Category: Exploits

The main reason I didn’t feel like posting until today was:

Yowch.
This isn’t me by the way, I just took the picture. As you can see, I must have made a fine pinhole camera out of a beer can. Not that I remember it that well. As a week early birthday present, we took Bill away from his bar in Nara in order to take him to, you guessed it, another bar. Tramp’s bar in Osaka, where I hadn’t been to for years, but where happy hour is still 180 minutes long. It was a great night, but reminiscing about it in detail still makes me slightly ill. To make a long story short, I think we discovered a shit hot way to feel like Fido’s ass for days on end. A recipe for it would look something like this:
Official Recipe for Fido’s Assmaker
Ingredients:
Mediocre beer (we used Asahi Super Dry, the MGD of Japan)
Cheap tequila (they only had Cuervo, but anything will do as long as it’s warm – this is important!)
Ouzo (also warm – not that it matters with this shit)
B-52s (no comment)
Baked cheese fries (sprinkled with paprika, no garnish – this is completely irrelevant)
Preparation:
Show up late for happy hour with an empty stomach.
Directions:
Pacing yourself against the end of happy hour, after which prices double (not a joke in Japan), inhale as much beer and tequila as possible in a 1:1 pint-to-shot ratio. Note that lack of refrigeration multiplies the nastiness factor of cheap tequila to the point where you can almost forego the salt and lime (heresy, I know). At the halfway point of the evening, pound the Ouzo. Regret it, both instantly and for days hence. At this point, cleanse the palate with cheese fries and beer, and allow the walls to blur quite nicely.
If you are sitting next to guys who insist on staring at your group and making loud comments about you because the possibility that you just might understand their language hasn’t entered their minds, try ignoring them for a while. If their voices rise to more irritating levels because the noise in the bar is getting progressively louder, give them them the look. You know, the crazy gaijin’s gonna stick his foot in your ass and make you his little geisha boy look. Even racist fuckwits deserve fair warning, after all. If they persist, however, and you start fantasizing about escalation and how nice it would be to “accidentally” elbow them in the face on the way to the pisser – sit back as your friend takes the initiative and starts an ad hoc lesson in foreign affairs. Note their shock at your friend’s fluency in their language with smug satisfaction. Prepare for some serious entertainment because you’re just sure that he’s gonna take the piss out of them (it’s time for PAYBACK, baby)… Then watch in utter amazement as he chooses not to do so, and ends up chatting with them like old friends for the next couple of hours. In retrospect, that was the right thing to do, of course, but it would have been so much more fun to write words like, “hamlike fist,” or “smashing right hook,” or the time-tested “tiger uppercut.” Ah, well. I didn’t have my camera, anyway.
Additional Tips:
If you try this recipe in Japan, like us, make sure you hit the bar on open mic night. It’s a whole new world of irritation to hear a guy alternatively moaning “hey mannn,” “oh maaaaan,” and “hey maaaaaannnnnn,” with a Japanese accent into the mic for thirty minutes, but luckily, the tequila should help take the edge off your nerves. Speaking of which, I must reemphasize the importance of using warm tequila. I am fairly sure that this was a major factor in the earth-shattering headache I experienced the next day. And of course, the Ouzo did its job by making me feel sickly for a few days.
I may have gotten off lightly, though. I received the following mail to my phone the next day:

From: xxx
Date: Sun, 18 Apr 2004 10:40:35 +0900(JST)
To: Justin Yoshida
Subject: ouch
woke up in an alley behind my local train station..must have taken a cab…

The poor guy doesn’t remember that I put him in it, and that he couldn’t tell the cab driver his whole address because he kept falling asleep after reciting the city, Higashi Osaka. After the third try, the cab driver agreed it would be best to let him sleep it off some and ask him again after getting to the general vicinity. Guess that didn’t work out too well…

Last night, I ordered tickets to the Nagoya Sumo Tournament in July for myself and 11 other lucky peeps (You can order Sumo tickets for any of the Nihon Sumo Kyokai-sanctioned tournaments through English language websites by following the links on the official page. For unsanctioned matches, visit any university judo dorm after the mat-burned, caulifower-eared judo-ka are done with their circle jerks and herd into the baths for communal back rubs.).
It’s gonna be an OG-style Cosmic Buddha roadtrip! I think the last time we did one of these was back in college! Characteristically, we are still lacking a good bass player. No worries, though, we always find someone at the last minute. Since I only have 9 solid members for a total of 12 tickets, I guess I can bribe some random bassist if it comes to that.

From: sumo@chunichi.co.jp
Thank you very much for buying your Grand Sumo Nagoya Tournament tickets through us.
Sagawa Express will deliver your tickets to the address you entered.
Please pay the delivery person for the tickets at the time they are delivered.
Sub-total: 123,600yen (including tax)
Shipping fee: 950yen (including tax)
Amount billed: 124,550yen
If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to contact us.

QUESTION!: Why the HELL don’t you have a different payment system going you stupid idiots? Ten years ago if you asked ANYONE IN JAPAN to hand over a grand in cash over to ANY EMPLOYEE of SAGAWA EXPRESS, you would be laughed off the World Wide Web. Aside from the fact that very few people keep over a hundred thousand yen in cash on top of their getabako (shoe box) next to their inkan (personal seal/stamp), WHY THE FUCK WOULD WE WANT TO HAND OVER THAT MUCH MOOCH TO THE EMPLOYEE OF A TROUBLED COMPANY KEPT AFLOAT BY ITS PRESIDENT BRIBING GOVERNMENT OFFICIALS WITH OVER FOUR MILLION DOLLARS IN ORDER TO KEEP BANKERS FROM COLLECTING ON THEIR DEBTS?
Actually, that doesn’t concern me so much as the fact that I have to prepare exact change. I hate that the delivery company guys never carry any change when they go out on daibiki (cash on delivery) runs. I mean, if the pizza boy can do it, you should be able to, too.
Disclaimer: The above rant about former Sagawa Express President Hiroyasu Watanabe was not intended to be critical of modern-day Japanese gangsters (who by the way, almost never cut off fingers), and yes I am aware that with the present day economic situation you could probably bribe a politician with Hello Kitty seat covers for his Toyota Prius and a twenty dollar handjob.

Wow. I just wrote the PERFECT POST here and lost it when I accidentally closed the browser window. Hooray for me!
No, I will not attempt to recreate it. That would be like trying to top my harshest drinking record (16 Spirytus shots) – maybe possible, but not without great suffering.
Speaking of Spirytus, I just found out from the distributor’s site that the shit isn’t really meant for drinking as-is (as if we didn’t know before):

Poland is a big, world producer of spirit obtained by the fermentation of grain or potatoes. The purification of the spirit is made by rectification in modern automated plants. Spirit obtained in this way is of an ideal purity; it is natural and serves as the basis of Polish vodka, world famous for their high quality. It is sought by consumers in order to make home made infusions of fruits and for healing purposes.

Me and Bill should be veritable doctors by now judging from all the “healing” we’ve practiced over the years.
Although the site lists the existence of a sissy brother (151 proof), I’ve only ever seen the real deal – 96% alcohol, baby. Why the fuck would they want to copy Ronrico with that half-percentage point 151 proof figure anyway? For those in the know, there can be no substitute. Spirytus separates the men from the boys, everytime.

I have been depressed since this weekend when Nam and I walked past a Yoshinoya (ex-purveyor of gyudon, or “beef bowls”) and saw:
A. A notice on the door informing people that gyudon was no longer being served
B. A gaudy yellow banner proclaiming their new product: Karedon (curry bowl)
C. Not a single goddamn customer sitting at the counters, even though it was lunchtime
This particular branch was in Nara but I saw three more on the way and in Osaka later, that were suffering the same fate. I wonder if Yoshinoya will get on the butadon (pork bowl) bandwagon or not. Then again, who cares? I miss my gyudon, even if I’m not eating rice right now. I guess the next best thing to eating it would be to relive eating it, so without further ado, I present:
Cosmic Buddha’s Ten Steps to Nirvana (AKA The One True Way to eat Yoshinoya gyudon):
1. Order a “nami” (regular size). The reason for this is the perfect topping:rice ratio that is not shared with the larger-sized orders. It is also the best value, something I know is very important to students.
2. Order a nama tamago (raw egg). This will likely be brought out before the gyudon, so get it ready. Add some shichimi togarashi (crushed red chili flakes) and shoyu (soy sauce) into the bowl that the egg is served in, then mix for approximately 10 seconds with chopsticks.
3. When the gyudon comes out, dump some beni shoga (red ginger condiment) toward the edge of the bowl.
4. With your chopsticks, make a conical depression in the center of the mounded topping all the way down to the rice.
5. Pour the prepared egg mixture in the depression. Wait 5-10 seconds to allow some absorption into the rice layer.
6. Raise the steaming bowl of beefy goodness to your lips and shovel as much into your maw as humanly possible.
7. Repeat step 5.
Note: If you are an Asian (or in my case, Asian-looking) man, making loud lip-smacking sounds is both encouraged and expected within this context. But then again, if you had to be told that, you probably won’t be comfortable doing it anyway.
8. Slurp down some tea.
9. Repeat steps 5 though 8 until finished with your meal.
10. Make the obligatory Groan and Sigh of Contentment, and if you are over the age of 35, pick your teeth openly and with complete disregard to other customers.

I once drank a pinchful of vibhuti, sacred ash, dissolved in a cup of water at the insistence of a crazy white guy I met in Japan who was a follower of Sai Baba. He told me great things about Sai Baba and how he conjured this ash from nothingness.
Now, I am fascinated with India and always have been – it’s high on my “to experience” list – but this one point regarding the ash always gnawed at me. I mean, really, why ash? Why not something useful like powdered milk to feed the hungry masses or graphite powder for lubricating squeaky rickshaw axels? The guy didn’t offer an explanation as to what kind of ash it was but it smelled like sandalwood. Maybe it was the feathery ash of burnt incense ground down to a fine powder. Either way, this guy insisted that I would pretty much feel a warm healing power streaming from my chakras as soon as I downed this cup of ash-water. Well, some did get stuck in my teeth and tasted gritty, kind of like a faceful of sandy water when you play in heavy surf at the beach and get tossed around, but the waves of energy simply did not appear. It was not for lack of effort, I really wanted to feel the rush as described, but it just did not happen.
I think Sai Baba should implement a Quality Plan and get ISO certification if possible. I think I got a bad batch of ash that day.
Update: There may be some image problems to work out, too.

The woman and I woke up at 5:00 to be greeted by the coldest morning of the year (so far). The sky was dark and opening the curtains let in a wave of cold that assaulted my bare feet with pinprick chills. The stiffened tatami mats crackled underfoot as I stumbled out the door into the hallway, where the first breath of air always seems to suck every last bit of warmth from my body.
But onward we go!
I am currently blogging on a hydrofoil that is taking us from Sumoto to Kansai International Airport… Is blogging from a hydrofoil unique? I dunno, but it is making me kind of ill.
Laters, true believers.

Incidentally, Cosmic Buddha’s GF recently shared a scary story about a women’s restroom at the rear of a temple she visited in Thai a couple years ago. Apparently there was a dead rat floating in the barrel used for holding water used for “flushing”. She fled in abject horror but didn’t have the heart to tell the nice monk who was showing their group around the temple.
Disclaimer: This temple obviously did not fall under the authority of Cosmic Buddha. We have flushing toilets at all of our temples, for both sexes.

Did you know that “raccoon” can also be spelled “racoon,” and did you know that raccoons get serious wood sometimes? I had no idea either, before our little day trip to Nazo no Paradise (Paradise of Mysteries) on my little island, Awajishima. The place is located about 40 minutes away from my pad in Sumoto and is touted as a backwoods kind of amusement/attraction. Everyone I asked about it would not specify exactly what the attraction was, so we really had no idea what to expect…

Walking down this scenic little valley, you would never expect to find yourself in a room full of shrines dedicated to (mostly) raccoon boners, would you?
Click the link below for more pictures. (Note: You’ll poke your eye out! Not work safe.)

Continue reading “Traditions & Boners Galore” →

Bad News first:
Forgot to call home for my mom’s birthday. The doghouse in which I currently reside is quite dark, to better accomodate hiding.
Much Better News:
1.
Weather was absolutely brilliant. Drove to Nara in approximately 12 parsecs. Sylvia was at the top of her game and we ate a Skyline GT-R for lunch. Shame, shame.
This guy had serious “GT-R: King of Road” machismatic issues or something, because he suddenly floored it when I moved to pass. It had not been my intention to challenge him at all, I just wanted to get off the island quickly in order to reach Kobe before traffic started, but this bitch move got under my skin real quick… Really not much I could do about that as he was simply driving the faster car, but I cursed him – and it worked: GT-R boy found out just how front-heavy those type-32 Skylines really are when he stepped on the gas and pushed hard through a long downhill curve… When he hit a bump coming out of it, the car’s rear jounced down hard, and let me tell you son, those tires were smokin’. He started to fishtail so I dropped back and watched as he almost oversteered (jerk the wheel Left, then Right, then Left, then…) into the guardrail at warp speed. What a show!
We passed him as he was shitting brick, mortar, and trowel in the slow lane. Homeboy had a white-knuckled kung-fu DEATH GRIP on the steering wheel and was watching the road VERY INTENTLY so perhaps did not see me waving to him.
Then my radar detector saved us from doom further down the road. This was the third time in as many weeks. (Props to god for mostly limiting the Dark Ones around me to detectable speed guns and fixed cameras that are often out of film.) I would just like to make a quick note here that as far as type-32 Skylines go, I find that skilled drifters tend to choose the GTS-T version over the vaunted GT-R, probably because it leaves more to the driver. My cousin who recently stopped racing (and now drives a big-ass Hi-Ace van – LOL!) confirmed this; he also drove a GTS-T.
2.
I called together some cousins (literal) and friends for a night out. It was fun. Good conversation. Good tunes. Good people. Partway through the night I went seriously Otaku with my keitai camera and went so far as to make drunk people pose for multiple takes. Then I got into the “mini Photoshop” app on my phone and created some seriously scary photos with various effects/filters. At the time of this post, some can be seen on the right column of this page (they will automatically be replaced as I post new pics) . You can see them all, anytime, on my moblog.
3.
Nam and I drove home yesterday evening, directly into a red sun framed by blue sky and the last remaining wisps of silver clouds. When the sky reddened and turned the horizon into a pinkish band of fire, for some strange reason it reminded me of Tatooine. Except that the Jawas were driving Corollas instead of Sand Crawlers, and my destination (the port at Sumoto) does not accomodate space vessels (yet). Go figure.
It seemed a bit too cool to keep the windows open all the way, but the sun’s rays made it too warm to close them. I compromised by closing Nam’s and leaving mine open, which usually suits us both just fine (How can girls sacrifice the sensation of wind blowing through their hair just for the sake of appearance? Use a good gel or something for chrissakes!). This was a nearly ideal drive home to the island:
Left ear: Soundgarden, loud.
Right ear: Soundgarden, in a storm.
Purring engine, green hills streaking by, fiery sun reluctantly passing reign to sister moon… Damn that was a sweet drive!
I took some pictures with my phone while driving (how many laws is that breaking?) and a few turned out OK, I’ll post them after renaming them later.