Come On Here, Let's Dance Together!

This past weekend was the final weekend of July. That means normally uneventful Toyota City turns into a party!

Oiden Festival kicked off on Saturday afternoon in the center of town, which happens to be where I live and work. I would have taken the day off if I had any idea what Oiden entailed, but I got to catch some of it on my breaks.

The roads were blocked off, a giant stage was erected, and the streets filled with awesome. I had heard that people dance in the streets for five hours to one song on repeat. I didn't understand why they would play the same song over and over until I heard it and realized it was the best song ever. You can download it in full by clicking here.

The festivities started with a guy on a microphone leading the crowd in chanting, "We love Toyota! We love Toyota!" in English. At that point, the music kicked in and the dancing began. Old ladies, little kids, college students—everyone had their own group of dancers and their own choreography. Up and down the streets the procession looped around the city center, each dance team taking their turn on stage when they reached it.

This was the highlight of my stay in Japan thus far. Better than sumo. Better than the dude sleeping on my shoulder on the train. Better than the root canal. I was pissed that I had to go back to work, that I didn't have a dance team, and that my memory ran out on my camera before I could shoot anything really awesome. The footage below sucks.

The next day, the streets remained blocked off and became lined with tent after tent of people selling shit. Like a carnival, but good and not gay. This was all in preparation for the fireworks show that was to take place that evening near Toyota Stadium.

My friends and I found a spot on the bridge that Tom likes, where everyone was kinda just plopped down on the asphalt—no chairs needed. The clouds started rolling in and I started looking for people carrying umbrellas.

Mildly digressive explanation:

Everyone loves umbrellas here. A slight drizzle, umbrellas go up. They even use them for the sun. In their defense, it does rain all the time here and it is extremely hot and humid every day.

So I was looking around and noticing that not many people were carrying umbrellas. It was nice earlier and it sucks carrying stuff around when you're doing so much walking. I couldn't wait for it to rain to see what would happen. I imagined they would freak out much like our various cats throught the years when my dad sprayed them in the face with a water bottle.

Finally, the nightning clouds and ominous winds broke into rain. My camera was ready. Sure enough over half of the people suddenly had umbrellas. I think some Japanese people are able to use their powers to conjure up umbrellas. Or maybe they just had them hidden under their yukatas, Highlander-esque. Luckily, a good deal of people did not possess the necessary powers and started fleeing. You can also see this on the video below, but again I had to protect my camera before it got really good.

Soon, it started raining Lost style. I'm talking umbrellas don't matter and it kinda hurts rain. Everyone, umbrellas or not, went into full Godzilla mode. I found myself in the midst of sheer mob panic—umbrella prongs flying at me from every angle at exactly eyeball level.

We made it back to Rickey's/my apt. area, largely unscathed. I had just finished changing when the fireworks, which we thought were canceled, started. Of course, we were no longer in an optimal viewing area, so my pictures of that also sucked.

Both Saturday and Sunday nights ended with a gathering at Rickey's for post-Oiden celebrations featuring the orignal Oiden song I spoke so highly of before.

Enjoy this likely unrelated quote:

It may be true that the law cannot make a man love me, but it can keep him from lynching me, and I think that's pretty important.

—Martin Luther King, Jr.

Rail Rest

Japanese people like to sleep on the train a lot. I mean a lot. I'd say about 25% or more. The others either read or play on one of many different handheld electronic devices.

The strangest part is that they always seem to pop up whenever it's their stop. How do they know? I often ask my students and friends about this, and I always get the same answer: they don't actually sleep, they just rest their eyes. I never fully accepted this answer, as I have seen people hit their heads on stuff while sleeping. Tonight, I've officially confirmed that people do indeed konk out completely.

First, allow me to diverge onto a different track for a moment. My rail ride back from training in Nagoya started with an old woman crouched in front of me puking into a plastic bag. Perhaps she was drunk, perhaps she was sick, or perhaps she was motion sick. More likely she was just old. So old that she was puking up her dying organs. She had to be like 90. And that's in Japanese years, so she was probably actually around 104. Of course, being a subway in Japan, I was unable to move. (I was recently pushed onto a train so the doors could close.)

Later on as we ascended from the tunnels and subway turned to train, I was able to get a seat. I sat next to a sleeping dude. I was leaning forward in my seat texting Yayoi that trains are boring when I felt a light tap on my back. I knew it was the dude's head and chose not to react. This happened about five more times as the people across from me smirked (which is rare), noticing what was going on. He would just kinda drift until his head hit me, then bounce back.

At some point he stopped bouncing back.

His head rested on my back for about three full minutes before he finally pulled away. That's when I decided to sit back in my seat—and that's when the rapid bobbing began. About every four seconds his head would hit my shoulder.

Once again, the dude stopped bobbing, this time resting his head on my shoulder for another few minutes. Now, I'm a nice guy and it wasn't really bothering me, so I just let him sleep. Plus it was quite humorous. While his head was on my shoulder, I got an email from Yayoi saying:

oh, I like [riding the train]. I usually listen to music or sleep on the train zzZZ. But watch out for sleeping too much. if you can't wake up at toyota st, you'll go back to nagoya and have to join training again (Toyota is at the end of the line). Maybe you can make your favorite poem or make a plan for how the swimming man can pass the lobby without using the bell

Okay, so that last part probably didn't make sense to you. Moving down the line...

Finally, the guy sat up, still sleeping, just as the person next to me was getting off the train. I took this opportunity to slide down a seat. This didn't really help. He just slowly drifted lower and lower toward me until his head came to rest just above my elbow.

Just about this time, we pulled into Toyotashi Station. The true test. I stood up, waited for everyone to get off the train, and contemplated waking the dude to tell him we were at the end of the line. But then I figured he probably missed his stop long ago and had to head back anyway. In hindsight, I probably should've woken him to prevent him from missing his stop again.

So I walked off the train, and my buddy headed back to Nagoya to join training again. The final verdict: at least some of them definitely sleep for real, though some also miss their stops. All in all, I'm happy with the outcome.

Enjoy this likely unrelated quote:

“There's nothing I like less than bad arguments for a view that I hold dear.”

—Daniel Dennett

Café Crappy Again

Wouldn't you know it, I'm back at the same freaking internet café I was at last night. This place has five floors with about 30 booths on each floor. I ended up in the SAME EXACT BOOTH. And the dude with me this time just puked all over himself right next to me. This is not fun. Where is my train???

Café Crappy

I'm sitting in an internet café at 5 am in Nagoya waiting for a the first train of the day to come take me back to good ol' Toyota City.

Tonight I went to Sakae (Nagoya's downtown district) to hit up the Japanese club scene for the first time. It has been an interesting night.

We first went to a place called ID Bar. Pretty awesome place—six floors of different types of music. There were a good amount of foreigners there, though we were among of only a handful of snow-flakes, at least on our floor (most of the foreigners were Brazilian—maybe white, but certainly not snow-flakes). The best part was that the AC was pumping hard enough that you could dance your heart out without sweating your balls off. Also, there was never a line for the bar or the bathroom even though the place was packed.

The floor we stayed on had two Japanese guys spinning and two black guys rapping, all jammed into a tiny area. There wasn't much need for rapping in most of the songs, so the rappers pretty much just said, "uh huh, yeah. what? what? yeah nigga uh huh" over and over. It felt like home.

$30 dollars got me covered and four drink tickets, three of which I used on vodka and tonic because I thought the yeasty beer would be bad for my gaping hole of a tooth. The fourth I used to get a Zima. That's right, a Zima. Holding a mixed drink on the dance floor was kind of a pain and I noticed a lot of dudes with Zimas, so I figured it was okay here.

On the dance floor, everyone was competing for the only fat chick in Japan. That was odd. At one point "Thriller" started playing and everyone went nuts. but not nearly as crazy as whe they started bumping an electronica cover of Toto. The place erupted.

As I was heading to the bar, a dude darker than me tried to tell me something on the dance floor. I couldn't hear him and when he screamed in my ear I couldn't understand him, but he seemed kinda gay and I think he was hitting on me. I later figured out that he was talking to me in Portugese because there are many Brazilians here.

Back at the bar, waiting for the place to close in five minutes, I sat, staring at a mirror thinking three things—1: how good looking I am when I'm clean cut and slimmed down, 2: how pathetic I am for thing about what I'm going to blog while I'm at a Japanese night club, and 3: that using a comma preceding the "and" when listing makes more sense than omitting it in most cases, but can occassionaly cause confusion.

On the way out, we talked to some girls. Goddamn those half Japanese girls.

The place closed at one and the trains don't run from 11:30 - 6:00. We met a Sweedish Australian dude and his Japanes girlfriend on the street and went to some place for a drink.

After that we wondered around until we finally found a tiny little bar. The Nigerian owner, Kennedy, was a big MFer and kindly welcomed us. I contemplated asking him to stop sending me e-mails. We stayed for one drink.

After that, we found a stand selling Cup Kebab and struck up a conversation with some black guys from California who offered to show us where they saw a sign that said "big titties." We only ended up finding Chinese chicks who wanted to give us sexy massages for $30. Acknowledging them was a mistake, because they immediately swarmed and started chasing us down the street.

Which brings me here to this crappy internet café. It's almost six. Time to catch the train. This is Japan.

Enjoy this quote:

"You see that gay ass Jap man layin' on that table?"

—Black Californian Dude

Nippowned—Dentist

The title, in case you're wondering, refers to me getting pwnd by Japan (Nippon is Japanese for Japan). Credit Bad Attitude Bob for coining the term. Don't let the "part one" fool you into to thinking this is the first time—it's not. This is just part one of the current ownage.

A brief history is necessary before I continue.

Before I came to Japan, I went to the dentist to check out a cracked tooth that I had long ignored. It had started giving me a lot of pain in the weeks before I decided to pay a visit to the friendly neighborhood dentist. I was told I would need a root canal. I had no insurance and no money, so I decided to take the prescribed antibiotics—which knocked out the infection and the pain—and save the root canal for another day.

Fast forward to five months after my arrival in Japan.

The tooth started hurting again—not so bad this time, but I thought it wise to make an appointment. My coworker and Japan concierge, Yayoi, did the leg work, but couldn't find an English speaking dentist in the area. She went ahead and made the appointment, volunteering to take me there and translate.

By the time we went, my tooth was no longer hurting. Still, it needed to be fixed. I made sure to brush and floss really well beforehand, because I know how dentists take that shit personally.

Sitting in that familiar vinyl chair, smelling that familiar, putrid dentist smell, I suddenly felt a bit sorry for the guy; he spends his life trying to help people, heal their pain, and everyone he helps hates him. No wonder dentists all kill themselves.

That wave of empathy would soon pass.

I'm used to having x-rays taken before the examination, but not this time. He just tapped the tooth and said something in Japanese. I assumed he was asking me if he had the right tooth, so I quickly nodded my head yes. Yayoi told me when the dentist left the room that I don't need a root canal because the nerve is still alive—that's why the tooth hurts. It wasn't until later that I thought about how he based his diagnosis on much less than what his American counterpart did, and that when he tapped on my tooth he was probably asking if that hurt, which it didn't, to which I said "yes."

He came back into the room and without warning jammed a giant needle into my gums to administer the novocain. (In actuality he did warn me, I found out later, but Yayoi thought it best to gleefully watch the surprised look on my face.) A few minutes of poking, prodding, and spitting later, and I was set with temporary cap and an appointment to come back two weeks later. I didn't bother to ask what would be happening during my next visit.

All was well—I finished the day, teaching half of my classes with a numb face. They don't understand me either way. I went to bed and woke up the next morning with a sore face. This didn't cause me any concern; I mouth had just been drilled and stretched—a little soreness was to be expected.

The soreness grew into pain and the pain into agony. By my last class of the day, I literally had tears rolling out of my left eye because the pain had radiated up that far. I had already started taking aspirin and ibuprofen, which did a whole lot of nothing.

When I got home I started taking the Vicodin that I smuggled into the country for this very reason. This was to no avail, until about 6 am. when I was finally able to bring the pain down to tolerable. This lasted about an hour, during which I got my only sleep that night, until I was awoken by not only pain, but very unsettling feeling of being detached from myself. I had apparently overmedicated. This was not a "cool, I'm high" feeling. It was more like a "something ain't right and I don't like it at all" feeling.

That eventually wore off as I continued to complain via Facebook about my troubles. I sat around simply bearing the pain until Yayoi called to check on me at about 10 am. I told her I was dying, so she called the dentist and got me in there at 11 o'clock.

Unfortunately, I was on my own this time. The dentist sat me in the now very familiar vinyl chair and explained to me that the pulp in my tooth on my lower jaw was infected needed to be extracted to stop the pain. I responded by saying that it was the tooth on my upper jaw that was causing the pain. Intrigued, he said, "now the pain is upper jaw? Before I give treatment for lower jaw." To which I responded, "no, before you treated my upper jaw." I had to refrain from externalizing this monumental smack-my-head moment.

I know what you're thinking, and yes, this conversation took place in ENGLISH. And the dental assistant also started hitting on me in English when the dentist wasn't around. Those lying bastards!

The end result is me sitting here, typing this with a piece of gauze shoved in the gaping hole that used to be my tooth, and an appointment for July 28. Stay tuned.

Enjoy this likely unrelated quote:

"Only 28 percent of Americans believe in evolution; 68 percent believe in Satan."

—Sam Harris, The Politics of Ignorance

A Big Day in Nagoya

I went to the Grand Sumo Tournament today.

One of my students asked if I wanted to go and of course I jumped at the chance. In the days leading up to the event, I was thinking, "it's sumo, it has to be awesome. Though it might just be awesome because I get to say that I went to a sumo tournament in Japan. In actuality it will probably be boring once I get past the idea of giant dudes in diapers."

Well, as it turns out, it really was awesome.

When we first arrived, a match-up between a classic Japanese sumo guy and a little white dude was about to take place. What could be better than that? Now don't get me wrong, the little guy was ripped, but he couldn't have weighed much more than 200 lbs.

So they start going at it and the little guy gets pushed back to the edge of the ring, feet pressed up against the raised circle that he cannot step out of. (Yes, I just ended that sentence with a preposition.) He struggles to bring the fight back to the center of the ring, only to be swiftly pushed back against the other side. At this point he's teetering, about to fall flat on his back with a 400 pound dude on top of him. The suddenly in a last ditch effort, he hip-tosses the big guy. They both go flying, not just out of the circle, but clearing the entire platform. The big guy landed first so the little dude won, much to the delight and amusement of the entire crowd.

This is not an exaggeration.

Later on this guy showed up—the biggest dude in the place. I had to take some video:

I also got some video of this other guy who everyone loved because he acted like a WWE star. I lost the video somehow.

In the end I walked away with tons of sweet sumo gear and huge memories. Well worth the $50 ticket.

Enjoy this likely unrelated quote:

"If we long to believe that the stars rise and set for us, that we are the reason there is a Universe, does science do us a disservice in deflating our conceits?"

—Carl Sagen

Check Yourself before You Wreck Yourself

Just got back from my medical checkup. Apparently everyone with a job has to get one in Japan. Or something like that, I'm really not sure. In any case, this is how it went:

My problems start before I even enter the building. I have to kick off my shoes and jam my feet into tiny slippers that cover only the front half of each foot. This is annoying.

Now that I'm inside, I have to do all the normal paperwork stuff (which, luckily, they have available in English). Easy enough. Though the receptionist doesn't speak any English, so that's a little bit difficult.

Handing in my paperwork, the lady pulls out a paper of her own and points to an English sentence that reads, "Can you urinate?" Now, of course I can urinate, so I'm taking the question to be asking if I can urinate now. I just woke up before coming here, so naturally I just peed. I have to say no. So they bring me a cup of water. A lady in the waiting room is giggling at me while I drink.

A nurse, or something, brings me to a different room and hands me a gown and locker key, saying, "trunks only." I immediately realize that this room's only exit leads into the waiting room, so I ask, "after?" and motion toward the waiting room. Indeed it seems she wants me to sit out there in my gown.

This gown is awesome! It's like a samurai hospital gown! I'm trying to snap a picture of it with my phone, but I can't get my hand far enough away from my body to get a decent shot. Oh well, back to the waiting room.

I'm sitting in the waiting room, transforming into a woman. My dress is too short, so I'm trying in vain to tug it down over my knees with both hands. I'm also reminded by the oscillating fan that I inadvertently chose to sit right in front of to keep my legs closed. Moving will only draw more attention to myself.

A nurse is calling me into the examination area. I walk in. She doesn't speak any English. I don't speak any Japanese. Now we're playing charades.

Time for x-rays. It occurs to me, as I'm standing on a metal platform getting zapped, that back home they always put some kind of protective thing on me, even when just x-raying my little finger, presumably so that I can have babies afterward. There is no such protection on me now, as they point their laser gun at my torso. Though the radiologist still hides in a separate room while this is going on.

Finally, I get to see the English-speaking doctor. She tells me to open my gown and lie down, and starts pressing on my stomach. This is always a bad idea, especially before I've had the chance to clear my system.

Oh yeah, I still need to pee in a cup. They don't give me a nice, special plastic cup with a screw on lid; instead I squeeze a few drops into a dixie cup that came out of a dispenser in the bathroom and stick it lidless through the little door.

Checkup's finished and I get a clean bill of health. Thanks, Japan.

Enjoy this likely unrelated quote:

"If you have a good scientific imagination, you can think of all sorts of things that might be true, and that's the essence of science. You first think of something that might be true--then you look to see if it is, and generally it isn't"

Bertrand Russell, 1959

Earth-Shattering News

The UN passed a resolution yesterday declaring the word hyperbole the "Best Thing Ever."

Enjoy this likely unrelated quote:

"We are going to die, and that makes us the lucky ones. Most people are never going to die because they are never going to be born. The potential people who could have been here in my place but who will in fact never see the light of day outnumber the sand grains of Sahara. Certainly those unborn ghosts include greater poets than Keats, scientists greater than Newton. We know this because the set of possible people allowed by our DNA so massively outnumbers the set of actual people. In the teeth of these stupefying odds it is you and I, in our ordinariness, that are here."

--Richard Dawkins, Unweaving the Rainbow