Why I like guns.

I had the opportunity to slowly walk by a Japanese police officer yesterday and surreptitiously gaze at his sidearm. This was strangely a little disappointing. It's not that the pistol was too weak for my taste (although it was just a dinky .38), but rather that it was tethered to the officer's belt by a thin rubber-coated cable, not unlike the kind one might use to lock up a bicycle. When I saw this, I frowned, likely made a funny face, and walked away grumpily.

It wasn't until later that I started to wonder why I became annoyed. It was then that I realized, yet again, as I had realized for millionth time, that I'm strongly attracted to and fascinated by guns. There's no discernable reason for this outside of the fact that guns are metallic and menacing, dark yet shiny, and capable of making cool noises. Unless they're "silenced", and then they make really fucking cool noises!

(Note: I've never actually heard a silenced gun being discharged; I'm basing my judgement on the positive sonic properties of silenced handguns strictly on films, Carlito's Way being the most influential among them, not because it was a great movie but rather because the silenced pistols it featured sounded much cooler than in any other film I've seen.)

Although my family ran in apocalyptic social circles where guns were stockpiled in the event of one-world government takeover, the only weapon we had when I was growing up was an antique .22 rifle that my dad kept hidden in the attic. The bolt for the rifle as well as a box of ammunition was safely kept separate from the gun in a dusty shoebox in my dad's closet. That I knew this and still vividly remember the details are testament to the long-lasting nature of my fascination.

When I got into college, it occurred to me many times that I could purchase a firearm of my own should I strongly desire to do so. And I did desire to do so, many times, but held back because I rarely had enough money to get a decent pistol, and when I did have the money there were other, more important things that I felt more compelled to purchase--like video games.

As a result, I never really indulged my desire to play with guns. But when I would see a police officer standing close to me, my eyes would automatically stray to his sidearm. The holstered gun always seemed to silently snarl at me from its leather pocket, like a badass doberman chained to the fence of a junkyard. I always wondered if the cop ever truly "got used" to having an instrument of death strapped to his waist, or if the weight of the gun was a constant source of confidence ready to be tapped if the man was feeling scared, weak, or self-conscious. Regardless, I would always envy the officer, but my jealousy was tempered by the notion that, with some deft fingerwork and balls of steel, I could slide the gun from its holster and obtain the power for myself. That thought alone, that silly fantasy, always made me feel good, like I was tapping the confidence power of the weapon through my sheer proximity.

And perhaps that's why I didn't like how the Japanese police officer's gun was connected to his belt. Citizens are not allowed to bear arms in this country, and, as a result, most of the guns that are here would be difficult to disentangle from a cop. That might be a relief to some people, but not to me. But perhaps this is ultimately a good thing, as, if I had a gun, I would likely walk around everywhere with it tucked away, secretly smiling in the knowlege that I could easily scare, wound, or even kill if I felt so compelled.

Sigh. I miss America.

And I miss my friend, Errol. We rarely discussed guns, but occasionally, while we would be driving around Fort Collins, he would extend index and middle finger to simulate an uzi barrel, and then spray imaginary bullets out the car window. He'd do this by making sound effects with his mouth and holding the imaginary gun in a horizontal "gangsta" fashion. Whenever he'd do this, I'd know we were on the same page with regard to the second amendment. This picture's for Errol.

Shrimp Pizza: it's time, America.

Pizza in Japan is a reliable disappointment. About 99% of the time, there's all sorts of crazy, unwarranted crap on top--like eggs ... in the name of all that is sacred in this world and the next, I demand to know why anyone would desecrate a pizza by putting an egg on top. Furthermore, the "crust" is little more than a thin, partially cooked circle of flattened dough. When a slice is picked up, the limp pointed end dangles miserably from the fingertips, and all the goofy toppings slide right off. As for cheese, the pizza chefs here are quite stingy about it ... perhaps they fear its inherent deliciousness will take away from the nauseating taste effect they were going for.

Nevertheless, while foraging here in Kobe, I'll occasionally wander by a pizza restaurant and wonder if maybe this one will be the restaurant that will redeem Japan's pizza chefs and periodically provide a reliable pizza dinner for the duration of my stay. So I walk in, choke down some limp, weird pizza, and walk out, swearing never to try pizza in Japan again. I've made this vow about 9 times now.

Last time, however, I found a pizza that was head and shoulders above its Japanese competition. Don't get too excited: the crust was still limp, the cheese was sparse, and overall it was only a fraction as good as the worst pizza one could buy in America. Its saving grace was its topping: sauteed and peeled garlicky shrimp. I imagine that after throwing every possible edible and non-edible item on a pizza, the Japanese were bound to stumble on some kind of tasty topping, and garlicy shrimp is it.

Anyway, walking back to my apartment, I got to thinking: imagine how good that garlicky shrimp would taste on an American pizza, one with a sufficently-cooked crust of decent thickness and a generous amount of mozzarella. So, if you're reading this, and you know any influential personages in the pizza industry, please pass them this tip. Remember: it's little shrimp, lightly sauteed and slathered in garlic butter. It'd be really good, and a definate money-maker once it caught on.

God, I miss American food. Almost as much as I miss Mexican food. I've had plenty of decent Japanese food experiences, but those instances are the exception to the general rule. Overall, weird and menacing Japanese food is so ubiquitous, I almost feel like it's something I'm constantly trying to escape.

Wuv ... twoo wuv ...

Life in Japan is going swell, but lately I've been feeling a bit unhappy. The primary reason why is because multiple good friends are getting married and I am feeling quite shitty about not going to any of their weddings. So, in this space, I will honor them in my own way. After each wedding announcement, I'm going to give a number which corresponds to my feeling of guilt on a scale from one to ten. 1 is "Guilt? Please!" and 10 is "Wow... I'm lower than dogshit."

To begin, we have my old friend Chris, who we first met in our junior year of high school. This is the same Chris who prides himself on his striking resemblance to Yoda and astonishing ability to play Windows Minesweeper better than anyone else on the planet. This is the same Chris who nearly 86ed himself by taking a header off his grandma's roof while shingling a few years back. (After a coma lasting a week or so, he pulled out, and now lives with his spine and skull bolted together by plates and screws of God-only-knows-what kind of alloy.) And this is the same Chris now lives in Dallas where he works security on a sky-scraper. Chris and I were great friends once, drifted apart a bit in college, but still occasionally write each other, most often on the subject of the Denver Broncos. Anyway, last week I got this e-mail:

I really like the draft. We needed firepower on offense really bad, and maybe we got it. The Denver media thinks cutler is Elway's son. Shanny had him pegged higher than Leinhart, so we'll see. I like picking up Jevon Walker. Did you hear Lelie thinks he is a #1 receiver and is not going to report since he is third on the depth chart? I say 'you were useless anyway, so bye.'
Well I have had an eventful few months. Long story short, I'm getting married this Tuesday. Yes, you read that correctly. I met her last December, sparks flew, emotions ran high, and now there is going to be a Mrs. Wright. I'll writer more sometime; I'm at work right now, so I'm kind of borrowing some time, but I'll catch up with you later.

WTF? Chris ... married? And on a Tuesday? Will wonders never cease? Considering this e-mail arrived the Sunday prior, I didn't get much notice for this wedding (which, I guess, has already happened) and therefore don't feel too bad for missing it. Hell, I probably wouldn't have known about it or attended even if I were in Colorado. But still, I like Chris and I wish I could've been there to express my congratulations firsthand. Since I couldn't do that, I hereby officially congratulate him and wish him and his new bride the best of luck.

Chris' Wedding = 5.5

Next is Ryan, an even closer friend, who gets married next weekend. I'll always love Ryan. While driving one time with his fiance to pick up some dinner, Ryan defenestrated an entire bag of cheap Mexican food after learning Taco Bell screwed up his drive-thru order. When Gina asked Ryan why the hell he did that, and why he didn't simply go back to the restaurant to get it fixed, Ryan just glared ahead at the road and coldly told her, "That's not the way I do things." How fucking awesome is that? It's that unshakable adherence to a mysterious, inarticulable code that I admire about Ryan. He's hardcore, and always will be. Last year, when Ryan told me of the wedding, he asked me to stand in it. I've always felt real torn up about having to say no.

Ryan's Wedding = 11

And, of course, we have Matt's wedding--one week after Ryan's! I really don't know what to say about Matt... except for this: he once promised to see Starship Troopers with me, then saw it without me. I was crushed, and had to lock myself in my bedroom for weeks to hide my grief. It took me several long years to get over that, but the reliable goodness of Matt's character has made this forgiveness somewhat possible. As a result, I've placed him on a kind of "friendship probation" for the past few years, and that's where he'll stay until he reads A Game of Thrones. In all seriousness, Matt's the best kind of friend I could have, and his family's been wonderful to me. (They even gave me a laundry basket!) His dad, a kind-hearted mustachioed codger, recently got quite sick, and had major emergency surgery performed on his liver. Luckily, he's doing well now and will likely make the wedding. I wish I could be there to shake Matt's dad's hand, and Matt's hand too. Matt asked me to stand for him as well, and once again I feel awful I can't be there.

Matt's Wedding = 11

And that's it for my friends. Supposedly, my brother is also getting married next week. He's only two years older than I, and growing up he was both the stick I would never measure up to and the stick which regularly pummelled me and poked me in the eye. As a brother, he certainly has his faults (as do I), but he's a good and devoted son and will likely honor my parents with multiple grandchildren. I often think about his wedding and dream about what it will be like--probably expensive with giraffes and dinosaurs and special guest star David Blaine, and lots and lots of relatives coming from all over the country. Attending would be interesting, but probably awkward and uncomfortable (to say the least) so I don't feel too guilty about not going. However, for some messed up reason, my general lack of guilt makes me feel even guiltier, adding a couple points to the guilt-o-meter. He is, after all, my brother, counterpart progeny from the same set of parents, and I did grow up with him...

Brother's Wedding = 4

And there you have it. Weddings of 2006. Maybe it'll be me getting married someday (hardy-har: Chris and I used to laugh at the prospect of either of us ever getting married) and, if it does happen, I hope my friends will be better to me than I'm being to them and actually attend. It's strange that all these people I know so well are doing the kinds of things that we always wondered if we'd someday do. But a nice kind of strange: mostly warm-hearted and fuzzy feelings slightly tainted by scattered steaming piles of guilt and regret.

Please forgive me, friends. As a token of my remorse, please accept this nice CG picture of Wolverine.

Bub.

CELEBRATE THE FLESH!

Tonight, in honor of my birthday, I went to the waterfront Brazilian Steakhouse in Kobe's beautiful Harborland district. The steak was thinly-cut and all-you-can-eat. With a gigantic, razor-sharp machete, a Brazilian waiter would slice the steak right off skewered hunks of roast beef, duck, chicken, and pig that has been slathered in garlic and other miscellaneous spices. It was superb--a true carnivore's dream. I estimate I alone consumed several acres of rainforest that had been transformed into grazing land and processed into beef, and those acres were delicious.

The only things missing were my Bacchus-buddies. Not that you guys are 'things', but you understand what I mean.

Anyhoo, it's late, so just a short post tonight. Also, here's a delightful picture that I think perfectly captures the joy of aging.

Television! (Until I come up with a more creative title...)

Japanese TV can seem pretty weird, particularly when you have cable. Airing at any given moment, one could find two to three variety shows, two to three samurai movies, three music videos, five soccer games, 20 baseball games, and a near infinite number of home-shopping programs. I might be exagerrating these figures, but if I am my hyperbole is slight. My cable package also has several stations which air commercial-free American TV programs (with Japanese subtitles) almost exclusively. These can be golden oldies (Dallas, Knight Rider, and Columbo), newer programs that are recently dead in America (Ally McBeal and Dark Angel), and currently popular American programs that are a season or two behind (Lost, American Idol, and Alias).

Although it's nice to have a little slice of Americana in my living room, it took me less than a week to grow tired of the offered programming. This is largely because most popular American TV shows these days are heavily-serialized, and comprehension can only be achieved by seasons of dedicated viewership. I can watch and enjoy an old episode of Columbo, but when Alias comes on I just sit in a confused stupor, trying to follow along with the story but mostly waiting for Jennifer Garner's next outfit change.

This annoying plot-grasping hindrance could, conceivably, be alleviated by the wonders of broadband internet (which, coincidentally, has been recently installed in my own abode) and peer-to-peer file-sharing technology. If someone in Japan--or anywhere else in the wired world--wanted to, they could download almost any imaginable television episode on their computer's hard drive and play it back whenever convenient. Doing this would allow the American home viewer abroad to both play renegade station manager and feel close-to-home on days when home is sorely missed.

Since such an activity would likely violate numerous international copyright laws, I would never do it nor dream of suggesting this activity to someone else. But it's nice to know that I could, conceivably, watch any television show aired in America whenever I desired, in the privacy of my Japanese living room, across the stunning breadth of my massive high-def flat-screen computer monitor, and sonically aided by my majestic 5.1 stereo surround sound system. If only I weren't a man of such high moral fiber...

But I digress. Let us change subjects from the possibility of securing pirated television data streams to the current state of American television. I have, through unspecified but assuredly legal means, managed to get completely caught up on the new seasons of Lost, South Park, and Sopranos. Additionally, I've begun watching 24 from its inaugural first season, and I've also been watching HBO's new family-oriented drama, Big Love.

I have some thoughts:

Lost should be renamed Isle MacGuffin or Island of Implausibly Baffling Human Behavior (I don't care what you think--the latter title is quite catchy). This show itself is pretty much about convincing home viewers to watch commercials. Oh yeah, and something about some people who survived a plane crash in the south Pacific. In all seriousness, Lost has a few fine actors (notice I said "a few") and beautiful Hawaiian scenery that courageously struggle to survive insipid and moronic script-writing. Each segment tidily stirs tension to a climax right before a commercial break, and the overall achieved effect (even without having to watch commercials) is that the show becomes stiflingly formulaic. Why do I watch? Because I can gleefully ridicule the retarded parade of nonsensical events and feel like I have an IQ of 80 billion. Too bad no one is available to enjoy my loud and raucous commentary ... allow me to assure you of its non-stop wittiness and hilarity.

24, on the other hand, seems to be fairly decent, perhaps the best fare of its genre available on network television. Keep in mind that I've only seen about 3/4 of the first season (later seasons might possibly suck), but so far it manages to be intelligent, interesting, and compelling. However, dark clouds of stupidity gather on the horizon: in the most recent episode I watched, a major character inexplicably and conveniently gets amnesia. She didn't even get hit on the head--she just decided to up and forget everything she knew. Even worse, her reaction to total memory loss wasn't one of fear or frustration, but rather mild embarassment. Whoops! I don't know my name anymore! Silly me! Like she misplaced her car keys or something. Blech. Regardless, I'm giving the show the benefit of the doubt by choosing to believe 24 producers were desperate and poor and thus borrowed a writer from a daytime soap for this episode. Make no mistake, however: amnesia-as-plot-device is among the worst sins television drama can inflict on its audience--its primary effect on me is ironically one of memory loss: I usually forget to watch next week.

And that's it for the network dramas. Even without the actual commercials, network programming is still regularly putrid when you consider how the commercial break functions as the drum to which everyone--producers, writers, actors, and even viewers--march. I hate it, and I wish I weren't so morally upstanding because it would be easy for me to swipe commercial-free television and thereby do my part to deliver a kick in the crotch to the entire corrupt television entertainment system.

In contrast, the shows available on HBO should be far more popular than they are. Solid programming like Deadwood, Carnivale, and Rome demonstrate how wonderful television can be when not saddled with commercial breaks. It's wonderful to see that the first big show to prove this, The Sopranos, is still brutally plugging away, leaving a trail of body parts, cocaine, and cursewords as it swaggers into the sunset. I am of the impression that the Sopranos is collectively the finest theatric endeavor since Shakespeare's final play. It was Tempest, right?

On regular network television, shows respect only the wishes of network management, demographic analysts, political viewpoints, and, of course, advertisers. Occasionally, there will be a safely institutionalized network program (like Seinfeld or Law & Order) that places the wishes and expectations of its dedicated fanbase above all else. The Sopranos, however, is an artistic achievement of the highest order in that it respects the wishes and expectations of no one, not even its hardcore fans (if you don't believe me, you probably still think we're going to figure out what happened with the Chechen gangster) . The Sopranos, the show, seems to care only about gratifying its own mysterious, selfish desires, and it's in this crucial aspect that it mirrors its cruelly self-centered subject matter and animalistic cast of characters. It's less a show and more a raw and powerful force of nature.

So I like it.

Anyway, that's my thoughts on contemporary television. I bet you weren't expecting that, were you? You probably thought I was going to write about how my students are rapidly learning how to manipulate and tame me, their formally-fierce gaijin teacher! Or perhaps read about how I am writing my own reader text because the one available for my freshman class sucks! Ha! Not this post! I like to surprise people! Anyway, all this Sopranos talk has me thinking of gangsters, so enjoy this picture. It's entitled "Gangsterhead2.jpg" but I forget the name of the talented artist ... sorry, whoever you are!

Hark, a Fairy Princess Yonder! (With Unicorns and Kitten!)

This is going to be a short post. I had the pleasure of having a telephone conversation with the always-funny and witty Elizabeth today. Major congratulations, by the way, are owed to her on account of her recent hiring at Toyo University in Tokyo. It sounds like a fantastic job for someone who's well along in their TESOL career, and considering this is Elizabeth's first major teaching job, her new posting is a testament to her tenacity, talent, and dedication to pedagogeratiousness (if that's a word, and, if it's not, then by the powers vested in me by the Department of English at Colorado State University, I hereby coin it). I'm super-stoked for her, and also a bit excited for me as (hopefully) the geographical narrowing will allow us to hang out a little once more.

Anyway, over the phone Elizabeth raved about all the pretty pictures I've been posting on this here blog, and she also announced that she's planning to enter the world of fantasy literature herself. In my estimation, she sounded far more excited about adventuring through books into the worlds of wizards and elf-princes than she did about going to Japan! So I figured that, for my next post, I would search for some internet fantasy art to display on her behalf. Surprisingly, I found an inspiring picture featuring a princess of some sort that looked eerily like Elizabeth! It's at the bottom. Enjoy!

Golden Week!

Greetings friends! This week was "Golden Week" holiday in Japan, so my ordinarily brutal 3.5 day workweek was slashed to one day. Phew! Lord knows I needed a break. Golden Week is a big deal--people travel all over the country and do things with their family. It's kind of like Thanksgiving, but I don't hate it yet.

You might be asking, "What does Golden Week actually celebrate?" Or, "What is the history of Golden Week?" Well, the truth is that no one knows! And by that I mean only the Japanese know, and none of them are telling me. Not in English, anyway.

On Wednesday afternoon, I was sculpting a fierce turtle out of aluminum foil when I heard the rumbling of distant drums. Odd, I thought. Who's drumming? And it sounds like the drums are getting closer. Indeed they were. So I set aside my turtle, put on my sandals, and explored outside, where the answer was found not a block from my apartment. It turns out that the drums were placed inside this massive, ornate, festooned wooden shrine cart-thingy, and people were inside beating the drums and gongs and whatnot. Outside the cart were young girls swinging lanterns or fans, as well as young men strapped to the roof of the shrinne, waving sticks with colorful streamers attached. The entire shrine was being pulled by a team of drunken old men.

How did I know that they were drunk, you might ask? Well, occasionally they would take breaks and pass around cases of Asahi beer in large bottles. Additionally, the pulling people would often disappear into back alleys and discreetly vomit (I'm learning that a lot of Japanese cultural activities involve excessive consumption of alcohol and discreet vomiting) and then get back to pulling the cart. Anyway, if I got completely trashed, and spent a hot, sunny day hauling around a massive shrine/cart thingy loaded with people and drums, I'd probably vomit too.

It turns out that this cart was one of many, and they were parading all day through Mikage, the suburb of Kobe where I live. I must've seen eight or nine carts, each with their own specially-uniformed and color-coordinated crew.

Anyway, with my trusty digital camera I captured some video of the cart and posted it to YouTube.com, which, coincidentally, represents the single-greatest entertainment innovation since the advent of network television. Here's the link.

In other news, I traveled to Minoh, which is far north in the Osaka boonies. There they had this beautiful waterfall that you could get to by traversing several kilometers of beautifully lush and forested terrain. It was awesome, and I took a bunch of pictures. If you didn't get the e-mail link for the pictures, let me know and I'll send you a link.

After Minoh I went into downtown Osaka to relax at a gaijin bar called "The Pig and Whistle." There I met a really strange American guy named Bivin who was starting his own eikawa (conversation) school in Osaka which would teach Japanese students English conversational skills as well as new-agey goal-realization "philosophy". He calls his enterprise (and I'm copying directly from his business card) "Bivins EikawaPlus + Philosophy." You might notice the superfluous "plus" sign. I'm thinking that indicates a BIG addition of philosophy.

Anyway, after talking with Bivins for about 30 seconds, I realized that he doesn't know anything about philosophy. Seriously, he knows absolutely nothing. I'm no expert, but after years spent as Errol's roommate, I feel I am at a doctorate level compared to this guy. He opened his spiel with, "I think we can both agree that there are no absolutes, right?" I immediately replied with the playground retort, "I don't know if I agree, Bivin. Doesn't the statement 'there are no absolutes' indicate the existence of an absolute?" Bivin's mind was totally blown, and so was mine because I couldn't believe that he'd never been asked that before. Anyway, after several minutes of shocked sputtering, he gave me his business card (complete with his website, if you're curious), told me BivinsPlus could use a guy like me, and turned his attention to hitting on drunken Japanese women.

And that's about all that's new right now. My ankles and feet have been mysteriously swollen for a couple of days ... it's like I've been on a plane for an extended period of time, but if that were the case I would still have the sour taste of bitterness and fury in my mouth. Perhaps I was abducted by aliens. Maybe blood is pooling in my feet from sitting around too much during Golden Week. I don't know, but just in case I should get up and walk around for a while.

If something is seriously wrong with the circulation in my feet, and if my feet end up needing to be amputated, then hopefully they can be transformed into computer parts, like in this awesome but creepy CG design for a mouse, by Chris Lomaka. Enjoy!