Japan: Almost like Earth

Man, this time it really has been a while since I last wrote. So much stuff has happened since then. Where to start... I guess I'll start with recent developments, since they're still fresh in my mind.

So, as with my last post, I write this upon returning from a trip to Japan. As always, it was a whirlwind of a business trip, filled with everything from the mundane to the downright bizarre. A friend of mine put it best after coming back to the States after his first visit to Nippon: "The Japanese come from a world that's not entirely unlike Earth."

So, I arrive on a Monday and check into the usual hotel. I swear, that place is going to ruin my vacationing habits. It's not good to get used to staying for a week in a 5 star hotel on a monthly basis... So, I'm greeted by the usual staff ("So nice to see you again, Hapacheese-san!") and check in. They usually assign someone to take my baggage up to my room and make small talk the whole way, but this time, I insisted on doing it myself. I just feel so bad that the guy has to carry my heavy-ass luggage all the way to my room, and yet I don't get to tip him. And besides... it can sometimes get downright awkward.

Case in point: the "Head Butler" (don't look at me, that's what his business card says) has, for whatever reason, taken a personal interest in my "comfort level" while staying at the hotel. One day, after having helped me with my bags, asked me if I was "interested in having breakfast." Now, where I'm from, that really only means one thing, so I wormed my way around that one as quickly as possible. But, he quickly clarified, "Oh, I was talking about free breakfast vouchers for the morning buffet." Score. Well, I mean... scored free brea... nevermind.

But, back to my last trip. I plopped down in my room, showered to scrub off the 14+ hours of grime off my body from the trip there, and get ready to do some work.

I was supposed to meet up with my new boss that night to prepare some last minute documentation before our big meeting the following day. So, I called his room, but he had already essentially finished up and was making plans for dinner. I deftly maneuvered out of those plans as I had received an email on my cell phone from a friend, asking if I was in Japan yet and if I wanted to have dinner. Hm... Awkward dinner with executives that would likely lead to too much drinking and a hangover for the first day of meetings? Or a casual dinner with friends, who also happen to be really attractive women?

I was out of the door in a matter of minutes.

It was a casual affair: dinner with a couple good friends and a few acquaintances from work. It was relatively late, but we polished off a few glasses of beer and went on our separate ways. Next day. Meetings all day long, but i'm used to that stuff. Surprisingly, there was no arguing. For the first time in 6 years, we had an international meeting without a single name-calling or red-in-the-face argument. I was disappointed at the lack of opportunity to use my newly found Gaijin Smash powers (term liberally borrowed from another blogger). Alas. I moved on.

So, I met up with a fellow gaijin friend of mine (he's German!) for beers one last time. He's moving back to Germany in 2 weeks, so it was a bitter sweet thing. He's a really cool guy and we get along great... and he loves beer more than I do (gasp!!!). He was (understandably) suffering during his stay in Japan, as is too much a gentlemen to unleash the full fury of his Gaijin Smash on his surroundings. Return, my friend, to the Motherland and learn to master your Gaijin Strength!

Now... it's the next day that proved to be the most interesting. Okay, so picture this: your life has taken a few twists and turns, and through a sheer stroke of luck, you land a job that most guys would give their left nut for. So, you recognize the opportunity, work your ass off, and next thing you know, you're doin' all right. You've climbed up the corporate ladder and things are looking fine. So, you find yourself making small talk over nice drinks with one of your childhood heroes, and he says to you and the small group you're with, "I've got an idea: Let's go to a transvestite club!"

Okay. So, you've known for a while that your childhood hero isn't quite the guy you thought he was and he got moved down a few notches on your "This Guy is a Cool Dude" scale. Then, the dude busts out his cell phone and DIALS THE NUMBER FOR THE TRANSVESTITE CLUB THAT IS STORED IN HIS PHONE'S MEMORY. While this certainly did not affect his position on the TGiaCD scale, he skyrocketed on the This Dude is Funky scale. Next thing you know, the one girl in your group gets really excited about the notion, and before you have time to make an excuse, you get whisked into a taxi cab, and are on your way. (Okay, that's only partially true... at the elevator, I politely bowed and said I had work to do, which was true, but I received a look of such pure evil, so vile and unfiltered, that I was sure Mr. Childhood Hero was getting ready to put a pox on my family, or at least kamehameha my ass out of the company.)

So, there I am, heading out of the hotel with *two* company executives, and two coworkers from America. Despite being the largest of the group, I was stuck in the front seat of the cab. (The cab driver even commented, "You're the biggest one and you got stuck up here! You've got the body of a gaijin!" Well, Detective Conan, I'm not sure if you noticed the big ass gaijin head to match the big gaijin body.) As we drove to the destination, I looked out the window and thought, "Hm... That's Tokyo Tower... and wait... I know this place." Then the evil stench of Roppongi raced into my nostrils, and I knew I had to be on guard the rest of the night.

Okay, so the next point that night I realized things had gone horribly awry was when we arrived at the bar. I'm not entirely sure what I was expecting, but it surely wasn't a 2 ft tall penis doorhandle. I froze at the door, like a deer caught in giant penis headlights. A more stalwart soul pushed open the door, and the lights nearly blinded me. I staggered into the room, bewildered and dazed, and looked up. I just got all kindsa... bendy. Sitting at the table directly in front of me was obviously a gay man in drag: the stubble certainly did not go well with his eye shadow and lipstick drawn beyond the lines of his lips. And the leotard was certainly not flattering.

So, we were led further into the den, and asked to sit huddled around two tiny tables that could hold *maybe* 3 coasters total, and we were promptly joined by two men/women, one of which was Stubbleman from the table in front. The other was about 5'10", and about as skinny as Paris Hilton. With the lack of adam's apple and long hair, I didn't believe she was actually a he until he talked. It's quite disconcerting to see someone look like that, and talk with a really deep, low voice.

The night continued, and suddenly, the room went dark, and all the companions scuttled away behind a curtain that had ninja'd in from nowhere. The entertainment was about to begin. Despite the show's name ("Natsu da! Matsuri da! Kintama da!!!" - roughly translated: "Summer time! Festival time! Testicle time!!!"), it started off tame enough. A couple of the guys on stage doing a song and dance number (lip synched, of course), and a few samba dances ensued. Then the show hit maximum wtf-overdrive. Four of them came out dressed like high school girls in PE outfits, and they were carrying a volleyball. They got into an argument over something, and they needed Coach to resolve the issue. Being in Roppongi (The Sleaziest Place on Earth), filled with copious amounts of alcohol, and surrounded by transvestites severely clouded my Oh Shit radar, but I knew something was up. I knew that shit wasn't right.

They began going from guy to guy in the audience saying, "Are you Coach???" and then taunting them with various verbal assaults to their masculinity or pretending to felate them. Everyone but me. And the tiny hairs on your arm, you know when they stand up? That's them. (/Sixth Sense)

Suddenly, I was grabbed by 4 pairs of (actual) man-hands, and there were screams of "Coach!!! Coach!!!" Now, if these were actual women, I could've picked them up, tossed 'em over my shoulder Tarzan-style, and been done with business, but you try that with 4 men. Next thing I know, they're feeling my forhead and thighs claiming, "Oh noes! Coach is so hot! He's got a fever!!! Where's the doctor?!" And then the "OMG" hit the fan, got and got torn the fuck up, and became more of an O M G.

The largest one of the group (with beer belly and everything) comes out in a lab coat... with lingerie underneath. After a sad attempt at a sexy dance, he straddles a little stool on wheels thing that was whisked in by Stubbleman (who was now standing behind him) and they're both looking straight at me. There was fire in their eyes. A determination. They sensed fear.

Suddenly, Chubby Doctor threw his legs open to reveal a giant. black. strapon. I kid you not. I move to get up, but I am held down now by no less 5 pairs of man-hands. They've multiplied! I'm thrown into a hospital smock that's three sizes too small, and the interrogation begins. I don't even remember the goddamn questions. Someone was whispering the answers in my ear and the mic into my face. They were all along the lines of "Which okama (gay) is the one who is worried about such-and-such?" And the answer was always the same: Stubbleman. And every time I answered the question, the dildo-on-wheels would come ever so closer... until it was about 2 feet from my face. And then the final question got asked, and before the words even escaped my mouth, Chubby Doctor jumps on my lap, Stubbleman rushes behind us, and I see someone holding a camera. Well, shiat, folks. What's a man supposed to do? I strain out the best grin I can, and deal.

The show continued on its quick spiral downward into the fiery depths even after I was returned (thankfully, unmolested... relatively) to my seat. I sat there, head in my hands like a man broken, when I look up to see Mr. Childhood Hero crying, tears streaming down his face. He would reveal later that it was he, in fact, that set me up. Unbeknownst to me, he had engaged in shady dealings backstage. There was an exchange of money (or favors... he was unclear) and I was marked as the victim for the night. That's another 2 notches on the TGiaCD scale. The bastage.

I regained my composure now that the worst was over, settled back with my shochu drink, and decided to ride the wave the rest of the night. But, nothing short of Navy SEAL training and 48 hours in a sensory deprivation tank could prepare me for what came next. The lights went dim again, and I saw the feathery outline of more dancers waiting in the wings behind the ninja curtains. The base line starts. Bm bm bm bm bm. The hihat kicks in. Bm bm bm tsh bm tsh bm bm bm... And the curtain flies open! The first thought to cross my mind was, "Guh?!"

Five of the man-ladies waltzed in with the fierceness, single file, dressed like Vegas dancers. Topless. With boobs. And I don't mean man-boobs (though, technically, I guess they are man-boobs, no matter how you slice it). I did not know men could build such things (/Gladiator).

As some higher power was trying mightily to wrench my conscious mind from my body, I turned to the girl in our group with a blank expression, expecting to be met with laughter. Her visage was dark. She leaned to my ear, and through the deafening music, spake unto me, "I am a failure as a woman." Though, I suppose being man-made, one should expect nothing less than that. But having seen enough poorly done boob jobs in American porn, it was simply amazing to see what skilled surgeons and a strict diet of hormones could do to a man's body.

Thankfully, after the jiggling stopped, the rest of the night was nowhere nearly as eventful (other than one of the dudes telling me, "I know something in English!" "Oh dear God, do I even want to..." "Fuck me!" "..." and other such splendid conversations), in the end, it was actually quite entertaining in a "You know somewhere, at some point in your life, things took an interesting turn when you end up... here" kind of way. We left a little while later, laughed the entire way out, had a bowl of some of the best goddamn ramen in existence, and headed back to the hotel.

And the best part about it? I didn't pay a dime.