With Swords High!

As anyone who reads this blog probably knows, I'm pretty much a gigantic nerd. I'm kind of like Bruce Wayne, only instead of being Batman I'm a massive geek. Comics, video games, all of it. Hell, I live in Japan, which I'm pretty gives me an automatic 3 or 4 levels of additional nerdiness.

Despite all of this, there are some "regions" of Nerddom that even I will not travel. Up until recently, the most prominent of these was Dungeons and Dragons. Yep, D&D. The quintessential table-top role-playing experience. I'm sure that at some point I shall return to this topic, probably with a list, and talk about the whys and hows behind it all. For now, though, I just want to relate something of a revelation I have had since our party first set foot into the dark and mysterious caverns of "Undermountain."

There are several reasons why I never got around to actually playing D&D when I was young (the period when you can pretty much experiment with ANYTHING and get away with it), including several failed attempts at running games with my younger brother and a curious incident in which I was almost choked to death by an acquaintance in an argument over a role-playing sourcebook. But really, the main reason was of course the Stigma involved. I capitalize the term here because this is such a common and well documented phenomena, almost universally regarded to be fact, that it would seem to have taken on all requisite qualities of a proper noun.

The thing about the Stigma, though, is that it is only about half as accurate as the rest of the world would tell you. Many would assume that the reason for playing these games stems from an underlying desire, or even need, to pretend to be something that you wish you could but never can be. This is the type of crap that fuels the minds of people who indulge in pure bouts of unrelenting fantasy. What it really is, at least as far as I've experienced, is something more akin to listening to some one's story and to helping them tell it at the same time. The end result is something far closer to being in a play or even reading a book than to acting out childish fantasies and magical dreams. If you don't believe me, just ask Vin Diesel. Mother#$%&"& LOVES D&D.

Listen, I'm not condoning capes and staffs here (unless of course you are in the habit of practicing vigilantism, in which case cape away). And sure, there are dice. And tables. And rules. And possibly even a crazily dressed dude behind the table running the dice AND the rules. But really, how is that any different than sitting in a casino in Vegas?



存在の証明が他にないから

Ummmm...What?

I've lived in Japan now for going on four years. I've had a Japanese family, Japanese friends, and yes at times (however briefly) even dated Japanese girls. I can still remember a time when I still had difficulty conveying even the simplest thoughts to those around me in Japanese and constantly running head first into the omnipresent "Language Barrier." I've spent years cultivating the ability to live and thrive in a Japanese environment, but it has apparently has done absolutely nothing to prepare me for the greatest linguistic challenge of my life: dating a British chick.

It's just...I mean, it's still English, right? Right? Fundamentally speaking, we speak the same language. This, however, is a perfect example of how the reality of a situation is never as simple as the basic elements would imply. You may think I'm joking. I wish. For those of you non-believers, this is the kind of stuff I'm talking about:

" ov corse im ere nairy...y do u gashes always hav 2 go out clubbing!!! indeed do hav a quiet drinkys...my ends has a really gud pub..."

...What? These are the types of facebook posts and emails I have to deal with, guys! What is it about the British that entitles them to ignore syntax in its entirety? How about this gem:

"cba. ur such a scrape anyway. div. good thing ur buff."

Thanks!! I think. Maybe? I wonder what it says about me that I can communicate more easily with my Japanese coworkers than my English girlfriend. Probably that I'm awesome. I mean, I guess I could learn, but I'm American! Nobody makes me learn against my will.

And now, just because I can, MONKEYS!



what you got in that bag

A Vast Readership

...is hardly what I would call the few of you who do come here regularly to peruse the garbage that I post. That said, it's not like this site is really geared towards the general masses. But the point is, thanks to an awesome free service provided by Google, Inc., I am now able to track not only how many visitors I get, but all sorts of needlessly irrelevant information about said visitors! Guys, how AWESOME is that?



Check out all of this totally scientific looking data! I don't even know what a "bounce rate" is, but mine is rocking the house! I've also just been informed that this site is the VERY FIRST site that comes up when one googles "tohoku exposure." BOOYAH. And see that snazzy chart labeled "map overlay?" That badboy allows me to check out just where all these dozens (yes, that is plural) of hits are coming from.
Which brings me to my final point: I would like to give a shout-out to the wonderful state of Illinois for dominating the site traffic with over 68%! Now either Rob has a serious Internet addiction or I have some new fans in the Buffalo Grove region. I like to think that it is the latter. All of this leaves me with just one question, though: Who the f do I know Maryland? Hopefully it's this guy:



no way, no way, think you need a new one

Money-C

Do you ever find yourself going through old photos only to be completely shocked and appalled by the younger version of yourself that stares back at you from the image? I'm not talking about self-loathing or anything, but more along the lines of "oh my god, I can't believe I ever dressed like that" or "great Odin's raven, what was going on with my hair?" Well, if you're anything like me then anything that has passed that invisible expiration date which relegates it into the far past of your lives has a solid chance of awakening said feelings, however bittersweet they may be.

Luckily enough, this isn't ALWAYS the case. An old friend recently sent me this gem he ran across while clearing out his hard drive:



Now this photo dates back at least 6 years, to a time when I was known not as Joe-sensei, but simply "Money-C." Although some claim he was born from the fiery pits of junior high basketball courts, the origins of this nickname and the man himself are as cloaked in mystery as the answers to some of the questions this photograph implies: Why is that ceiling so low? Who are these people? Where did I get that rad hat? What happened to all my body hair? What emotion could I possibly be attempting to convey with that facial expression? And lastly, how on Earth was I so AWESOME?!?! These are the questions that keep me up at night.



どうぶネズミみたいに

Animal Wrongs

One thing about Japan that never ceases to amaze me is the fact that it, quite frankly, never ceases to amaze me. What has most recently piqued my interest is the way animals are (mis)treated here on a daily basis. Now I completely aware that this happens all over the world, but just for the sake of posterity allow me to list but a few of the oddities I have witnessed over the past week alone:

- A dog chained up to an abandoned shack in the middle of an abandoned parking lot, with a full bowl of food next to him. I guess it's good that he had food, but I feel his own 50 sq.ft. lot is a bit excessive, not to mention cruel.

- A woman walking a cat. On a leash. A big, leather leash that may have weighed more than the cat itself. With a spiked collar. Seriously.

- A full size fish tank full of not water and fish, but dirt and no less than 10 species of beetle. This one would only be a little strange if it wasn't for the fact that I found it in the housewares section of the hardware store.

Though it really has nothing to do with people and how they take care of their animals, I also feel like I should note that the other day I saw a cat wait patiently at a crosswalk then cross right in front of me when his light turned green. He may have even winked at me, though I cannot swear to this.



The cake'll end up crazy

The Murtaugh List

Getting older is an interesting thing. When looking at it rationally, a quarter of a century really isn't that long a time. Go out to a bar (at least where I live) and tell someone you are 25 and all you are likely to receive is a showering of compliments and jealous crooning about your age. At the same time, though, I find myself more and more often feeling like I am far less capable, or at least tolerant, in certain areas than I was a mere 3 years ago. While I can hardly take credit for the idea, I feel like exploring these areas with my own "Murtaugh List" is an appropriate first step to dealing with my rapid-onset geriatrics. (For those of you would add "clicking on embedded hyperlinks" to your own Murtaugh List, the list includes anything that prompts one to say "I'm getting too old for this shit" immediately afterward.)

1) Going punch for punch with an entire bar of Japanese people.
2) Singing head, shoulders, knees and toes more than once a day.
3) Pancakes.
4) Drinking whiskey any way but straight up.
5) Bicycles.
6) Answering my home phone.
7) Standing up in the shower.
8) Locking my home doors or taking my car keys with me when I exit the vehicle.
9) Any form of media that I have to pay money for.
10) Asia.



星のない空の下で

SCIENCE!

So as I'm sure probably one of you out there noticed, it's been quite some time since my rast broggering. The reason is actually quite simple: I have been engaged in an extremely time-consuming chemistry experiment that has eaten up effectively every shred of free time I have.

But all of this effort has not been in vain. Through rigorous testing and retesting, strict adherence to the scientific method, and by taking advantage of every scientific fact that I my $120,000 education has left in my brain I have come to the following conclusion: Japanese sports drinks give me serious gas. No joke. The stuff goes right through me. It's actually pretty gross. Then again, I really don't know what I expected from a drink called "SWEAT."





there's a little black spot on the Sun today