Sept. 9-10

Whoo-hooo!!! Four day weekend! And what better way to spend it than, uh…goofin’ off with my buddy Seamus!

That’s right, yours truly braved the Japanese rail system…and failed horribly at first, but…I made it. Spent a little cash I didn’t need to, but…I made it. The people on the train did their absolute best not to look at me but man…they couldn’t handle it.

Matt met me at the train station in Iwatsuki, where we both ran around his city for a while, grabbed some gyoza and pretty much goofed around. He took me to some video arcades, and two model shops that…man, if there was a toy from your childhood that you never got, it’s there, I promise. And all my model-building friends would go bankrupt in these places. But the 9^th was brief. Mostly chock full of me getting lost.

The next day, we ate a breakfast of muffins, chocolate milk and…yeah, that’s it. Then, we ran to Iwatsuki station, and caught a train to Shinjuku. The funny thing about Shinjuku is that…it’s all over the Pimsleur lessons I’d been taking for the last three months, so on the train, all that played through my mind was “Shinjuku wa doko desu ka?” Made me laugh.

On the train, though, two high school girls were eyeing my arms, and then looking at the ceiling. I smirked—message received. I simply reached up and touched the ceiling of the train with no strain. They gasped and clapped, and thus the conversation began. Matt seemed to feed of the energy I was apparently generating on the train, as his Japanese got better as well. I’d fill in blanks for him, we’d ask the girls questions, and they’d ask us things. It was mostly just everyone practicing their non-native languages, but…hey…it were fun.

When we got to Shinjuku, we walked through the huge, multi-story department stores. Matt noticed that no one ever looked at him when he was on his own, but when I was around, eyes were locked on me, or my feet. I got myself a cookbook, and a few other things. Matt got some pens. …So we’re not the most exciting shoppers, geez.

After a meal at the local McDonald’s (…yes, we ate…at McDonalds…shut up), we decided to go to Tokyo. It was a Sunday, so Tokyo was pretty chill, but this was the perfect chance for me to get a prepaid keitai (cell phone).

The keitai culture in Japan is amazing. If you don’t have one, you’re a chump who is cut off from the rest of the world. Those things are your connection to train schedules, movie times, bus stops, gps, all sorts of crazy crap. In America, you can feel like you’re part of some awesome movement by not having a cell phone. In Japan…you might die without one. Seriously. Some of them even have debit capabilities, and anti-Mothra beams.

But, with Matt’s help, I got myself a prepaid keitai…not a great one, but great for the fact that most foreigners don’t have a keitai until their 8^th week or so. While we waited for the keitai to be activated, Matt and I walked to the Imperial Gardens and took some pictures.

“Good lord, Dave…it’s like they prepared this place for you…”

“Whatdya mean?”

“Last time I was here? Covered in algae…and the sky is actually clear. You have reverse luck in Japan.”

“…I seem to remember having good luck until you stole it from me freshman year.”

“Oh, right…heh…well…uh…hey lookit that dude!”

Well played, sir, because I most certainly did look. Nothing special, just a bunch of Americans walking around…but it triggered something in me. Anger. Seriously. All I could think was, ‘I worked this hard to get AWAY from you people! Stop following me! Oh, you’re here for the culture, right? Leeches…all of ya!’ I apparently didn’t want to deal with any more Americans. I glanced around and started to notice just how many Asian women wee on the arms of American guys. How many Americans were laughing loudly and clicking pictures of the imperial guards. How many Americans were lounging on the grass where you clearly weren’t supposed to be walking. I was told that I’d feel more American when I left the country, but I’d been feeling less and less American since I’d gotten here. I wanted nothing to do with these people, because they were members of the group I’d hated so very much in America: cultural leeches. People using other countries to spice up their lives. Not out of respect, but out of boredom. Not out of a desire for education, but out of a desire to be able to go back and use their travels as something to make themselves sound more appealing… My cynicism was returning, and I didn’t like it at all…

“Oh, hey…your phone’s ready, Dave.

Good. We needed to leave.

We grabbed my phone, and hopped a train back to Omiya, where we tried to find some athletic clothing that could fit us. Turns out? I CAN buy clothes in Japan! I’m just slender enough where I can buy unhemmed pants, and shirts…no problem at all! Just no shoes. Blast. After gettin’ our clothing, we hopped on a train back to Iwatsuki and thought we were gonna call it a night, but then…Matt’s buddy, Kenji, calls.

Kenji owns the gaijin bar near Matt’s place, and was happy to pay for our meals and drinks. Plus, some girl that wanted to meet Matt was there, so I couldn’t be all “naw man.” I’m not sure if the girl we met WAS that girl, but…ehhhh, I didn’t like her too much. Too Americanized.

That night I managed to gain the reputation of a good guy to hang with, AND I got my cellphone. I win.

“Man, my place sucks,” said Matt, a little buzzed on shochu. We were trying to find our way back to his place. “I’m burning Trust School to the ground.

“That’s cool…just don’t burn my supervisor, okay? She’s good folks.”

“I can’t make any exceptions, Dave. They gotta die.”

“Oh, come on…she never hurt anyone. I don’t think…”

“Nope…no exep—where in the world are we?”

“We’re lost aren’t we?”

“Naw…naw, I got this. Watch. You’ll think we’re nowhere near my place, and then magically…bam, we’ll be there.”

“Then why I feel like we’re gettin’ further and further away?”

“Watch…”

The punk was right. Ten minutes later, we somehow just stumbled onto his place. Literally.

“Oh, dang, there it is…”

“Toldya, Dave…I’m the master…”

Okay, fine…Matt wins too.

D