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Everything’s about a billion decibels louder than necessary. Health clubs, sporting goods stores, and yoga pants are everywhere. Lots of people were running, apparently out of choice. Man, you’d have to be some kind of idiot to choose a lifestyle like that. Like I went to 7-11 tonight, and they were out of fish sausage. It’s got a lot of nice trees and grass and squirrels and stuff.
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Americans must really love Mexican folks, since there are so many everywhere. But everywhere I went, Americans were saying “excuse me” and “sorry,” for minor things that no Japanese person would even acknowledge, like bumping into someone or taking the last two-liter bottle of Coke. And they hold doors for one another other and even smile. I figure everyone’s worried someone else is gonna shoot them if they’re not super nice, so they’re motivated. I stopped off at a bar to sample what you Americans call “beer.” It’s super sweet and much too dark. Who wants to learn about the boring Roman Empire when you can watch ? It’s this program about guys who leave the comfort of home to go and live in a foreign, hostile environment.
Anyway, the waffles tasted just like Japanese ones, although Japanese maple syrup tastes better, probably because it’s not just colored corn syrup. That’s like an unexpected bonus of the Second Amendment. I knew from previous trips to expect the citizens to be loud, tattooed, and reeking of cologne. It’s apparently important to Americans that everyone else hears, sees, and smells them from afar. And yet, despite the vast amount of exercise they do, Americans are enormously fat. So the only logical conclusion is that exercise makes you fat. Maybe it’s made out of maple syrup, by Mexicans in Canada. So then an Asian guy walked up to the counter and asked the Hispanic bartender for some potato chips. It’s an adventure, sure, but who’d want to really do that?
But I’d forgotten just how noisy everyday life is: lawn mowers, car stereos, 18-wheelers on city streets. I’d suggest working fifteen hours a day for a few years, and seeing what effect that has. There was a brief conversation about the merits of salt and vinegar, during which none of the following was said: “Where are you from? The live in these tiny, cold places, eat gross stuff like raw fish, and have hardly anybody to talk to. But living in a place, you gotta deal with both the good and the bad.
So after I landed at LAX, I was pretty hungry, and headed out for some fish tacos. Again, enough with your yoga pants; your ass is killing me.
Of course we have them in Japan too, but I wanted to compare. But there were also some hot chicks too, and many were flirty and open.
That’s when I learned that Yup, fish and cabbage taste pretty much exactly the same no matter where you are. They might even take an active role in love-making, and not just lay there like a tuna. It’s easy to see why so many Japanese guys have an American girl fetish.
Afterwards I walked around the corner and got some waffles. Here are a few random observations: I know, I was pretty surprised too. I like to use my free time effectively, which usually involves lying in bed and watching TV. But anyway, I figured I’d learn something, and watch the History Channel.
Every year, I like to play a little game called “Could I Ever Live in America Again? In Japan, there are toilets in most convenience stores, department stores, and train stations. Sure, maybe in a park they’re not pristine, but at least you’ve got them. You’re lucky if your kidneys don’t explode before you can find a restroom, and once you do it looks like the last person who used it was Jimmy the retarded five-year old. You don’t want to make a toilet stall that comes all the way to the ground because give people privacy and they might do something sinful. America weathered some challenging storms, fashion wise. But what’s “baked cannelloni with braised wild boar, capers, and pecorino cheese in a rosemary-infused wine sauce”?
” That’s where I board a plane in Tokyo, have about ten tiny in-flight wines, watch every movie ever made, then get off in sunny California and ask myself, “Well, how ’bout it, Seeroi? A.,” which is cute, or simply “America,” since anything south of San Diego clearly doesn’t count. And you’re not fooling anyone with your donkeys painted like zebras, you know. It’s like the society figured that humans might actually need to go pee pee. But now, thankfully, gay people have rescued the U. and men are getting decent haircuts and wearing skinny trousers with tailored shirts and it’s impossible to tell who’s homosexual anymore. Now it’s more like, Hmmm, is he gay, or just well-dressed? It’s clear that chefs are just throwing a bunch of stuff together and saying it’s a dish. I guess after a few years in Japan, I’d just come to assume that all women were pouty, snooty, and stared at their shoes a lot.