Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Don't Let the Sun Go Down On Your Grievances

It's coming. I'm almost 24 years old. Yes, dear parents, you read that correctly. I was born nearly 24 years ago.

My two week long birthday celebration has been pretty great so far.

Akiko and I decided to have a combination birthday bash again this year. Since she's leaving this Saturday, it also turned into a bit of a going away party for her. We kept it small this year, just going to Sambandha and karaoke.

There they are!

Nothing makes you feel as valued as a birthday party. It's a time when the people who really like you get together and celebrate YOU. Even if you don't necessarily want them to. I always feel uncomfortable saying things like, "Well, it's MY birthday" on my birthday. I don't think being brought successfully into the world entitles you to anything other than a momentary congratulations. Being a friend, however, does. These people gather not because they think it's great that you made it out of the womb; they gather because they think you're a good person who they like and who they value their relationship with. It makes you all fuzzy. I love my friends.

Sarah drew me this fan-tastic picture of Chopper. I honestly can't fathom how good it is.


Or check out this sweet thing:
Really, Momoko? REALLY?

Later in the evening, once I found myself stonking drunk and hungry after my karaoke session, we went up to Omiya for some ramen. It was there, illuminated from behind as if it were the very will of heaven, that I happened upon the face of true partydom.

BEHOLD!



Last weekend I went on a tour of a sake factory. I went with the people from SIEN, that jolly group who I went on the walk with last November. It managed to be both educational and delicious.

An anecdote: As we were ushered into the room full of antique bric a brac, the president of SIEN, Ryoji, took the lid off an antique medicine box, exposing a tiny, yellow box within. It looked like a pack of playing cards to me. It turned out to be the Showa Era version of Midol ("now with SAFFRON!"). The kanji on it basically said that it's for stopping up a bloody vagina. The upside to this really gross story is that I learned an out-of-date word for vajayjay: 子宮 (shikyuu). The characters mean "child" and "Shinto shrine/palace". Wow.

This kindly old lady said to me in English, "You're wearing a very thin jacket, young man". I replied, "Thanks, Mom."

This is how they do it.

That evening I saw the live action Gantz film with some friends. It was so bad, and not good-bad. Just bad-bad.

Sunday, northeastern Saitama had the final, final going away dinner for Akiko at her favorite restaurant in Satte, Road Station. Now, I'd never been to Road Station. When I first moved to Japan, I asked Akiko about her favorite place to eat in Satte and she mumbled something about sausages and drew me a map. For the next year and a half, Marisa lovingly referred to it as The Sausage Place, but we could never find the time to actually GO there. We wanted to go with Akiko. This was our last chance.

Road Station is, frankly, bizarre. It's a sausage, pizza, and pasta restaurant inside of a log cabin owned by a Chinese couple. Over the loudspeaker, a chintzy version of "Like a Virgin" in Mandarin extends the tendrils of its slightly unsettling ambiance over a table bathed in twinkling Christmas lights. Then, a giant sausage shows up.

Rally the troops! Attack!

Obviously, it's my new favorite restaurant.

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