2006, In Review!

2006 was a year of many firsts for me.

In a feat of procrastination that would make the Second Coming of Jesus green with envy, I've managed to bottle up many of the zany, "hahah ja[pan!1" moments inside- all the while coating them with the foods that are thrust in front of me, which are all not unlike chum, but with more reproductive content.

Continuing the theme of "food" I've eaten, a neighboring ALT and her husb hosted sushi night at their apartment, whereby we made our own sushi but then had to eat it. My level of proficiency in food preparation falls somewhere between enema and roadkill, and, as we try to figure out what that meant, suffice to say, my sushi roll was shit. In fact, I found myself with a little bit of sushi roll envy after noticing the size and girth of the other, successful roles, but to my surprise, my own tasted quite good.

Wiping off the innuendo dripping from the last sentence, I turn to my ongoing discovery and continuing love of everyday electronics in Japan©. Entering a kitchen is like stepping into a walk-in Pandora's Box of Convenience (haha. box.). Many items you'll find at the grocery store are modified such that you may take it home, hastily pour hot water on it, and edit your will before ingesting. One example of such takes advantage of the long-standing cultural norm of drinking tea and coffee periodically throughout the day, as required by law. Recently I plucked off the shelf a box of instant beverage (it was 'mocha' flavored) and raced home to try it out. In a word, it was unbearable. However, given that I am in Japan, and there's even a word to describe enduring hardship, I shut my eyes, pinched my nose, held the cup up high and in one swift motion I tossed it in the sink like it was Satan's chalice.

Cuz homey don't drink that.

I also had my first encounter with the Japanese equivalent of anti-perspirant, which I like to call anti-deoderant. My faithful stick of Aqua Reef ran out just 16 days before I was set to return to America for the sole purpose of restocking. My desperate search for a replacement landed me in, of all places, the 100 yen shop.

The little tin squirt bottle I bought turned out to be literally that – a squirt bottle. It smelt of silly putty and had the consistency of tuna semen. I absolutely had to find something else, and I did, at, of course, the home supply store. This was at least pressurized, and came with the added bonus of raver quality euphoria directly on contact.

Haircuts in Japan are also a completely terrifying experience. This is due to a number of factors: the barber is actually dead, the book of samples includes fruit, you request "cut my head, swine" in broken Japanese etc etc. Mine was somewhat of an exciting do-not-choose your own adventure, as midway through, the barber's wife took over and I thought I'd stumbled into some sort of haircut and massaji joint. The funny thing was, for 3500 yen, you'd be surprised what I was prepared to let happen. What actually occurred included a hot wax straight blade shave that was pleasingly warm and carefully removed. However, like all things, it was uniquely Japanese.

They shaved my forehead.