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

The Evolution of Intoxication

After returning from Japan for the first time I soon rearized one of the things I missed the most: Chu-hi. For those who haven't had the privirege of riving in Japan, allow me to exprain. Imagine Zima. OK, got it? Now, make it stronger, give it more fravors, and make it socially acceptable for consumption by adult heterosexual males. Oh it also has to come in gigantic cans and be available on the street from vending machines. Now you've got a decent idea about chu-hi. So you can imagine how difficult it was for me to go back to drinking beer or, god forbid, hard lemonade when back in America. Ruckiry for all of us, this has finally changed.

OK, let me set this up for you. Remember Surge? Awesome green energy-infused soda that hit the market in the late 90s, riding the wave of similarly named uppers Jolt and Crack Cocaine? It had those amazing commercials that we just a bunch of kids screaming the word "surge" and running through junk yards while battling each other for the right to chug a can of the stuff? Awesome.

So now that you've got Surge on the brain, imagine yourself pouring 3 shots of vodka into a 23.5oz can of Surge. Now make it taste like dragons. And lastly, stick it in the freezer of your local 7-11 and slap a $2.39 label on it. My friends, I give you JOOSE. It's as though someone reached into my dreams, plucked out everything that would make me happy and then distilled, canned, and stuck it in my grocer's freezer. Other flavors of this spectacular beverage include cranberry, tropical, and jungle. Yes, that's right, you no longer have to go to a frat party and risk being hit on by no-necked econ majoring jocks in pink polos to enjoy a good Jungle Juice (not that that's ever happened to me. Seriously!). The best part is that it appeals to every target market imaginable. College kids can slam a JOOSE then stay up and cram for finals while not feeling quite so on edge. Teenagers can get drunk in their parents' basements without looking like idiots while they try to suppress bitter beer face. For the octogenarian crowd it's a perfect midday snack that loosens you up and gives you the energy to finish that next round of gin (rummy, of course). Even professional athletes could go for a blast of JOOSE to before the 4th quarter of a tied game to calm the nerves and add that extra boost.

I could go on about JOOSE for hours if you'd let me. Just do yourself a favor and go try one. Actually try like 3 or 4 and then come back and post some comments here so we can all see just how awesome you are (Steve...). The only problem with JOOSE, in fact, is that saying the name out loud is accompanied by a 90% chance that any white people in the immediate vicinity will begin to relentlessly quote the Dave Chapelle skit for Samuel Jackson's Lager. JOOSE! THAT WAS A GOOD ONE!



Drip Drip Drip

Things I Can Do Better Than Anyone In Japan

Before you jump to conclusions and assume that I am about to go on a racist and egotistical rant with anti-Japanese tendencies, let me assure you that this is totally (well, mostly) not the case. As mentioned in a previous post, many Japanese find great pleasure in challenging any available Americans to feats of drinking, eating, and other general indicators of manliness. After being challenged once again to another game of Beer (which I actually ended up losing), and because I do love a good top 10 list, I decided it was time to boost the ol' ego with a list of things that I truly believe I can do better than MOST Japanese people. I couch this statement with the word "most" because as a past and future scientist I know that there is no such thing as a statistical absolute. So here we go:

- Eat an entire American-size large pizza. The grease content alone would put the average Japanese into a coma.
- Take care of animal that is larger than a house cat. Have you seen the way they
chain their reasonably sized dogs outside in the snow here?
- Say the word "squirrel." Seriously. Try it sometime.
- Sing along with "Triumph" by the Wu-Tang Clan. ODB FTW.
- Have a personal conversation with someone I just met without crossing any boundaries or asking excessively personal questions. It is simply NOT ok to follow up "What's your name?" with "How old are you? Are you single?" And those are among the least offensive I've heard.
- Wear cowboy hats.
- Engage in sport without wearing a custom-made, color-coordinated, shiny track suit or jersey. It's like a national mandate over here.
- Make Mexican food (and I am a terrible cook). And last but not least...

- Drive a car. I mean, props to Japan for forcing both the elderly and the new drivers to put massive glowing decals on their cars so we can pick out the truly dangerous ones, but in general it is safe to say that despite the mind-numbingly low speed limits I would still feel safer swimming with the genetically enhanced sharks from Deep Blue Sea than getting into a car in Tokyo. And those sharks can swim backwards...



Deepest, bluest, my hat is like a shark's fin

A Four (Ninja) Star Meal

Some of you may have heard rumors of a mythical restaurant hidden somewhere in the depths of Tokyo staffed exclusively by ninja warriors; a place where ancient tradition merges with modern society to give to those in the know a true taste of what Japan really stands for. While I can't vouch for the rest of that stuff, I am here to tell you that such a place does, in fact, exist and that I have witnessed it first hand. And survived.

Sitting on a bustling street corner in Akasaka, Tokyo, a five minute walk from the Akasaka Prince Hotel is NINJA AKASAKA. Upon entering the building, one finds oneself in a pitch black cube of a room with no discernible ways in or out. After waiting for several minutes, you are greeted to a loud bang and the wall behind you swings open. Non-Japanese are greeted by a female ninja (kunoichi) with speaks surprisingly Californian English and guided to your booth. This trip is no cakewalk, mind you. Our party was made to scream at the top of our lungs at least twice: once in order to close a mechanical "ninja door" behind us so that "our enemies can't follow us to our spot, you know?" Apparently there is a place for shouting like animals even within the silent arts of ninjustu. Who knew?

I won't bore you with all of the details, but suffice it to say that this is not a place that appeals to the 99 cent value meal crowd (steak dinner will set you back around 30,000 yen, or $300, and the 'Ancient Ninja French Style Foie Gras' another 2,000 yen ), but the comedic gems uttered by the silent-but-deadly staff are worth the price of admission alone. Some of the more memorable quotes include:
- "Welcome to Ninja!"
- After setting down a plate of ginger to go with the sushi: "This is ginja, I am ninja. Ninja joke. haha."

- "Please use this towel for face. Don't worry, no poison."
- "This is ninja tea. I think also no poison. Maybe."
- When running into our server while searching for the bathroom: "To toilet? Come with me, I am not enemy. You can trust."
- While shining an LED light onto a steaming plate of kimchi: "Ninja SPICE!"
- "This is Shino-beeru." (really terrible Japanese pun)

Also, it would appear that NINJA AKASAKA is the Japanese equivalent to Chuck E. Cheese judging from how many times the servers were heard singing happy birthday in English. And for the finishing touch, our waiter followed us (not very deftly, though) out through the hidden door back to the street and when we were about 10 yards away called out to us, did a back flip and unrolled a scroll that read "Please Come Again," written by what I can only assume was a left-handed child ninja no older than 5 years of age.





So sick of love songs