Dear Japan,

You know I love you. I have come to care for you very deeply, and you will always remain very special to me. You know, we shared a lot over this past year and a half, and I hate to write you like this, but perhaps its easier for both of us. I put this letter off for a long time, thinking that you would just go away, but I just can't forget you. So I know this might hurt, but I have to say a few things.

You have a lot of good things going for you. Takuya, for example, will always be there for you. He is a wonderful and hilarious man, and he will take good care of making sure that you don't stay out of too much trouble.

You'll always be able to take solace in the Heinan Gardens in Kyoto, which are amazingly beautiful. Try not to let them get too much sun, will you?











The concrete Toriis - ah, they are interesting. One never knows what will happen when you walk through them. This little gate, for example, leads to one of the most controversial religious sites in the entire world! Remember how a single politician's visit sparked controversy across Asia? It sure doesn't look all that controversial from the outside....





Still - I'm so glad I visited these places while we were spending time together. I spend quite a bit of time considering the historical debate that this place ignites among your citizens (quietly, and with respectful aims towards consensus, of course!) and around the world.

Of course, you aren't afraid of public opinion at all, are you? Perhaps that is part of your charm, that you can be so fascinated with cultures from around the world - yet quietly refuse to bow to even the most torrential international pressure.

(Whale restaurant, anyone?)

Also, I have to tell you that you can sometimes drink a bit too much sake. This can bring out bad behaviour in your friends.


Of course, one of the things I like best about you is your beauty. There is something magical about the marks your citizens have made on the earth.


Thousands of years or thousands of pounds of steel and concrets - you've built some amazing things. In fact, some of them are stacked on top of each other!

Of course, no one is perfect. You have a few really serious fetishes that are a bit much.

Neon, for example. Someone needs to find the Tokyo neon sign guy and chain him up. Just for one week of the year. Please?

Furthermore, you have a shoe fetish that makes the entire cast of "Sex in the City" look like sensible women with a small number of comfortable shoes.

You also have that whole semi-porno cartoon thing going on. Which is cool and all - we all have our private lives - but do you really have to advertise it (and READ it) on the train?



Especially when any self-respecting businessman can so easily blow a week's salary at a hostess bar that provides ACTUAL, live, giggling girls that pour his drinks for him? I mean, you have about ten near every train station, so maybe you could open up a cartoon-porn-reading nook or something? What's that? You have those and they're called "comic book stores?".

Oh well. At least the hostess clubs believe in truthful advertising.

And you take care of them, too! You even have a place for those well paid hostesses to unwind over drinks poured by pretty boys with 70 000 yen haircuts.



So, you know that I love you, Japan. But, as with any pile of sashimi, stack of 1000 yen notes or year and a half of international adventure, all things must eventually come to a close. My time with you has been wonderful, educational, shocking (for both of us, I suppose) and more interesting than I ever hoped it could have been.

I learned several new languages (spoken Japanese, written Japanese, drunken businessman Japanese), made many new friends, and learned an entirely new set of cultural cues. (bow-lock anybody?)

Still, I had to leave you.

Why? Well, I found someone else, you see. Yes, I did know her all along, but now things are getting serious, and you just can't come between us any more.

Cheesy, silly, ridiculous love. You offered a life of adventure, Japan, but at the end of the day I'm going to come home instead. This love is good stuff – I suggest you try it some time. I’ll let you know how the whole marriage thing works out too– most likley with fewer offensive videos.

Anyway, I just wanted to write and let you know that I'm doing well. I'm sure you've got lots of boys that will give you the attention you crave.

I'll think of you often, I promise. Don't worry about me. I'll find some new adventures.

Tokyo, I'll miss ya. Don't offend too many people without me.

I took one last picture of you, from the bus on the way to the airport. I hope you don't mind.

PS: Write back soon.

Rock 'n Roll, a Cola War, I can't take it any more...

Raise your hand if you just hummed "We didn't start the fire..."

I happen to be a personal fan of the 1980s, and if you happen to know that Billy Joel song, you probably are too. The other day, Japan presented me with a can of carbonated awesomeness that I haven't laid eyes on since the heady days of "New Coke". I don't know about you, but while Coke and Pepsi have always been tasty ways to simultaneously feed my caffeine and sugar urges, they have always lacked a certain indescribable quality. Despite dominating the beverage market and the vending machines of my life, I always maintained a can shaped hole in my heart for the lost bit player that stood for the small town cola machines of summer holidays. A cola product, if you will, of my lost youth.

And I found it in the strangest of places. In the local foreign food supermarket in the basement of a Shinyurigaoka departmetn store, there it was. Amid a clutter of American Tabasco sauce flavours and British Twinnings tea variants, stuck in between some strange lemon drink and a case of Kool aid, I saw it...



My sweet blue canned youth!



Royal Crown Cola! It seems like it's been since 1905 that I last tasted your yummy, sugary bubbles.

I know we all have things that remind us of our childhoods, and RC Cola is one for me. Oh...to be a little kid again... back when we had seriously stressful things to deal with, like who we should play with at recess, or what was wrong with jogging pants...or why the hell everyone would start declaring that you liked some girl when you didn't really even know who she was. (Oh, if I could go back and slap some sense into my eighth grade self, man, there would have been some hot PG rated over-the-clothes light petting.)


Of course, one has to remember that the trusty bureaucrats at the Fucked Up Shit Department have been keeping track of various cultural imports. And, after we saw how they dealt with the culinary challenge presented by Korea, we can assume a similarly heavy handed response. Finally, given the amount of nostalgia that is pressed into each and every can of RC Cola, the F.U.S.D. would be well aware that they would have to lay some serious smack down to best RC in the contest to become "Sweet Carbonated Nectar Of My Dreams."

Well, they did just that.



They laid the Smack down, that is.




Literally.





We can always count on the F.U.S.D. to make wonderfully horrific sentences a cultural necessity.

This, ladies and gentlemen, was the actual line I used to acquire a bottle of this fun for my home collection:

Oh waitress, Can I have some more Smack please? To Go?



English Help:

I always maintained a can shaped hole in my heart ; I always kept a special place for (eg, "remembered") for RC Cola.

the lost bit player: a small company/person that tried to compete against a larger company, but lost.

the heady days of "New Coke": "heady" means exciting, as in "things are going to your head". "New Coke" was a brief experiment by Coca Cola to change the taste of their drink. It was a total failure, and Coke brought out "Coca Cola Classic" soon after.

hot PG rated over-the-clothes light petting: elementary school romantic contact. Probably kissing and not much else.

to Smack (verb) - to hit someone/something, often across the face. It has a connection to gangsta/pimp culture. So, to "lay the smack down" is to hit someone, or more commonly, to assert your authority in an aggressive manner.

a Smack: related to the above, a slap or blow. eg: She gave him a smack for looking at other girls.

some Smack: (uncountable noun) (slang): Heroin, a powerful drug.

It's nothing spectacular...

Those crazy people from the Love Chocolate are improving my life again.



I went back to grab another can of Shibuya Mind Eraser Chocolate, and look what I found...





Watashi (私) means "me" or "I" in Japanese. And, let me tell you... naming a chocolate after the first person pronoun is a stroke of brilliance. After all, it already has your name on it.



So... try my love! It's nothing spectacular, but it's got my heart in it...

This has got to be the best dating sales pitch since the heady days of "You must be tired, you've been running through my mind all night", "Free Mammograms!!!" and "Oh...come on... just the tip?"


Man... this can has everything. Yesterday, Me, Love, Begging, Silvery Reflection for contemplating your own soul. It's like an clipart portrait of teenagehood with a sweet chocolate centre.

/bonus points for reversing the polarity on the apostrophe.

Stereotypes

Two things of note happened recently. Both were rare and interesting experiences, and both changed my perspective on living in Japan in subtle yet meaningful ways.

Firstly, some pictures were taken of me recently that I was embarrassed to see. Yep. I managed to embarrass myself, rather than just the usual "strangers", "my friends" or "my poor, suffering mother".

So, of course, I'm posting the pictures.

Incidentally, one of the secrets of karaoke is not to sing songs that you like, but rather songs that are sung by people who are only 3893 times as vocally talented as you, rather than the songs that are sung by people who are 283939 times as talented as you.

For example:

Bad: Seal
Better: Green Day

Some Songs by popular bands may go well because everyone will automatically join in. This saves you having to hear your own voice for at least some of the session. Just remember to pick songs that you KNOW everyone knows.

Bad: Maxwell's Silver Hammer, Revolution #9
Better: Hey Jude, Let It Be


Anyway, I've discovered that if you happen to dredge up some serious 80's stadium rock, it can go reasonably well... or not. The bad news is that there's really no sure way to tell how well you can sing a particular song beforehand.

In my experience...
Bad: Bon Jovi
Better: Guns and Roses.

Surprisingly, a vaguely falsetto "knockin' on heaven's door" can be bearable and hysterically funny. Especially if you take it really really seriously when you are stretching out the chorus bits...



heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyeeaeeaaaa.....

..........aaaaaaooooohhhhhyeeeeaaaahhhhhhhyeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh.....



Hrmm... I also saw some cool stuff.

I'll write more about what I'm smiling at in this picture soon.


私は英語の先生と日本語の学生、ね？　”この写真は登富士山ですから。”