The Crater

I’ve never been a good regular writer. I do have enough self-confidence and reasoned objectivity to view myself as a good writer qualitatively, but in terms of quantity I’ve rarely if ever passed muster. This is especially crucial in the world of blogging, cause let’s be honest; few people probably read this blog from the get-go, so when you add in a year of utter inactivity, what’s left? Thankfully, for me, blog traffic was never so much the goal of this place as much as having an outlet for political, emotional, and informational impulses. It also served as my update spot when I took off to the Far East last year.

The Chisun Inn

Perhaps why this has been fluttering through my mind lately is that it’s been almost one year precisely since I took off for Osaka. The departure was more climatic emotionally than the eventual experience would warrant (as a month’s vacation in Japan with close to 1,200 to burn is more fun than a grind), but the impact of such feelings can resonate regardless of the life that unfolds past them. It’s no secret to my family, and a few of my friends, that returning to the States after that month was a profound disappointment. I have a somewhat depressive personality, and in knowing this I always seek to isolate reality from perception, because I often feel that my perception sometimes colors the world as more oppressive and unpleasant than it really is for somebody with my life. In applying this effort, I can see very clearly that given the circumstance, I shouldn’t and don’t intellectualize the experience as a failure.

I do feel it as a failure, though. That’s been very clear from the moment I staggered out into SFO International, awake for a day straight, squinting at the morning light.  It might be a cliche’ sounding thing to say, but it felt then, and feels now, as if a certain element of myself was left behind, and I think I’ve become a less adventurous and open person by result. My ambitions, grand as they are, have recently been tempered with a painfully listless amount of effort. And with each passing week, I find myself daydreaming about roaming the streets of Esaka, riding the Midosuji and Chuo Lines, exploring Umeda, Tennoji, Osakako and Miyakojima, and my apartment in Bentencho, which was the first residence I ever lived in entirely on my own.

My lovely living room

Basically, I need to go back. REALLY badly. Not necessarily as anything beyond a tourist on a nice, languid course throughout the nation of Japan. The time I spent there, never having really left the country in any meaningful way (a non-meaningful way being a two-hour stop in Ensenada, Mexico as part of a Carnival cruise), was fairly intoxicating, and I wanted badly to spend all my time pursuing the sights and sounds that would really be worthwhile to me, but I didn’t; seeking residence and employment as I was, every day was a pretty big slog: communicative foibles, making appointments for job interviews I knew I might not even be valid for, pouring over apartment listings (until I found my Bentencho hideaway), and trying not to yell at the Citibank phoneline guy who ate up forty dollars US on a long distance call I had to make to unfreeze my bank account.

So, basically, if I can ever get a real job for real pay, there’s gonna be a burgeoning fund for that purpose.

I tracked down a lunch cafe today that features a vegan (well, predominantly, you have to not put cream in your coffee or have any of the fried, milk dipped spongy ball things) lunch buffet! It was a delicious, and HIGHLY welcome experience following two or so weeks of having to pedantically walk everyone through what I can and cannot eat.

Greens!

Curried tofu, salad greens, delicious bread (the first I've had in some time), and an incredible mushroom-based dumpling soup.

What you see on my plate is more or less their full array. It’s not the best place for selection, but the food was profoundly nourishing. I went back to the meal line to snag another piece of their bread, mainly so I could try their spiced orange marmalade sort of concoction. It was expectedly great. Perhaps I should explain the significance of the bread- bread available in most stores in Japan, at least the ones in or around my part of the city, are both an ABSOLUTE, UNMITIGATED FARCE, and entirely non-vegan. I didn’t research the historical reason too extensively, but one article suggested that this sort of bread rose to heavy prominence just following the second World War due to lack of wheat production. For those who haven’t seen it, I tend to think of it as a cartoonish imagining of the sort of processed white breads you’d see back in the states (though it comes in varying shades of color, darker shades attempting to hide the decrepit core within). They’re all very thick, however; I have yet to see bagged bread for sale in more than four slices. Their texture (squishy) seems to be a selling point, as I’ve seen a handful of TV commercials for various brands that revolve entirely around children laughing as they bend and squish their pillowy slices of bread. I guess the best description would be a piece of texas toast bleached damn near whiter than Wonder Bread, with the physical feel of a foam soap sponge.

In any case, it’s pumped full of milk, sugar and butter, I imagine to make up for the distinct lack of actual bread involved. It also manages to offend my sense despite my non-consumption, because large aisles full of it tend to waft a slight scent that makes me feel a bit nauseated. To this point, I have found no market that has been able to offer me vegan bread. Apparently there’s a health food store with a lot of vegan fare in Esaka (which I wish I’d looked up during the week I was staying there), so I’m hoping to hit that up tomorrow. It’s an odd feeling knowing how difficult it would be for me to just make a sandwich.

In any case, the aforementioned vegan buffet was just a brisk jaunt from Osakako Station, on the Chuo Line (my primary line out of Bentencho), which happens to be the same place I went with Jesse and Brian when they were coming through. I recalled that during our brief visit to the Suntory Museum they were advertising a couple of sea life flicks in 3D on their IMAX screen. With my stomach full of wholesome goodness, thus feeling more content than usual, I decided to scope it out. The big thing playing was Under the Sea 3D! which to my concern was narrated by Jim Carrey. The show was also sold out. I decided to buy a ticket for a later show and come back, as I had been mulling over a haircut anyways.

The haircut in question was a big relief; my hair had grown to the point that it was always blowing in my face, and due to my hair’s proclivity for oiliness, this generally coincides with a rash of zits and blemishes. Thankfully, I think I headed off the worst of it.

My return for the IMAX flick was reluctant; despite having already payed for the ticket, I suddenly felt somewhat sick and strange, and I felt the instinct to either head home, or to find a nice scenic spot by the harbor and chill out. The consumer in me led me back to the theater, nonetheless. The movie was as I had expected, high on impressive and wonderful footage (made better by the enormous 3D immersion), but also heavy on Jim Carrey trying to charm me with his Jim Carrey ways. Not the crazy slapstick way, the more grounded, whimsically musing way. I could ignore it, for the most part, but one distinct issue I took with it was the personification the narration lent to the sea life. A scuttlefish fails to nab its prey, “that must be annoying!” A potato cod gets its face and mouth cleaned by some symbiotic fish, “she’s getting her face done, and when you’re a potato cod, you need all the help you can get!” A ground trawler rushes at a crab and devours it, “he doesn’t want to get pinced by the claws, but it’s worth it for a crab dinner!” If they’d just had no audio track, it would’ve been an infinitely more enjoyable experience.

It was also only forty minutes long, which I was completely not expecting. It’s an odd feeling to be strapped in for another hour or so of movie only to have the credits suddenly start rolling. Given the ten dollar price of admission, I paid a buck every four minutes of that thing.

In closing, here’s a couple other snapshots from around Osakako:

Thought about it, but I didn't feel well enough.

Couldn't they just hire me to fix all these signs? I'd be the only guy they'd need.

A crazed/happy vegetable man carting around his cautiously optimistic vegetable buddies?

It's your oldest and dearest friend.

As it so happens, I now live in a somewhat unspacious apartment in lovely Bentencho, Osaka (loveliness being in the eye of the beholder). I won’t deny it, this was the first apartment I checked out, and was my last resort. Unfortunately, be it either due to the language barrier or my lack of any documented proof I could afford to rent an apartment, I was unable to find other lodgings, so, here I am.

It’s my second day here, and I remain pretty unsteady on my opinion of things. On the one hand, I seem to have a prototypical “poor man’s” landlord, in that he didn’t care that my rent payment was going to be two days late the first month I moved in. Not because I can’t cover it, but because of the major league buttfuckers over at Citibank.

(Let it be known that I am a friend and ally of the gay community. I ascribed the insult “buttfucker” not because of any particular phobia or disdain for anal sex, but rather because I’m upset with them, and the blunt and hard euphony of the word was too tempting to pass up.)

I’m still unsure of what my address is, so the bad news is, all the ladies can’t start mailing their panties just yet. I’m also unsure of where the income to sustain this apartment is going to come from, because as of yet, I am unemployed. I have contacted the Union, however, as well as posted my information and resume to a couple websites, and on the bulletin board at one of the Kansai international centers, so I’m not too worried. Worse comes to worse, there’s always insurance fraud (kidding, Osaka PD!). I just sent out emails for a couple of jobs handing out fliers at subway stations, too. Every little it helps, of course, and handing out fliers for an English school isn’t the worst use of my time; short jump from there to teaching them kids.

If you’ve read this far hoping for photos of my accomodations, I have bad news. Due to a unique mixture of laziness, uninterest, and displeasure that I’ve become quite familiar with these pat twenty-three years, I have no such offering. I’ll update with images in the next couple days, I’m sure, but my current apartment is actually just a stop-gap. In about two weeks the tenants in a much nicer third floor apartment will be moving out, and I will seize upon their former domain, leaving my fifth floor doldrums behind. In its defense, it does have a deck, but it started raining today.

I got a request from one KW to start discussing the mundane doings of my day-to-day more frequqently. Having lived them, I cannot possibly conceive of the merit, but if this blog can speak to even one person, it will have done its job. I will begin trying to update more frequently, regardless of noteworthy content. I will also try to sprinkle in less personal insights, in the form of essays, poems or stories that might be of interest. Again, though, feel free to read at your own discretion.

…you know the rest.

Just got back from a bar in Esaka, which caught my eye thanks to its accomodating attitude towards Americans. I got a free drink out of it, too! Although this (in concert with some non-free drinks) leaves me a bit too toasted to blog extensively or coherently. Actually, truthfully, I could do it, but I don’t think it’s going to happen.

Suffice to say, new apartment tomorrow, and pictures to come.

Yesterday I had the stupendous good fortune to connect with a couple of American friends who’ve been touring Japan. Jesse and Brian, both of them seeking that ever so unique Osaka experience, got in touch with me a number of days ago, proposing a trip to the sightseeing complex in Osakako (the Osaka Aquarium, Suntory Museum, and the place that we thought was the Suntory Museum but was actually more like the Northgate Mall with a ninja store). Much was made of the hit-or0miss nature of our plans; Jesse messaged me the day before, proposing a meeting at the Osakako Station the next day around noon, but no assurance got through to either party, so the experience of abruptly running into the duo on the way to the station was exhilarating. They did indeed represent the first casual, non-labored conversations that I had been able to have since touching down in Japan (not counting the earlier referenced Raice, the ring fighting purist).

We had a very casual and enjoyable afternoon, seeing the aforementioned sights. The prospect of visiting the aquarium gave me distinct pause, for obvious reasons, but given that it was their lone day in Osaka, and my lone chance to hang out, I couldn’t conjure an alternative for myself that wouldn’t have been truly unpleasant, especially knowing I could have been hanging out with friendly persons. Plus, I pulled something of a fast one on the aquarium (more on that in entries to come). Suffice to say it was a very conflicting experience, because even though I’ve still been hashing out my personal animal rights ethic (a process that I’ve been tooling and retooling since initially becoming vegan a little over a year ago), my natural curiousity also likes seeing animals I wouldn’t otherwise see. Given the extenuating circumstances of it being my chance to see people I knew in an increasingly alienating stretch, it seemed like something I couldn’t pass up (though I may pass up some, if not all, subsequent aquarium invitations).

Heads up!

Looks like a human trapped in a fish's body- a curse, perhaps? In any case, I call this guy the Gangsterfish.

The Giant Spider Crab, which looks disconcertingly like the little guys from Cloverfield.

Following the aquarium, we decided to trot on over to the Suntory Museum, which we had hoped would be not unlike the “Gourmet Museum” and “Fashion Museum” that reside at Umeda Station. These alleged museums are actually nothing more than shopping pavilions dozens of restuarants and chic boutiques crammed up against each other. Given that I’ve barely been able to turn my head without laying eyes on the Suntory brand since my arrival, I fully expected to find an enormous architecture chock full of canned coffee drinks and “premium” whisky brands at varying prices. Sadly, we were mistaken. The Suntory Museum is, in fact, an art exhibition museum along with an IMAX theater. The art was a collection from Vienna, while the theater was screening a sea life documentary narrated by Jim Carrey. We opted out of both.

A half hour and some low-grade mini-mart beer cans later, we were screaming along the Midosuji Line (my personal subway of choice) to Tennoji, with our hearts set on visiting the Tennoji Tower, as well as some sort of restaurant/Pachinko/debauchery district Jesse and Brian had heard tell of. At Tennoji Tower, I flipped a Japanese penny (the 1 yen piece, which by virtue of its tiny size and aluminum composition feels more like a cheap arcade token than national currency) into a small, slatted box that sat before the statue of Billiken, who as the inscription on his platform explained, is “THE-GOD-OF-THINGS-AS-THEY-OUGHT-TO-BE.” You’re supposed to make a wish to Billiken; I made mine, and I’m not telling. At least not yet.

The Tennoji Tower, as seen from the outside of some dingy manga cafe.

I survey my kingdom, albeit on loan from the mighty Billiken.

After the tower we meandered for a bit. I explained my veganism to Brian while he and Jesse munched on fried Octopus balls, which to be fair I remember being quite good from my more meat-ed days gone by. We headed down a retail thoroughfare looking for food, and eventually settled on a nicer-than-average seeming sushi/noodle joint. We seemed distinctly to be in a cheaper, more run-down section of Tennoji, as the increasing frequency of naked women plastered on poster boards and Pachinko salons suggested (though, to be fair, Pachinko is everywhere, and I haven’t the foggiest how it works).

Jesse and Brian had both been eager to taste the Osaka experience, as they had heard the city was known for its exquisite sushi (though I’d reckon the same could be said for most of Japan). They dined on an array of blowfish sushi, and various sashimi, while I eagerly devoured a bowl of surprisingly spicy vegetable Udon. It tasted a bit like they had simmered ginger in the broth. It was damn fine noodling, no doubt about that. We also ran through two bottles of sake, which in addition to the beers we’d been nursing at various points along our journey, began to catch up to me.

We all headed back to the station for the Midosuji Line, where I parted ways with the guys, as they were heading to a hostel in a direction that escapes me, but obviously not the direction of Esaka. I listened to a Leonard Cohen album as I sat, slumped and drunk, on the subway for the next twenty-six minutes (the timetables in the stations are unerringly accurate!). Suffice to say, it was a listless and weary way to round out a supremely enjoyable day.

Add in a half empty beer can, a half empty coffee can, a placard advertising the hotel’s porn network that I found behind the dresser, and a bunch more strewn junk, and you’re right there with me.

I managed to make it to 10:30 last night before fading into slumber. I consequently again woke up bright and early (earlier, actually) at 6 AM. It’s been god (or an atheist’s equivalent turn of phrase) knows how long since I last woke up before 7 on two consecutive mornings. I admit that I don’t mind it, it has many merits, but the biggest problem is how long the day feels.

After chatting on Skype with my family for a bit, I resolved to put the day to productive use. I emailed  couple of property listings out of the Kansai Flea Market, and shortly I got a reply from a building manager in Bentencho by the name of Curt. I met with him earlier this afternoon, and it seems as if I basically have the place if I want it. I have another place I’m scoping out, which while a decent bit more expensive is almost certainly off-the-charts more delightful than the unit I saw today. That said, I’m not sure how it’ll shake out. I’d like to entertain the possibility of Kyoto as well, but I haven’t even been there yet and I’m bleeding money day to day. My gut says I’ll be going with the cheap apartment and then moving in a few months, but who knows! I have been accused of being mercurial in the past. Plus, my brain wasn’t that crazy about Bentencho. To its merit, it’s within a half hour of all the places I’ve familiarized myself with so far. On the downside, it reminds me of a melancholy sort of urban alienation that I’ve felt in various cities throughout my life.

I must also offer my sincerest apologies to the early sleepers of the world, at least whichever of them I may have eschewed. At 8:20 PM at this moment, I find my energy almost completely depleted, and only a can of chilled black coffee in my hotel fridge still remains to stave off another night of premature slumber. That, and my verve to continue reading Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States, which it goes without saying is very good indeed.

I found myself up bright and early this morning, having not yet recovered from the travel to the point where any normal sleep could be expected.  I stared at the ceiling for about fifteen minutes before I realized that the restaurant served breakfast starting at 6:30, which meant I was primed for some chow. I threw on a vaguely fashionable ensemble and took the elevator down.

The breakfast buffet cost 700 yen to buy in to, and in a traditionally unthinking fashion I forked over the money before even considering what was being served, leading to a grim realization as I witnessed the scrambled eggs and sausage piled high. I hadn’t exactly assumed that there would be something a vegan could eat (although there was, as my breakfast of orange juice, steamed rice, potato fries, and baby tomatoes illustrated) so much as I’d assumed they’d be serving something different from the ham and egg omelet I could almost certainly have bought at any roadside diner in America.

After helping myself to a second bowl of rice to try and make the meal at least cost efficient, I returned to my room and chatted with my family via Skype. The video was a bit rough, but the ever-important audio was crystal clear. Soon after I looked over the information written out for me by IW prior to my departure, and reckoned that stopping by Kinokuniya Books to nab the Kansai Flea Market would be a safe bet.

I found the subway much easier to figure out when I wasn’t quite so groggy. I caught the Mijosuji Line out of Esaka, moving several stops down until reaching Umeda Station, which expands outwards into a considerable retail area, as well as linking up with the Hankyo Line. The sprawl in, around, and on the streets above the station was considerable. At any given time, I was no less than thirty seconds away from any number of enticing looking noodle houses and cafes. Similarly, I was always within twenty seconds of a vending machine.

The vending machine scene out here is quite impressive. The Esaka area seems somewhat glutted with BOSS machines, occasionally bearing Mr. Jones’ likeness, but often not. The Umeda machines had a very high alcohol presence (or perhaps that was merely my perception), and every place I’ve been so far has been positively littered with cigarette machines. I attempted in vain to get a cellphone, giving up finally after the counter girl’s bizarrely polite voiced rebuke, “go to America.” On the up side, the Kinokuniya had copies of the Kansai Flea Market, and before I knew it I was waist deep in apartment and employment classifieds.

Tragically, my story for the day sort of lags out. Outside of a thirty minute meander through Esaka searching for a wrist-brace, my adventurous spirit gave way to a physical crash. I began to feel a bit weak and tired at 4:30 or so, which is pretty aberrant even given my awakening at 6:30. Part of the issue was the visual reinforcement; it seems to get dark quite early here, and my brain is having trouble talking my body out of the notion. I retreated back to my hotel room quite early, and spent the evening rolling sushi for dinner and watching the final game of the Japan Series (the San Francisco Giants may never win, but Yomiuri is another matter altogether).

More to come… in fact, very soon. I’m backlogged, this post is a day late.