Gaijinass lives in Chinatown

If I’m training in the morning before work, I am up at 0350 and out the door by 0400.  But, on the days I decide to train after work, I get up at the leisurely, cake eating time of 0530.

I wake up and I shower, shave, groom, etc.  Then, I have coffee.  Then, I have another coffee.  And finally I have another coffee.  I sip these, generally, while sitting at my writing desk which faces big sliding glass doors looking out on West Ikebukuro. The view isn’t much; general urban sprawl and crows.

Ikebukuro is home to many, many crows.

Crows that sit on the railing of my balcony and scowl at me.

Crows that know my secrets.

Crows that smugly look away and defecate onto my balcony; into my running shoes.

More scowling.

I leave home at about 0650.  I don’t need to be at work until 0830 and the commute is only 45 minutes all told door to door, a very reasonable commute by Tokyo standards, but I heartily despise being rushed.

Frankly speaking, I really enjoy taking my motherfucking sweet ass time.

I like to stroll to the train station.  The walk is only 7 minutes when one is stepping it out, but in the morning I make that 15 minutes.  This pimp likes to smell the roses.  He enjoys looking up at the blue sky and the clouds.  He inspects the spring foliage and he listens to the birds chirping their spring song.  He stops at the little park down the street and watches while 15 police have trouble arresting one insane drunk covered in what looks a lot like blood.  This pimp takes it all in, and then he buys a cappuccino.

The thing about this stroll to Ikebukuro station isn’t the cosmopolitan sites or the juxtaposition of man and nature, but rather it’s the fact that during this entire 15 minutes I don’t hear a lick of the Japanese language.

Mandarin, Cantonese, Taiwanese, Hakka and then the smattering of Korean, Russian and Urdu.  Then, finally, I might here a couple drunken, filthy Kiwi’s talking about Rugby.  My point?

I am an American, living in Japan, living in Tokyo, living in Chinatown.  And I think this is utterly absurd and totally fitting.

“Welcome to the Jungle”

If you ask someone that “knows” Tokyo where Chinatown is, inevitably whomever you asked will most likely say “Well, in Yokohama.”  In a sense this is correct, but in another sense it’s bullshit.

The fact is, Toshima Ku, the district in which Ikebukuro is located has the highest percentage of Chinese immigrants found anywhere in Japan and just about all of them live next door to me.

The West Exit at Ikebukuro station, the second busiest station in Tokyo, has since the 1980′s gradually changed from a half assed “center for the arts” into a hub for university parties, Ramon shops, fuzoku (prostitution) and the Chinese.  Chinese restaurants, groceries, second-hand shops and particularly Chinese people are absolutely everywhere.  This is WHY there are SO many Ramon shops.  It’s also why the Toshima Ku government has invested so much money in trying to beautifie the West exit.  It’s also why there are so many female police officers at work in Ikebukuro; when the cops raid a burlesque house, female officers are needed for, well, a variety of activities.

“A variety of activities indeed.”

Despite living 5 minutes from a notorious and bustling red light district, my own block is oddly peaceful.  Just across the street is Ikebukuro Elementary school with its chimes and morning music blasting for all to hear, and next door to that is a Christian Church and kindergarten.  The street, and ONLY this street, has rows of big, green trees that are full and lush and hang deeply over the main thoroughfare and side walks.  Cafes are everywhere; out door tables all full (mostly with Chinese) and kids can be seen playing and horsing around as kids do while a tricked out SUV full of gangsters glides by.  It’s just a nutting part of the city and I love it.

The point today is this my friends: Yokohama can blow me.  The real Chinatown in Tokyo is located right outside my front door.

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The Empyrean Revisited

It’s been a very long month and a half.

It’s been the longest month and half I have ever had.  That isn’t to say its been all bad either.  It has had it’s bad points surely. And clearly.  But it’s had its good points as well.  I have spent a lot of time thinking and a lot of time doing and a lot of time listening to music.

It was just last weekend when Yosomono and I were having a whiskey and a cigar and listening to music at the lair here and discussing what is; Music had its voice heard well in this conversation.

“Re-enter The Empyrean”

It’s been 3 years, 3 months and 17 days since I first listened to John Frusciante’s apex ultra masterpiece “The Empyrean”.

It’s been widely talked about here on GJS.  It seems like a total waste of time to go back over the hard facts regarding its  development and production.  Things like the impressive array of musical heavy weight talents such as Flea, Josh Klinghoffer and Johnny Marr. We won’t talk about that.  It’s been talked about.

What made me sit down and write this is really two-fold and both are important things that need to be discussed in some forum or another.

“Why not here?” You ask.

“Exactly.” I reply.

First, is the durability of quality, genuinely good, music.  It’s like all other things that age well; good wines, fine whiskeys, great art, well written books and Japanese (and often Korean) women.  Music that matters simply does not get old.  “The Empyrean” is just as good, just as intense today, as it was on that cold, bleak January day I first turned it up over three years ago.  I can say honestly, that all the music I have and give a damn about is time beatable.  One can listen to it tonight with a whiskey, and dust it off in ten years and play it while the kids open Christmas presents and destroy the living room.

That’s GOOD MUSIC.  Mind your tongue next time you say “Oh, Lady Gaga is so good!” when you just finished telling me how “tired” you are of her other album.  That kind of drivel isn’t music.  It’s fast food for your ears.  Possibly necessary for the average person on an average day, but let’s at least call it what it is.  Crap.

The Second thing that need’s to be put out here is the concept of this absolutely sublime album.  “The Empyrean” actually refers to the apex, the highest place, one can ascend to within heaven.   The “story” on the album is just the progression of a person from birth all the way to death and beyond.  Fitting if you think about things lately.

The only issue I take here is that I don’t necessarily feel sold on there being an “after life”.  It seems that one should covet what we have here; the chances, the moments, the tastes, the opportunities, the orgasms, the experiences, the sensations, the connections and the journey.  Moving as close as we possibly can to our Empyrean right here, in the place we’ve found ourselves.

The song on this album-from-the-beyond that most insists on being set on constant repeat is “Unreachable”.

Not only does it have possibly the greatest guitar solo I have heard; on the same level as “Free Bird”, “Stairway to Heaven”, “November Rain” and “Before the Beginning” (also from this album); but the message and energy of the song is literally me, now, and tomorrow, and the day after.  Until I’m all done and my tank has gone empty and I go out frozen on the side of a mountain someplace with an empty bottle of Jameson clutched in an old, icy paw.   Play this at my Funeral.

Reach into the darkness for what you can find;

Travel great distance in your mind;

The world gets stronger as you start trying things;

Turn around towards being born away from dying;

That is Good Music.

To finish up I want to  say Happy Mother’s Day to, well, my Mother.  I didn’t realize it had come and gone until this morning because I am a jackass like that.  She is a tough lady and despite us not always getting along she’s a good Mother.  Cheers for that; hat tip to my Mother.  Lastly I would like to give a “shout out” to Big Ross.  He’s in the Hospital with some crazy illness and has been dealing with a lot of bullshit and pain.  People are thinking about you brother, and I’ve got a pint for you when you’re back on your feet.  Stay hard.

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After ranting about Louis CK doing a “get off my lawn” bit, thought I’d do my own. One of the guys over on the Cracked site was going on and on about a Japanese anime called FLCL (pronounced as Fooly Cooly). He pumped it as his favorite movie and living in Japan I thought I might as well check it out … just for pure cultural reasons of course … and maybe some sweet, sweet Japanese WTF.

Pink Box

’cause this land is an express flight to WTF

Dear. God. Watching FLCL was like being strapped down and then repeatedly kicked in the face by some sort of burly, tentacled, anime god. Talk about sensory overload.

This movie is why Spinal Tap talks about noise boxes that have dials that go up to 11. Studies have shown that fast paced, fast edited scenes cause at least ADHD and at most seizures.

Well it’s a miracle that half way through this mini-series I wasn’t convulsing on the floor in a pile of vomit and blood. Don’t get me wrong I like anime, Perfect Blue (Which some claim is what Black Swan is based on) is one of my favorite movies and its opening sequence of merging frames had me in total absolute awe.

Unforgivably this one has no lesbian scene.

But FLCL was just too much. Is this how the kids are doing it these days? Is this what it takes to keep a teenager’s attention? During FLCL when things calmed down to the point I was able to concentrate on what was going on, I caught that some sort of plant was causing crazy things to happen to a small Japanese town and its residents. It was up to an elementary school student to solve just why strange forces were attacking his sleepy little hamlet through, admittedly, amusing adventures. But did it make up for being pressed against my seat by 10G strength of the blazing soundtrack and flashing lights? No.

So kids … Get the Hell off of my lawn.

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I’ve always been annoyed about claims and pinning for somebodies’ “golden generation”, when everything was perfect and much different from today’s crappy world.  Those that lived through the 60s complained about Generation X. Those that fought through WWII, the so called Greatest Generation, complained about the Baby Boomers.  Those that lived through the depression complained about kids that would become the Greatest Generation.  Those that lived through World War I complained about the spoiled youth that would live through the depression and it goes on and on.   The reality is things were just as sh*t or good as they always were.  In that vein I whipped up this graphic:

 

Inspired after I saw this Louis CK clip (Read: 7 Hilarious and totally Offensive Stand up bits) and an image I came across from Nixon’s campaign:

Nixon campaign

For best view click for a bigger resolution. I’ve never seen so many cameras — More Info on Picture

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