Birthday, Baldness, Bicycles, Buses, Beer

Yesterday was my half-birthday. I turned 30.5. Since my birthday is in August, I was never able to celebrate with my friends while in school, so I started commemorating my half-birthday in college. I think some people who remember my half-birthday actually don't know when my real birthday is unless they do the math. Others, including most of my family, don't know either but they can get the month right, usually. That's good enough for me.

In other news, I have no hair.

Except on my face. And my chest, arms, legs.... I mean I have no hair on my head. I shaved it. And just for the record I would like to say that I did it before Brittney.

Last Friday I began my new fitness club membership with a vigorous workout before going to teach in the morning. I was feeling energized and admittedly a bit proud of myself when I walked outside. But those feelings were soon replaced with irritation and disappointment. My bicycle was gone. Either stolen or impounded by the city for parking on the sidewalk. I don't know yet which one. This is probably the fourth time Japan has taken one of my bicycles. But it will be the first time I pay the $25 U.S. to get one back. That is, if in fact it was the city that took it. And yes, it was locked. So I had to walk to work and then back home, but oh well.

Then on Saturday night I did the almost unthinkable. I stayed home. I wanted to get up early and try a new church on Sunday. It was really hard for me, but somehow I managed. I stepped out into the frigid morning at about the same time I would usually be coming home on a Sunday. I rode my mountain bike, since my other bicycle is M.I.A., and proceeded promptly to wreck it. To add to the fun, I was almost hit by a taxi in the process. The rain had made the streets really slick--a fact that I did not notice until I tried to make a fast left turn against traffic onto a one-way street. The taxi driver and passengers were not amused, even though I tried to be, uh, funny about it. Cold, hard stares of derision. Anyway, the chain was off my bike so I had to push it the rest of the way. I parked at the place where I work in order to avoid losing another two-wheeled friend to bureaucracy. I finally got to the train station, rode to the stop nearest the church, and then walked to the place where the shuttle buses come. I was two minutes late. No bus came. So I went to a coffee shop and read for an hour or so and then walked back down the hill to wait for either of two shuttles to the next service. I was 15 minutes early and waited an extra 15 minutes after the scheduled arrival time, but no bus came. So I went back home. Fortunately I made it to another church in the afternoon. But that's not really the point of this story. The point is: Grrrr.

But some good news is that, thanks to Valentine's Day, I now have lots of chocolate, my iPod still works after all (I was worried it might be broken), and bald is beautiful.

Sometime in the next few days I suppose I will write about the rest of Sunday, and how spilling beer all over a girl is a good way to start a conversation.

Really, it works. If she still talks to you, she is probably really worth getting to know. If she doesn't, well you probably just saved yourself a lot of time.

And the winner is....

Friday was a national holiday, so Thursday night I went into the city for the night. As it seems that most Japanese, for whatever reason, don't view the night before a national holiday as an extra night to play, I was hesitant about going out. But a Peruvian friend seemed to have ideas for things to do. Upon arriving, however, I found that he was taking me along to meet a friend at a club where they were conducting "Salsa Night". Unfortunately this was referring to the dance and not the condiment. I don't have anything against Salsa, per se; it's just that I don't know how to do it and the people who go to such events tend to be rather serious about it. I met one girl there who recently quit her job and at the moment does nothing but eat, sleep, and salsa. Or so she said. Anyway I was less than pleased with my friend because he is aware of my aversion and yet said nothing. On the up side, though, I made friends with one of the bartenders, got free drinks, and now I know where I can go if I ever want a good tattoo.

Friday I slept all day and then met students for a "New Year's Party". Seems a little late for that, I reckon, but it was an excuse to drink really bad "refreshingly bitter" beer and talk about everything and nothing in particular.

Saturday evening I tried a new church then went out to dinner with the other four people who attended the meeting. OK, I am exaggerating. There were nine other people, but five of them were conducting the service. It was nice. One Australian girl was explaining why she can't seem to communicate well with Americans (can't understand that accent, and they are so uptight!). Next I met an American friend and a female pal of his at a British pub. It was during this time that I met perhaps the stupidest person I have yet encountered in all my time living in Asia.

Here's what happened: I went to the bar to order a beer, and for no particular reason thanked the bartender in an Irish brogue. Imagine that. Then I went about my business, returning to our table. Keep in mind, now, that I am 6'0" and weigh in at 240 pounds, and my American friend is 6'3" and 240. (The Japanese girl was 5'4" and about 80 pounds, probably, in case you were wondering.) In spite of our peaceful behavior and prominent stature, a rather wiry British person found his way to our quiet little spot and started leering at us/me. He was standing right over me, with an angry look in his eyes and a pint in his hand. So in order to get whatever awkwardness he had planned over with, I said, "Hello", in the most diplomatic tone I could muster. At this point the person in question proceeded to all but challenge me to a fight, stating, "Tonight I hate anyone who speaks with an Irish accent. Because I hate the Irish. All of 'em. And Israelis too. They blah blah blah blah..." Nothing he said warrants repeating. The fact that he was being so openly and rather loudly racist/placist does. Especially considering the fact that we were in a bar full of people from all over the world. One hopes such a fellow, if his thinking remains unchanged, will not procreate. Eventually my friend and I managed to sort of ignore him until he went away, but not before he called me a "worthless Pole" and "an all right guy." The queerest part about it all is that, though he was talking nonsense and being incredibly offensive and rude, he did not appear to have had that much to drink yet. Glad we didn't stick around to witness his progress (regress) over the course of the evening....