Giggle-train

[parasitegirl]

Thursday I woke up early and took an assortment of decongestants and antihistamines for the day. Half my head seems to be full of something nasty.

 

Warning-san is here, and after a night of sleep he was more of less the human Warning that I know.

 

Thursday morning we both realized just how much sightseeing we had shoved into one week the first time he’d visited: gardens (Zen and sakura), Kyoto, Shibuya, Shinjuku, Harajuku, Meji shrine, Sword museum, Asakusa, Tiny bars, Expensive bars, cultural shows, performances in Ueno by the peace shrine, video stores, Samurai land, Akihabara (specifically the massage chairs)...

 

Warning-san didn’t have any idea what he wanted to see this time. If it was his first time and he pulled this, I’d be pissed, but this is different: Japan is just a three day stop before work in Thailand. The money and brain effort goes to Thailand.

 

We decided on Kamakura to see the big-ass Buddha and shrines and whatnot. Yokohama had been something we’d tried to see the first time and would be on our way back. I figured that after we saw the big-Buddha and a temple we could officially say we’d seen something and then could fuck-around by ear and laugh at clothing styles.

 

We spotted fur-topped shoes and potential James Bond enemies on the train.

We hashed out some details on shared memories.

 

“Didn’t we get drunk on vending machine beer and try to pour beer on people from the roof of a hotel?”

“No, we got drunk on vending machine beer and tried to pour that beer into an open window from the roof of the hotel...it was after that bar.

“Oh, the one where the elevator opened up and we couldn’t turn back and wound up talking to that lady about how honorific form is difficult?”

“Yes, the hundred something dollars of atmosphere we drank?”

“140$ I remember the huge spheres of ice in our drinks which fit perfectly in the glasses...”

 

“Did an old man kiss your bicep?”

“I think I’d remember that, but when I was by myself a Japanese man walked up to me, pulled himself up to his tallest, and saluted me.”

“People hesitate to speak Japanese when I’m with you, it’s strange..."

 

We saw the big Buddha, even entered his tummy. We mocked some translations and mimed dancing Buddhas. We saw the Hesa-dera Temple as well. I explained (to the best of my ability) how the Jizo statues work for easing pain with unborn (miscarried or aborted) children, and we both agreed that a room where you turn a bookshelf and are rewarded the same knowledge as reading a few thousand sutras is clearly cheating...and that Steven Segal has probably built one in his basement.

 

I previously referred to Warning-san as “like a little brother.” But he’s more like some freakish fraternal twin. Those folks I call little brothers? Much of our banter is me teasing them and some sexual discussions.  Warning san and I crack eachother up and make fun of other people instead of eachother. It's also a sexless friendship. It isn’t simply the utter lack of sexual tension, it’s the total absence of sex from our discussions. This isn’t just because he’s in a 5 year relationship serious enough to warrant Scuba Certification, it simply has never been there. We’ll toss out a comment here and there but it is a dry/surreal humor, as if one of us suggested that the other fly.

 

“Warning, beware. I seem to be running a 99 degree fever.”

“No making out tonight?”

“Nope. Unless we use saran wrap.”

“Oh, well.”

“Goodnight.”

(and they retreat to separate rooms).

 

After Kamakura and some bad-english t-shirt scouting...

 

“I can’t stare at that woman anymore, she’s getting nervous. But does she have a shirt with the Republican Elephant that says “ Hits the spot everytime?”

“There’s something written on the elephant...something...food....JUNK FOOD!”

“ok”

 

...We headed Yokohama’s Landmark Tower (promising us food, air conditioning, and a simulated helicopter ride.) We never even got to the technology museum because we quickly realized how easily amused we were by the tiniest things in Landmark Tower, including, but not limited to: faux-crystal phalluses, honorable souviners, Whinnie the Pooh dressed like a priest, elevators, curved escalators, and Japan’s answer to the Stepford Wives...uniformed female attendants.

 

“Where are the restaurants?”

“I bet the ladies behind you could help...”

Warning turns around to see two seemingly identical Japanese women wearing teal and white uniforms and matching hats. He lets out an involuntary yelp of fear.

“Oh…myyy…”

“That wasn’t nice to do to you, was it?”

 

There is something spooky about female Japanese uniformed information/department store workers. It isn’t just the subdued church hats and while gloves, or the eldritch smiles, it’s the fact that the uniforms seem to simultaneously fit AND give the impression of being a too large...as if each belt, button, lapel, brim is slightly exaggerated in scale. The result isn’t sloppy, it makes you feel as if they might be dolls or almost-adults playing dress-up. They are rendered unthreatening and yet slightly less human. In the world of horror, nothing is more unsettling than living dolls and little girls.

 

We were thus consumed by giggles whenever they are near. We leaned together and gasp when we are alone with them. We rode in Japan’s fastest elevator to the top of the Tower with one and burst from the doors clutching our stomachs. We avoided eye contact like misbehaving children who know how the giggles catch. If Warning and I hadn’t studied Japanese, Japanese history, Japanese literature and Japanese films I would consider this poor behavior...but we paid our dues and are allowed to admit the country is goddamned funny sometimes.

 

At the top of the tower we looked at photos showing us what we could see if it wasn’t so goddamned hazy/smoggy: here is where Mt.Fuji should be. We found a framed section of wall dedicated to the top 10 souvenirs of Yokohama...including a Commodore Perry fan! I want to know what sort of child has to hold back tears getting that toy...And eventually we waited in line for Japan’s fastest elevator to take us back down to escape to Tokyo.

 

The average age of folks in line/ the elevator was probably 70 something, which only accented the fact we didn’t make it through the whole 35 second without bursting out into uncontrolled laugher.

 

“I don’t even know why I’m laughing!” Warning admitted, outside the elevator.

“I do. When that speed meter reached the yellow zone I desperately wanted to throw my hands up and scream `wheeeeeeeeee!!!` but I knew that it wouldn’t be appreciated, or even acknowledged.”

“I think it was the utter silence.”

“You know, you’re jet lagged, at least you HAVE an excuse...”

 

We made it back to Shibuya and walked until we found a place to drink beer and fashion watch…and talk aimlessly. Warning isn’t a fashion-freak, but even my DAD realized that Japanese fashion is pretty messed up. We saw some horrors over beer. It seems that denim overall shorts are a in fashion…which I do not support. Some people think it is okay to wear a glob of fur with a tail on their hats.

 

Last we giggled our way back to my hood on the train, for a nice sushi dinner. Puppy took my father and I to this nice sushi joint for lunch, you see, and they had set meals and menus with pictures of everything...menus unavailaeble at dinner.

 

I tried to explain that I just needed the nice lady to recommend a sushi selection platter for us. That we’re both semi-lapsed veggitarrians who have been lured into fish and seafood over the last few years and thus have NO idea what we like and dislike in sushi…in English OR Japanese…and just want a plate of sushi like I ordered.

 

My Japanese was getting pretty confused at this point, I know now that I was running a fever by that point.

 

The waitress took our order but also rounded up some poorly translated menus, and a diagram of a sushi joint with translations for random objects, including “Cat Statue”  for us to look at (despite the fact that we had already ordered) and which point the laugher began again. We privately agreed that we would not be ordering the Combustion Eggplant.

 

And the muzak was putting us to sleep…until Warning-san realized it was a tinny-plinky rendition of the soundtrack of Platoon…the scene where DaFoe dies. I explained that Japanese movie theaters always have a gift store of movie promotional items not available in the states and perhaps there had been a Platoon Music box with a little DaFoe, with arms outstretched, spinning.

 

Giggles

 

“A...a...Platoon Snowglobe...with tiny shrapnel...”

 

More giggles.

 

I reach back, my arms outstretched as the muzak played, understanding why we were given an almost empty room to sit in.

 

And then we waddled home, not even able to finish all of our sushi (and we’d ordered what we now know to be “sushi plate for one: cheap version.”) we tried to figure out a system for my keys (I forgot to make a copy) for Friday (today) when I work. I also took my temp and realized I was hovering around 99, and headed to bed.