Hired Help

You know as well as I do that it's too hard to find good hired help these days. You just can't let anyone into your home like you could back when people gave a hoot about family values, what with British Nanny Syndrome, Mad Cow Disease and Immigrants.


Luckily, I seem to have found someone who promises to make my humble home that much nicer! Say hello to the newest addition to the family. She told me her name, which made absolutely no sense, so let's call her Lola.

I found Lola on a street corner in Akihabara's Electric Town and I just don't know what I'd do without her. Never has my apartment (think walk-in closet sized) been so lemony fresh. Don't we all wish we had a Lola in our lives?

If so, let me know. I'm willing to sublet.

Those Wacky Japanese

A short few mornings ago, I was standing in front of my building enjoying the sun before the humidity made my underarms smell like a Turkish bazaar. As I stood there, I saw an older gentleman in full business attire, complete with briefcase, ambling in my direction - a common sight at this time of day.

As he approached, it sounded like he grunted some kind of greeting, so I bowed deeply and said good morning in my most Japanese-sounding Japanese. I figured I'd made a new friend; perhaps we'd share a drink that evening, a dinner at a ritzy eatery and then sail to Guam with his family and wealthy business associates. The possibilities were endless.

He stopped in front of me and, much to my surprise, did not seem to be the fancy dinner-sharing, yacht-inviting man I had envisioned. He raised his arms in imitation of holding a rifle and pointed said "air rifle" in my direction. Not knowing what to make of this development, I figured that he simply wanted to scare off some thug lurking behind me. Just like my friendship dreams, however, this fantasy shattered as he carefully aimed the barrel of his arm gun at center body mass, pulled his trigger finger twice and grunted with each shot fired.

And, as if nothing had happened, he strolled off muttering to himself in a most disturbing fashion.

I recognized that I'd been violated by this salaryman assassin in some horrific way, but I struggled to reason exactly how or why. Perhaps he didn't like my tie, perhaps he hated my apartment building, perhaps some member of his family had been deposited in the dumpster behind me. From all I know of the Japanese and their universal love of foreigners, it couldn't possibly have been because I was white (dashingly handsome) and red haired. No way - not possible.

It must have been my tie.

A Sumonami

I've titled this artistic Tour de France "3 Sumos and a Taxi," in loose reference to that classic 1987 Tom Selleck, Steve Guttenburg and Ted Danson comedy of a similar name. Three sumos and a taxi, however are far less comical. For starters, how is the
driver supposed to feel? He could have driven a dozen pianos worth of
elephants across the Serengeti with less damage to his suspension. In this tense sumo / taxi standoff, the driver actually argued with these fleshbeasts over the fare - one of the first things you learn in cabbie college is to never, never argue with a sumo over such petty things as cash or honor.

Another point of interest, all three sumos emerged from the backseat. How was it decided that the middle sumo rode bitch? Did they have an adhoc sumo battle at the taxi stand to determine who got window? And as they were on their way to an important sumo tournament, does this unnecessarily wear out their lumpy sumo legs?

Almost everything about the above, entirely true, scenario defies the laws of physics and the U.N.

Sir Isaac Newton and Captain Kofi Anon must be rolling in their graves.

My Bestest Friends

In Tokyo "The Land of Happy Happy Fun Joy,"
these men are my best of friends. We go out after work and enjoy a
drink or two, or, in their case, twenty or ninety. They are nice guys
and want to be your best friend too. They told me to tell you that they
would like to travel to your country, meet your attractive female
relatives and share a traditional your-country dinner of raw squid and
sea urchin. Please welcome them into the fold and make them feel at
home. We're all good people at heart!

The Empire Strikes Back

Midway through an afternoon of Tokyo drifiting, I came across this li'l Pearl, Harbored, in Hibiya Park. Believe it or not: Oktoberfest, Japanese style.

It quickly dawned upon me that the German-Japanese alliance had risen anew, threatening the world of the free and our treasured freedoms once again.

I personally charge you, Sir Tom Brokaw, to rally your Greatest Generation for one last battle against the Axis forces! Summon forth the fiesty, fun-loving spirits of Roosevelt, Churchill and Comrade Stalin to combat this new evil!

Tally ho!

Crabenstein

As I said before, Tokyo is swamped with beasts battleworthy
of Godzilla's radioactive awesomeness, such as this fearsome
crustacean. Notice his deadly pincers thrust out in a "come and get me"
pose reminiscent of the large crab "Crab Daddy McCrabenworth" in the final battle of Bloodsport 8: Jean Claude vs. The Great Barrier Reef. Yikes!

A New Hope

Ahoy there mateys!

Last night I watched the classic film, Jason and the Arggganauts, which is argggguably one of the greatest movies of all time.

Why am I writing like a drunken pirate, you ask? Well, good question.

It's probably because I live in Japan, an island in the Pacific, and a region once widely known for its spooky, fanged pirates who roamed the Pacific rim searching for booty and doubloons. What they found, however, was a series of devastating tsunamis and massive volcanic eruptions, (haha) which fairly well ended the Era of Pirates, what historians now call the 1980's.

Except for Hong Kong, of course; you can still buy your mother's spleen on a major thoroughfare after Sunday brunch.

But enough about pirates, because seriously, arrgggggn't you getting tired of that topic? I am.

This blog will begin today and continue through the future, which I happen to know a lot about because I live 13 hours in the future. Whatever you do, don't buy Enron - you'll be very sorry. You can thank me later for the hot stock tip.

On my digital soapbox, I will be discussing the intricacies of life in Japan and keep you up to date on how many monster-sized insects and crustaceans you can find in Tokyo. I kid you not - these giant beasts adorn train stations and shop fronts everywhere, presumably in case of Godzilla's return.

I hope you will keep up with my wacky misadventures working 45 hours a week (spoken in a monster-truck rally announcers voice) and having (cue voice again) little time to go out or have wacky misadventures.

I know I'm sold, so why don't you come on in, sit a spell and share in the laughter and delight, like so many small children at their first X-rated film.....