Tuesday, November 07, 2006

Whoa. Looking at Heather Locklear's gigantic eyeballs was freaking me out. Not my norm to post every day, but sheesh, gotta give y'all a break from the orbs.

I gots to give it up to The Dashkins for making me smile today with this little number. Yes, sweets, even though I refuse to have a MySpace, I still can't break myself of lurking.




I love this kind of stuff. I am always thinking to myself that I want to be the kind of person who doesn't just think about doing things like this, or think about jumping in the back of Mini Cooper with two yuppies in it, illegally parked in the taxi zone, waving a fifty and yelling, "Oakland airport, and step on it" -- I want to DO those silly things to snap people out of their day to day. Fabulously absurd.

BTW, that's one of the coolest things about Japan. Anywhere you go and try to interact on a meaningful level with non-jaded Tokyoites is an adventure in absurdity that I always like to imagine becomes a great story that person you intereact with is telling their family when they get home. True, it might well be, "This dumbass American tried to speak Japanese with me today" but most people are so shy, especially about English, and so helpful and polite (when cornered) and never have the opportunity to speak with a foreigner whatsoever that when you do corner them and start in with your mutilated Japanglish, it becomes a completely surreal experience on both ends. We're jaded to foreigners in the metropolises of the United States, but in homogenous and xenophobic Japan, you are the bizarre but totally fascinating monkey, and many Japanese are equally fascinating in their interactions with you.

Once Trevor and I were standing in Shibuya Station debating if we wanted to go home or to Shinjuku to get something to eat when a tiny Japanese woman in a black business suit swooped up to us, chattering in mile-a-minute nearly perfect English, asking us if we were lost and if we needed help. She was like a whirlwind, and before we knew what was happening she was buying our tickets to Shinjuku and telling us where the entrance was and when the next train was arriving and then walking away -- again, in the most flawless, textbook English ever. She never looked at us in our faces, and I honestly cannot to this day tell you what she looked like. Trevor and I stood there stupidly, blown away not only by someone so kind to come up to what looked like two lost tourists (tattooed even!) and help them out, but by the hurricane force that this woman was. After we got on the train we wondered to each other how long she had watched us, getting up the courage to approach us, then nervously and hurriedly flying through her English studies and running away before we could even thank her. Surreal.

I guess this would also be a good time to mention the kind-looking man who came upon us at sunup in Roppongi who, upon finding out our friend Alex was German, did the Nazi salute and said "sieg heil" before smiling and walking away. Surreal.

Another time we took our friend to MOS Burger. Now, our friend is a big boy, and a MOS Burger setto is, well, on the smallish side. Like, 8 french fries to an order small. We ordered our meals, and our friend is like, yeah, it's good, but what the fuck is this tiny thing? So he goes up and orders 5 more burgers. 5 more burgers! The staff was shocked, and I'll bet someone is still telling that story when the subject of giant foreigners comes up. Again, surreal, man -- on both ends.

My favorite MOS Burger slogan is "hamburger, my life." Can't get any more surreal than that.

Just so you know, MOS Burger is quite possibly heaven on earth. In fact, if I could have one of these right now, I might cry with joy. I'm not kidding.


























Aww, and look at this puffy Japanese toast and weak-ass coffee offering. Even this, the bane of all hearty bread and hearty coffee lovers everywhere, makes me a little verklempt. Why must Japan be so expensive to visit, and I be so poor?

4 Comments:

Blogger stardust_savant said...

OMG, that video made me laugh so hard. I almost want to get an XBox 360 because of it. Almost. Well-played, Microsoft.

Love the story about the Japanese woman. I think that would even be a rare thing to happen in America, even here in the South where we have the famous Southern Hospitality.

November 8, 2006 at 8:10:00 AM PST  
Blogger knaakwood said...

The only place I have run into consistent hospitality is Alaska- though you have to watch out that the hospitality does not turn into you being holed up in a cabin and smoking free pot and hitchhiking to hang out at the local bar 10 miles down the stretch every night to listen to a guy playing "Stairway to Heaven" on an accoridon and taking shots of whatever that drunk Japanese businessman on holiday just bought the everyone in the bar and perhaps hooking up with that slightly exotic though perhaps retarded dishwasher chick that you sort of fantasize about when there's nothing else to do and so on and so forth.
'Cause it's bound to happen. I fell into that trap a few times, and God willing I'll fall into it again someday.

But in the lower 48.. shit. If someone is nice to you just means they wanna rip you off.

That's a long-ass comment. Sorry..
The woman's out of town and so, uh, is my self-control.

November 8, 2006 at 5:05:00 PM PST  
Blogger Trevor said...

Wow, Ammie,

Thank you for creating a reminder of so many things I love: MOS burger fresh burgers, shoot-em-ups, Japan, and MOS burger. Did I say MOS burger?

Man, what I wouldn't give to have one of those right now. I'd fly nine hours for one. Now that's an expensive hamburger. Ah yes.

Aishteru!

Hey can you believe it, a woman just asked what we were listening to at the store and when I replied Yo La Tengo, she said, "Thanks, now I know what to avoid." Heh, at least she's direct.

November 10, 2006 at 8:05:00 PM PST  
Blogger stardust_savant said...

I told Mr. Stardust about the Xbox commercial and he sent me this. Why couldn't my university be that cool? (I went to the rival school.)

November 14, 2006 at 5:36:00 AM PST  

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