Fashion Senseless

Today I was faced with a dilemma. I had written a blog two straight weeks, and felt that I should keep the streak going by writing an article this week. Unfortunately, there was this nagging desire to waste my time by indulging in frequent visits to Wikipedia as well as occasional trips to the trusty Gamecube. Faced with this problem, I decided to take the easy way out and reuse an article I had written for a Shimane (the name of the prefecture that I'm currently living in) wide newsletter edited in part by my lovely girlfriend Leslie. This month the newsletter's theme was fashion. Now, this is maybe the worst topic in the world for me, due to my oft quoted belief that fashion isn't an interesting or worthy topic. In fact, this opinion is so widely known that it created a little bit of a scandal while I was attending university when a professor I knew thought my occasional rantings concerning fashion were directly aimed at her and her field of study. I survived this escapade by pretending to see fashion's place in the sphere of human achievement. Despite this history, Leslie was in a tough spot, and my infinite amount of compassion caused me to write the article below. While by no means brilliant, I feel that adequately fulfills the job of keeping my recent writing routine intact. Unfortunately, some of the attempted humor might be lost on those who have not spent significant time in Japan. To try to alleviate this problem, I would just like to mention one brief cultural difference concerning the state of gender equality in Japan. There really isn't any. As a result, Japanese men are always looking for new and interesting ways to belittle women. They do so by manufacturing innovative methods for looking up girl's skirts, "falling" into them, etc. This fact causes me to believe that a lot of Japanese fashion is the product of men influencing certain designers to produce only the the most provocative articles for the mass market. This fact is one the underlying influences behind entry #2 & #4. So, with that in mind, enjoy the rest of the article!

When I was approached to write an article about fashion, I was astounded at my own good fortune. After all, its not everyday that you are given the opportunity to write about a subject that doesn't interest you. Despite this, the siren call of the number one amateur/ex-pat/non-profit newsletter in Shimane was too strong to resist. I choked down my conscious and committed my soul to further decay by writing about a topic so trivial and unimportant that only the world of celebrity gossip can even venture to challenge it. Therefore, and without further ado, I ordain on the world my article about fashion.

The previous paragraph makes it clear about my opinions about general fashion. Despite this, I don't wish for this article to be a customary polemic on this broad topic. Instead, I hope to highlight the most glaringly unnecessary additions to an already bloated industry. Therefore, I will take a short trip through history and attempt to underscore what I believe to be the top five most unnecessary articles of clothing in Western fashion.

5. Leather Pants- Never in history has something been both so culturally irrelevant as well as practically unnecessary. While leather jackets can justifiably said to look cool due to its obvious connections to counter-culture movements or seditious ideals, its tough to justify the necessity of leather pants. Even today, far from seeing them as a symbol of opposition, the viewing of someone who is wearing leather pants is almost guaranteed to generate feelings of revulsion or at best, laughter. This view is further enforced by the frequently discussed images of David Hasselhoff wearing leather pants while splashing Germans with unique music during the fall of the Berlin Wall. It seems that even during this emotional event, leather pants stood not for radical reform, but instead as a monument toward the uncomfortable effects of chafing.

4. Panty Hoes- I've never understood this article of clothing, mostly due to the fact that I'm never required to wear them. Despite this, I have heard from informed sources that these seem to be one of the most impractical features of a woman's attire. Apart from being purely cosmetic, I do find it humorous that the most popular color is "flesh tone." That, coupled with their ability to "run" within minutes, in effect making them immediately useless causes one to question the whole enterprise. Despite this, I find its name to be the most offensive aspect of this particular piece of attire. Never a fan of the word "panty", I am also faced with the sexist themes presented by the word "hoes." Perhaps, with each pair you purchase, you further buy into the attempted subjugation of your gender. Or maybe you feel that the highlighting of certain parts of your body that men find sexually desirable is the result of your own pursuits. In any event, as a man, your decision to emphasize those aspects won't be met with any opposition from me. After all, its your soul.

3. Vest- This might be one of the dumbest looking articles of clothes in human history. Apart from the fact that it is nothing more than a glorified tank top, the idea that the vest should continue as a necessary part of human attire is beyond my understanding. Devoid of any ability to contain warmth, it remains as nothing more than an afterthought. For example, if someone attempted to sell you a shirt with no sleeves, a strap with a buckle on the back, a v-neck, and fit just above the waist, would you buy it? I should think not. Unfortunately, your desire to suck down the efforts of any half witted fashion designer has caused the vest to come back, now in insulated form. While this reason is weak due to the fact that a majority of you can't get past the brand name that you so gladly grab your ankles for, it does fill me with hope. After all, if you are wearing a vest because you are a conforming sell out, and not because you are an idiot who believes that it is more important to keep the warmest part of your bodies covered, while ignoring the extremities, I can at least sleep at night.

2. Short Skirt-This choice causes a moral dilemma. As a rational being, I can see nothing practical in thigh high skirts. On the other hand, as a sexual being, its quite hard for me to ignore this obvious play towards my sensibilities. You have all seen it, girls desperately trying to discover a way to keep themselves covered while at the same time wearing a skirt that just doesn't contain enough fabric to facilitate it. This coupled with the creepy men who will mill around at the bottom of stair cases or leer from a far, makes these clothing decisions questionable to any girl pursuing any degree of modesty in their lives. Still, the demands of society force women to be objectified, and who are we to oppose the wise minds at "Cosmo" or "Vanity Fair." On the other hand, testosterone is a powerful hormone. So, in conclusion I welcome the short skirt. Its practicality as a clothing option is beyond debate. I mean its shorter, which necessary means that on hot days, it keeps you cooler! That's good! I hope to see everyone who took my advice at the nearest staircase. I'll be waiting at the bottom.

1. Necktie- This one is an obvious inclusion, and to leave it out would have been a crime. Never in history has something be so important to a man's attire while being simultaneously so unnecessary. The necktie remains the the one item that forces men's clothing out from the realm of just 'semi-formal" to the promised land of "formal." Many companies and business require the necktie, while being more relaxed on the color and make of the rest of the outfit. The belief that a simple strip of silk increases the overall appearance of men is questionable, but it seems that society has been rather successful in promoting this opinion. While the stupidity of this idea is debatable, there is a far more sinister force promoting the necktie. I shudder to say it, but for the sake of society I will. The neck tie threat is none other than pop-punk inspired pre-teen girls. Using Avril Lavigne as their un-talented and irritating overlord, they roam the countryside looking for ties to loosely hang over their T-shirt/tank tops. Looking every bit as dumb as they undoubtedly are, these dark ones will only be happy when we have been subjugated to their high pitched immaturity. If we are to survive this onslaught, we must oppose these night walkers by removing the tie from prominence. Only then can we enter a new golden age where people are free to attend business situations or pop-concerts without the silk threat stalking us, threatening to strangle all of our hopes and dreams.

My Musical Odessey

Since high school, I have spent a substantial part of my life in the pursuit of new music that can stimulate my senses while not offending my sensibilities. Unfortunately, I am alive during a time in which music is at a creative low point. With the end of grunge,(the last real innovation in main stream music), the industry has descended into fabricated pop acts that put to shame the constructed groups of the 60's and 70's. Talent and drive has been replaced by marketability and conformation, and my disillusionment with this current fare caused me to look back into the annals of music for truly revolutionary songs. Now, I would like to make clear that my music tastes are in no way avant-garde or non-traditional. I remain a committed fan of popular rock music and I have never been one to scour record stores for a band that despite their abilities, has failed to make any inroads towards a wider audience. While I realize this may contradict my earlier statements concerning the state of modern music, I would like to remind my readers that the great musicians of the past were both artistically talented and commercially successful. Of course this thought process opens up a new topic of discussion, namely who is to blame for the state of modern music? The obvious two choices would be either music executives who have thrown away genuine talent for the sake of profit, or consumers who have readily swallowed the filth permeating the airwaves. Unfortunately, this is a question that will have to be answered in a future blog. Instead I would like to focus on quite possibly the best pop album of all time. Therefore, and without further ado, I would like to devote this blog to a little known album entitled "Odessey and Oracle."

The Zombies were never a enormously popular group. The band known for its string of "Top 40" hits like, "She's Not There" and "Tell Her No" had always been considered one of the lesser "British Invasion" bands, when compared to the likes of The Beatles or The Rolling Stones. Despite this, the band kept plugging along, and decided to meet and record their first real album in the summer of 1967(Their previous album had been nothing more than a collection of singles). Utilizing the songwriting skills of Rod Argent (who would go on later to front a 70's rock band aptly named "Argent") and the voice of Colin Bluntstone, the band recorded arguably the strongest pop album in history. With intricate harmonies and enduring melodies, the album was poised to fulfill the niche left vacant by the break down of Brian Wilson's "Smile" project. Unfortunately, the Zombies' lack of financial success forced the band to disband before the album was even released.

The Zombies' breakup forced back the release of "Odessey and Oracle" while executives debated what to do with album featuring a misspelled title (a point that caused the band some embarrassment) as well as a lack of a band to serve as the promotional vehicle. Fortunately, some of the tracks had been heard by American musicians who vouched for its quality. Finally, in April 1968 the album was released to disappointing sales. Despite this, the final song on the album, "Time of the Season," became a huge hit (two years after the album's release), propelling the band back into the "Top 40." Unfortunately, this did not help the lagging sales of the LP, and the album slipped into obscurity.

Despite its lackluster performance, "Odessey and Oracle" has attained a degree of respect and admiration among those in the music industry. Seen as a brilliant symbol of its time, the album has been hailed by music insiders as one of the best pop albums in history, second only to The Beach Boy's "Pet Sounds." Every song is unique,and it is one of the few albums I can listen to without skipping through the tracks. While not as earth shattering as "Pet Sounds" or as introspective and poetic as Love's "Forever Changes," I feel that "Odessey and Oracle" is easily the most accessible to even the most casual of music fans. Songs like "Care of Cell 44," "Friends of Mine," or "This Will Be Our Year" are instantly likable, and tracks like "A Rose For Emily" and "Beechwood Park" will grow on you after a few times through. Of course, there is also "Time of the Season," which may be the best song I've ever heard end an album. The song's immense popularity aside, this track represents not only the completion of The Zombies' album and existence, but it also represents a fitting close to the psychedelic/summer of love era that was summed up so efficiently by the album itself.

Finally, it's hard to put "Odessey and Oracle" above "Pet Sounds," despite my desire to do. Like "Odessey and Oracle", "Pet Sounds" went largely unnoticed at first, and it may have been The Beach Boys wider popularity that allowed Brian Wilson's genius to receive the praise and attention it justly deserved. Unfortunately the very media emphasis that caused "Pet Sounds" to reach wider audiences, may have also caused the album to lose some if its luster, and while still being a brilliant album, it became so familiar that audiences failed to remember its true impact on music history. Fortunately, "Odessey and Oracle" does not suffer from such overexposure. Its relative obscurity has caused it to be a perfect time capsule into the the world of psychedelic rock. Free of any pretensions, the satisfyingly fresh pop music will stimulate the senses, and even "Time of the Season" sounds new and original when heard with the rest of the album playing around it. In conclusion, "Odessey and Oracle" is an album I would recommend to anyone, and perhaps it can even get you through those dark days when modern radio makes you question the relevance of popular music in today's society.

Writer's Block

Well, its been three weeks since my last blog, and I have still not been able to find anything in my life worth sharing. The usual monotony of existence in Japan continues to roll on and I regret to admit that I find my growing feelings of malaise to be not at all unwelcome. This truth generates numerous apprehensions concerning the direction of my life and I shudder to think of the possible culmination of these ideas. My recent convictions have engulfed everything I do and even now, I find every sentence that I write while discussing this very topic to be nothing short of torture. It seems that my only current desire is to finish this task soon enough to give me time to stare at the wall or look out the window. Therefore, I feel that it is important for my own mental well to seek outside help. It is with this in mind that I ask anyone who has interesting stories or ideas to email or post them to me. I would appreciate any suggestions for writing topics, and if you have sent me ideas in the past, please send them again. My raging lethargy coupled with my computer's meltdown last month has caused me to lose most of the information regarding certain aspects that I had chosen not to memorize due to their (I thought) permanent place on my hard drive. Finally, I would like to congratulate my friend Jesse and his wife Megan on their nuptials last month. Jesse has shocked all of his friends by choosing a female bride and I wish him all the best. His kindness and patience towards me will not be forgotten, and it was an honor to be with him on such an important day. Despite this, I would like to renew my call in regards to the campaign to discover the truth behind his sexual orientation. Many of his friends (myself included) believe this to be a cover and I will not rest until the truth comes out. I do this not for myself but for the well being of my friend. Well, that's it. I really am bored, and I will be looking forward to any comments or suggestions. Until then, I will be watching Japanese television and dreaming of my move to Russia, which has finally began to reveal itself on my psychological horizon.

P.S. Thanks to John Hummel for supplying the photographs of Jesse's wedding. He was a rock of responsibility compared to my own lackadaisical approach to remembering such an important day.

The Pursuit of Crappyness

Well, after a week of recovering from the whirlwind of activity that accompanied my trip home, I feel that I can once again buckle down and write about a topic that concerns us all, namely American popular culture. My trip to America was full of episodes which had me questioning my homeland and wondering aloud about the state of American society. Despite this, I took solace in the fact that I would soon be leaving the United States, and therefore all of these temporary frustrations could be indefinitely relegated to the back of my mind. When I arrived back in Japan I was immediately hit with the reality of Japanese pop-culture. I quickly altered my perceptions and vowed to accept the cute big eyed animals and effeminate men that I encountered at every turn. When I arrived home, I sat down to watch an English movie channel, without which I may have never survived my initial eight months in the country. As the screen flashed on, I was greeted with the big stupid grin of former “fresh prince” Will Smith. All of my mental preparation for my future in Japan was immediately broken down by the piece of malignant filth that appeared before me. It was then that I took it on my self to save the world from the black lies that have spread concerning Will Smith, his alleged talents, and his continued existence in our collective consciousness.

Will Smith entered most of our lives under the moniker of the “Fresh Prince,” rapping to the hip beats of fellow future Hollywood mega star DJ Jazzy Jeff. His raps were held as a safe alternative to the gangster-rap that was also growing in popularity, and Smith took this mantel to make some of the worst and most forgettable rhymes in the history of the genre. It is true that Smith’s raps included less overt profanity than say, N.W.A., but this does not mean that his lyrics should be spared from intense criticism. While not stimulating any specific moral outrage, the words uttered in Smith's "songs" are so bad that they negatively affect the sensibilities of anyone with even a small degree of sanity. I hesitate to quote any directly (at risk of inadvertently making myself sick), but for the sake of argument, please remember that one of his biggest hits, “Parents Just Don’t Understand,” was a song bemoaning the lack of understanding parents give to the limited outlook of twelve year olds. It was as a result of such earth shattering social commentary, that Smith despite all his deficiencies was given a show on national television.

“The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air” sucks. There is really no other way around it, and its “Full House” like nostalgia remains the only thing that continues to draw us in. That coupled with the belief that everyone who ever saw it feels like they are required to recite the theme song at the drop of a hat, makes it a show that stimulates nothing but ire throughout the deepest reaches of my soul. Despite the terrible theme song and even worse plot points, the worst thing about the show does not deal with anything directly addressed on any one episode. Of course, it does not take a rocket scientist to guess where I’m leading to, so I feel like I should just come out and say it. “The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air” and the popularity it inspired lead movie producers to see Smith as a potentially lucrative commodity. If small scale audiences could be snowed into thinking he was funny and talented, what was to stop movie audiences from thinking the same thing. It was with this in mind that Will Smith was cast in the fantastically titled 1995 action-thriller, “Bad Boys.”

“Bad Boys” was Smith’s first major film role, and therefore it was only natural that he be paired with mega talent, Martin Lawrence (who would acquire further fame in such hilarious forays as Big Momma’s House 1 & 2). This movie (which I’m quite sure everyone has seen, to my own dismay) opened the door for Will Smith to pursue a full time movie career. It was this opportunity that allowed him to display his penchant for the absurd by fighting aliens (two times, once as a stripper dating potential astronaut and once as a cop) as well being a black cowboy that everyone in 1870’s America treats as an equal. These movies have somehow given Smith an ego, although thorough viewings will cause many to question how, and it is with this in mind that I come back to where I began.

So as I mentioned earlier, I had just turned on the TV only to see Will Smith’s big stupid grin. He was promoting his new film, “The Pursuit of Happyness”, and was allowing the Japanese audience the great privilege of hearing his thoughts on family and life. Billed as his second dramatic role (after the mind numbingly boring “Ali”), Smith begins by sharing his great life experience, how he insists on kissing his son on the lips, and his secrets to a long a successful marriage, despite being in his second. The revelations are cliché and his ideas just stupid, but the Japanese eat it up as gospel. After a few minutes of this, with my head on the verge of exploding, I shut the TV off, just after catching one final glimpse of Will Smith hypothesizing on the meaning of life.

In conclusion, I would like to say Will Smith sucks. His movies are lame, his show was terrible, and his music (if it can be called that) is something spawned from hell. If we as a society want to continue living in a world of prosperity, it is in our best interest to stop him before his lectures on life motivate him to seek higher office. Therefore I urge you to do the right thing, and rid yourself of anything that bears the stench of Will Smith. Until then, I will consider every movie ticket, every CD owned, and every recitation of the “Fresh Prince” theme song as a vote towards a bleak Orwellian future of people forced to “Get Jiggy Wit It” while watching repeated viewings of box office masterpiece “Hitch.” With this terrifying future in mind, I hope everyone will do the right thing. I just hope I'm not too late.

Home...

It is with a joyful heart and great pleasure that I announce my (albeit brief) return home. I have to go back for a wedding, but I must admit that the joyous union that will validate both the lives of my friend and future bride is not the thing that most excites me. Eight months in Japan has left me jaded towards all things Japanese, and in the recent weeks leading up to my trip, I have done nothing but think of the benefits that only a European/American society can provide. It is with this in mind that I would like to share with the world the objects that I so desperately crave. For those of you who have spent substantial time abroad, perhaps you can identify with the things that (I believe) I so justly desire. For those of you who have not experienced a similar withdrawal from the comforts of home, I beg that you subdue your feelings of amusement and at least look on me with a mixture of understanding coupled with a semblance of pity.

Of all the things that I miss from home, the one that I most often lament is the difference in cuisine. Simply put, Japanese food is awful, and I have made it my mission to scour the grocery stores looking for items that resemble something edible. The Japanese over reliance on seafood has caused me to reevaluate my own position toward the fruit of the ocean. My original feelings of apathy toward fish have been replaced by a near revulsion. Despite this, these feelings are not due to my own consumption (which have been limited), but rather to the opinions of the Japanese population toward the intrinsic perfection of their diet. While no one can deny that fish provide nourishment, it may be presuming too much to argue that fish skin makes your hair shiny. This and the popular belief that the “cheek” holds the best meat, has caused Japan to be a country obsessed with the ingestion of fish heads.

I know that many of you may be wondering what food could possibly warm my heart in a country with a ready supply of fish noggins. To that question, I answer with a sandwich of such importance, that I fear that my feeble writing skills will not be able to adequately describe it in all its perfection. Therefore, (as if you hadn’t guessed) I will just put it bluntly. The Arby’s Melt sandwich is a thing of near divine beauty. During an earlier time in my life I would often purchase and consume no less than five. Each of these sandwiches hit me like a cheese covered bomb, and I would leave the establishment happy and full. Arby’s would further facilitate my gluttony through clever number based sales pitches, notably the 5 for $5 deal. I have been craving these since October and my patience will finally be rewarded when I sink my teeth into heavily processed roast beef spattered with melted cheddar and some strange red sauce. After enjoying the near bliss of Arby’s, I will recoup my appetite before finding a local a pizza shop. There, I will indulge in a pie that does not have any of the vile requisite Japanese toppings. It will be nice to see pepperoni and cheese on a hand tossed crust, instead of the usual fare of a cracked raw egg and corn spread lightly on a captain’s wafer.

While food is only the tip of the iceberg, it remains to be seen if my idealized vision of home will be realized. I know that I will be fulfilling obligations for a majority of the trip, but I hope to find the time to stop at a bookstore, or even see a movie. Japan’s staggering ticket cost of about $18 has forced me to forego a hobby that could have brought relief to a life full of boredom and frustration. I only hope that there is something to see when I get there. I would be bitterly disappointed if my movie options consisted of no other alternative than the opportunity of seeing Tim Allen and John Travolta ride motorcycles together, a movie idea that stimulates nothing but disgust and horror in all who encounter it. In any event, I hope that my brief trip will give me some material to discuss in this forum! If not, you can look forward to continuing blogs concerning the nature of bread based heroes or even articles concerning my love of the French fry. In any case, it will be something you can use to kill five minutes while making your way to something infinitely more interesting or entertaining. I hope that it is worth it.

Tales From Home Pt. 4: GYBin' It Up

As I begin to prepare for short vacation back to the U.S., I’m continually stricken with fond memories of my earlier life in Pennsylvania. Of course, these reminiscences not only provide excellent material for my online ramblings, but they also save me the trouble of coming up with a new and original topic. It is with this in mind, that I will be devoting this entry to a tale of such world renown, that it may come of somewhat of a shock, that I waited this long to share it formally. To begin, many of you who know me or my small circle of friends from high school will no doubt remember hearing the word “G.Y.B.” used by any one of us at one time or another. While most of you know that the term is used in a pejorative sense, only a select few (by “select” I mean anyone who asks) know the true meaning behind the expression. Therefore, I feel that it is my duty to formally reveal the story behind the term, as well as clear up any possible misinterpretations that may have resulted as a result of the coy attitude my friends and I have shown to those desiring the truth concerning “G.Y.B.” It is under these pretenses that I proudly present to you the true story.

It was a warm spring night. My friends, Jesse (see Tales From Home Pt. 2), Dan and I were prepared to enjoy one another’s company through the usual medium of video games. It was at the moment of greatest anticipation for the night before us, that the familiar sound of the door opening caught our attention. Our curiosity over who it could be was immediately replaced by disappointment when a deep resonant grunt entered our ears. The grunt, a calling card of our mutual acquaintance Scott, alerted us to the fact that the evening would be far from enjoyable. Scott, who was someone we had known since grammar school, had a penchant for discovering our plans and then showing up to our homes uninvited. His spontaneous appearances were notorious. Each of us has a tale of waking up, arriving home following a trip, or getting out of the shower only to find Scott patiently waiting for us in our living room, oblivious to the social faux pas he was committing. While this would not have been as bad if Scott had been a friend of ours, the simple truth was that a number of us had begun to hate him, and the best of us strongly disliked him. Despite this, our concern for his feelings (he did mean well) kept us from overtly displaying our disdain for him. After exchanging the complimentary greetings, Scott serenaded us with a few more grunts and then settled down to tell us about his “DMX” CD, deer hunting, beer, or some other meaningless thing his feeble mind dared to share with us. Jesse, whose world famous politeness had caused him to bear the brunt of Scott’s friendship, finally decided he had had enough, and chose to go to sleep in my bedroom upstairs. Dan and I, who were enjoying making fun of Scott (albeit still subtly), decided to stick around, and play video games with him. What follows next, would set the stage for many future tales, and change my life and vocabulary for ever.

The video game we chose was one in which you drive a car with a lot of guns, and go around trying to shoot other cars (also with guns.) While the genius and ingenuity of this game can be without question, we were finding it hard to concentrate due to Scott’s strategy of driving his car. His tactic of not fighting us and driving around in circles coupled his frequently loud guffaws, further antagonized us, and finally out of pure frustration we quit the game. Basking in his lameness, he continually talked about the game for the next hour and half. We just tried to ignore him, and prayed for the moment he would get tired and leave the house. Finally as if exhausted by the fact that he had used so much brain power to form sentences, he collapsed in a heap of backne and sweat.

It took us a few minutes to discover the miracle, but after a couple moments of quiet, we silently rejoiced over the fact and begin to throw things at his sleeping body. The joy we gained through the (we thought) humiliation of Scott grew old, and Dan and I decided to watch a movie. Throughout the movie we continued to insult Scott while desperately trying to hear the dialogue over his increasingly loud snoring. In a fit of despondency, I began to look over at Scott hoping my glares of disdain would quiet him. It was during one of those looks that I caught sight of one of the most disturbing images ever to grace my young eyes. Scott was fast asleep, but his hand was firmly gripping the hardened object which needs no further elaboration. Despite its disquieting nature, I immediately showed Dan what I saw. Dan took a look, and despite the fact that he was unhappy about the image he was forced to behold, he also saw the humorous potential of the situation. We immediately started discussing what we could do to Scott to capitalize on such a golden opportunity. Eventually, our brilliant minds settled on a plan of pouring warm water on his crotch in the hope that he would think he peed himself. We immediately set our plan in action and filled up a glass with warm water. I discovered my own thirst after seeing the water, so I filled a second glass for myself, this one with ice. We then made our way back to Scott and poured the water on his crotch. Our joy was compounded when Scott, far from disliking the water we poured on him, actually gripped himself harder! Laughing, we decided to get a second glass. For some reason, Dan filled this one with water hot enough to produce steam. As Dan crept up towards Scott’s crotch, I stood by the light switch prepared to quickly shut off the lights if anything went wrong. Dan attempted to pour a little bit of water, but his haste caused him to accidentally pour the entire glass on his crotch. Seeing the mistake I immediately shut off the light.

The darkness could not hide our laughter. My convulsions caused the ice in my glass to jingle, and I desperately tried to stifle my emotion. Scott, immediately sensing the drastic temperature change in his pubic area, began to waken. Feeling the moisture and immediately realizing it to not be urine, his initial confusion turned to anger. Yelling some empty threats of murder, we immediately burst into laughter and ran away. Running up to my bedroom, we woke Jesse up to tell him what we had seen and what we had done. Jesse, whose own tiredness kept him from realizing the true brilliance of what happened, chuckled before going back to sleep. Throughout the rest of the night we talked about all the things Scott could do. We decided to call him “G.Y.B”, or Grip Your Boner. Afterwards we came up with numerous stories, products he promoted (wet pipes and the health benefits of warm water on the crotch) as well as super human feats that “G.Y.B.” had accomplished (naturally with the gift God endowed him with, notably a wet crotch). We even made a goal to have someone call someone else a “G.Y.B.” on a nationally syndicated television show (a goal that has yet to be reached). It was at that point that we decided to never call Scott by his birth name again. We even created a false meaning of “G.Y.B.” in order to call him it to his face. The next morning we told him goodbye, and the beginning of a new era commenced.

In conclusion, the above story may seem to be of little importance; fortunately nothing could be further from the truth. While this story may be much funnier when told in person, its future repercussions can not be underestimated. “G.Y.B.” would be an important part of many future stories, and without this initial action, our hatred of Scott would have never come out in the open. The “G.Y.B.” story cleared the way for “Space Battles” one of the most ambitious and poorly made amateur movies ever. It set the stage for “E.O.G.”, “GYB-Poop”, and the supposed G.Y.B. kidnapping which involved the local police and almost got Dan and I beat up by a chain-smoking G.Y.B. Finally, I would just like to say that G.Y.B. is one of my fondest memories from my youth. “G.Y.B.” entered my vocabulary, and I still occasionally use it today. I implore you to use it as well! Together, we can utilize this acronym’s full potential, and keep the spirit of insulting the former Scott as strong today, as it was when it was nothing but a dream encapsulated in a steaming hot glass of water.

A Pariah's Paradise

It began before we were even conscious of it, the feelings of trepidation consuming our every waking moment. The discomfort only continued as we entered adolescence, the darkness entering every facet of our being, testing our sanity, and forcing us to withstand the black specter whose origins remained tantalizing beyond our comprehension. Luckily, the best of us were able to survive and grow into the seemingly normal individuals you see today; unfortunately the rest succumbed to the all encompassing power of the unseen force. By now, you must be already acutely aware of what I’m discussing, but at the risk of losing your interest, I’d like to share a story concerning my own awakening to the origin of the disease that plagues humanity and darkens even the purist of hearts.

It all began in my first year of high school; I had successfully subdued my own knowledge of the aforementioned virus, and had chosen the typical altruistic life of all post-pubescent boys. My daily routine was full of attempts (almost always unsuccessful) to help other high school girls who so sorely needed the attention that only I could offer. It was during one of these outings, that I first encountered the sum of all my fears. I had just been rebuffed by one particularly ungrateful girl, and in a funk, I decided to seek solitude in the dark corners of the school. As I approached my potential sanctuary, I heard words in a language that was unfamiliar to me. I stealthily approached where they were sitting and was surprised to see a group of students that had been commonly ridiculed by many of the upper classman. I decided to ascertain the nature of their social exclusion. In one corner of the room two men were attacking each other with what appeared to be a bow staff and a kitana sword. Another group of students (the ones speaking the strange language) were huddled over brightly illustrated comics, some were watching movies, and finally a few were listening to some of the worst music to ever touch my virgin ears. The horrible spectacle I witnessed, finally confirmed the sad truth that haunts us all. There is a culture of Japanophilia, and I had just experienced one of their black masses.

It was at that moment that I became one of the enlightened. Finally free of the blinders, I naively attempted to save those who had fallen victim to such a curse. I first attempted to contact their friends. After learning that Japanophiles rarely have friends, I decided to alert their families. Unfortunately, their families saw the activities to be nothing more than harmless hobbies. My rejection forced me to begin to share my revelation so that others could excuse themselves from the horrible spectacle that I had been forced to witness. I began to approach complete strangers, and tell them what I had seen. I warned everyone to hide their children and lock their doors, at risk of hearing a ridiculous story about the beauty inherent in “manga” comics, or that Japanese food was nothing short of orgasmic. Unfortunately, as with all who accept myth, no amount of reason could sway them from their pre-conceived notion concerning the ordinariness of such tediously frivolous creatures. I comforted myself with the fact that those lost souls remained on the fringe of society, and therefore they would have to remain in hiding. I took pride in the fact that their lame interests and even worse personalities would never be able to appear in public, due to the risk of facing a public scrutiny that would almost definitely ruin their already low self-esteem. It was at the zenith of this optimism that I made the fateful decision to move to Japan.

I left for Japan full of hope. Japanophilia was on the rise, and my oft-repeated lamentations continually fell on deaf ears. My decision to leave the United States was based on the assumption that if I went to Japan, I would see the Japanese view of their culture and be spared the insufferable torture that accompanies western views of Japanese society. While many Japanese allotted their particular cultural aspects to the back burner of their psyche in search of more constructive pursuits, I found one group residents with far more sinister intentions. It was in Japan that I found the very same exiles expressing their morbid interests in the open, and in greater numbers. Unable to understand how a seemingly reasonable nation could allow these people to commit their sins in the open, I decided to investigate. As a result, I uncovered an even more disturbing truth. Japanese people actually like these examples of concentrated embarrassment! Those who had been so reviled into their homelands, were now treated as divine due nothing more than a passing resemblance to those who appear in the movies or on TV. Naturally these exiles were fully aware of their celebrated status, and as a result they have convinced themselves that they are sexually desirable (by dating native girls who think they have money) and cool (by having other ex-pat friends who only hang out with them due to the natural comradely that comes from living in a foreign land, regardless of personality). These delusions cause many to live in Japan for the rest of their lives. Polluting the countryside with their stale personalities, they continue to destroy the relatively normal aspects of a majority of westerners, while at the same time convincing the Japanese population that their narrow interests are common to all from the west.

It is with this in mind that I write in the twilight of my independence. I can feel my rational mind being subdued by the comfort and monotony of Japanese life. I continually catch myself wondering what another year would be like, and how it might be fun to know Japanese. Therefore, I would like to make one final impassioned call for those of you who are beginning to forget that Japanese culture is neither amazing nor special. First, Manga and Anime aren’t that great. The animation was creative when it was new, but now it’s just tired and redundant. Also, I have a hard time believing the claim that the stories are brilliant modern tales full of depth. In my opinion, if they can be read in a span of thirty minutes at a convenience store, or viewed and understood by you and your minimal comprehension of the Japanese language, they aren't that good. Also, please stop going to martial arts classes. Isn’t their something pathetically cliché about taking martial arts courses in Asia? Don’t say it for self defense, because Japan is one of the safest countries on earth, and don’t say it’s for exercise, when it would be easier to just run. Simply put, you are a goofball for taking these classes, and you should be pummeled with the black belt that your Japanese instructor will inevitably confer on you based more on novelty than skill. Finally Japanese food is not that good. You are fooling yourself. Most of us did not grow up with this kind of stuff, and at best most of it is just “edible.” I often hear someone gush over a cold piece of fish, or rice wrapped in seaweed. What!?! It may be good and you may like it, but I refuse to believe that it’s the best thing you’ve ever eaten. Next time you are about to praise the exceptional quality of mundane Japanese dishes, just ask yourself one question. What would you do if you saw a foreigner ranting and raving about the absolute bliss encapsulated in a cold turkey sandwich?

Finally, I must urge everyone to make haste in leaving Japan. The Japanaphiliacs have a strong grip over the country, and unfortunately those who see Japan as anything less than the culmination of perfection will continually find themselves questioned. It is this truth that reveals the utter despair Japan has fallen into. The very same people who were shunned in their native lands now have the power to ignore people who only want to talk about something other than “The Ring.” Meanwhile Japanese people view westerners as kind, but confused people who only want to learn Japanese in order to read their serial comics. In conclusion I bemoan the fate of a country with such a rich and diverse history being taken over by people who feel debate is required when considering the merits of the kitana sword as opposed to the nun-chuck. I can only hope that someday this evil force will be defeated. Perhaps with a bo staff...

The Gift of Head

The night is dark and dreary. As you try to find your way through the darkness, you feel a presence closely following you. The entity approaches you, his cape glimmering in the moonlight. Frightened, you attempt to escape from the individual, only to find yourself paralyzed by a hunger that could only be caused by the lack of regular meals. Prostrate, you look on in horror as the being approaches you. Your hunger is making you delirious and you began to shriek in horror at the potential doom that awaits you. It is at this moment that the being rips off a chunk of his head and forces it into your mouth. The initial shock of this unimaginable act begins to subside and is eventually replaced by a warm feeling of red bean and bread dancing on your taste buds. It is then that you realize that you have just accepted the assistance of Japanese super hero “Anpanman.”

If the story elaborated on above seems a little strange to you, then it is clear that you have not had the good fortune to receive help from such an amazing hero. Anpanman (literally “jam bread man”) is one of a number of Japanese characters created by Takashi Yanase who represent a stark contrast to the types of superheroes commonly known in the United States and Europe. While many western superheroes focus on specific powers to help mankind, Anpanman and his circle of assorted bread based friends fight for truth and justice by feeding people a part of their head. It is with this in mind that I feel it is my duty to introduce the world to these amazing heroes in order to blaze a trail for their eventual debut in the United States. While many may argue that bread-based characters are not the easiest piece of Japanese culture to successfully introduce to the wider world, I must remind that I firmly believe that it is possible. After all, I almost helped Mello Yellow topple Mountain Dew as the king of citrus-based American sodas, (my leaving for Russia the only thing denying the inevitable). This coupled with my early 90’s success in bringing back the word “dude” gives me the confidence needed to undertake this seemingly daunting task (Don’t question this fact, if I didn’t bring it back to the wider world, I definitely reintroduced it to Pennsylvania). It is with these past successes coupled with a firm resolve that I would like to introduce Anpanman to the world.

Before I begin, I feel that it is my duty to give Anpanman’s back story. Once upon a time there was a baker (named “Uncle Jam”) who chose to build a bakery in the middle of the woods where no one could find it. This poor business sense was coupled with a seemingly obsessive desire to create “living” bread. While baking a nice bit of red bean bread, a star crashed in through the chimney and created Anpanman (in Japan, stars crashing to earth give life, rather than taking it away). Anpanman eventually grew up learned how to fly (naturally) and then decided to feed people his head. Completely neglecting the fact that red bean might not be the best thing to feed people so hungry that they would be willing to eat the head of what appears to be a living creature; Anpanman flew around Japan looking for his first victim… I mean fortunate soul. He eventually found a dog being pelted by snowballs. The snowballs were being thrown by a germ that just happened to have what would later appear to be a vehement hatred of pastry. Anpanman saved the dog and eventually named him “Cheese.” After feeding him a part of his head; they flew back to the bakery so that the baker could make him a new head. Of course since no good deed goes undone, the bacteria decided to devote the rest of his life to the destruction of Anpanman using devastating attacks like water, mould, and ducks.

The rivalry between Anpanman and Baikinman (bacteria-man) caused the baker to unleash a host of different bread based creatures in order to even the score. Keep in mind that all of these characters pursue the same goal of “allowing” people to eat their heads. Due to the magic inherent in all of them, their consumed heads can easily be replaced by a new one courtesy of Uncle Jam. Below is a brief list of the most popular characters...

Shokupanman (my personal favorite, literally “white bread man) – This character is a narcissist who lives in Toaster Mountain (I’m not making this up). He is considered incredibly attractive (to germs and I’m guessing other bread?), and is Anpanman’s closest friend. He is the patron of school lunches, and while it is true that he can fly, he prefers to drive a bread truck to the different schools.
Currypanman (“curry bread man”) – This character is a hot headed (buh dum cha) hero who hangs out with Anpanman. He fights by shooting his curry at people.
Tendonman (“rice bowl man?”) – This character loves to sing. His head is a rice bowl (apparently the baker is also good at pottery) which has two edible pieces of shrimp sticking out. He apparently likes to drum on his head with the chopsticks that I assume people are supposed to eat his shrimp with.
Melonpanna (“melon bread girl”) – This character likes to drink sweet honey which consequently is the same liquid that makes up the liquid part of her ever so delicious noggin. Since she is female, her powers (predictably) deal with love or romance. Therefore, when she kisses people, they get woozy with affection.
Dokinchan – This female germ is attracted to Shokupanman (see above). She thinks she’s cute and can occasionally be moody. She’s Baikinman’s sidekick, but due to amorous affection for Shokupanman, she occasionally shows signs of kindness.

The four characters mentioned above are just the tip of the iceberg. Since the series (by series I mean daily life in Japan) is directed toward children and those with the mentality of children (unfortunately guilty) the creators have had to constantly create new characters. There have been over 1500 characters since Anpanman started. This is important because an enormous amount of characters is needed to keep the series fresh, which is only natural as a result of the fact that every episode revolves around the characters feeding their heads to people. Also, since the idea of quasi cannibalism is attractive to children of all ages, Anpanman’s television series remains the most popular children’s shows in Japan.

Finally, I would like to welcome Anpanman to the wider world. Although I think his mission to combat world hunger is honorable, I can’t help but question his methods. While it’s nice that he uses his head as a symbol of self sacrifice, wouldn’t it be more helpful for him to carry a large bag of bread to be distributed freely? In my mind it would be more beneficial than just giving token pieces to those lucky enough to see him flying overhead? Regardless, I have decided to take it on myself to bring Anpanman into the international spotlight. Therefore I would like everyone to watch the skies for flying bread. It’s possible that the dark shadow lurking in the corner is nothing more than jelly filled bread dying to feed you a part of his head. Who knows, with the fine example set by Anpanman, the future may be full of people just dying to give head to anyone who requires it. Let’s just hope that there’s no confusion, otherwise Anpanman might have the baker replace his head for a far darker and much more disturbing reason.

Long Live the Queen!

The second part of my two part music series will continue with the royal theme originally discussed in my previous “Elvis” blog. For those of you who don’t remember (or are to lazy to scroll down), one of my previous blogs dealt with the myth of Elvis Presley as a great and innovative musician. I don’t wish to rehash the entire discussion, but I have heard some very convincing arguments in favor of awarding Elvis a certain amount of credit for his part in the music history. Therefore, I feel that it is my duty to acknowledge that despite my hatred of Elvis, I must admit his place in rock history. He was a talented performer, and he is partially responsible for the introduction of rock music to the mainstream. Despite this, I can not in good conscience return to him his title of “King.” In my opinion, the status of “King” should be awarded to artists who are equally talented, innovative, and unique, and therefore can provide inspiration to future musical acts. While Elvis can claim the title due to the good fortune of being first, there are many other acts who represent every facet of the music industry in such a way, that their absence from a certain unofficial musical hierarchy can be referred to as nothing short of a crime. In any event, my verbal regicide left the music world without a proper monarch. It is with this in mind that I decided to search the annals of music history in order to find an act that could play the role of the enlightened despot in such a way, that their nomination would incur only nominal debate.

When deciding which act would replace Elvis, I was confronted with a number of different challenges that I had not originally expected. There were many musical groups which presented themselves as worthy successors, but I instead chose to wipe away the autocratic system that Elvis had implemented, and instead focus on a kind of musical constitutional monarchy. It is with this in mind that the de facto leader of my new musical hierarchy can be none other than “The Beatles.” While I understand this is an obvious choice, I also feel that it is one which is sound due to the fact that every band since 1964 has either directly or indirectly cited them as an influence. This coupled with their musical innovation and enormous popularity among critics and fans alike, makes them a worthy and reasonable choice to lead the musical world. It was then that I had to choose my figurehead. This task proved slightly more difficult, but it was not long before I discovered the band that showed the class, talent, and ingenuity needed to provide inspiration to the throngs of musicians that would pledge allegiance to the new government. Therefore, it is with great pleasure that I introduce the world to their new monarch, Queen.

Upon close inspection, my choice of Queen as matriarch of a post-Elvis society is a reasonable one, but I realize that their relatively late arrival on to the music scene may cause some to question their nomination. As I mentioned above, it seems that Elvis’ sole claim as ‘king’ is the fact that he is considered one of the pioneers of rock music. While this aspect is important, and should be taken into account, it should be by no means the only quality required for a musical monarch. One feature that should be evident in every musical sovereign is originality. While it is true that Elvis was an innovator, it was only through an arguably better performance of previously recorded music. As with any band, Queen was also influenced by earlier music, but unlike Elvis who just increased the tempo of the previously recorded songs and put on a good show, Queen used their musical influences to create original songs that were uniquely their own. Their implementation of difficult structures and complex harmonies make them one of the most commercially successful bands who can still claim a degree of musical ingenuity. This fact is especially pertinent in a world of computer produced pop, where very few acts can even play an instrument, let alone be able to perform it live. This musical aptitude is most evidently displayed through their continued effect on subsequent musicians. Naturally their impact on arena rock with songs like “We Will Rock You” and “We are the Champions” can not be understated, (and in fact they are so often overplayed, that these two songs alone kept me from truly appreciating Queen for years) but their contributions to other genres should also be noted. After all, one needs to look no further than “Hammer to Fall” for a great hard rock song, “Bicycle Race” for a kitschy fun song, “Stone Cold Crazy” as a possible inspiration for thrash metal or punk rock acts, and “These Are the Days of Our Lives” for an introspective pop rock hit. Finally, any conversation regarding Queen’s style would not be complete without one mention of Freddie Mercury’s voice. His operatic tenor has been justly lauded, and even casual music fans can’t help but be amazed by his amazing range.

Another feature that must be discussed in any conversation concerning Queen is their live performance. Naturally, this aspect is one in which Queen and Elvis most closely compete. Elvis was an electric performer, who dared to do things that caused quite a bit controversy. Naturally, it is this aspect that causes me to award Queen the title of the “better” performer instead of Elvis. Nobody says, “Wow, Elvis was fantastic, the music was brilliant, and the crowd was really into it.” Instead, the conversations usually revolve around his hips and facial expressions. On the other hand, Queen is celebrated as quite possibly the greatest rock showmen in history. One of the tightest bands to ever perform, the comradely between each of the members was displayed in each and every performance. Commonly cited as giving the greatest rock performance ever, at the 1985 “Live Aid,” the band (and especially Freddie Mercury) fed off the enthusiasm of the crowd to create some of the most iconic concert images ever seen. It was these astounding performances that proved that giant stadium concerts could be capable of intimate and riveting rock shows.

One of the most important questions concerning Queen is their present and future legacy. In this respect, I feel that Queen most brilliantly shows their rightful place as musical monarch. One of Queen's most significant contributions is in the realm of music videos. Their video for "Bohemian Rhapsody" is considered to be one of the the first "modern" music videos, and was arguably the catalyst for the innovative music network MTV (Unfortunately at the time of this article's publication, MTV has descended into a cesspool of filth bearing absolutely no resemblance to its original form). Another interesting factor was the group's dynamic. One of the closest bands in history, the group was unusually free of the stifling egos present in most successful (and unsuccessful) rock bands. All four members were allowed to write music, and were in fact encouraged to do so. Each member wrote at least one hit song, (Freddie Mercury-“Somebody to Love”, Brian May-“Tie Your Mother Down”, Roger Taylor-“Radio Ga Ga”, and John Deacon-“You’re My Best Friend”, to name a few) and equal time was spent on each composition regardless of its author. In fact, their cooperation was such, that the group was relatively free of turmoil. Queen's lineup was solid for over twenty years, and the band regularly worked together despite frequent solo albums. This pattern would remain constant, only changing after the unfortunate death of Freddie Mercury in 1991 following complications resulting from the AIDS virus. Despite the horrible loss, even in death, Mercury was able to generate a positive response. His high profile status caused many to recognize the problems AIDS posed, and as a result, people began to finally realize that the disease was more than just an uncomfortable taboo.

Finally, I truly believe that Queen is the best choice to represent the musical world. Throughout human history, mankind has chosen the most idealized leader to embody it, and I do not intend to buck this long tradition. My idealized images neglects a few details (like their concert at the notorious “Sun City”), but as with any pseudo religion, I am choosing to ignore anything that might contradict with the neat image I have constructed. In any case, their numerous qualities, widespread appeal, and innovation continue to inspire people today, causing them to be one of the biggest selling acts of all time, even though it could be argued that most fans can’t name a single Queen album (see “Elvis blog”). It is with this mind that I urge all music fans to swear allegiance to your new temporal ruler. I know it may be hard to remove yourself completely from the lies surround Elvis’ greatness, but I challenge you to find a better choice to rule the musical world. After all, even if you don’t agree with me, you can’t deny that choosing Queen as the new monarch was anything less than a semantic coup.

Back in the (former) U.S.S.R.!

Due to my overwhelming lack of ambition, my entries this month have been at best lackluster, and at worst lame. Despite this, I would like the world to know that I am doing all that I can to overcome my laziness in order to continue with something that I have genuinely enjoyed doing. It is with this in mind that I would like to reassure everyone of my intention to finish the second part of my series dealing with music and Elvis Presley. I'm almost finished with the conclusion, but my aforementioned laziness coupled with a penchant for staring at the ceiling has caused me to neglect my duty. In any event, I assure everyone that the second part will be forthcoming as soon as possible. Now, with that aside I can attend to the business at hand.

Almost a year ago I spent three months in Russia, a country whose history and culture I absolutely love. My affections stands in dark contrast to the conflicting opinions of fear and loathing that I usually receive when discussing Russia with people who base their impressions on a lack of information. However, this has not dampened my opinion in the least. Therefore it is with great joy that I announce my return to Moscow starting in August of 2007. I could not be more excited, and my return will be much better due to the intended accompaniment of my girlfriend, Leslie. I am thrilled to be returning to the city that I am familiar with, and I look forward to giving Leslie a tour of all my previous haunts. In is with this in mind, that I urge all of my friends and even my casual acquaintances, to please visit me during my time there. I will be teaching Russian students English (apparently the only thing I'm good for), and therefore will probably have some free time. Of course, some common questions still remain. Why would I want to go to Russia? Aren't Russians glad that Ronald Reagan and Pope John Paul II worked together to single-handily bring down Communism so that they could have a decade of economic and social depression? Aren't they still Commies who eat the flesh of puppies? In response to these questions, I'm prepared to write a short list detailing positive and negative attributes of the Russian nation. After you are done reading this non-biased account, I hope that you will decide to come visit me in the glorious city of Moscow in the northern paradise known as Russia.

In order to do this somewhat efficiently, I will be making a simple top five list concerning notable things that I encountered during my first time in Russia. Each of these topics will be accompanied by a positive and negative feature. If you don't quite understand what I mean, just have patience, you will see in a moment.

5. Dirt
Negative Feature- A lack of proper urban cleaning coupled with Central Asian winds makes Moscow one of the dirtiest cities I've ever visited. “Dirt” on its own is nothing more than a nuisance. But then again, "dirt" is not one to sit on its laurels and he often joins his ally "water" to form the dangerous entity, "mud." As "mud," nothing can get in "dirt's" way, and because Moscow doesn't believe in storm drains, it is pretty much guaranteed that you will be a victim of "mud" at least once a week.
Positive Feature- The one good thing about Moscow's abundance of "dirt" is the fact that everyone is covered in it! Of course Russians pride themselves on trying to keep clean, but the sad truth of "mud's" dominance is demonstrated by the clumps of "dirt" desperately hanging on to most people's shoes and pants. In any event, I look forward to the time when the true color of my jeans will finally be displaced by a brown-gray mass of drying "mud."

4. Transportation
Negative Feature- The influx of foreign capital and the advent of capitalism have made Moscow one of the fastest growing cities in the world. The increased wealth has caused many Muscovites to take the American approach to earning money, and spend it as quickly and as needlessly as possible. It is with this in mind that the streets of Moscow are littered with unnecessarily large cars, creating an almost constant state of gridlock. This usual traffic as well as President Putin's insistence to close the roads he is driving on, makes Moscow one of the worst cities for cars. I'll never forget the wondrous hour it took me to drive two miles.
Positive Feature- Russian insistence on driving cars allows many foreigners to easily explore the elaborate metro system. Considered by many to be the best in the world, Moscow's metro is relatively clean (the metro is still not free from that scourge "dirt"), and efficient. Plus the lack of order on the streets above creates an environment of strictness in the tunnels below. I once saw a man shoulder check an old woman for standing in the wrong place. A tear rolled down my cheek as I witnessed the beauty inherent in an old person not being excused out of hand for doing something stupid.

3. Police and Public Officials
Negative Feature- The Russian police are notoriously corrupt, and will let anything slide for a bribe. When I first arrived in Moscow, my host-brother quickly gave me the run down on the average bribe amounts for general traffic infractions. Also, you will often see police officers traveling in packs around the city, and they can ask you for your paperwork and I.D. at any time. Fortunately, I was never the recipient of this kind of honor, but as an American the very idea of this conjures feelings of trepidation. Also, Russian mail officials are infamous for their crimes and will often open mail and take what they want. A girl who went to Russia with me opened a package sent from home only to discover a torn magazine and cookie crumbs (Yes, it seems the official ate her cookies over the box).
Positive Feature- The police uniforms are quite snazzy, and the officers will change them depending on the weather. For example, in winter a Russian police officer may wear the stereotypical fur hat and large jacket. In the summer he will wear a more cool and casual blue cap with a windbreaker. Also, due to aforementioned traffic, Russian police officers don't usually pull you over in a car, but instead flag you down from the shoulder. This results in what appears to be the option to pull over whenever you want. My host brother was late taking me to school one day so he was speeding. The officer flagged him down; he muttered something about not wanting to stop, so we just blew right by him! Also, while the mail officials are great at stealing your things, they are also a wonderful excuse for laziness. It’s possible that if I chose not to send postcards, I could excuse my guilt by claiming that Russian custom officials stole my Russian postcards. Who knows! (I do) It could work. (It does)

2. Public Glamour Shots in Front of Historically Relevant Objects
Negative Feature- None.
Positive Feature- This may be my favorite feature of the Russian mentality. Let me explain. Imagine you were at the Vatican. You decide to take a picture of one of the most famous churches in the world, when you notice a young couple taking photos beside you. You think nothing of it as you set up your shot. Slowly it dawns on you that something is not right. You look at the couple and notice that the woman is seductively posing in front of the church. You see it all. The puckered lips, the cleavage, the hand through the hair. Take that image, and transpose it on every historic or important site in Russia. Now you have some indication of my experience. One time I saw a woman straddling a tree and bending over (to show her chest) in front of the oldest Russian Orthodox church in existence. By that time I was no longer surprised, but it did make me wonder about the first person who thought that famous churches were a perfect place for a sexually suggestive photo. I can only imagine the conversation. "You know Charlene; I always thought I was ugly and that no man would love me. Of course, that was before I posed in front of St. Basil's with only a bra on! Now I can't stop meeting people who want to know me! If only I'd known this wonderful truth sooner!"

1. History
Negative Feature- None.
Positive Feature- As if anyone couldn't see this coming! In my opinion Russian history is the richest and most interesting subject worth studying. Russia is the largest country in the world, covering eleven time zones. Its unique position on the map has caused it to be influenced by events in both Europe and Asia. While this mingling has caused many hardships, it has also led to many outstanding features which can only be experienced in Russia. It is with this in mind that I am prepared to return to the country that I have devoted so much of my time and energy trying to better understand. I will spare you all the lectures concerning the extent that Russian events have influenced the modern world. Instead I will conclude by saying that Russia is a fantastic country, and I would be willing to talk about it with anyone who wants to do so. Finally to answer the questions posed at the beginning of the blog. Why would I want to go? Because its great, and I will continue learning Russian, and be (finally) living in a large city. Are Russians glad about the fall of Communism? You would have to ask them, but I would say half are and half aren't. Commies who eat the flesh of puppies? Most are no longer Commies, and Commies never ate puppies. In fact I'm pretty sure they restricted themselves to merely consuming children.

Down With The "King"

Before I begin, I would like to apologize for my tardiness. I have no excuse besides laziness. In order to make up for my lack of punctuality, I will be writing a two part entry for this week. The first part will be the subsequent blog, while the second part will come sometime this weekend. It is with this in mind that I feel it is necessary to talk about something that has caused me serious mental grief. As many of you may be aware, I pride myself in being a discriminating music fan. Despite this, I also don’t hold any illusions concerning my taste in genres and therefore it is with great pride that I announce that I am a fan of pop music. Now, before you gasp in horror, I would like to remind you that I am a music fan. I like popular music, not the bubble gum pop so commonly found among pre-pubescent girls. In any event, the last few years have been devoid of good pop music due to an industry empty of any desire to make the good sounding pop music that I fell in love with. Instead, the money hungry machine has found it to be much easier to just pick an attractive but talent less person and vomit studio production on it. This coupled with some predictable random dance floor beat has become the formula for limited success, and unfortunately people are quite stupid, so they buy it. Despite this, the strategy of focusing purely on the financial side of music is nothing new. While I was patiently waiting for the dawn of a new era in pop music, I began to wonder about the origins of the weak link that occasionally revealed itself. Current pop music was rife with bad covers, terrible crossovers, and even worse “original” music. Who could have blazed the trail for such garbage? How could acts such as “Avril Lavigne,” “Beyonce,” and “Nelly Furtado,” share the same radio waves as “The Beatles,” “Led Zeppelin,” and “Pink Floyd?” I began to ponder all of the great acts, knowing that only someone who was truly popular could have been capable of weakening the defenses of a seemingly impenetrable institution. I racked my brain going through the greats of rock history, but continually found talented musicians who had become famous largely due to talent and ingenuity. It was then that I found one which caused me to gasp in disbelief. Of course, I am referring to the so called “king” of Rock-and-Roll, Elvis Presley.

Elvis Presley was a nice guy. This seems to be a common truth that may go without saying. Another fact was an amazing singing voice (this alone puts him far and above current pop stars). Despite this, neither of these earns him the moniker of “king” of Rock-and-Roll. I wondered how one attains such a title and quickly discovered the root of the terrible music that is so prevalent in today’s world. Apparently one of the prerequisites was not writing your own music. My research only showed one instance where he is credited with the creation of a song. On the song “Love Me Tender”, Elvis and the wife of writer Ken Darby are both listed as contributors, because in the words of Darby, “She didn’t write it either.”

Another quality of a “king” must be lameness. With the exception of the cliché aspects of Presley’s diet and lifestyle, there was of course his general weirdness. He slept with his mother in the same bed up until his early teens, and asked American President Richard Nixon to personally make him a drug-enforcement officer. Of course there was also his period as Las Vegas showman. If becoming the “King” of Rock-and-Roll only requires one to perform in Las Vegas casinos or show an interest in amateur police work, then either Barry Manilow or Shaquille O’Neal should be next in line to the throne. Of course, this option is quite frightening, and it is in our best interest not to discuss such things which could plunge our world into this inescapable darkness.

Finally, in what I see to be the most damning of my criticisms, deals with his early career. Most fans claim that the early period before Elvis joined the army is a true indication of his talent and genius. While looking over his catalog, I discovered that most of his hits were covers of earlier songs by African-American artists. While I realize that Elvis was a fan of many of the artists he covered, it does not negate the argument concerning whether or not a cover artist should be considered the “King” of Rock-and-Roll. If I had to choose one, I’d choose Beatallica, the cover band that commonly mixes songs from the catalogs of both “The Beatles” and “Metallica.”

In conclusion, I would like to say that I think Elvis sucks. Elvis fans love to cite his crossover appeal and good looks as sure proof of his almost divine musical status. I would argue that in the nature of the early Rock scene, crossover was inevitable due to the blurred genre lines. I have also purposefully avoided the common argument concerning Elvis and his purported stealing of African American R&B. I don’t have to tell you my opinion concerning this debate, but just know that despite his incredible respect for all the artists he covered, it was Pressley who enjoyed the profits. Many of the original artists who originally did such famous “Elvis” songs are long forgotten. Can you tell me which songs Arthur “Big Boy” Cudrup or Big Mama Thornton performed? Also, most people can name an Elvis song, but can anyone name one specific Elvis record with out resorting to the almost inevitable self-titled album? The lack of knowledge concerning Rock’s biggest and best act should be some indication of his status in the minds of anyone but his biggest fans. Finally, I’d like to nominate a new king, Pat Boone. Boone performed the same function as Elvis in almost every way. He is overly conservative, styles cover songs as his own, and is from the south. Plus with his royal highness King Pat I on the throne, we would be saved from those insufferable “Elvis” sightings. After all, anyone who caught a glimpse of Boone would hesitate before reporting a “Pat” sighting.