Why We Should Stop Instant Messaging

No I'm not trying to sell you some other service that I think is better. Ive simply been thinking about the origins of my aversion towards instant messaging, and the following are my thoughts:

I know there are some people out there who would give me the same treatment Rasputin's enemies gave him during the days of his assasination, but believe me when I say I stand firm by my words. In todays fast paced world of breakthrough technology, we have found so many ways to subdue ourselves and our minds into stagnation. Because of the rigors of real life, we are lured into a false sense of safety and security by some unknown, ubiquitous force, that leaves us constantly stimulated through various means of superficial and meaningless methods, for instance, the instant message.

There are plenty of venues from which one can send an instant message,whether you are using yahoo, msn, aim, your cell phone, or even google mail, the reality is clear: there is a message being sent from somewhere that the human race does not prefer to have real connections with people anymore, and would rather resort to sending cheap one-witted quips back and forth via IM programs. Think about how many times you've chatted away, multiple boxes taking up the entire screen of your computer, trying to have a one-on-one conversation with 10 people at a time. It just doesnt seem right to me; the written word is something far more sacred.

When we instant message, we are reduced to making fragments of sentences, which would otherwise be full and complete, had we just written a letter or an email instead. With full, complete sentences written on paper, or in an email, we give our brains time to savor the words, and we allow them to become a part of us. It is much easier to reread, and understand what was being said. The box in an instant messaging program is only so big, and for your convenience, the words disappear into oblivion somewhere at the top of the screen, never to be seen or understood again, just so that you can continue the rant of something that could be better explained over the phone, or in a letter, or god forbid, face to face.

I know that people would complain that other methods of communication are more expensive, and that its easier to resort to IMing. Well I say to them, nothing good ever came after the word instant. Instant potatoes, instant grits, instant glutes and abs, there is nothing I want to consume that is preceded by the word instant. Does anyone really believe we should all resort to eating instant TV dinners just because its easier and cheaper?? People who value eating healthy food, and care enough about themselves to monitor and control the things they put into their body, actually plan ahead, and go out of their way to make sure they are getting the nutrition they think will keep their spirits high,and their souls rejuvenated. Why should that be any different with our prefferred choice of communication? If you had to work a little harder to communicate with someone, but at the end of the experience you felt like you actually had a connection for a change, would you really think it was too much trouble? I for one, think not.

A wise friend wrote in an email the other day, explaining that you should go out of your way to establish connections with people you care about. To quote, when you keep in touch with people using more personal means of communication,"You are no longer friends because it is convenient, but you become friends by choice. That's when you know it's real." Don't get me wrong, I've used instant messaging a lot when I was young, and I still give in from time to time. The difference is, I think we should be more creative, and use flavorful means of communication on a far greater basis than anything else. I think it would leave us all feeling whole, and complete, and like a human beings with real souls again.

Do what you will, but just believe me when I say that you will not regret the feeling you get after reading a nice long letter from someone who means a lot to you. I'm not saying tomorrow you should shut yourself off from instant messaging, just make sure you don't overdose on IMing. You should use plenty of other types of communication as well. Remember, a balanced diet is always the best nutritional gift for your body, mind and spirit. Too much of one thing always has negative consequences.

Desperation Post

I had to switch internet providers in my apartment, since the one I currently have (Plala), does not have a direct ADSL connection with the internet, and does not allow my Vonage router to make calls back home. It doesn't help that the name of the company (Plala) doesn't really make me want to subscribe to it either. I should have known that a company with a name that sounds like the title of a poem from Shel Silverstein's Where the Sidewalk Ends isn't worth signing up for in the first place. My new internet service provider has demanded that I cancel the current DSL feed so that they can stream their own to my phone line, which will leave me sans internet for 10 days, an emotionally grinding experience that I'm already preparing for--I'm stocking up on canned goods and AA batteries as we speak. Its strange, once I have internet, all I accomplish is checking my gmail account a few times in succession, and going through the Sports Illustrated Countdowns on CNN's website. Now that I'm restricted from having it, I feel as though one of my inalienable rights has been violated.



As suggested by the title, this will be a brief, whirlwind of an update on what I've done in the past few days.

These are my two best Japanese friends in Hagi so far. The one of the left is Mackee, and he always wears this XXL I LOVE REGGAE t-shirt. The kid is a genius though. The one on the right is Oni.

I was asked to play for Acoustic Night at No Side, one of the regular bars us foreigners go to when we can't stand being alone in our apartments anymore. I sang Bob Dylan's Girl from North Country, Beatles' You've Got to Hide Your Love Away, 2 originials I made since I've been here, and Jimi Hendrix's acoustic version of Angel (special request of the bartender). I received a lukewarm response from the crowd. They were probably still trying to figure out how the hell I got into their country.

I posted this photo because the "lape me" guy was in the background looking pensive.

This is a famous Japanese artist I met, who lives in Hagi. His name is Juko, and his work has been shown in the Louvre in Paris a couple of times. I shared with him my limited knowledge of art history, and we got along very quickly. He has an exhibit in his basement, and he is currently working on a special exhibition that will be on display in Paris, and hopefully New York. He can replicate anything from pretty much all movements, but he is particularly interested in toying with themes and ideas from the Surrealists (his favorite artists are Magritte and Dali).

This is one of the paintings that was on display at the Louvre. I didn't quite catch in Japanese it's title.











So now I've gotten you all up to speed before the giant phone compant NTT shuts me down for a few days.

More Random Photos and a Rock Show

My Rusty Steed

This teen punk band named Joker. I stayed for 2 songs. The drummer was the only one worth mentioning.




The Japanese Yngwie Malmsteen

He had it down. The lightning-fast arpeggio sweeps,
The never-ending, lame-sounding, empty melodic solos,
everything except leather pants, and the signature fling
the guitar across my back move. I was amazed for about
as long as it took me to take this photo. I stayed for one song.


And finally..... the "LAPE ME" guy.
So after staying at a concert for one drink and 3 songs,
this was the highlight of the night. I think he's even
saying what I think he is during the picture.

Random Pics

Kitchen and living room..





















Living room and bedroom...













Kikugahama Beach and Mt. Shizuki

















There is a rock music bar next to my apartment in this building called the U.F.O. Station. I heard some drums, so I stopped by for a jam session.
















The drummer insisted on starting off at a normal tempo, and then would vertiginously change into something that sounded like the intro to Van Halen's "Hot for Teacher".

Reggae Party

Some locals I befriended at Namizaru (Surf Cafe), took me to this reggae party in the middle of some no name town, and it lasted until 6 in the morn. Here are the photos.

First i must speak of the ladies. Japanese women are known for being very shy and conservative, as we can see here...

Here are some more examples of well taught Japanese women clearly displaying such fine upbringing...

Hmm.. a new dance move perhaps??




























As hard as im trying, i still look like a white guy going ...and 1...and 2...and 3....and 4....













And finally, Macky showing me how its done....














Needless to say, it was a great party, and an excellent opportunity to see first-class examples of Japan's fine young women.

Bus bound, beer still in my belly from the previous night, and headed for a location that is about as familiar as Mars, I can’t imagine a better start to my first Japanese road trip—destination Kyoto. I’m a Portuguese clipper ship, or perhaps a faster, sleek, more maneuverable caravel, and just as Prince Henry the Navigator was feeling cool and confident as he ventured past the Cape of Good Hope for the first time, I too, have good omens that allow not the slightest bit of apprehension. My first good omen: waking up ten minutes before the alarm went off, giving me much needed extra time to pack. Armed with what could be equivalent to an agrarian man’s expertise in scholarly diction, I must admit that my knowledge of Japanese language—or lack therof—permits me not the most complete level of confidence and rigor, as I set sail. Nonetheless, I feel excited, exuding a child-like enthusiasm (I know the pretty girl sitting next to me can feel it, she keeps throwing smiles in my direction). My knowledge of the terrain is inferior, but I’ll use the stars for navigation if necessary; my will and determination are indefatigable.

On the bus, we carve a path through massive walls of Earth and immovable rock, while the scenic valley passes far down below us. I check to make sure everything I packed is in proper order; 1 set of clothes, an extra t-shirt, passport, wallet, my copy of Thomas Mann’s Magic Mountain. I look forward to the sights of the city, as well as the memorable, hopefully humorous occurrences. The following is my summary of the trip:

At the Shinkansen (bullet train) station, I fully understood the awesome power those trains were capable of, as I felt the entire station grumble and howl as a Tokyo bound express train roared by somewhere above me. After I hungrily wolfed down my breakfast, which had bits of meat in it I’ve never seen before (I convinced myself it was just chicken and resumed eating), I cleaned up the mess I made and boarded my train. Onward we flew inside the steel belly of this speeding missile, our bodies hurled like fleshy projectiles towards our target. The train jolted as we picked up serious speed, whole towns flashed by in mere moments, my ears began to pop as we soared through mountains and across rural landscapes. Even Barry Allen would have been impressed with our speed.

Welcome to Kyoto

When I arrived at the station in Kyoto, I was greeted by a swarm of busy travelers which I hadn’t seen since my orientation in Tokyo a few weeks earlier. It energized me to see this sort of high-paced, sprawling urban city, which is not how I would describe my town. I was meeting Brian, acclaimed drummer of Hot Bricks, an obscure college band whose glory was cut short in its infancy due to the impending graduation of its members. With Brian was Scott, lead singer of the band Monopoly Trust Buster, whose tenacity and resilience were matched, if not amplified by his old-school, American swagger—surely the Japanese girls could feel power of our collective energies. It took us about 20 minutes to figure out there was more than one side to this obnoxiously huge train station, and after we briefly conquered our confusion, we were Kyoto drifting our way through the city in a car we rented, with the notorious Mizuki “No one can contain me” Mori at the controls.

Our first—and what later turned out to be the only—sightseeing stop was Kiyomizu Temple. Built into the side of a mountain, this ancient Buddhist temple captures the essence of Japanese temple architecture and craftsman ship, and certainly their keen eye for the aesthetic. It offers a breathtaking glimpse of the city from one of the balconies at the base of the main pagoda, and only the body heat of hundreds of tourists coupled with the scorching breath of the unrelenting afternoon sun could take away from what would otherwise be a flawless experience. The panorama of the mountainside setting paired with the pristine cityscape visible in the distance was truly awe-inspiring.

After an unsuccessful attempt to gain admission into the Golden Temple (closed for the day), we retreated back to our hotel, a luxurious castle in the mountains of Kyoto, and we were treated to what seemed like a 10-course (I lost count after 5) gourmet Japanese dinner, courtesy of Mr. and Mrs. Mori. Later that night the guys went to the 100% nude steam bath in the hotel, where we all went to bed after having experienced a surge in our confidence levels after seeing what Japanese men were capable of.
The next day we took a taxi back to the Shinkansen station, where I had to go back to Hagi, while the rest of my friends were headed to Nagoya for the night, Mizuki’s hometown, before they departed back the US the next day. During the cab ride, we entertained ourselves with conversations about whether or not the wheel in the Showcase Showdown from the Price is Right was filled with blood, which would explain the cumbersome, full-body heave that was required to move the monstrous contraption. We had a discourse in mathematics, when trying to prove whether or not 2 wrongs do in fact make a right (If you use the multiplicative rule, multiplying 2 negatives make a positive), or whether or not the addition rule applies (If the right is bigger than the wrong, its still right). I was sad to see my friends go, and even sadder to find out that I accidentally booked a commuter rail ticket instead of the bullet train, which would put me back home in about 11 hours.

There were no places to get food once I got on the train, and I only had what I ate for breakfast to sustain me for the rest of the day. I kept thinking of that Seinfeld episode where Kramer tries to beat the closing doors of the subway car so he can buy a gyro from one of the vendors. We made about 100 stops, none of which were long enough for me to tempt it. So now its almost 10 PM my time, one much needed quesadilla later, and I’m writing this entry on the back of an advertisement I picked up in the bus station once I got off the train, and I can see the lights of Hagi in the distance.

Welcome back to Hagi

"LAPE MEEEE!!! LAPE MEEEEE," said the young man in the karaoke bar last night in beautiful Hagi, my town of residence. He was referring to his request for one of us to perform the legendary song immortalized by Kurt Cobain, and he did a good enough job of singing the refrain himself that I thought he could do a decent version himself. He was young and jovial, but looked ancient, like he was part of an unbroken chain of feudal samurai warriors going back thousands of generations (**a modified Kerouac phrase). His features were strong, and his hair was in a top knot. He wore these fucked-up looking pants though, that made me think of Hammer, but it only added to his mysterious persona.

So now us ALT's, free from the tyranny of Orientation, are back in our respective towns and cities, and we split time between unpacking our shit, finding good local restaurants and bars, and getting everything set up in our apartments (phone, internet, tv, newspaper, etc..). Apart from that, I've been practicing my Japanese, sitting in front of my computer, pretending like I have internet, and going for 3 AM bike rides through historic Hagi, which is located near the beach (My internal body clock is still adjusting to Japanese time).

I remember how strange it was trying to fully understand where I am. There's something so eerily enchanting about this town that makes being here unlike anything I imagined. I looked up at the night sky, and the stars shone like tiny, hazy beacons, brighter than I:ve ever seen--probably because I stopped assuming everyone had the same bad eyesight I did, and actually bought glasses--and I could recognize a single constellation (Given my hemispherical location, Orion's torso excluded since his other half was lost somewher at the edge of the horizon). Even the stars remind you that this is some other place.

Today is a beach day, and I really don't feel like drinking anymore, but I'll probably have to since in Japan its as common as farting.

Getting Oriented

Since this is my first official post, I'm not really sure what format I'm going to use for this blog, so I apologize if it seems jumbled and confusing, but I will improve it as time goes on. Also, I apologize for any other posting errors, but the links to all my pages on the internet are in UNICODE UTF-8, since I don't yet have the Japanese character patch for Windows.

The first few days have been tolerable. Coping with the extreme jet-lag, and having to sit through boring workshops and panel presentations have taken their toll, and have proven to be the low points of my stay, but its almost over. When we arrived at the Keio Plaza Hotel in Tokyo, it was around 8 PM on a Sunday night (7 AM at our departure point in Boston). We are staying in a part of Tokyo called Shinjuku, with its many bars and restaurants, and casino-like arcades with bright flashing lights everywhere, that can give you an epileptic seizure.

My roommates and I walked around for about an hour looking for an ATM, and this was when I got my first chance to speak Japanese with a local. I calmly walked up to a police officer after I took a few minutes to figure out in my head what I was going to say. Sumimasen, ATM wa doko desu ka? (excuse me, where is the ATM?) I must have said it perfectly, because the way he responded, the quickness of his speech made me think that he thought I knew how to speak, when instead I was forced to give him the helpless stare. He got on his cell phone and called over one of his buddies, and they walked us to the nearest bank with a VISA logo. I've noticed that people here, no matter what job they have, will almost always go out of their way to help someone. Everything closed early on Sunday, so we went back to the hotel, bought some more beers from the Konbini (Convenience store), and tried inebriation as a remedy for the jet-lag we knew was approaching, and would throw our sleep cycles into disarray over the next couple of days.

The next morning was series of many awkward but pleasant introductions to other JET participants, a few misunderstandings with some Aussies at breakfast, and the inevitable comparison between how America differs from Japan, which I'll all briefly explain.

The Aussies
When you're put in social situations such as mine, you're forced to come out of your shell early on, or else you get stuck in an increasingly awkward situation, like when trying to decide who to sit with in a room full of 2,000+ people during breakfast. I introduced myself in the elevator, and we collectively made the silent agreement that it was ok to sit with one another and eat. Here is a rough example of what I can recollect from the breakfast convo:

Nick (Ausses #1): Yea, so...Its funny how playin' in the yard back home in Brisbane, my brother and I used to fool around and switch back and forth between Aussie and American accents. We'd be playin around you know, and my brother would suddenly say, "Hey man! How ya doin', Can I help ya??" (In a perfectly American sounding voice)

Me: Ha!
(Then I explained the Americans mimick Aussie accents from what we hear on the Foster's commercials, and how some of us use the phrase, "Shrimp on the Barbie")

Aussie #2 (whose name I forgot): What the fuck is a shrimp?

Nick: Its a prawn, you Americans don't know what that is, but thats what we use.

Me: Ah!

Aussie #2: Why can't you ride your bike and piss?

Me: (I tried explaining the mechanics of human anatomy, and why its difficult to pass urine through the urethra when sitting on a bike, when they both looked at each other and started laughing, explaining to me that they were talking about how its a law in Japan that you can't BE pissed (drunk) and ride your bike in public)


The BIDET Enema (if you dont know, look it up)

In short, that last person who used it turned the water pressure all the way up on the toilet. I pressed the button with the crudely drawn image above it, and before I knew what was going on, the jet stream let loose, and its aim was true, almost as if it was using some sort of radar-guided Japanese technology. I almost fell off the toilet laughing.

The Elevators of Death

Its so funny watching Americans cope with how quickly the doors open and shut here, you can imagine the horror.



I'm playing hooky right now, sitting in the lobby writing this entry, and I'm feeling exhausted. I'll probably go back to my room and catch some Z's before the afternoon is over.

Sayonara!