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read Raoul Duke Lives
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
conversation on a bus
“Look at my sticker of a chicken.”
“I think that’s a rooster.”
“Gobble gobble.”
“That’s a turkey, silly.”
“Cock-a-doodle-doo.”
“There, that’s a rooster.”
“Then what’s a chicken? Cluck cluck?”
“Yeah, cluck cluck.”
“What noise do horses make?”
“Neigh neigh.”
“Cows?”
“Moo moo”
“Pigs go oink oink. What else is there?”
“Cats. Meow meow. And dogs. Woof woof.”
“I thought dogs said bow wow.”
“I guess they say that too. But what dog says bow wow? To me they sound more like woof woof.”
“Dogs in Japan say wan wan.”
“And frogs in Japan say gerro gerro.”
“Hahaha. Gerro gerro. Gerro gerro. That’s funny.”
“I hate frogs.”
“Sheep. They go baa baa.”
“Ohh, yeah.”
“Wait! Ruff ruff. Don't dogs go ruff ruff?”
“Yeah, they say that too.“
“Dogs can say a lot.”
“Yes they can.”
“I want a dog.”
“I want a real big dog and a really little dog. I think it would make a good Christmas card.”
“I think it would.”
“I think that’s a rooster.”
“Gobble gobble.”
“That’s a turkey, silly.”
“Cock-a-doodle-doo.”
“There, that’s a rooster.”
“Then what’s a chicken? Cluck cluck?”
“Yeah, cluck cluck.”
“What noise do horses make?”
“Neigh neigh.”
“Cows?”
“Moo moo”
“Pigs go oink oink. What else is there?”
“Cats. Meow meow. And dogs. Woof woof.”
“I thought dogs said bow wow.”
“I guess they say that too. But what dog says bow wow? To me they sound more like woof woof.”
“Dogs in Japan say wan wan.”
“And frogs in Japan say gerro gerro.”
“Hahaha. Gerro gerro. Gerro gerro. That’s funny.”
“I hate frogs.”
“Sheep. They go baa baa.”
“Ohh, yeah.”
“Wait! Ruff ruff. Don't dogs go ruff ruff?”
“Yeah, they say that too.“
“Dogs can say a lot.”
“Yes they can.”
“I want a dog.”
“I want a real big dog and a really little dog. I think it would make a good Christmas card.”
“I think it would.”
Thursday, May 1, 2008
421am: wake up, look at clock, curse the world
428am: sleep again
545am: awake
552am: still awake
559am: roll around in bed, search for a spot to fall back asleep into
610am: still awake
611am: get up, pee
612am: make tea
613am: check email and messages
620am: poop, stare at same page of magazine yet again.
630am: update microsoft office, turn off alarm #1
644am: have shower
655am: dress
7am: turn off alarm #2 and smoke a cigarette on balcony
725am: make toast and put on socks.
727am: update macbook software
730am: eat toast with strawberry jam
732am: install OSx security update
740am: write this bizarre list.
746am: brush teeth
748am: leave apartment.
428am: sleep again
545am: awake
552am: still awake
559am: roll around in bed, search for a spot to fall back asleep into
610am: still awake
611am: get up, pee
612am: make tea
613am: check email and messages
620am: poop, stare at same page of magazine yet again.
630am: update microsoft office, turn off alarm #1
644am: have shower
655am: dress
7am: turn off alarm #2 and smoke a cigarette on balcony
725am: make toast and put on socks.
727am: update macbook software
730am: eat toast with strawberry jam
732am: install OSx security update
740am: write this bizarre list.
746am: brush teeth
748am: leave apartment.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
i don't buy watermelon
this is a suika. we call it a watermelon in english.
i took this photo with my cell phone while i was at the store earlier today.
that number, 2980, is the price of the watermelon in my local grocery store.
2980 yen.
right now, 2980 japanese yen are worth 29 US dollars.
$29!
I love watermelon, but I don't love it for 29 dollars.
I don't even think I'd love it for 10 dollars.
Guess I'll keep eating bananas.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Monday, March 31, 2008
file under: random saturday.
If you ever get thrown into the back of a police car, Japan is the best place for it to happen.
I was sitting in the police station explaining to them how everything went down, filling out forms, giving fingerprints and what have you.
“We need to go to the scene of the crime.”
“Okay.”
“Did you walk here?”
“Uh, yeah. No bike. Remember?”
“Ahh, yes. Right, then. Let’s go. We’ll drive you.”
This is the second time somebody has stolen my bicycle in Japan. Both times the bike was not locked.
Perhaps I bring these things upon myself.
I came home from work Friday afternoon to find that my bicycle was no longer standing in the bike rack next to my building. I rode it home the night before and walked to work the following morning. Sometime in between returning Thursday night and getting off work Friday afternoon the bike was taken.
So I went to the police on Saturday to report the bike as stolen.
The police took me quite seriously.
They had three men on the case asking serious questions.
“What color was the bike? In centimeters, how tall is it? How many gears? What color was the seat?”
So this is how I ended up in the back of a police car somewhere in semi-rural Japan.
In America, I’ve been in a police car one time. Different story all together. What's important about that is when I was in said police car I took in a few key details.
First, there's a Plexiglas and wire screen dividing the front of the cab with the back. Second, the back seats are plastic and have no seatbelts. And, there are no handles on the doors or any way to manipulate the windows.
Not a luxurious experience.
Quite the opposite in Japan.
Brand new Toyota Prius, with plush cloth seats and seatbelts and automatic doors and windows and all. And there was nothing whatsoever partitioning the cab.
The ride was pleasant.
When we arrived to the scene of the crime they got down to business. Flashlights, digital camera, tape measure, sketch pad.
It was quite an ordeal.
I smoked a cigarette and watched as they measured the distance from the street to the bike lot and from the bike lot to various spots adjacent to the lot. I stretched my mind, trying to answer their questions about which cardinal direction my bike was facing and what type of lock I used.
I can’t help but wonder if I would have gotten the same treatment if I weren’t a foreigner.
If this had happened in America, the situation would have went down like this:
Me: My bike was stolen from outside my apartment.
Police: Was it locked?
Me: No.
Police: You’re a dumbass. Get out of here. Lock it up next time.
Fortunately when I bought the bike in December I paid a few extra yen to register the bike as mine. That bought me an orange seal with a number on it. Right now, somewhere out there, my number is being used illegally by some lawless fiend. And the Japanese police are out to get them. Maybe.
***
The neon streets bustle with the revelry of Saturday night.
Earlier I had made a plan to meet Minsky and two of his Chinese friends for dinner and drinks. I was late because of the ordeal with the police. They didn’t mind.
I found them on the second floor of a nondescript izakaya. The place was warm and small. An old acoustic guitar rested in a corner. The woman in the kitchen was old. When I sat down there was already food on the table and they were not yet done with their first drink.
The girls were a little older. The cute one didn’t know any English. The one who knew a little English was unfortunate looking.
I ordered gin and tonic.
We talked causally and drank at a quick pace. Before sitting down they secured a deal on a two and a half hour all-you-can-drink course.
Gin turned into beer and beer turned into hot sake and the night drifted by like clouds passing in the sky.
We stumbled out of the place and into a clear night.
I tried to get the cute one to come home with me.
Her friend kept her safe.
I walked home alone in the night.
I was pissed.
Pissed off at my bike being stolen, pissed off that the girl didn’t come along. Pissed off of booze.
I was halfway home when I saw the white mountain bike. It was unlocked.
In a moment of drunken brilliance and self loathing, I got on the unlocked bike and started riding. I was hungry and needed to go to 7-11. I rode the bike there and bought a bento. As I was paying for the midnight snack, I was hit with a overwhelming sense of guilt and moral confusion.
Where is the logic in handing over hard-earned money to a massive, faceless corporation, yet stealing from unsuspecting individuals who stupidly leave their bikes unlocked?
I returned the bike to where I found it and walked home with my bento.
When I woke up the next morning my bike was still gone, I was alone and the bento lay on the floor unopened.
I was sitting in the police station explaining to them how everything went down, filling out forms, giving fingerprints and what have you.
“We need to go to the scene of the crime.”
“Okay.”
“Did you walk here?”
“Uh, yeah. No bike. Remember?”
“Ahh, yes. Right, then. Let’s go. We’ll drive you.”
This is the second time somebody has stolen my bicycle in Japan. Both times the bike was not locked.
Perhaps I bring these things upon myself.
I came home from work Friday afternoon to find that my bicycle was no longer standing in the bike rack next to my building. I rode it home the night before and walked to work the following morning. Sometime in between returning Thursday night and getting off work Friday afternoon the bike was taken.
So I went to the police on Saturday to report the bike as stolen.
The police took me quite seriously.
They had three men on the case asking serious questions.
“What color was the bike? In centimeters, how tall is it? How many gears? What color was the seat?”
So this is how I ended up in the back of a police car somewhere in semi-rural Japan.
In America, I’ve been in a police car one time. Different story all together. What's important about that is when I was in said police car I took in a few key details.
First, there's a Plexiglas and wire screen dividing the front of the cab with the back. Second, the back seats are plastic and have no seatbelts. And, there are no handles on the doors or any way to manipulate the windows.
Not a luxurious experience.
Quite the opposite in Japan.
Brand new Toyota Prius, with plush cloth seats and seatbelts and automatic doors and windows and all. And there was nothing whatsoever partitioning the cab.
The ride was pleasant.
When we arrived to the scene of the crime they got down to business. Flashlights, digital camera, tape measure, sketch pad.
It was quite an ordeal.
I smoked a cigarette and watched as they measured the distance from the street to the bike lot and from the bike lot to various spots adjacent to the lot. I stretched my mind, trying to answer their questions about which cardinal direction my bike was facing and what type of lock I used.
I can’t help but wonder if I would have gotten the same treatment if I weren’t a foreigner.
If this had happened in America, the situation would have went down like this:
Me: My bike was stolen from outside my apartment.
Police: Was it locked?
Me: No.
Police: You’re a dumbass. Get out of here. Lock it up next time.
Fortunately when I bought the bike in December I paid a few extra yen to register the bike as mine. That bought me an orange seal with a number on it. Right now, somewhere out there, my number is being used illegally by some lawless fiend. And the Japanese police are out to get them. Maybe.
***
The neon streets bustle with the revelry of Saturday night.
Earlier I had made a plan to meet Minsky and two of his Chinese friends for dinner and drinks. I was late because of the ordeal with the police. They didn’t mind.
I found them on the second floor of a nondescript izakaya. The place was warm and small. An old acoustic guitar rested in a corner. The woman in the kitchen was old. When I sat down there was already food on the table and they were not yet done with their first drink.
The girls were a little older. The cute one didn’t know any English. The one who knew a little English was unfortunate looking.
I ordered gin and tonic.
We talked causally and drank at a quick pace. Before sitting down they secured a deal on a two and a half hour all-you-can-drink course.
Gin turned into beer and beer turned into hot sake and the night drifted by like clouds passing in the sky.
We stumbled out of the place and into a clear night.
I tried to get the cute one to come home with me.
Her friend kept her safe.
I walked home alone in the night.
I was pissed.
Pissed off at my bike being stolen, pissed off that the girl didn’t come along. Pissed off of booze.
I was halfway home when I saw the white mountain bike. It was unlocked.
In a moment of drunken brilliance and self loathing, I got on the unlocked bike and started riding. I was hungry and needed to go to 7-11. I rode the bike there and bought a bento. As I was paying for the midnight snack, I was hit with a overwhelming sense of guilt and moral confusion.
Where is the logic in handing over hard-earned money to a massive, faceless corporation, yet stealing from unsuspecting individuals who stupidly leave their bikes unlocked?
I returned the bike to where I found it and walked home with my bento.
When I woke up the next morning my bike was still gone, I was alone and the bento lay on the floor unopened.
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