Author: Justin

The Office

Having heard great things about original UK version of The Office, and not-so-great things about its American remake, I promptly illegally downloaded purchased Seasons 1 & 2 of the UK DVD-rips DVDs and (ahem!) legally procured all available versions of the American show (up to episode 3) to find out for myself.
The verdict: I can understand how easy it is to jump on the naysaying bandwagon about remakes (my personal nightmare as realized by Hollywood: La Femme Nikita), but I strongly suspect a lot of the people talking shit haven’t even seen the UK version. I laughed as much during the American episodes as I did the UK ones, and think that if anything, they compliment each other brilliantly – even the subtle contrasts in office environment, for example, offer a peek into the core differences of our societies (I don’t imagine there will be many mid-day drinking scenes in the office in the US version, for instance). The overall comedy styles are quite different, but more importantly, they are entirely compatible. Sometimes seeing the same scene in the UK version as performed by the US cast makes for great comedy in itself. I think a lot of hard work by the cast and creators has paid off for both versions.
Now I’m just waiting for a “The Kaisha” spinoff starring Salaryman.
(Thanks to Mandy for getting me interested in this show; Wattstax review coming soon)

In the Inbox

From the girlfriend (who never bothered to get her driver’s license until now):
“How are you doing? It is very hot today!
I am happy to be driving everywhere, I can turn left and right and turn around!
Unbelievable!
(Don’t say that I can’t drive anymore! Bitch! I can do if I want to do! hahaha!)”
Is it obvious why I love this woman (and are these awesome English teaching credentials or what?).

Spin Cycle

Ten days ago, my girlfriend went back to Thailand to gather material for her doctorate.
Nine days ago, I woke up with a hangover the size of Uluru and felt nauseous as well as lonely.
Eight days ago, I washed a huge pile of dishes and decided from then on to use the same frying pan, plate, and set of chopsticks until my girlfriend gets back in mid-May (actually, I’m kind of lying because the plate has hardly been used).
Seven days ago, I did a load of laundry but forgot to hang it out to dry (there are no dryers in Japan as the Shinto and Buddhist faiths explicitly prohibit static electricity).
Six days ago, I added more clothes to the damp load in the washer and cycled it again, but forgot to hang it out to dry.
Five days ago, I added more clothes to the damp load in the washer and cycled it again, but forgot to hang it out to dry.
Four days ago, I added more clothes to the damp load in the washer and cycled it again, but forgot to hang it out to dry.
Three days ago, I added more clothes to the damp load in the washer and cycled it again, but forgot to hang it out to dry.
Two days ago, I added more clothes to the damp load in the washer and cycled it again, but forgot to hang it out to dry.
Yesterday I ran out of boxers. Normally I would just recycle them since I’m in bachelor mode, but I haven’t had to recycle shorts for so long that the thought of it actually bothers me a little bit. I packed the entire wash into a huge trash bag and walked to the laundromat looking like a hobo. When I arrived, there was a girl sitting on the dryer, and I was of course wearing no shorts under my blue jeans…
THE END

Hitori de Hanami

Yesterday was my company hanami. I didn’t feel much like drinking from noon, so I went at around four-fifteen. It’s only about fifteen minutes up to the top of Magata-yama, where it was being held, so I bought a tall can of Asahi at the bottom of the hill and hiked up. I looked for my party for half an hour and they weren’t there, so I sat under a secluded grove of sakura, sipped my beer, and went back home.
The people at work obviously have no idea what a real hanami is.

Jackpotting Japanese Vending Machines

High school dropouts, strung-out junkies, and fucked gaijin, behold:
mamalemon.gif
This is all you need to jackpot vending machines in Japan.
I’ve seen evidence of it poured down coin slots of every make and model of jihanki, but passersby usually mistake it as simple vandalism rather than evidence of (usually attempted but not successful) theft. Hearsay in my college dorm was that older machines are more likely to produce coins (via return slot) than newer ones, and lengthy debates were held on the question of whether other brands of dishsoap would work as well as MamaLemon, pictured above.
Basically, the entire jackpotting phenomenon* exists mainly because:
A. Japanese college students are unchallenged, lazy, immoral dumbfucks
B. The 500 yen (approx. $5) coin makes it worthwhile
*Not to say this is as widespread in other areas, YMMV. Also, not everyone notices shit like this; I just have an eye for it.

Wrong Number

Through some incredibly crappy piece of cosmic fate, my home phone number is a single digit off from the number of the office running a ferry service down at Sumoto Port. This makes for some interesting phone calls sometimes, usually people who ask when the next boat is leaving, etc. Usually I’m pretty cool about it, but recently, I’ve been a big asshole about wrong numbers because my girl is back in Thailand and when the phone rings, I assume it’s her.
Yesterday the phone rang at 4:30 AM and I was like, “mmmgggrrrrcoughcoughgegege – whello?”
“What time does the next ferry leave?”
Oh, for the love of christ! “WRONG NUMBER, ASSHOLE!” Click.
That was bad enough, but later that night, after I got back from work and was in a generally pissy mood since I hate coming back to a dark house (sniff!), another call for the ferry schedule came:
“When does the next ferry leave,” a naggy-voiced dumb bitch wheezed into the phone.
Half in spite of the earier caller, and because I have the new ferry schedule memorized, and ALSO because I HATE naggy voices AND dumb bitches, I decided to play along: “It leaves at 10:40 PM.”
“OMG there’s no time, I totally won’t make it, right?”, she says.
“Can you hurry?”, I ask (knowing full well I am going to hell for this).
“Could you ask them to wait a couple minutes for me?”, she pleads.
“Hmmm… Not really, but you might make it if you run… RUN! RUN!” Click.
*As a sidenote, I came that close to walking down to the pier to see if she made it or not.

Return of the Kancho Sense

Azrael’s site (the “I am a Japanese school teacher” dude) is back up! Check out the latest installment of his adventures here.
“I make it back to the haven of the teachers room…but not the man I once was. No, I was once a proud pillar of Anti-Kancho, Dickdodging magnificence. Now, I limped gingerly back to my seat, my tail between my legs, my ass no longer pure. This was definitely not in the contract.”
This is some seriously funny shit.