Oki All Day!

Okinawa! The tropical get away of Japan. Basically Japan’s Hawaii but a lot closer. I went there with a friend. Below are some pictures.

So what is Oki All Day? It’s a T-shirt we saw a surfer girl wearing the day we landed and struggled endlessly to find all over Oki. When we finally found the shirts (available in only one place in Okinawa!) they were sold out of our massive gaijin power sizes. But Oki All Day isn’t just a shirt – Oki All Day is a lifestyle. And we lived it:

Wake up early go for a swim, scale the beach for Japanese sea treasure, cruise around the island and go sightseeing, get back to the beach before sunset, swim, make friends (cuz everyone’s friendlier in Oki), eat, and say goodbye to the sun slowly while toasting Chu-His, get hammered, light off fireworks on the beach with Japanese locals and tourists alike, sing karaoke with our Oki friends/bartenders (free drinks for partying), go to bed, wake up and Oki All Day again. If you still have questions about what I did there just watch Karate Kid Part II – or just watch this clip. It was like that, too. Everyday.

Kyoto again

Nara

Kobe Pictures

Osaka Pictures

Sakura season

I can’t explain cherry blossoms. I’ve asked several people and none of them can appropriately express what they see in the blossoms either. Maybe the English language doesn’t have the descriptive words necessary to detail them. It’s a Japanese thing. Whatever the reason, the unofficial answers to my poll are as follows:

• Pink
• Fluffy
• Beautiful
• Delicate
• Different
• Pink
• Fluffy

Fucking groundbreaking. It’s an ineffable feat in all actuality. They are flowers on trees. You must look up at them as in reverence not down as if tending to something. They live approximately three weeks before the wind disperses their pedals over everything. They are a reminder of the transience of beauty. Their beauty exists for a short period of time and eventually fades revealing new beauty in the bare branches.

Of course beauty is relative, but I don’t shutter at most things in nature. Even when paired with the background of hideous modern, Japanese style apartments, the drab concrete and awkward tealish, egg-nog, and gray hues glow behind the blossoms.

Many sakura trees line a river near my house. As I walk  by  my heart would gain a beat. All of this gushing comes in response to my first sakura season – they have not become a habitual beauty   – much like the autumn foliage in New England.  I still find the fall leaves of New England beautiful, but they have become an inherent part of my emotional response to nature’s vanity.

I don’t remember my first snowfall. When it happened I was too young to remember anything. I grew up with snow. I find snow beautiful but it has existed on my nature’s palate from before I can remember. I’ve met people who have seen the ocean for the first time and have met people who have seen snow fall for the first time. Some are fearful, joyful, tearful, elated, euphoric – whatever. Each time they view the ocean after, or witness another snowfall their reactions may wane from their initial giddiness, but it links and meshes itself to their pre-conceived perceptions of beauty. I’m not sure how many more times I’ll witness a sakura season, but I hope to always be mindful of their affection.

Now enjoy some fucking beauty:

Some things I’ve noticed

If you live somewhere, anywhere, for an extended period of time you begin to NOTICE things about it.

Japanese people can’t dance: And I’ll specifically talk about girls here because there’s nothing that kills a boner jam quicker than watching a Japanese girl dance. As I see it, music – specifically dance music – lends itself as an instruction manual. The music sends audible directions to your body telling it how and when to move. It’s a physiological response – it’s biology baby.  Japanese people do not have this reactive gene.

Japanese people stiffly gyrate up and down, side to side in no discernible order or rhythm. It’s worse than Elaine. A Japanese girl dances as if she is experiencing rigor mortis concurrently with a seizure. Their body vomiting paired with even shittier club music is a double whammy of shit sucking proportions.

I expressed my unrest to an Aussie friend. After bitching about Japanese girls’ ability to do anything even resembling the hokey pokey, she unwrapped the epiphanic  golden ticket in my mind: Japanese girls have no hips. I have no explanation for guys – maybe because they have smaller woowers this throws off their balance as well. Who knows? Regardless, my Aussie friend is right

An object in motion will stay in motion. What’s that called again? Oh ya, FUCKING SCIENCE. Some turd said that a long time ago, and it applies irrevocably here. The nerd’s even got me talking like a scientist now.

Their thin, hipless bodies do not create enough centrifugal force to stay moving. There’s nothing to orbit around them, either. In an American club, full sized women create a gravitational pull creating an orbit of men whom surround them – mostly unwanted satellites. In Japan, Japanese girls cannot even create this galactic organization of Japanese men because Japanese men are just as shapeless and hopeless in their attempts at two-steppin’.

My Aussie friend told me that she’s been accosted on many occasions at Onsen (Japanese-style spas). She is molested by the women in the bathing room. She told of flesh hungry zombies who Bela Lugosied over to her in pursuit of a squeeze. They squeezed her boobs, legs, ass – they were dumbfounded to find such a shapely creature in their presence.  She didn’t mind lending her body to science and I appreciate her sacrifice in helping me qualify my curiosity.

I can’t express enough my sincere condolences to my penis. It is a travesty beyond travesties to view a good-looking Japanese girl dance. The butterflies in my stomach blow their brains balooey upon sight. That’s my physiological reaction.  Poop.

Mikawa-Toba Fire Festival

The Toba fire festival is one of the several small town festivals that pleasantly litters Japan. It begins in the early afternoon at a shrine in Mikawa-Toba where dozens of business men shed their suits and ties for a piece of loin cloth which looks like a gigantic diaper. Half naked and hammered, they gather in a small shelter next to the shrine and psyche themselves up. Their purpose? To run into the freezing cold February waters.

SHRINE!

There was no shortage of free sake while waiting for the men to incubate their bodies with alcohol. Being white, being surrounded by drunk Japanese, and knowing a little Japanese is all it takes: “O sake wa doko desuka?” (Where’s the sake?)

Japanese guy: “Oh, you like Japanese sake?”

Me: “Yes, I do.”

Japanese guy: “I’ll be right back.”

Sake. In my face.

A short procession was held at the entrance of the shrine, then the men were off. Shoulders crossed running bare foot through the streets, they all shouted in call and response fashion, “AHSHY!”, which probably loosely translates as, “Herro how are you?”

While keeping pace with the men on the outside and taking pictures I turned around to exclaim to a friend, “this is nuts.” I scanned the area and saw him hoisting a cup of sake, arm draped around one of the men, running down the street as part of the parade. I was dragged into  the stampede shortly after. I didn’t even get to scream “ERESHI” twice before sake, flowing from the largest bottle of anything I’ve ever seen was being poured down my throat by a friendly participant. I didn’t even have a chance to check for roofies!

We lightly jogged to the ocean where I unhinged myself from the half-naked pack and watched as they ran, walked, tip-toed into the ocean.

See any brown spots?

I saw a couple of Japanese dudes penis’ as they exited the water. They were weird looking.

FIVE HOURS LATER THIS HAPPENED:

 

THEN THIS FUCKING HAPPENED:

AND THEN MY DICK EXPLODED.

In summation: There were two teams of men; the East Vs. West. Similar to the NBA All-Star game but really not like it at all. Each side rips and wretches at the flaming structure trying to obtain a small tree nestled inside. Depending on which side wins, Japan will be in for a longer rainy reason which will produce healthy harvests. If the other team wins, winter will extend and some wintry stuff will most likely happen. In America we have Punksotawny Phil. After witnessing this Phil will forever be known as Punksotawny Pussy.

The whole thing really reminded me of The Wicker Man without all the Nic Cage female ass whooping:

"Killing me won't bring back your goddamn honey!"

I apologize for of the Double Rainbow-esque commentary in the video. I wasn’t sure how to react, so I just feigned orgasm. After the festival I obtained a piece of torched bamboo from the structure. I was really giddy when I got it. Then I got home and was stuck with a gigantic piece of bamboo that I couldn’t put anywhere or even feed to a panda.

The Golden Pavilion

I photoshopped in the tree for effect

I took a day trip to Kyoto and witnessed the opulent and majestic (big words) Kinkaku-Ji. Also known as the Golden Pavilion, this building and its surroundings were built in the 14th century under Yoshimitsu Ashikaga in anticipation of his retirement from politics. After his death, Kinkaku-Ji was made into a Zen temple in accordance with his final will.

Like most things in Japan, the temple was reconstructed to its current state after a monk burned down the original in the 1950s. For more information on that, use the INTERNET.

I’ll try not to exaggerate in my recounting of what happened upon my first look of Kinkaku-ji, but my eye balls  shit themselves.

There is a sprawling pathway to view the surrounding small buildings and Zen statues which adorn the area. The walk was quite peaceful despite the hoards of photo-thirsty tourists. Living in the city obviously has the the advantages of living in a CITY, but I crave for the serenity of silence which nature offers. So, any glance of nature, despite its human population, is a welcome breeze upon my brain. I was able to put the cluttered tourists on silent mode and mindfully walk the dirt path. It didn’t last long, but lasted long enough to refuel my Zen tank which was running fairly low.

 

This dude's eyes are getting a golden shower

 

This also happened during my trip to Kyoto:

Some things I’ve noticed…

So it’s been about one month since I landed on the island Japan. I have eyes, and can comprehend most things, so like most people, I have started to NOTICE things about Japan. See below:

Bread/Toast – IT’S SO FLUFFY! It looks and feels like the Pillsbury Doughboy’s love child with Snuggle the Bear. Mmm, I definitily tried sleeping on it, since sleeping on futons sucks, but I woke up covered in pigeons – slightly aroused. And bread turns into toast when you TOAST it. Somehow, this pillowy treat retains some buoyancy after a thorough toasting. It’s about the same size horizontally and vertically as American toast, but the sides are just massive. It’s a brick of dough. Yummy.

Skirts – They are short! Here’s my theory: In America, women have boobs and legs and asses (BLA – like a BLT but with ass!).  Since sexuality is such an inherent part of any country’s culture (yes, even Muslim ones – why do you think their religion calls for a burka? So men don’t walk around with brain boners all day), there must be a way for women to feel societally forced into externalizing their anatomy. Western-style women have the three above tools to flaunt. Japanese women have only two.

Eastern women don’t have boobs! (Most of them). The only possible way to sexually externalize their bodies is to reveal their stems. The ubiquitous Japanese school girl skirts (some are not age appropriate) are a requirement for all girls to wear. Some are long, but most are very, VERY short. This is a country mandated requirement! The school clothing starts this trend at a young age, and blossoms into the teensy-weensy outfits women wear out and about. The leg is a sexual tool used in Japan, much like the BLA is in America and other Western cultures; really, any culture with shapely women.  And since most Japanese women are very short, they ALL wear heels to extend their legs.

Imagine that God (he’s a man of course) was a cross dresser and everyday, before causing massive suffering around the world, he slipped on a different pair of feminine footwear which he created, because he’s God. Different lengths, sizes, animal furs, jewels, bows, stripes, lights, and colors oh the colors. Colors you wouldn’t even find in a Home Depot paint section. I marvel every day at women’s feet. I find their footwear viscerally beautiful.

Anyways. Women show a lot of leg here. I don’t mind.

Jews – If you are Japanese and viewing this blog, you may have trouble reading the preceding word. It is spelt J-E-W-S and pronounced JOOZ. I knew that Jews were uncommon in Japan (they’re not very common any where else either), but I did not expect such astonishment and blind bewilderment at the phrase, “I  don’t celebrate Christimas. I’m Jewish.”

I had a (brief!) conversation with a Japanese woman about religion. She asked me, “Are you Christian?” I said, “No, I’m Jewish.” She looked puzzled. Below you will find a rough transcript of me trying to explain JUDAISM to a Japanese women who has never heard of JUDAISM:

Me – Hanukkah?

Her – (confused look)

Me – Israel?

Her – (no idea)

Me – Do you know Jesus Christ?

Her – (very excitedly) Yes, yes!

Me – (using way too many pointless hand motions) Well, Jesus Christ was a Jew before Christianity started. It was the religion BEFORE Christianity.

Her – (feigning comprehension) “Ahhh.”

Me – So, I’m like Jesus.

Her – (Laughing wonderfully)

I threw in the last part because at that part nothing mattered what I said. IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT YOU SAY!

Then again, a  Japenese  client of mine (makes me sound like a gigalo) walked into my office (makes me sound important) saw my name written on the wall, and asked bluntly, “Are you a Jew?” It was such an innocent question – not a trace of the indignation that statement usually carries. In complete shock I slowly mustered, “Yes, I’m Jewish. How did you know that?” “Your name. I heard it in a movie and the character was Jewish.” I was too stunned to even ask which movie. I just kept my dazed eyes on her until we were both seated.

So that’s one month for ya. Bread, misogyny, and blasphemy.

Have fun everyday!