black hoodie and black shit-kickers and returned to the karaoke place, where the following conversation -- in Japanese -- took place (English translation provided):
ME: Do you know where my green phone is?
HER: I don't understand.
ME: Green phone. Mine. Where is it?
HER: Do you want to sing karaoke?
ME: I don't have my green phone.
HER: Do you want to phone your friend?
ME: I don't know where my phone is. Is it here?
HER: Is your friend singing karaoke? What room number? You can phone him.
ME: I lost my phone. Where is it? Is it here?
HER: Oh! Where were you? What room number?
ME: I don't remember.
HER: Name?
ME: Uhhhh, *Jude the Obscure's Real Name."
HER: That name wasn't here.
ME: Uhhhh, "Jude the Obscure's Pseudonym."
HER: Oh! Okay. (pause) No green phone. Sorry.
ME: God! I'm sorry! Do any of the staff speak English?
HER:Yes! Just a minute, please.
And 5 minutes later, the English speaker walks down the stairs, carrying my green phone.
And now I can't sleep.
Oh God! You go the convenience store at 10 a.m. for an innocent hangover beer and get tangled up with two dudes from the House who are highly drunk and just off work @ a notorious Roppongi night club -- public drinking ensues, there is a man on a motorcycle suddenly, the Canadian dude jumps on for a ride and we hear him hooting all down the block -- next -- 11 a.m. -- buy more beers and a huge fucking bottle of shochu, which the American conceals in his pants as we go to karaoke for 2 hours of kinda deplorable singing.
Wow. Yesterday a bit of a gong show.
Awoke extremely hungover -- shook off tragic memories of Shibuya and taxis and white-gloved men shoving bodies into overstuffed trains -- showered -- got on the train -- drank a bottle of water -- spent an inordinate amount of time trying to guess the nationality of the mother and child sleeping in the priority area. I think Malaysian. But when they left I heard them speaking Japanese. Accented, but still. Disembarked at Tamachi, for one of the epic Korean barbecues. I love hanging out with those guys! They cooked me asparagus! And the Korea developments continued to develop. I'll have to think of a pseudonym for him that isn't Korea. Maybe Monsoon? Got wildly drunk, starting at 11 a.m. Prince Harry showed up. I circulated -- Japanese, Korean. Kids. Great food. Monsoon and I kept darting behind fountains or down deserted corridors to continue the Developments. Prince Harry and I left at 6, and returned to Noborito, where I passed out on a couch and awoke when the two beautiful Japanese girls who had come to cook dinner for Sage and I threw their coats on me, thinking I was part of the couch. Helped with the cooking a little bit. Drank more. Unwisely! At this very moment I am more hungover than I have been in YEARS! Cuz there was wine I guess. At around 7 I was sent to the station to pick up Mitsuhiro, the man I famously made out with in the back seat of a CAR last autumn. He's doing well. Back at the house I didn't eat enough and had a series of intense conversations with a series of intense Japanese men. Had trouble walking and all the rest. Sage let me wear her gorgeous green hoody with the white stripes down the arms. I drank more wine. Yellow Tail. There was rain outside and I stared through the screen door thinking, "Well, what *is* my 4-Year Plan?" and "Movie producers are serious / Businessmen are serious / Everybody's serious but ME," and "I thought math *was* about numbers," and "How do I help the damned? I'm trying, I'm trying so hard, but what if it's not enough?" and "Serenity is the main goal but there are so many goddamn variations it's hard to suss out which is the *true* serenity and maybe Jude and I should form a band and sing in degenerate coffeehouses all across Europe." Everybody went for karaoke except me -- I stumbled back to my room, stared at the cover of Salinger's "For Esme With Love and Squalor" and realized that people had been cooking for me ALL DAY but all I'd done was drink.
Watching the trains go by on a Wednesday night: beer in hand, 3rd floor of one of those monoliths by the station, hack jobs on the turntable, Jude explaining the necessity of deceit and math. Me, I only understand concrete. He tells me I'm missing the point. I say something about numbers lacking a necessary presence, and he says they're just as much symbols as words are and that if I think math is about numbers I'm crazy. The only crazy I really discern is that mouths and brains are fundamentally disconnected and yet they jerk their way through life connected to each other like some sort of arranged wedding that nobody's happy about except it looks good on the family registry and the relatives of both parties involved can sort of wash their hands of the whole affair and get back to smoky mid-morning mugs of oolong tea and a clove cigarette or so while they criticize this or that social revolution and decide what kind of impact they hope to leave on that town they were born in and never want to leave. Call it science.
The pavement hums in Noborito pm as Prince Harry and I sip beers on the front stoop, woe over kisses we remember. Sage comes up to my room and I smoke a cigarette, offer to tear up the photograph. Korea a new development. He's nice. Chocolate on my desk, need to give it to Jude soon. Flat on my back attempting meditation but achieving only paranoia, backtrack, or train schedules. Big grin. Better to be interesting than to be stable.
"Ah, I know exactly what you mean. Where you're just like, Bend me over the washing machine and TAKE ME." (-D)
(Needless to say, this quote has earned a kind of cult status among my circle of friends and is repeated often, to the initial confusion of innocent bystanders.)
"FUCK ME LIKE YOU HATE ME." (D.'s slutty friend)
Gah! I promised more coherent Work reflections soon, but they'll have to be a little more eloquent than the drunken JIZZ I spouted last night. Well.
I have mixed feelings about privacy issues in blogging. Clearly it's important to be aware of them, and adhere to their rules, and to some extent I enjoy doing this -- I adore aliases, for example, and to have these pages peopled with the likes of The Urban Sage, Jude the Obscure, Prince Harry, Mr. Vice, and the rest, is far more artistically pleasing to me that it would be to use their real names. As far as events go, concrete is fun but so is abstract, shadows. I like suggestion.
But it does bother me to be so secretive about my work. I spend a fair part of my life within the four walls of a junior high school -- an environment RICH with storytelling and anecdotes and characterization and humour and cultural awareness -- and it's frustrating to not write about this part of my life with full detail and clarity.
I'll figure out a way to work around it soon, I promise -- I've just started my second year as a junior high school teacher, and am not only enjoying it but also finding myself looking for ways to integrate into school life more fully -- a challenge in a foreign country -- and to actually view this experience less as a pause, a filler between two "lifetimes," and rather as a situation of some permanence, which is what it has become, to my surprise, slight confusion, and growing satisfaction. Stay tuned.
The standing bar
a respectable place
on a Monday: staid
salarymen and quiet
drunks, soccer
on the TV, mellow
music, not so many
foreigners.
Shibuya the best
place to have
a hangover:
easy to get your hands
on another drink
or your mind
on another thought.
Weekend stories:
Friday was great -- Sage and I found the apartment in Takadanobaba, then wandered around the area for a while marveling that this would be our new home. Stopped by the Blue Parrot and bought Haruki Murakami's "The Wind-up Bird Chronicle" and Milan Kundera's "Testaments Betrayed." Wound up in Yoyogi Park for some Hanami action, but Prince Harry and I left early as it was bitterly cold ... Back in Noborito, I meet up with Mr. Vice for some sexy adventures.
Saturday I met up with N., the Japanese guy I had befriended at Vancouver International Airport in January. An awesome afternoon! We went to the Taro Okamoto Memorial Museum in Aoyama -- Taro was an excellent Japanese artist and the museum is actually his former workshop, so we got to see WHERE THE MAGIC HAPPENED, etc. Later went to Aoyama Cemetery to look at the cherry blossoms.
I had plans to meet the Koreans that night, and thought it would be interesting though unpredictable to bring N. along. He seemed a little terrified at first -- these particular Koreans are a boisterous, lively bunch -- but in no time at all he relaxed and was quite a hit! For some reason I instigated Jack Daniels shots and later, shotgunning beer .... It was a roaring good time, and everything was all happy and festive until I suddenly found myself alone on a train hurtling along an unknown track past midnight, uncertain if I could make it back to Noborito before the train service was suspended. Gah! Situations like this nearly always end with me texting Jude the Obscure and getting him to take care of shit, which he did, largely by making sure I didn't fall asleep or otherwise damn my chances of making it home. (Some of his helpful messages: "Jesus, you can come here if need be." "Hey! Do me a favour! Go to the nearest toilet and make yourself hurl!" 'God. Are you on a train at least?" "Selective memory my ass!") Anyway. Made it home okay.
Sunday dawned a little blearily, and I should have stayed in my room reading and otherwise recovering. I did not. If I had, I would have saved myself 7100 yen, a new enemy, a lot of shame, and a terrible hangover. But destiny has a way of fucking everything up, which is how I found myself that afternoon at Inokashira Park for yet another cherry blossom party. Things were going reasonably well, there were opera singers and hippies, and eventually it started to rain so the party moved to a nearby house. I'd had too much to drink, not just that night but that whole week, so a friend put me to sleep in her room.
And it should have ended there! I should have just slept it off and awoken the next morning and gone home! But no!
I woke up in a state of utter confusion to find this Lithuanian BITCH I'd never seen before screaming at me. I was baffled and confused and in considerable pain. Apparently I was in her room, and I had locked the door. I have no memory of this, but can only assume that I woke up to use the washroom and then went back into the wrong room. Bad of me yes, but not SCREAM-WORTHY by any stretch of the imagination, and certainly not worth the goddamn BUCKET OF WATER SHE THREW IN MY FACE.. At this point I started yelling also, and feeling horribly like Charles Bukowski, and my friend was nowhere to be seen, and I wound up getting KICKED OUT OF THE HOUSE, drenched and terrified because I was just in time to see the last train sail by.
Naturally, I texted Jude the Obscure, who was possibly still in the house (I later learned that no, he was being interrogated in an area police station, but that is his story to tell), but the Lithuanian had broken my phone when she threw the goddamn BUCKET OF WATER IN MY FACE.
Oh, and no taxis come to that area.
So I had to hike through the fucking park to the next station and hail a cab from there.
The cab driver knew something was wrong. I was still extremely drunk, as well as soaking wet and sobbing. With an extremely small number of exceptions, people are never mean to me, and I sobbed for the heartlessness of the Lithuanian. The cab driver made sympathetic noises but said nothing.
Back in Noborito, that should have been the end of the story, but no! I had only the equivalent of 10 bucks on me, and the cab fare had come to an impressive 70 dollars. Generally this is not a problem -- I directed him to an ATM, only to find my card wouldn't work. More weeping. Another ATM. Same result. The third ATM was at a 7-11, and when my card wouldn't work it occurred to me that perhaps both the ATMs and my card were working fine, and that it might be ME that was the problem. I selected the best-looking 7-11 employee -- a beautiful, beautiful man -- and got him to help me, but try as he might, there was no money forthcoming. None of the three other employees who came over to help could make it work either.
I got the beautiful 7-11 employee to come out and explain the situation to the cabbie. It was 2 o'clock in the morning and a small crowd was starting to gather -- all of the 7-11 employees, a few patrons, some passing drunks. I was at a complete loss. I tried to text Jude the Obscure again but the Lithuanian's goddamn BUCKET OF WATER had done its job on my phone. The cabbie was very nice, but obviously it was an expensive ride and he was not interested in merely driving away.
And then an ANGEL in the form of another cab driver pulled up, took in the situation, and paid my fare.