Yoshida-Machino Futon Cleaning, Inc.

On my first trip to France, I fell in love with Paris. It just felt like home for some reason.

Mostly this was thanks to Taro's girlfriend at the time. Her father was some Spaniard nouveau rich hombre dude who hit the lottery. All other aspects of her life were offbeat, as well. I think she was a gypsy, and I mean that in a "spinning dervish nomadic salt of the earth" type of way. She and Taro had met on his 2-year journey across Australasiurope (easier to show on a map than describe it with words), and he had spent 6 months with her living on the streets of Paris with interesting people.

I met some of them after spending a few days in Bordeax with friends (and my dad!). Nighttime arrival to the cold, foggy streets of Paris was kind of a shock after the hot afternoons sampling sparkling wines in St. Emilion. We got lost a while but eventually found the squatters camp where Taro's friends were sleeping. Every last one of them were icons of Parisian street culture. Nose rings, tattoos, passable English, and real friendly to friends of friends. We spent a few nights partying out with them. They had these wild ghetto parties, where the commotion would start in a single apartment room then spread to surrounding rooms and eventually the whole apartment complex. Only still images of those nights flash through my mind when I try to recall everything that happened. Egg-sized balls of nepalese choco shaped into miniature Incan gods. Karaoke speakers pushing the voice of would-be Solaars so hard the cones cracked, then disintegrated. Olive drab cots covered with yellowing futons that leaked cottony entrails onto a beer-damped carpet. And a guy who looked Laotian.

The next day, in one of those strange coincidences that utterly convince you that everything is somehow connected, Taro brings up a new business idea. Apparently he had not not seen the futon I described above, but had noticed other futons that his friends used and proposed that we start a futon cleaning business. To this day I have no idea if he was serious or not, but I ran with the idea in a flurry of verbal diarrhea: Funto cleaning? I have zero knowledge of the subject! Oh, you want to bring an somebody who has experience here? Why not just airlift an old man and his entire shop from the riverside in Kyoto and set him up in front of the Arc?

For some reason, this idea never got past the early discussion stage.

Before we came back to Nippon, there was another futon coincidence. We were at the street markets watching these African guys cook bright red sausages over oil drum fires. These are the goat sausages called marguez that sometimes have hair in them; they are the ultimate ghetto food and melikeslikeslikes. Stuffed in baguettes ala kebab, these were second in yumminess only to roast duck on that trip. I walked through the market and browsed while stuffing my face, pink grease streaming down my chin - ah, the joy of unashamed public gluttony! We passed through stalls offering cheap clothes, toys, junk. It was refreshing to see cheap clothes and oily plastic products from somewhere other than Asia for a change. We saw clothes made in Senegal, and a teacup made in Luxembourg (!). Then we came upon the drums.

There were several adjacent stalls selling hand-made djembes, ashikos, and other hand drums. It was a sea of drumming wonderfulness. These were the real deal, hand-carved from wood with rough metal fittings or (depending on price) intricate hand-tied webbing for holding on the goat skin heads. I could not help but taste the spicy sausage stuck in my teeth and wonder if I could buy a whole animal bit by bit... After all, there were those leaf spring knives with goat horn grips at the earlier stalls.

To make a long story short, I bought a shitload of djembes. As in, too many to carry home. Far too many. Taro's girlfriend offered to send them to me if I would send her some disposable hand warmers and a futon from Japan in exchange. I asked why she needed a futon. Apparently her sister's had gotten funky and stank to high hell no matter how many times it was hand-washed, because the filling started to mildew before it could completely dry...

Does anybody know if there's a futon cleaning shop in Paris now?

Headlight & Horn Etiquette

I must limit the scope of this rant because the full breadth of the topic would require too much thinking.

In Japan, drivers use their horns and headlights in ways that [A] baffle visiting Americans and [B] are extremely dangerous. The retardedest element of this usage is its foundation in etiquette. The Japanese use car horns and headlights to be courteous.

In Japan, drivers that stop at a red light will often dim their headlights so as not to shine at oncoming traffic at the other side of the intersection (or at the car stopped directly in front of them). This is the single most dangerous practice covered here, and can be observed at night anywhere in Japan. As stated above, this is considered a common courtesy by what I would judge to be around half of all Japanese drivers. In fact, this practice is so widespread that a lot of people think it's required by law, and a lot of drivers fail to think that dimming headlights at night is a dangerous practice at all (BTW, if you can't tell by now, I fucking disagree).

Last year an oncoming Celsior-weenie flashed me from the other side of the intersection with high beams a few times after I refused to dim my headlights (he signaled desire for me to do so by flipping low beams on and off a few times). In fact, after the signal turned, he chased me down the street, continuously flipping high beams, until I pulled the parking brake and spun hard right to block the whole street at 90 degrees, hopped out, and offered to show him why I prefer a field hockey stick to a baseball bat in the trunk (lighter, faster, longer, weighted at front, sharper edge, curved end for hooking moves, hardwood only where it counts - on the tip). But you digress.

Ironically, one of the new driving safety campaigns launched this year pushes to have headlights on at all times of the day for better visibility. I think you can see the punch line coming: Even the domo-arigato robot mindslaves who now drive with their headlights on all day TURN OFF THEIR HEADLIGHTS WHEN WAITING FOR A SIGNAL. I see them doing this during the day, and can only assume they do it at night as well. During the day I don't see any functional purpose to this at all, it's kind of like watching a salaryman bow during a phone conversation with a customer. Man, I should film a documentary on this. I'd call it "Road Etiquette in Motion: Blood on the Asphault Part II".

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I?m finishing this post today (Monday); I started writing it last week but stopped because thinking of all the assholes on the road made me grimace at my desk and my co-workers probably thought I was about to go postal. I think they must have told my manager, who asked me if I was OK at the end of the week. Grrrrrrr. (People always ask about the things I miss most about home: Cocktail lunches and bargain bins of birdshot at Ammo Barn.)

Anyway, a few points about common horn usage in Japan:
- Courtesy soundings of the horn are short, long soundings bear the universal meanings of, in order of importance, ?oh shit, I?m gonna crush you but perhaps this beep will soften the impact somewhat!,? ?move your arse, pops!,? ?if I didn?t know any better, I?d think red-green color blindness had jumped the gender gap, bitch, thanks for running the signal so carelessly!,? and ?fuck you, asshole!?
(Digressively Amusing: The middle finger is understood somewhat by Japanese somewhat because of exposure through western movies although the meaning of ?Fuck You? is never properly translated [Note to subtitlists: ?Zama miro!,? ?chikusho!, and ?kutabare!,? are not good translations. ?Kuso!? is ?shit!? which is sometimes interchangeable depending on situation but sometimes bears another meaning entirely. If you want to hear a proper translation, try cutting me off sometime, but beware that I gave away my hockey stick as my handmade scythe from Kumamoto {In Swahili, this Japanese city name means ?burning vuhjaina? - no lie} fends off evil spirits much quicker]. Most of the times you flip people off, they bow in apology, although once the Jeep I was borrowing came under Yak Attack and the aviator-sunglassed 893 [Ya-ku-za, get it?] basically broke his Gucci-soled foot kicking my solid steel bumper, but that?s another story and my digression is now longer than the original point.)
- In standard Hornspeak, one short sounding means ?Thank you!,? or ?Be aware that I am here!?. Two short soundings in reply is ?You?re welcome!,? or ?OK, I see you!?
- ?Thank you!? is sounded in any variety of situations where Japanese feel the need to be polite (in other words, everywhere, all the time). Some of the more common usages include: When you let somebody into your lane on the highway or pull in front of you from somewhere. When you stop at the mouth of a narrow street or chokepoint to let incoming cars pass through first (this may be the most common usage because of the sheer number of narrow roads in Japan). When you want to freak people out by saying ?Thank you!? in random and completely inappropriate situations (that?s my primary usage, anyway).

A Typical Example of COMBINED Horn & Headlight Usage I Saw This Very Day:
Black Civic (Note: As is the case in southern California, drivers of this car in Japan are also usually Asian, although not so many of them are named Phuong or Vinh) in front of me slows down and >>flips headlight on and off twice<< to signal an oncoming bimbobox (yes, I am Hiroprotagonist) it is OK to cross our lane and enter a book store?s parking lot. Bimbobox performs said maneuver and in mid-arc >>double-taps horn<< to say ?Thank you!?. Black Civic answers with obligatory >>single honk<< as the oncoming car completes the turn, ?You?re welcome!?. Black Civic resumes forward motion, but stops at the intersection 20 meters ahead because the light has turned red during this elaborate show of courtesy. I >>lean on horn<<, roll down the window, and >>shower great sentiments<< of hate, despise, and homicidal wonderfulness at the idiot for making me even later to work.

Of course, the moral of this story is, I ended up following the Black Civic into the parking lot at work and received an angry stare from the driver, a.k.a. personnel section manager who works down the hall from me. Moral Summary: Mondays Bite Ass.

Ketchup vs. BBQ Sauce

First on my hit list: Ketchup vs. BBQ Sauce (I've always thought that "catsup" sounds like what a starving family in Pyongyang does to celebrate Our Great Leader Day.

Official notice to all employees of McDonalds (Would you like that Oppression Value Set Super-Sized?) located in Japan: KETCHUP IS NOT THE SAME AS MCNUGGET BBQ SAUCE, NOR CAN YOU CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE. EVER. PERIOD.

In retrospect, I wish I had written this rant years ago, because although I have educated hundreds of drive-through females (I say this, interestingly enough, because none have been males.) verbally or with "this stuff's made in NYC!" type gesticulations, I have never been formally recognized as the man who brought Heinz Awareness to tha Land o' RizinSunz (not Tatooine). Let me tell you, I NEED THE RECOGNITION. When ah pimp-strolls my fly ass into Da Place Ta Be I wants All Eyes On Me sos I can gets tha Repsect (t'all ya unedjucated beeg: tha's short for "representacional sectapularae") I Gots Comin for bein the Ketchupundit. [Note: I will never let you think I am crazier than I think I am]]<--//redundant bracket added for effect.//<--double slashes r tha shiznit, too// //// //////<--not hubris, just boredom. //ENUF!

Back to ketchup:
Up until a few years ago it was a 50/50 proposition of being able to get ketchup for your fries at a Mickey D's in Japan, or at any fast food joint, for that matter (exceptions: The sole Carl's Jr. (not JR) in Osaka that eventually went bust, the Wendy's chain, and possibly RaRiRuReRo Burger in Saga Prefecture, although this last one was not confirmed because the staff was too busy talking to their stylistic-hickster friends visiting the shop, so we walked out before ordering.). The prepackaged individual serving ketchup packets, later to be replaced by plastic minicups, were not widely available at MC Donarudo's (yo why you frontin', GriMase?) until Y2K, if memory serves me correctly (and hasn't been corrupted by the millennium bug). However, packets of BBQ sauce have been distributed freely since the advent of McNuggets (I will not stoop down to McNugget joke levels.), and when ketchup was asked for, the BBQ sauce packets would often appear instead.

The first time this happened to me I was sure it was because the girl (obviously not Employee of the Month material) didn't read the writing on the packet (which is an alternative lyric for junkies/haxxors singing that Simon & Funkgargle tune) and slipped me the Bullzeye 'stead a the Hinez. It took a few repetitions of this type of "mistake" to figure out that:
A. McDonalds had no packs of ketchup
B. When I asked for ketchup the staff couldn't figure out why I wanted it
C. When I explained it was for the fries (incidentally called "fried potato" in Japan, always singular even in reference to multiple fries), I was educating AMERICAN BURGER CHAIN EMPLOYEES about American (and thus, proper) fast food condiments.

Wow, isn't that cool? Did you have any idea that JAPANESE WERE IGNORANT ABOUT THE FACT THAT FRENCH AKA "FREE-DUMB" FRIES ARE EATEN WITH KETCHUP IN EVERYWHERE EXCEPT THE PLACES STATED BY JOHN TRAVOLTA IN THE MOVIE PULP FICTION UNTIL I SPREAD THE WORD (and saved them from becoming EUroweenies)? OK, so maybe it was not just me. But I hope to KKKapitalize on the documentation of this as much as I have capitalized above.

with my deepest apologies, there will be no more big letters today, sir.

some assorted facts related to this ketchup rant:

- i was also solely responsible for the size of the ketchup minicups doubling after mcd's initially replaced the packets with these peelable foil-topped minicups that were too shallow to dip into and in fact forced americans all over japan to roll fries individually in the cup, and contained only enough ketchup for exactly 8.72 normal-length fries. i complained really loudly about the miniscule size of the minicups to my sister when she visited from the states a couple of years ago, to which she replied "it's good to see you are concerned about important issues". ouch, wench. that smote. well the joke is on you, because obviously #somebody# heard me bitching, cause the new improved double size version of ketchup packaging came out a few months later. you see, it pays to be vigilant and outspoken (although people often want to knock your teeth out).

- there are still mcdonalds branches in japan that do not stock individually packaged ketchup. i don't mean they are out of stock, wither, i mean it is a standard practice not to stock ketchup for fries (are the savings passed on to us?).

- some branches that do not stock individually packaged ketchup will instead fill a plastic dipping cup used for in-store mcnugget dipping (or sometimes even a paper cup!) with ketchup and cover it with saran wrap (if it's a take home order). can you spell "wetawded"? this being japan, they will of course place the contingency conveyance contraption (tm) in a separate bag and fold the bag neatly with an upwards pleat on one corner, taking up another precious ten seconds as sweat drips down your face and the nonexistence of your car's ac has you in the mood to throttle the pimply headphone-donner (even if only to stop her unbefuckinglievably high-pitched squeal-like-a-pig voice).

- nugget bbq sauce tastes like ass. (mustard is the only other sauce available as a standard in japan, though they originally had sweet 'n sour as well and occasionally come out with new flavors during limited times.)

- for some reason i went through a tabasco and mayonnaise craze and would carry these two condiments on me on fast food foraging forays during college

- kimchee and mayonnaise liberally applied between the patties and top bun of a double cheesburger are the signs of a true connoisseur. this particular combination could vanquish any iron chef (ground beef theme) contender, sakamoto included.

- i have honestly felt the need to write this rant for the past 7-8 years. obviously,7-8 years ago its entirety could have been summed up with "japanese do not use ketchup on fries", but damn am i glad i got this enormous burden off my chest.

as an end note, i would like to state my intention to reinstate capitalization with my next post

i would also like to give props to the man, james lileks, who has prevented me from turning out any substantial work whatsoever for the past several months as i caught up with several years of his web journal (www.lileks.com/bleats/). he inspired me to write this ketchup rant mainly by being so prolific, but also by being logically opinionated in ways i can agree with (or at least understand) most of the time. i just felt that he never gave japan's ketchup problem the attention it deserves so i stepped up to fill his clogs.

he is also the main reason i must reinstate capitalization (bifocals for beeg's sake!).