Where I've Been and What I'm Doing

I've finally returned! After nearly a month absence, I have made my way back to the medium which kept me sane during my year in Japan, and has since been sorely neglected. While this particular entry won't be purely devoted to my list of excuses explaining my lack on entries, I would like to explain what I have been doing over the last month. In addition, I want to make it clear my intentions for the future and my expectations for the continuation of my blog.

The previous blog was written shortly before I left to visit my first post-soviet republic (other than Russia), Ukraine. I had to go to Kiev in order to renew my visa, and since the stifling Russian bureaucracy (which has since made what I did impossible) doesn't allow for visa renewal in country, I was forced to take a brief vacation. Kiev is a wonderful city that feels like Moscow except smaller and more relaxed. The city's fame rests on its history of being central to both Russian and Orthodox history. As a result, many of its attractions are monasteries, churches, and monuments heralding its contribution to the Soviet war effort during World War II. While these things were interesting, Kiev was small enough that I was finished with most of my sightseeing after only two days. In any event, Kiev's most interesting feature had nothing to do with the city, but with the hostel we chose to stay at.

Nestled on the third floor of a building located on one of Kiev's main thoroughfares, lies a building with the brilliantly named hostel known as "Kiev Backpacker's." Upon entering the visitor quickly realizes that they have entered nothing more than an apartment which has been modernized and turned into a hostel. While this may seem a little strange, this is not at all unique to Eastern Europe, and the visitor will be happy to finally put his bag down. Upon turning around, they will surely come into the contact with one of the most unique and altogether infuriating characters in Ukraine. If you don't already know this man, then I feel it is my duty to introduce the world to the militantly conservative Norwegian that runs this particular hostel. Always looking for a fight, he will serenade you with the most random and irrational string of profanities while at the same time cornering you with claims that his NATO friends in Afghanistan have told him the war there is over, that we should just bomb Iran and Venezuela and get it over with, and that Putin is the next Hitler (a point that loses any actual merit due to the "Hitler" analogy). This agnostic-monarchist who believes in divine right (what?) claimed that the Norwegian parliament would create civil war if it ever attempted to remove King Harald V of Norway (whose own merits can be measured by his close friendship with the brilliant actor/martial art expert Steven Seagal, whom he frequent invites to Norway for advice as well as the opportunity to hangout together and watch films). Never one to take a hint, the visitor can expect to be given an unwanted political education based on this man's warped views of the world. Despite this, his real appeal lays in his fervent hatred of Ukraine and Russia. Always looking for a way to slam either country (usually in front of his Russian and Ukrainian guests), his gross generalizations leave everyone (even those who may share some of his opinions) queasy. While this may not seem like anything new, the real irony lays in his choice of a wife, a Ukrainian woman (whose similar use of profanity makes you wonder where she learned English). In the end, you dread returning to the place intended for rest and you begin to think that all of the Western European hatred of America might not be the result of any deficiencies on the part of American public.

While my high opinions of Slavs and Russians in particular is based on my love of their common history, my exasperation with the opinions of the Norwegian man may be lessened if he was talking about one Russian woman in particular. About two months ago, I asked the woman at my company who is in charge of accommodations to help me to get the internet at my house. Since this was an essential part of her job, I assumed that it would be taken care of. Two months later, and more then 15 visits to this woman's office, I have yet to receive the next day installation (part of the reason for my lack of recent blogs). Now many of you may wonder why I haven't done it myself, or at least found other help. Before I answer your question, I first would like to enlighten the reader to the character I've been forced to deal with. Probably the laziest woman in the history of the world, I first encountered her behind a mountain of spent sunflower seed shells. When I asked her about the internet, her first suggestion was the extremely helpful "get it yourself". While this piece of advice may have worked for a native Russian, my lack of knowledge concerning Russian internet contracts made it less than useful. During a second visit, she further proved her worth by showing me an internet advertisement that she had found in a local newspaper. After this meeting, I started to get the feeling that this woman was dangerously stupid. These premonitions were confirmed when she so drastically ruined my application, that other Russians were at a loss of words concerning what exactly she had done. As of this writing, my lack of internet continues, and I am forced to continue working through her ridiculous questions and even worse suggestions. Of course, I can do nothing but keep you informed about how she further ruins my life. At the moment, I'm shooting to the get the normal 24 hour installation done before Christmas.

Finally, (and despite the above) life in Russia is going pretty well. Leslie and I are getting used to the peculiarities present in everyday Russian life, and our excitement and planning for future travels in and around Russia will continue with a trip to Greece next month as well as both Belarus and Turkey somewhere on the horizon. In any event, my improving Russian and the opportunity to witness a (potential) turning point in Russian history and politics makes my time here invaluable. In conclusion, I hope that next couple of years in Russia will open the door to new possibilities that can keep me busy and happy enough to free me from the burden of complaining via the internet. Until then, I plan to write blogs more frequently (as soon as I get internet again), so I hope that my loyal handful of readers do not forsake me yet. After all, what’s the use of ranting if there isn't anyone to bear the brunt of the ravings?

Tales From Home Pt. 6: The Tunnel of Doom

During my youth, I was often forced to find things that kept me entertained. This unfortunate side effect of living in a small town helped expand my imagination as well as opening my mind to more advantageous pursuits, like history. Despite this, there were occasional novelties which broke the monotony and allowed me to experience the frequent carelessness associated with youth. The parties at Dan Hummel’s house were one of these things. Famous among everyone who had been their or heard about them, they featured a string of some of the most random things in history. Strange tales of axes crashing through doors, turkeys crapping on couches, and clown heads wrapped in plastic garbage bags, would compliment the unquestioning hospitality of Dan's parents along with the appeal of the latest video game system. Unfortunately, as we began to age, the parties became less frequent and arguably less fun. Despite this, we still found the time to meet on occasion and spend some time at one of our favorite places. It was at one of these last parties, that we entered the "Tunnel of Doom."

Dan was always full of crap, but that was always part of his appeal. He would often tell the most ridiculous stories, and if you feigned belief he would continue, making the stories more and more ridiculous as he went. Of course, if you did not want to hear a particular story, you would just have to call him on it exactly two times. The first time he would assure us it was true, after we repeated our objections, he would concede it was false. This sure fire system always worked until one of us (probably me) told him about it. In any event, Dan's stories were always good for entertainment, and we often listened intently. One of these stories was the "truth" about the "Kennerdell Tunnel".

The Hummels live on a former railroad bed about a mile and a half from a long curving tunnel. When you were in the middle of it, it was almost completely dark. Of course this meant that a visit at night was a must, and therefore Dan felt the need to spice it up. Naturally, the trump card in this situation, at least in the mind of a 17-18 year old, is murder. Dan proceeded to spin an absolute yarn of death, murder, and intrigue all of which had occurred in the small rural tunnel. Apparently, a number of workers had died during the construction, which inevitably caused it to be cursed. The haunted tunnel caused many trains to crash, killing many, if not all of its passengers. The curse resulted in the closing of the tunnel, which only encouraged murdering psychopaths to move in. Of course they would kill people as well. Eventually, the hundreds of deaths would finally force the community to install a road block in front of the tunnel, but by no means would there be any plans for destroying it. It was in the midst of these stories that Dan casually suggested that we visit the tunnel at night and see if there was anything of interest. Therefore we all piled in to his car, and made our way to the tunnel.

In retrospect, the makeup of our group on that faithful night was quite random. It included Dan and I, Shay (a friend of Jesse and I, but someone who hated Dan), Steve Dubrowski (sometimes called DumBROWNski, due to an unfortunate accident on the school bus in fifth grade), Scott or "GYB" (see blog entitled "Tales From Home Pt. 4: GYBin' It Up"), and Chad Reilly (a friend of Shay's). As we all made our way to the tunnel, we could not help but notice storm clouds forming, an ominous omen to be sure. Despite this, our joy a possibly meeting someone who would brutally murder us lifted our spirits, and we entered the tunnel with two flashlights and firm intentions. What happened next would change our lives forever.

As we entered the tunnel I was given the duty of holding a flashlight, while Dan (as the guide) was holding the other one. We had both been to the tunnel before (and surprisingly survived), and therefore seemed to be the most obvious choices for such an important task. The walk was difficult due to the uneven gravel and drainage ditches full of water on either side, but we continued into the deepest depths of the sinister public work. As we were walking, Dan quietly suggested that I walk a little slower. I obliged, knowing that Dan had an idea that would undoubtedly make me laugh. As we reached the middle and by far the darkest part of the tunnel, Dan went over to investigate a part of the wall that had been occupied by one of the tunnel's previous serial-killing residents. Leaning over the ditch his hands against the wall, he claimed that he found it and then stepped back to shine his flashlight on the spot so that we all could examine it. As I moved forward, Dan stopped me, and whispered, "When I say, shut off your flashlight and run to the car." I chuckled, and agreed. While Dan's light flashed on the indiscriminate wall, everyone carefully scrutinized it. At that moment, we both shut of our lights and started running. Dan and I had been quite good runners, and this coupled with the fact that Chad, Scott, and Steve were all quite tall and slower, caused us to get a healthy lead before they finally realized that the dark crunching of rocks quickly moving away from them was us running. As we got to the car, we realized that Shay had managed to follow us. The rain had started to fall, and the three of us hopped into Dan's car and attempted to turn around and go home. Dan was about to go, when a loud thump hit his car. It was at that moment that we saw the unimaginable.

It was GYB. We couldn't believe it. In a furry of grunts and saliva, he had jumped on the top of Dan's car. Holding on to top of the windshield and smiling at us, Dan had no choice but to hit the gas. GYB screamed for us to stop, but Dan only turned on the windshield wipers so that they would hit his fingers, forcing him to let go. Unfortunately, he was unsuccessful, and we made it home with GYB riding on top. He dismounted from the car, only a little wet, but (in characteristically typical fashion) assumed he had been part of the joke since he had ridden back with us. Not opposed to laughing at the misfortune of others, we all sat back and played Nintendo 64, while musing over the plight of Chad and "DumBROWNski".

After a few minutes, Chad and Steve entered the room, both soaking from the rain. Chad was angry, but just decided to sulk, while Steve decided to take his anger out on the one responsible for the whole charade, Shay. Quietly dismissing the possibility of Dan being the culprit, he accused Shay of orchestrating the whole thing, including the moment that he had fallen into the drainage ditch (unbeknownst to us). After yelling at him for a good ten minutes (while Dan, Scott, and I laughed), he and Chad left. For the rest of the evening, Shay had a bewildered expression on his face, while Dan and I nonchalantly engaged in games of Sonic and Ecco the Dolphin.

In conclusion, I have not entered the tunnel again since that faithful night. I would be lying if I didn't say that I feared its powers. It's ability to generate murders, house the infirm, and participate in practical jokes while simultaneously passing the blame to the innocent is a skill that is stunningly evil in its execution. Therefore I would urge all to heed my warning and avoid the God-forsaken spot. If you don't, you may be murdered, or worse, blamed as the inspiration for something committed by someone you don't even really like.

The Joy of Russian TV Pt. 2

I have always been a fan of the female form. As a heterosexual man, my entire chemistry has been geared to this undeniable fact. It was with this in mind that I decided to leave the testosterone and chauvinism of Walker and the A-team behind, for the greener pastures of the fairer sex. Russian TV is full of shows that celebrate women while showing things that would make American censors cringe. Russians don't shy away from showing topless women on national TV, and many programs would feature occasional flashes (no pun intended) of this fact. I attempted to watch these shows, but would constantly be forced to change the channel due to a baseness of overall content that left me physically incapable of rational thought. Despite this, my spirits remained high. Then one night I stumbled upon a show called Голые и Смешные. My life would never be the same.

Голые и Смешные, or Naked and Funny as it is called in English, is a mix between Candid Camera and soft-core pornography. The premise is simple. Show people reacting to one of three things, a fat woman requiring help (thankfully not naked) in nearly impossible situations, show people's reactions to being exposed (a light-hearted look at sexual harassment), or the most frequent, people's reaction to naked people (mostly women) doing the most random things under the sun. Each feature as its own unique merit, and therefore I would like to discuss each in detail.

By far the most infrequent, but often funniest aspect of the show is the fat woman in impossible situations. In the most recent episode, she sat on a chair and broke through the bottom. Naturally her butt was stuck in the chair with her legs in the air. While the camera's were rolling, fellow patrons at the restaurant attempted to remove here from the chair through any means necessary. While they were doint this, the grossly over-weight woman "attempted" to free herself by kicking her legs and frantically shaking her head. Another great clip was a fat woman who wanted to climb in through a window. Since she was really fat, she could not pull herself in, and therefore was forced to ask people walking by to help lift her. Hilarity ensued as people would just flat out tell her that she was too fat, or attempt in vain to lift her leg or pick her up. One man almost got smashed when he tried to put the 300 lb woman on his shoulders. Finally the woman would tell the exasperated men that their kindness had been in vain, because it had all been a trick. Upon hearing that the torn muscles in their arms were the product of a practical joke, the men made the "got me!" face, and laughed and applauded their own gullibility.

The second feature of the show is the exposing of innocent people. Naturally this occurs to only attractive people (the overweight woman never finds herself in this situation) and almost always to women. The scenario follows a brilliant formula. An attractive woman must change her clothes for some reason, and then hilarity ensues. For example, one episode showed a number of women in a changing booth at the beach. As soon as they had their shirts off, the producers would raise the booth leaving this naked women exposed to the entire beach. Of course she is horrified and we all laugh. The show presents us with no less than ten different women featuring the same result. Occasionally (as if the show was forced) they would show us a fleeting clip of a man in the same situation, but this would transition into the tried and true clip of a topless woman jumping up and down in the attempt to pull the booth back down to her. Other clips play off this theme, with men sliding (on skateboards on their backs) under the booth while a woman was changing or women changing for a medical examination, only to be exposed. Naturally the women are only angry until they find out it was a joke. After this is revealed, they throw their hands up (no longer concerned about being nude) and laugh at themselves.

Finally, and by far the best and most frequent aspect of the show is people (men) reacting to other naked (women) people. This part is by far my favorite because it shows the natural reaction of men when confronted with a naked woman. Naturally most of the comedy comes from their vain attempts to resist the primal urge of ogling. Naturally the most common method is surprising men with topless women. This is done through a number of completely random ways. In one clip a woman is roller skating and falls down. When a man attempts to help her up, her shirt flies off (at quite an alarming speed). The man then makes a surprised face and apologizes profusely. Another way is to entice a man to play a game of darts. After he throws the first dart, the target falls off only to reveal a pair of women's breasts. Or finally, a man is walking down the street, when a bathtub with a naked women in it (complete with suds and brush) comes rolling out of a side street past him. He of course tries to stop the tub, only to be embarrassed by the naked women inside. (This same joke was also used with a man on a toilet complete with a roll of toilet paper floating behind him, hilarious!) Naturally, the men are all surprised after they find out that was just a hilarious joke.

In conclusion, my blog is only the tip of the iceberg when addressing the genius that is Naked and Funny. The show features many more jokes like women in short skirts asking men to hold a ladder for them, while the men attempt to resist looking up their skirt, or naked women kissing men in front of their girlfriends, causing irreparable damage to the relationship. Unfortunately, I haven't got time to discuss the wide range of ways the show hilariously objectifies women. Despite this, I hope that my praise of such a forward looking program causes it to become popular outside of Russia. I look forward to the day when the two great concepts of nudity and hidden cameras can free themselves from the previous negative connotations and bask in the light of all its potential. After all, any invasion of privacy or petty crime can be justified, as long as it’s (apparently) innocent and done in the pursuit of humor. If that's the case, than that's a guilty pleasure I can feel good about.

The Joy of Russian TV Pt. 1

Three years ago while traveling in the Italian city of Rome, I was inundated with cultural and historical relics that both delighted the senses and rejuvenated my love of history. It was as a result of this vigorous mental and (sometimes) physical exercise, that I would often return to my hotel room exhausted and desperate for something capable of relaxing me. Fortunately, my hotel provided us with the under appreciated luxury of television. Despite my lack of Italian, I felt that the flashing pictures and dull roar could help me achieve a level of comfort so desperately needed at that moment. Of course, you can imagine my surprise when I was greeted with the calm but calculating expression of master actor and martial arts expert, Chuck Norris. Intrigued by his sheer presence on screen, I continued to watch him deliver justice one round house kick at a time. Of course in Italy, he was as an Italian speaking Texas police officer, but that did not deter my fascination with the man that was Walker, Texas Ranger. The rest of my time in Rome was spent impatiently traveling around the city before hurriedly returning to my hotel in order to catch another glimpse of Walker in Italian. When I left Rome, I knew that at all costs I had to return to a country to watch embarrassing American programming dubbed in a foreign language. Although at the time, I did not realize how close I was to fulfilling that dream.

Fortunately, my opportunity for more foreign TV would arrive with my move to Japan in July of 2006. I had heard simultaneous tales of horror and delight from those who had had the opportunity to view its programming. Unfortunately, I was disappointed to find that the Japanese had catered to their foreign guests by allowing all of their American programming to be tracked in both Japanese and English. Therefore, with a simple flick of a switch, I could watch any foreign program in English. This coupled with very little original programming capable of capturing my attention (with the exception of Hard Gay, a "gay" comedian, see my blog “Hard Gay: Japan’s Answer to Stereotyping”), I found myself watching the channel, Movie Plus (see Blog “Smell You Later Japan”) almost exclusively. My heartbreak was further compounded by the absence of Walker in Japanese. I endured the long winter with hopes that Russia would improve my lot.

My first time in Russia had allowed me a glimpse at my possibilities. While living with a host family in Moscow, I had caught brief glimpses of Gordon Shumway chasing a cat in the 80's hit sitcom A.L.F. My host mother's hatred of the show forced me to miss this fantastic program, but its existence stimulated my appetite for the future. My return to Russia didn't immediately reap any rewards. Much of the programming seemed typically European, with some game shows and talk shows littered with some absolutely unmistakable Euro-pop. Sensing defeat, I returned from work one day and decided to flip through the channels, hoping beyond hope for some type of reward. I was just about to give up when something strangely familiar caught my attention. My eyes lit up when I realized that the mohawk and gold chains that I was staring at belonged to no other than a Mr. T, I was watching the A-team. It was better than I could have possibly hoped for. "Команда А" (Commando Ah) or A-team in Russian gave me all of the ridiculousness of Walker multiplied by four. They were all there. Hannibal was leading, Face was attractive, Murdock was a "crazy fool" and B.A. (Bad Attitude) Barracas showed his fear of flying. My heart went out to these four falsely accused heroes, and I cursed the government for their unjust persecution and relentless pursuit. Just as my euphoria began to subside, the show ended. The screen turned black. It was then that it happened.

When the screen finally began to light up, I could see Walker standing there in all his glory. He stood as if looking directly at me, his unmistakable grimace and his coat rustling, the ridiculous music playing while a Russian announcer translated the lyrics. All of the fond memories of Italy coupled with the fact that three people, one for men, one for women, and one for children had been given the task of reading the show’s entire dialog. I was so thrilled that I collapsed and viewed a ridiculous episode featuring dogs having seizures, Walker riding on the top of tanker trucks, and much more. I realized that I had moved to a country capable of providing the poorly dubbed programming so important for my life. In conclusion, I finally had my dubbed Walker. I thought that my existence could not get any better. I went to my evening class full of hope for the future and a strong commitment to life. Little did I know that the best part of Russian TV was yet to come, and this time, not from America...

To Be Continued Next Week!

Dogs of the World Unite!

A few weeks ago, Leslie and I were standing at the crosswalk waiting for the light to change. As we patiently awaited the signal, a stray dog casually walked up to us and sat down. When the light changed, he stood up and crossed the street before taking a left and continuing up the sidewalk. While this may seem strange to people in most countries, in Moscow it is a common occurrence. Therefore, I would like to reveal to the world the truth about one rarely mentioned aspect of the former Soviet Union, namely, its treatment of canines and their elevation to a place of envy amongst all of the dogs in the world.

On November 7, 1917 the entire world stood in awe of an earth shattering event. The turmoil and strife caused by the first World War had allowed for a group of political radicals to seize power in Russia. Promising to create a world free of exploitation and subjugation, they set the stage for the most ambitious social experiment in world history. People from around the world made their way to Moscow to contribute their services to the cause. It was as a part of this pilgrimage, that a group of dogs from Scotland and Germany united to form a lobbying group for their interests. Their appeals made their way to all of the belligerent countries, and it was not long before a small coalition had formed. By late November, the dogs had enough bones to pay for steamer fare. They arrived in St. Petersburg in time to present their platform to the entire Communist movement.

The dogs had a difficult road ahead of them. There was a vocal anti-dog faction within the Bolshevik party. Fortunately, Vladimir Lenin was a firm supporter for Dogs rights. In his widely read treatise, "Собаки и Народ, Ровня?" (Dogs and the People, the Same?), Lenin spelled out his beliefs concerning the inalienable rights of all dogs within a Socialist framework. Lenin's strong personality was not enough to get the equal rights amendment passed. This coupled with the impending Civil War forced many of the dogs to flee the country. Unfortunately, the movement of dogs toward Moscow had caused many western governments (including the United States) to pass harsher laws restricting the rights of K-9's within their borders. Many of the returning dogs were collared by local authorities as soon as the entered their native countries. The small and vocal minority of dogs that remained in Russia watched all of these events in horror. Realizing that their only hope for equality remained in Russia, they hastily prepared a new manifesto and presented it to the Communist Party. Once again backed by Lenin, the uphill struggle for dog equality was renewed. The stage was set for the greatest triumph in the recorded history of the species.

The Civil War in Russia forced the dogs into a tight spot. The country had sunk into a level of depravity never before seen, and it was hard for both dogs and people to feel safe. Seeing the revolution (and their future) in trouble, many dogs joined the red cause. Their tenacity coupled with their dogged loyalty to the cause, left a positive impression on many of the leading Communists. In 1921, with the fighting beginning to ebb, Lenin finally resubmitted the call for dog equality. The vote was almost unanimous. The People's Official and Original Charter for Hounds, or P.O.O.C.H. was officially put into effect on March 15, 1923. A type of euphoria swept the entire canine community, but it would only be temporary. A series of strokes had permanently debilitated their chief benefactor. In January 1924, Lenin died and the second phase of the struggle for true dog-man equality commenced.

Lenin's death helped propel Joseph Stalin, then General Secretary within the party, to the top of the leadership pool within the Soviet Union. Stalin, who had been in the dog house ever since supporting the motion against P.O.O.C.H., decided to make the repeal of the legislation his chief priority. Despite this, the dogs were not about to roll over and play dead. They mounted an effort against the new leader. Joining Trotsky's "Left Opposition", the dogs would angrily bark down any supporters of the General Secretary. Despite this, Stalin's place became more and more secure. The fall of Trotsky in 1926, led to an even tighter leash on dog activities in the Soviet Union. The "Collectivization" campaign during the 1930's further eroded the rights of dogs to the point that they were forced to beg for strips of land, while still unable to bring home the bacon for their families. In 1939, P.O.O.C.H. was repealed. The dogs were in a daze at their misfortune. They entered the 1940's with their tales between their legs and very little hope for the future.

The Second World War put Soviet canines in a tough situation. They could side with their German brethren then under the grip of fascism or support the state that had fallen so far from its original ideals. Fearing the possibility of digging themselves deeper into a hole, they decided to throw their support behind the Red Army. The war cost many lives and the ineffective leadership forced many dogs into a corner. Despite this, the German invasion caused a feeling of patriotism that aroused a rabid defense. The end of the war caused a return to pre-war conditions, but now many dogs (and some people) were howling for a new form of legislation to guarantee their rights. Despite this Stalin remained steadfast. It would not be until his death in 1953 that the dogs would finally receive their just dessert.

Stalin's death caused a renewal of efforts to guarantee dog equality. Fetching copies of the old legislation, the dogs presented Khrushchev with the necessary framework for a new bill. In 1956, B.A.R.K. (Bill for Animal Relief and Kindness) was passed. No longer just chasing their tales, they continued to advance in society. In 1957, a dog named "Laika" was the first animal in space. (I would like to remind the readers that Laika is also the longest formerly living animal still in space) Throughout the duration of the Soviet Union, dogs would receive ample pensions, while being treated to some of the best parks the country could afford. Naturally, this would all come crashing down in 1991.

The collapse of the Soviet Union caused an immense amount of strife for everyone residing within its borders. For dogs, its not been much different. They have taken to traveling in packs, scrounging for food, and begging for handouts. They have even begun to resemble strays in many other countries, listless and unmotivated. Critics of Russia's new course have blamed the rampant speculation and unchecked capitalism. Unfortunately there is no way of knowing for sure. The one thing that is certain is that dogs have become animals in the land that they once ruled. Despite this, there still remain glimpses of their past in many of their present actions. There constant presence in metros, their adherence to important traffic rules and naturally their willingness to submit to the lowest strata of society, have more than proven their civility and cultivation. It is from this species that we should look for our next period of enlightenment. If we don't, we will be nothing more than mongrels, nipping on the heals of actual progress.

The Irrelevance of the Ear

This week while watching Russian television, I stumbled on MTV. While this error would elicit a quick and thorough attempt to either destroy the television, or at the very least, change the channel, I hesitated due to the fact that I saw a music video. Now as many of you know, MTV is a cancer that infects all that encounters it. Filled with the most banal trash ever viewed, it was the only channel that I programmed out of my TV at home, such were my fears of even viewing a nanosecond of some reality show or worse. Unfortunately, since I'm in Russia, I was sucked into what appeared to be shadow of its past relevance, and decided to stay and see if perhaps it was different here. It was at this moment, that this error began to bear fruit. I saw a video by an "artist" called Rihanna featuring Jay-Z. Now many of you may fault me for what happened next based on the argument that I should have expected what would happen just from the name "Jay-Z." I can only say that hindsight is 20-20, plus Rihanna looked attractive. Anyway, I was thrown into an abyss of crap of which I can't adequately relate in words. The "song", titled "Umbrella," was her just gyrating to the semblance of a beat, while repeating the word "umbrella." After two to three minutes of this, it ended, my ears accosted to the point that I feared I would be incapable of listening to music again. It was at that moment that I realized that the "dark ages" of music that we have had the misfortune to live in, had at last reached a new, frightening level. Music, the medium believed to be a direct gift from God, had finally and irrevocably decided to cut its ties with its chief mode of appreciation, the ear.

Music has had a long and complicated relationship with the ear. Since the beginning of mankind, the ear has relished its place as the means of intercepting and understanding music. Beginning with early drums, to lyres, and eventually to more difficult and complex instruments, the ear was constantly treated with new and innovative ways to appreciate rhythmic sound. The ear's prominence reached its peak during the classical era. Full orchestras would perform some of the most beautiful music ever made. The audience would stare blankly at the musicians, appreciating their gift with their ears, while attempting to find something to do with their eyes. The ear had reached its pinnacle, with its place secure, it headed into the twentieth century, the age of Rock and Pop music.

Rock and Roll would levy the first attack on the ear's role at the chief receptacle for the appreciation of music. Elvis Presley entered the spotlight in the late 1950's, not due to the music, but due to his stage performance. After all, a majority of his songs had existed in one way or another before he recorded them. While it can be argued that he was capable of lifting these songs to a place that they could have not hoped to attain with their previous performers, it is clear to most observers, that it was his risqué performances and swagger that catapulted his career from scandalous, to "king" of rock and roll. This initial attack had a monumental effect on the place of ear; music entered its first "dark age" with teen heart throbs and gimmick songs monopolizing the airwaves. Music producers claimed that guitar centered rock was dead, while green lighting some of the worst filth in pop history (Look at any of the hits from 1961-62). In an attempt to stop the darkness, a small group of freedom fighters led by musicians like Del Shannon, attempted to curb the damage, but to no avail. The ear was on the ropes, the line in the sand had been drawn. It was now up to the Beatles to attempt to roll back this advance; the stage was set for an epic showdown.

The Beatles entered the scene with a force unmatched then or since. While adhering to the established norms of appearance over substance that was prevalent at the time, they carefully began to undermine it. Their concerts were spectacles where nobody heard the music, the audience only desiring to see their hair or hear a joke. After a few years, the band had reached the point where they could destroy this type of performance in one swift stroke. In 1966, they decided to stop touring, and instead focus on the music, in the studio. The damage started by Elvis, had not only been stopped, but rescinded. Music had been reunited with the ear. Despite this, the Beatles were not infallible, and in their victory, they made one fatal mistake. Due to their lack of touring, they decided to reward their fans (and promote future music) with videos featuring them playing their songs. This was the birth of the music video. One of the pieces for the ear's ultimate demise was in place; the war was far from over.

The Beatles decision did not stop other bands from touring, but it did set the bar for music to a level where other bands could not afford to ignore the music side of the business. The 70's began with the breakup of the Beatles, which threatened to destroy the balance they had built. Fortunately, other bands filled their place. Rock split into many factions, represented by bands ranging from Queen, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Lynard Skynard, Black Sabbath, and many others. "Pop" which also split from rock shortly after the Beatles stopped touring, was firmly anchored by Elton John and a host of less popular performers. All of these musicians, kept the music in mind, the ear's place and the status quo was secured. Even disco, in all of its shallowness, showed that it could still make music, even if for no higher reason than something good for dancing. Despite this, the second piece of the ear's demise was beginning to gain support. The minority populations of the United States had begun to develop a type of music, which required no instruments, just a message. Their economic plight was offset by goofy humorous lyrics that showed the lighter side of life. It was in this atmosphere that Rap music first saw the light of day.

The 80's continued the previous trends while precipitating Rock's demise. With the help of apparent fellow traveler, MTV (starting in 1981), music began on a positive note through the introduction of new musicians to wider audiences. Rock music in the form of "hair bands" entered a phase of decadence usually associated with continued dominance of any market, while Pop music reached its height in the form of Michael Jackson. His choreographed dance numbers, well written songs and expertise at the art of the music video seemingly proved the compatibility of music and visuals. Unfortunately, this was far from the case and as the decade progressed, his songs worsened while the cost of his videos entered the stratosphere. Rock music, in the final stages of its decay weren't capable of stopping the hemorrhaging, despite the efforts of Gun's and Roses. Produced pop music, exemplified by the music video, began to outshine the music, as a result, less physically attractive musicians weren't able to compete, and faded away. It was also at this point, that the specter of produced pop, long thought exorcised in the early 1960's revealed its existence through the alarmingly bad "New Kids on the Block." Music was facing dire circumstances. It was at this crossroads that either visual or audio based music could have won out. It was at this moment that the hitherto fringe genre "Rap" music stepped up, this time with a much darker but altogether more appealing angle.

As previously mentioned, Rap music started with goofy fun-loving lyrics. Despite this, many within the African-American community found this to be somewhat of an insult and strived to remake rap with lyrics relevant to their life experiences. It was with this goal, that "Gangsta-rap" was created. Exemplified by "N.W.A." the genre used the Elvis route of controversy to get their genre out into the main stream. This coupled with their often repeated desire to make as much money as possible, lifted them past their previous musical ambitions, and into the world of general entertainment and business. The fun loving rap could not keep up, even with the main stream success of M.C. Hammer and the Fresh Prince. MTV, who had long ago thrown away their scruples in favor of cheap reality shows and continued profits, eagerly formed an alliance with Rap musicians/businessmen. The 90's would set the stage for the final battle, and the beginning of the second "Dark Ages."

The new order wasn't created overnight, and in the 90's rock waged one final resistance to the new regime. The insurgency was called "grunge," and while not being the best music ever made, was true to the formula of music over visuals. At the same time, Rap was perfecting the alternative, establishing the required necessities of a rap video, namely cars, people throwing around $100 bills, women in bikinis, and the rapper himself surrounded by his friends rapping directly to the camera. MTV did its part, by replacing many of its shows with original programming, while devoting its remaining music video blocks to rap/hip-hop. Rock finally gave up the ghost in the late 90's, and split into many sub-genres with only fringe popularity, but occasional success (like Metal band Korn's "Freak on a Leash"). In its place, the "Four Horsemen" of any Dark Age, "Boy Bands", Former Mickey Mouse Club Members, Teen Angst, and Gimmick songs climbed the charts. Rap/Hip-hop lost its only redeeming qualities by passing the mantel of its leadership to people who rapped about the same difficult childhoods on the street, but with none of the actual experiences. Finally, the genre grew so far apart from its original source, that it shed its "Gangsta" image, and instead focused on the completely un-relatable lyrics of being rich, and club hopping. Pop, unable to exist without mainstream attention joined Rap to make a strange musically unfulfilling hybrid. The new order had been formed, audio based music and the importance of the ear faded from the scene.

It is during this current phase that I watched the music video of Rihanna featuring. Jay-Z. Music as with anything existing under a stifled regime has only grown staler, with the "featuring" so and so, being the only new innovation of the last five years. Artists who had attempted to make inroads, (notably Jewel and Nelly Furtado) have failed and joined the enemy. Despite this, the ear has not completely died. Bands like U2, Green Day, and even The Foo Fighters have changed their sound without selling their soul, and as a result command a degree of respect from music fans, despite (arguably) poorer quality music. Also, newer rock bands have showed a degree of resiliency. The Strokes, The White Stripes, Wolfmother and others have tapped previous ages, notably the 70's to form a front against Rap. Unfortunately, the recent bands lack the over-arching talent, staying power, or ability to shake the foundations of the establishment. Instead their success has been used for propaganda purposes to show an openness for new and unique talent, and has not been effective as a tool for real change. It is with this in mind, that I sound the call for a new regime. One based on generally good music, free of the corporate and marketing undertone. Of course many of you may mention the indie rock scene as a place to search for our savior, and I welcome anyone from that group. I just desire a world where a band can be the best at what they do, and the most popular for what they do. I want to be able to turn on the TV and hear generally good music, not some "sampled" (usually from the 60's or 70's) or recycled beat. Even I was sucked in by the appeal of a beautiful woman gyrating, completely forgetting that the music would be garbage. In short, I just want to be current music fan again. I think we all deserve this slight concession. After all, we owe it to ourselves, and to our ears.

The Mystery of the BONE KNIFE!

A year ago this month I found myself in a difficult position. I had just returned from China and was planning my move to Japan. Before I left, I decided to visit the Hummel family and discuss my past and future plans. It was during one of these meetings, that I encountered an object of almost universal importance. Of course, I'm referring to the...BONE KNIFE. For those of you who have somehow remained ignorant of such a historically powerful object, I can only suggest that you read my August 2006 blog entitled "Beware the Bone Knife." In any event, I was given the opportunity to briefly hold the knife last year. While my previous entry detailed the the joy and pride I felt during the brief moment that I held it in my hands, I purposefully purged my article of any description of the feeling that engulfed me while it was in my possession. At the time, I was afraid to divulge what the knife had made me think, what it made me want to do. Only now do I feel strong enough to reveal its secret. The bone knife makes you drunk with power. It makes you think you can kill anyone, not just your son, his friends, and terrorists. I could feel the mad rage building and could not take it anymore. After the picture was taken, I hastily put the knife down, afraid to touch it again. I vowed then never to touch it again, as I boarded my plane for Japan, the BONE KNIFE was the furthest thing from my mind.

When I came back to the United States in July, I knew that I would make a requisite visit to the Hummels to fill them in on my news, as well as hearing about how they were doing. As Leslie and I drove to their house, I started to get goose bumps and began to have slight convulsions. Unable to understand what was happening, I pulled into their driveway. As soon as I stepped out of the car, I could feel its presence. I needed it, I wanted it. Walking up to the house, I showed an irrational impatience, curtly saying hello, I asked if I could see it. Everyone looked confused, but I could see a glimmer of understanding in John's eyes. Pam tried to calm my nerves by handing me a class of punch. Frustrated, I threw my glass of refreshment against the wall and demanded immediate satisfaction. Sadly, John went to the the other room, and brought me the object of my desire. The jewel encrusted box was laid at my feet. Feeling the power run through my body, I turned the key. A puff of smoke escaped from the lid, and I saw the BONE KNIFE lying before me in all its glory. I lifted it up above my head, the setting sun glistening off its milky white blade. I knew I had to utilize my gift. I had to kill Leslie.

Leslie looked at me, noticing the change in my entire demeanor. I looked at her, my voice deeper and raspy, my eyes shining, "dirty girls, I'll get them with the BONE KNIFE!" I proceeded to make the slit throat motion and stood up, a big drunken smile stretching from ear to ear. I lunged at her, but John was faster. Grabbing me, he wrestled me to the ground. I then proceeded to stab him repeatedly my hand resembling a piston in all its force. Grabbing me by the throat, he revealed a machete that he had recently purchased at Knife World, a popular knife supplier in South Carolina. Standing up, I marveled at his resilience, and noticed that my stabs had barely made a difference. We had a knife fight ala, West Side Story, dipping in unison, with the occasional pirouette, we battled it out. Finally, he hit me with the butt of his machete and took hold of the my knife. In a split second, he had slit my throat with the BONE KNIFE. I fell to the ground, everything went black.

A few moments later, I awoke to find myself lying on the bed, a wet compress on my head. I felt a new energy flowing through my body. I looked up to see John, Pam, and Leslie anxiously watching over me. "What, what happened", I asked. "Don't worry, its all over now, we've taken you somewhere where you'll feel at home." John replied. I opened my eyes further and realized that I was lying in an elaborate igloo. "I don't...don't understand." I said meekly. "Let me explain," John said. "Years ago when the god's created man, they gave him a land of paradise." Unfortunately, man did nothing but complain, because he had nothing to cut his steak. The gods then met, and decided to fashion a knife of such power, that not only would he want to cut steak, but everything else that made him angry at the moment. If this sounds irrational, keep in my they are gods, their business is an irrationality that you just have to believe at risk of ridicule for your logical conclusions." I nodded my head in understanding. "Anyway, they fashioned a knife out of their collective divine skeletons, which apparently gods possess, and gave it to the first human. Naturally, he proceeded to lay waste to the entire animal population of the world, and of course, that's how dinosaurs really went extinct." I was speechless at this revelation, but begged John to continue. "Anyway, all of the ancient kings desired the BONE KNIFE, it was the cause of many of earth's wars. Finally, a wise Greek man named Johnithiniki Hummelakos decided to end the chaos. He stole the knife and gave it to the Inuit people, the direct descendants of the dinosaurs. He knew they would not want to use it due their memories of the previous genocide. Of course, they kept it for generations, until it was lost, then eventually returned to me, its guardian and the only one who really understands its power." "Wait a minute," I asked. "How do you understand its power?" "Well, I am the the direct descendant of Hummelakos" John replied. "The burden is on me to protect it at all costs. Of course, this doesn't mean that I can't show it off and attack you boys with it, but you understand." I nodded in agreement. I stood up and gave Leslie a hug and apologized for attempting to murder her. She laughed, but looked slightly nervous. I ignored her, as we made for the door. I said my goodbyes, but just before I walked out the door I realized that there was still a slight pain around my neck. Turning around, I asked John why I had not died from the most powerful weapon on earth. He smiled and looked at me. "That is a story, that I will leave for next time. Perhaps next year?" As soon as he said this, I knew the truth. Pride filled me, I nodded in acknowledgment of our mutual knowledge before getting in my car and returning home.

My Life Underground

I would like to begin by apologizing for the extended absence. You see, I have taken to using the free wireless network that only a classy establishment like McDonald's could possibly provide. As a result, my infrequent Internet usage (I don't have access at my house) has made writing blogs slightly less convenient. Despite this, I am committed to continuing the tradition that I started in Japan and I look forward to the possible new material that life in Moscow is absolutely capable of providing. So without further ado, I give to you my first extensive blog from the heart of the former Soviet Union.

Russia has not changed much from my last stay here. The city is still beautiful, the people remain slightly intimidating, and I'm kept constantly busy with school work which seems to be only slightly valuable. In any event, after 23 years of rural life in both the United States and Japan, it's been refreshing to experience an urban atmosphere. With virtually every form of human achievement at my finger tips, its hard to refrain from forsaking my training course, and indulging in the privileges of city life. While it is easy to cite numerous cultural, architectural, and historical attractions that make Moscow unique, there is one well known feature of the city which encapsulates all of these while at the same time remaining incredibly useful. Of course I'm referring to the world famous Moscow Metro.

Many cities have subway systems. New York, London, and Tokyo all support extensive underground services which make the furthest reaches of their limits accessible. Despite this, none of them are capable of attaining the sheer beauty, efficiency, and affordability of Moscow's metro. Beginning in the 1930's, the first stations were intended to be "underground palaces" celebrating the victory of socialism. Designed and constructed under the watchful eye of Joseph Stalin, the early stations were built using materials from many different areas of the Soviet Union. Special stations were decorated with mosaics, statues, and marble columns, while many of the other stations were adorned with just as impressive stars, socialist imagery(in the form of workers doing things) and (naturally) the hammer and sickle. Recent stations have kept to the model(minus the communist undertones) and all stimulate a level of anticipation upon first viewings. The metro's efficiency and price also play a huge part in its appeal. Since trains come (on average) every 90 seconds, its easy to arrive at anytime and be sure that you will soon be whisked away to your destination. This coupled with the metro's dirt cheap fares (one ride anywhere in the city costs about $1.10), help make it easier for me to indulge in inner-city travel, and as a result opens the door to many sections of the city I may not have chosen to visit.

In conclusion, I can't say enough about the Moscow Metro. It truly is a delight, but of course all of these ravings might be the result of my lack of an extensive public transportation system during any part of my youth. In any event, the Moscow Metro is truly one of the city's most acclaimed treasures and no visit the city would be complete with out at least one ride. Of course, many of you may be wondering about more than just the stations and the price. Well, what can I say? I don't won't to spoil the little things that give the metro so much character. After all, would you react positively to occasional garbage, slippery (from dust) floors, or drunk Russians if I didn't allow you to discover them? Probably not! Of course, if you do see or experience those things, its best just to keep your head up. Only after rising above the inherent unpleasantness of reality can it be possible to fully appreciate the fantasy of perfection originally intended by the metro's designers. Frankly, that's an illusion I'm willing to occasionally accept.

(P.S. David, I'm glad to hear that you is still reading my entries. I have noticed that your blog has stopped altogether. I hope everything is going well in the U.K. and of course, if you ever decide to come back to Russia, (which might not happen due to your love of it the first time) I would be happy to meet you and possibly open your eyes to its many positive aspects!)

In Russia!

I have finally returned. After a long trip and an even longer readjustment period, I am now settled back into Russian life. We begin our job Monday, but until then I don't have any stories to report other than the very same observations and comments I made concerning the country in a number of previous blogs. Therefore, all five of you who still continue to read these posts will just have to be patient until I find something worthwhile to talk about. Until then I would like to direct you to Leslie's blog at http://resuri-nihon.blogspot.com/. She has graciously decided to give a very thorough account of our travel experience, and therefore I am free of the burden. !

Motivation from Home

Well, I’m here. After nearly 24 hours of traveling, I have safely arrived back in Pennsylvania. Sights and sounds of my youth greet me at every turn, and I find myself entering a zone of comfort that only total familiarity can provide. These feelings of contentment have dominated my psyche, and driven me towards high expectations for what I may achieve while at home. Unfortunately, an emotion all too common in Northwestern Pennsylvania has begun to reveal itself. I feel it all around me, influencing all of my actions. Like quicksand, every attempt to free myself causes me to sink further into its unholy clutches. Now, many of you who have read my writings before may recognize the tone as a prelude to a further lament of my inherent laziness. While this is a good guess, it’s altogether incorrect. The feelings of malaise that I have begun to experience are not due to my own personal deficiencies, but by the very nature of my hometown. Therefore, I would like to introduce the nature of my community in order to shed some light onto one of the (many) reasons that I have become a past and future globetrotter, and why the feelings of abject apathy are nothing out of the ordinary.

To begin, I use the word “hometown” to describe Oil City, Franklin, and a few smaller towns that make up the immediate area. I do this because this term is convenient and sufficiently generic enough to sum up the area that I consider my “home.” After all, I am from a very rural era that retains its luster only for those with fond memories of a more prosperous past. Many of these people talk with pride (somewhat justifiably) about the area’s impact on world history. It was in my hometown that oil was first actively refined for eventual human over consumption. With the growth of the oil industry, the famous tycoon John Rockefeller entered the fray and used the area to help create the Standard Oil Company. This corporation eventually gave way to the modern brands (notably Pennzoil and Quaker State) which still exist today. Unfortunately, the companies decided to leave and since the early 90’s my community has drifted into an inescapable quagmire of disillusionment and apathy. It was as a part of this social and economic depression that I formulated my worldview and vowed never to stay in an area so obviously past its prime. Sadly, a majority of my former peers have not had the same good fortune, and therefore have fallen victim to the kind of lethargy hinted at in the opening paragraph.

The kind of collective depression talked about above is in no way unique to my particular community. All over the United States, formerly wealthy (usually industrial) towns have fallen victim to a unique type of motivational deficiency that leaves them bitter and jaded. Lacking constructive occupations, government policies have enabled the population certain luxuries (through certain social welfare programs), while at same time unintentionally breaking their spirit through the constant reminder of their inability to do it on their own. These government handouts, usually in the form of food stamps or other privileges, enable the recipients to spend their discretionary income on certain leisure items. This only masks the disillusionment, in effect forcing a majority of people to be clueless about the source of their depression. So the question remains, if people have access to all the material goods they could ever desire, where does the depression come from? The answer is simple, while far from the material scarcities commonly associated with poverty in developing countries, the shortages seen in modern America is almost purely psychological, but equally as destructive.

In conclusion, this was the community that I grew up in, and where I am forced to return, albeit only occasionally. In an area where bars outnumber viable business, it’s easy to see that that my hometown it rotting from within. Despite this, the people have tried to make the best of things. Their lack of education forces them to gravitate towards interests that I find, boring, ridiculous, or even stupid. In any case, the community’s pursuit for anything to take their minds off the bleak world that they inhabit is something worth praising. Fortunately, the spirit of the region’s inhabitants is not the only advantage to growing up in Northwestern Pennsylvania. After all, its lack of any appealing traits resulted in my desire to leave. As a result, I have attended and graduated from university, traveled around the world, and forged personal and professional relationships. The constant reminder of home drives me to these ends, and any other place could have resulted in the victory of my omnipresent desire to succumb to laziness. If for no other reason, this alone makes my childhood home valuable, and my occasional return only helps reinforce my desire to free myself from the cycle of uncertainty and despair that afflicts a majority of those who remain here.

Smell You Later Japan!

Well the time is finally here. On Tuesday I will be leaving Japan for a brief visit back to the United States before finally moving on to Russia. It is hard for me to put into my words my feelings about my year spent in Japan. After all, my leaving has been a day I've been longing for since I arrived. Unfortunately this mind set has forced me to under appreciate the subtle positive aspects of my life here and instead I have frequently highlighted the consummate onslaught of negative features. In any event, as a way of saying farewell to a land of such amazing highs and lows, I have decided to focus on the agreeable tenets of my life while conspicuously ignoring any of my own dissenting opinions. I chose this option because the sheer magnitude of disappointments and frustrations that have greeted me throughout the year, would force me into a writing binge that would last no less than an week. Therefore and with my own health in mind, I have decided to make a top five list detailing what I believe to be the best parts of Japan.

5. Food- While this might seem a strange choice, I assure you its quite within reason. I made this choice not because of the quality or taste of Japanese cuisine, which is vile, but because of the variety of things that tickle the taste buds of the Japanese consumer. Imagine this, you are a Japanese business man with a hankering for a delicious lunch. First you buy a cabbage based salad and some sticky fermented beans that smell like socks. After this appetizer, you wash it down with cucumber flavored soda while preparing for an entire fish complete with the head, because after all, cheek meat is the best part. Feeling a little full, you decide to stick with a simple desert of green tea flavored ice cream and a small piece of battered octopus tentacle. I wish I was making this up, but unfortunately its all true. I have tried everything but the green tea ice cream, and all of them (with the exception of the beans which may be the worst thing I've ever eaten) were lackluster. Despite this the Japanese mentality of superiority charges them to praise their national foods, even if they don't like them themselves, and as a result I get to laugh at them. So in the end, laughing at Japanese customs is the fifth best part of Japan.

4. People- Well, what can I say about the average Japanese person. Generally they are probably the most polite people on earth and their zeal for all things Western makes any foreigner happy to be here. This along with politeness, kindness, and what appears to be an almost naive innocence, help many foreigners feel both comfortable and safe wherever they go. These qualities alone make Japan a beloved vacation spot and an even more popular ex-pat destination. Of course the negative effects, notably the kind of foreigners it attracts (which I discussed in "A Pariah's Paradise"), are always looming. Naturally this should not reflect negatively on the Japanese, and similar to "Pearl Jam" being assigned the guilt for the crap that was "Creed," we should not blame Japan for the lameness of its western inhabitants. Finally, I would also like to make it clear that when I say "Japanese" I am referring predominantly to the children and adults. Unfortunately the senior citizen and their inevitable conservatism and xenophobia cast a shadow on this otherwise great people. This constant presence coupled with a notoriously high life span makes this a problem that doesn't seem to be going away anytime soon. Nevertheless, the Japanese belief in openness and kindness has provided a beacon in the otherwise stormy night that is life in Japan.

3. Movie Plus- It's hard to describe the impact of Movie Plus in words. As the one channel that offered programs in English, it became my only option for watching anything on TV. Every time I turned on the television it was understood that Movie Plus would the only thing I was watching, and with the the slogan "We Love Movie," how could I possibly refuse. Of course I ended up watching the same thing numerous times, my 7+ viewings of "The Chronicles of Riddick" will stand witness to this depressing fact. Fortunately, there is one redeeming quality to the whole affair. In February, I first saw a commercial for an exercise regimen starring former Tae-bo guru Billy Blanks. Called "Billy's Boot Camp," the 3 minute spot extolled the benefits of Billy's methods with testimonials from satisfied customers. At the time I paid little attention to the TV spot, only noting the strange fact that Billy Blanks still commanded a certain degree of fame. If only I knew what lay in store fore me. "Billy's Boot Camp" became enormously popular and the advertisement began to appear at least once in every commercial break. Therefore it is with a heavy heart that I admit to seeing the same "Billy's Boot Camp" commercial close to 400 times and counting. At this point I can quote all of the exercises and have began to notice some of the ad's nuances, notably the set design and the degree of sweat on Billy's assorted tank tops. While this might be depressing, it has caused me quite a lot of joy and has helped me bear the brunt of the some of the more annoying and repetitive aspects of Japanese life.

2. Kitty- My relationship with Leslie's cat certainly started off on the wrong foot. When I first visited Japan in December 2005, Machiko (the cat's real name) was merely a kitten and acted like it. Constantly biting my feet and destroying her house, I went back to the United States with a firm hatred of the cat, dreading a possible reunion. Fortunately when I came back to Japan last summer, Kitty and I reconciled and she quickly became the one thing I knew I would miss when I decided to leave. I hate to talk about all of the great and hilarious things Kitty has done, at risk of sounding like everyone who has owned a pet, but I think it would be okay to just list some of her highlights. Kitty was a very destructive animal. She was constantly leaving claw prints in the paper walls and scratching all the walls. Also, she would often sleep on her back and on cold nights meow until we opened the covers in our bed to let her come in. Many nights were spent chasing live mice, lizards, bugs, and even a bird that Kitty would bring in from her adventures in the forest. While all of these things might seem to be annoying, and they were, it was Kitty who added a degree of unpredictability to the mundane and isolated life in the small house in Daito. This attachment caused considerable apprehension when the time to find a new home for Kitty arrived. Fortunately, we found her a new place really close our current house, just a few feet down the street. She even came back for a brief visit (to my delight), but after finding that we didn't have any food, she stopped visiting. Truly Kitty has moved on, which couldn't make me happier.

1. Leslie- This choice might seem to be a little out of place, since she isn't Japanese, but I honestly wouldn't have been here if it wasn't for Leslie. Any of you who have read my writings know that it can't be easy to live with someone so easily agitated about seemingly inconsequential things. Fortunately, Leslie has been up to the task. Her constant patience with my complaining, growing attraction to Japanese girls, and scrutiny concerning anything that she likes can't have been easy, but I feel the year in Japan has strengthened our relationship. As we prepare for our time in Russia, I realize that our roles will be reversed and it will be my turn to step up and take responsibility for any of the problems and pitfalls that we may encounter. Of course I can only hope to equal her affinity for assuming the lead role in the relationship when faced with certain and inevitable hardships. In any event, I would have never made it through Japan without her. It is with this in mind that despite everything I have encountered, she remains the one thing that would cause me to return. Of course I would urge her to restrain that notion for at least 20 years. In conclusion, she was easily the best part of my time in Japan.

It with this last article that I conclude a certain chapter of my life. I can't help but feel a little nostalgic, but I suppose with any great change, that kind of thing is inevitable. My time in Japan has been memorable with many goods and bads. I can only hope Russia will equal or surpass the experiences I have had the privilege to encounter. Regardless of what happens, I'll keep you posted.

The Specter of Geriaocracy

Recently, I decided to visit a local convenience store in the hopes of finding something delicious for lunch. As I walked, I was surprised to find myself in relatively good spirits due to the anticipation of my goal, a ham and cheese "sando" (sandwich in Japanese). All of my optimism for the day dissipated when I laid eyes on a gut wrenching scene of mindless destruction. A small white car had managed to jump over a six inch concrete barrier and crash through a large window in the front of the convenience store that held my prize. Shocked at the carnage, while at the same time puzzled about the logistics of a seemingly impossible act, I entered the store and looked around for clues concerning the identity of the perpetrator. It was then that I laid eyes on a culprit so obvious that my previous confusion seemed embarrassing. Before me stood a small shortsighted man looking dazed and slightly inane. He could have been no younger than 70 and his deficient brain capacity had accidentally caused him to back out of his parking space in "drive" rather than in "reverse." All of my fellow patrons showed utmost respect for a man who had just managed to destroy the frond end of the store, and the staff even gave him a hearty "thank you" when he bought a drink to tide him over during his wait for the authorities. It was into this display of lunacy that I realized the threat that hangs over us like adult diaper ready to burst. Evidently, old people are nothing more than a reactionary force bent on the propagation of outdated ideas, forced submission to their will, and worse, the threat of death from frequent mistakes involving mundane tasks. It is into this depressing world that I fire the first shot into the inevitable war between youth and the growing force of "Olds."

Its quite clear to me that the human mind and body work on a bell curve. That is why so many elderly people share similar traits with infants. Naturally bowel control, eating without a majority of the food winding up on your shirt or around your mouth, and walking at normal speeds are similarities that have been well documented and joked about. Unfortunately, mental conditions have been studied far less, and it is into this void that I wish to offer my observations. Babies are often excused for the dumb stuff they do because they have not learned certain things and therefore can not be expected to understand the concept of changing situations or cause and effect. "Olds" on the other hand have more experience in the ways of the world than any other social group, but make far more problematic mistakes, and then are praised just for having the energy to cause the problem. In the end, everyone has driven behind the old person leisurely cruising along at a measly 30 MPH because, "there is no reason to be in a hurry, it will be there when we get there." We have all see the looks of disdain when a old person with no obvious physical deficiency sneers at us for taking the item or seat that he or she wanted, and thereby not showing the proper respect due to them as a result of their earlier birth. We have kept our mouths closed every time we see an old person upset upon discovering that their age won't guarantee any benefits or discounts from a place of business. We have even pretended to be happy when an old person talks to us about why their understanding of the world is accurate, and how we really need to listen to them in order to truly understand life. These common problems are only the tip of the iceberg. After all, the true threat comes not from their annoying characteristics, but from the power they wield over everyday affairs.

While the paragraph above lists some serious indictments against senior citizens. They are merely irritants when compared to true problem, their influence on public policy. I have already alluded to the fact that I believe that senior citizens are an inherently retrograde force. This is opinion is of course unscientific, but based on observations from everyday life. For example, old people refuse to change, even if the possible difference could result in an easing of their responsibilities or troubles. I often take the train to work, and about six months ago the train began stopping in a different place due to construction on a new station. To this very day I see the same old people line up in the former place, growing all flustered when they find out that the new routine has fooled them again. While this act may seem inconsequential, it is a powerful case study of the overall reasoning ability of the elderly. In short, their logic tells them that previous things worked well, and therefore all energy should be devoted to the ceasing of any and all progress. Of course this rationale is the key to established politics (in the form of conservative ideology) as well as organized religion (in the form of an understandable desire to placate fears of death with a type of spiritual insurance). Naturally, all elderly people do not fall into this category. There are many people who are aware of their slip into old age. They grow depressed upon realizing they have entered decline, and can't understand why they no longer comprehend why things are what they are. It is to those partially enlightened souls (whose ranks I hope to join one day) that I urge to give up the ghost. Nobody understands why things are interesting or appealing. Life just happens to cater to the needs of a couple of generations, and only in the twilight of this existence do people ever think to look back and reflect. In the end it is important to realize that there are no constants, only change. Humanity is constantly reforming itself, often positively, and the grand scope of history is far beyond the understanding of one generation. While these words will probably not be reassuring, they allow for me to introduce my last point, what is to be done?

Following the second world war, the influx in birth rates resulted in what is commonly called the "baby boom." Over sixty years later the product of one the largest populations spikes in the developed world are becoming old. The vast numbers of elderly in places of prominence threaten to throw the balance away from progress and towards (at best) stagnation. Even now, any talk of mandatory medical tests for the elderly for simple tasks like driver's licenses, are met with cries of discrimination. Horror stories of older people being passed over by employers allegedly due to their age are met with anger, with few asking about the possibility it could have been because of something as simple as skill or salary demands. It is into this society that the new generation of elderly find themselves in power. Despite this, the future is not totally bleak. The agents of progress must defeat these people before they use their archaic views based on Cold War logic to destroy civilization. We must stop them with the only way we know how, cold calculated lack of respect. Old people thrive on the belief that we should honor them because they have lived longer. Of course the simple truth is that it is far easier to die young when you are healthy and virile, than it is to die when you are decrepit and weak. Therefore we have to force them to realize that they have not achieved any great honor by continuing to exist. Only after they have been humbled will it be possible to talk to them as equals and to keep the evolution of society in tact. This is something that needs to be done more than ever. After all, our ability to grow old depends on it.