The Japanese Lions

The lions of Japan don’t rule over the savanna as they usually do where they normally live. The lions of Japan rule the street. They walk around, dressed in black, wearing shoes 5 sizes too big, and they hunt for prey. Like most of us single males, they hunt for women. Their biggest weapons are the cans and cans of spray net that they put in their hair, and their questionable fashion sense. I’m not a lion, I had hair that made me look like a lion at some point, but I have other weapons then cans of spray net. On the street, I’m a nobler animal… I would say I’m something like a drunken leopard. A panther wearing a v-neck. A really classy hyena.
Like many animals looking for easy prey, The Japanese lion walks around in a pack. Two or three lions walking around the nightlife district, using their radars to spot wounded, (really) short skirt wearing Japanese chicks. When he finds such a thing, the lion then separates from the pack and starts following the girl around with, (most of the time) little to no success.

Let’s not kid ourselves, the Japanese lion exists because of the success it has had sometimes. If some dumb girls want to date a really awkward looking dude, whose hair could maybe hurt her in intimate situations, it’s her problem. But it really makes you wonder: who the hell decided such a hairstyle was acceptable, and also, should we be afraid that people like this might appear on the streets of Europe and America someday???

Be afraid of the Japanese lion, be very afraid… Wouldn’t you want to punch one in the face today?

Maturity

version 1 AKA : The Conscience conversation

When I got home last summer, some people told me I was more mature. It felt quite good to be lauded as a person of great maturity, for the first time in my life. I felt like a respectable individual, you know, the type of guy you could lend your car to and not worry that I might send it to the bottom of a lake (If that type of guy had a driver’s license, which I don’t!!!). So what happened?? I guess that when I turned to the glorious age of 2_ last year, I might have just gone over the ‘maximum age to get mature’ point. I guess I had a conversation like this with my brain:

(Brain): ‘Alright big boy, you are now 2_ in physical years and 15 mentally, maybe it would be time to grow up and become mature eh? What do you say we start acting like grown men?’
(Me): ‘Fuck No dude!!!! 14 ‘til I die!!!! Woo Hoo! Where’s my beer? Yeah! You can’t spell Party without P-Y!!!’
(Brain): ‘Listen up you little hoodlum, you’ve been making me insane with all your partying… You do realize that you have been a bit of a partyboy for almost half your life now? Do you know what the life expectancy is for people with your lifestyle???’
(Me): ‘Life expectanWHAT?... Brain-dude, are you making up words again???’
(Brain): ‘Life ex-pec-tan-cy… If you keep this up, you won’t make it passed 35. Race car drivers have a better chance to see a Montreal team win a Stanley Cup than you do… Is that what you want?’
(Me, realizing the fatality of the Brain’s last statement): ‘Woah, I guess you’re right. Maybe I have been going a little overboard. Where should I start?’
(Brain): ‘Well for starters, you could start wearing your pants like a normal person, everyone can see your ass!!’
(Me, complying): ‘Alright DONE. I feel like a new man! Where is the closest museum so I can go look at paintings and pretend to see the true meaning of it, you know, like a grown-up, boring person?’
(Brain): ‘Shut up and have one more beer’

Version 2 AKA The actual story behind my new-found maturity

During my vacation in Montreal, some people told me I looked more mature. For the first time in my life, I felt some pride about being a mature guy. I felt like a respectable individual, you know, the type of guy you could lend your truck to and not worry that I might use it to go pick up a prostitute on Ontario street (If that type of guy had a driver’s license, which I don’t!!!). So what happened??
Well yeah, some people told me I ‘looked’ more mature…
I guess these people have never heard about JETLAG!

Woooo Hooooo!!!! 14 ‘til I die!!! You can’t spell PARTY without PY!

Later, I’m off to my weekly Thursday night all you can drink party!

Under the bridge

I didn’t want to tell you this because it probably is a low point of my life but here it goes…

The week after I came back fom Canada, I went out with some people and we went to 2 or 3 bars in Sendai. We were quite the group and I’m usually never the last one to leave because I have to take the stupid last train. But that night, everyone left before me, a good 90 minutes before the last train. So I stayed at the standing bar. There was a good crowd, some ghetto ass folk I never met before so I said ‘Fuck It’ I’m staying’. Ernie, the owner of a bar in Sendai (Aptly named Ernie’s bar) was doing a good job of convincing me to miss the last train and continue partying. But, as I do 90% of the time, I came to my senses and decided to run and catch the last train.

I got a seat on that train, which is quite the feat, because it’s usually full. 5 stations to my station, 18 minutes. I tried reading my book, but I was quite drunk and I always hated reading on moving things (Ok, I was drunk). So I closed my eyes and fell asleep. I woke up a minute later and decided to put an alarm on my phone in case I fell asleep again. Closed my eyes only to we woken up by a train driver in an empty train at the end of the line. This being the last train, I quickly realized that I was in trouble. I was in a town called Shiroishi, often called Shiroshitty. It would cost me a good 150$ and up to go home by taxi. So I did the only thing a person like me can do when they get stuck in a situation like this: I stole a bike. It took me a long time but I finally found a bike that was unlocked. I rode around and discovered the darkest corners of Shiroishi, testing this new bike to see if it could survive the long ride home (about 2 hours, on a good bike). When I realized that this bike wasn’t locked for a good reason (It was as shitty as Shiroshitty), I decided I would shift my priorities. I had to spend the night somewhere horizontal. I looked for a love hotel: None. Not even a bench. Not even a park. So when I crossed the bridge I came to the conclusion that for a GHETTO event, I might as well sleep like a ghetto boy: Under the bridge.

I slept on the sidewalk, under the bridge. For an hour. Then I laughed for an hour, thinking my mom would be proud. Then I rode the shitty bike for an hour. Then I spent 40 minutes in a convenience store because it was cold outside. And then it was time for the first train. The moral of this story?
A moral? What do I look like? Hans-Christian Andersen? Just don’t fall asleep on the train like an idiot.

Yours truly, the village idiot

ps: I returned the bike… but in a different place. Beware. You never know where Montreal-North ghetto boys might be walking.

TY-POON

It is in my nature to be interested by freak natural phenomenon. Probably because of my university background and the interest I’ve always had for anything remotely resembling a natural disaster. I remember freaking my friends out when I told them I couldn’t wait for my first earthquake. Just when they thought I couldn’t be stranger, I go and tell them I would enjoy having survive to a ‘Big One’. One where I could help with the rescue of my poor neighbors trapped under the rubble. And then they would give me the keys to the city, and then I would go on the Today show and marry Carmen Electra. You know what I’m talking about, right?

Anyways, we are indeed in typhoon season now and the typhoon number 11 (Goldorak or Morrdakk or some stupid name) promised to be a big one. The TV people kept talking about it, my teachers were talking about it. I started to get pretty excited!

‘Man, a typhoon! And they say it will come in around Sendai… And I live near the coast! Yes!!!’

My excitement only got better when I got an e-mail from the Canadian embassy telling me to be careful, to stay away from coastlines and to expect pouring rain and high winds and to watch out for landslides… YEAH! Kickass, a landslide! I wasn’t asking for so much!

It started raining at like 2 pm. When I left school at 5, they told me to be careful and that they might call me if the typhoon makes too much damage and that I might have to come in later than usual.

‘My oh my!! This all sounds like a great time… I can’t wait!’

So I told my friends I’d be on my balcony looking at the spectacle, waiting for the disaster to happen! Well at 10 pm I got bored, it was just steady raining since the afternoon. I went to bed and woke up at every hour, on the hour to maybe witness the end of the world. At 2 am, it wasn’t even raining no more. What a load of bullshit. Woke up at 6, everything was… normal. I went to school under the sun and asked my teacher (Mr. Shoji):

‘Hey, what the hell happened with that typhoon?’

His answer:

‘It went away’

AWAY???!!! What the fuck man? It’s not a stray cat. It’s not a cold sore. It doesn’t just GO AWAY!

‘It flew away’, he repeated.

Well I’ll be damned, I guess that in Japan, a typhoon is just a weird bird or something. After the FIASCO that was the solar eclipse, I get screwed over with a typhoon now. Bring on the earthquakes, because last time I checked, I still wasn’t married to Carmen Electra.

Montréaaaaaaal

Mes vacances à Montréal n’étaient pas relaxantes mais elles étaient si agréables. Il y a des gens que j’aurais aimé voir que je n’ai pas vu (Joëlle, Maria-Elisa, mes tantes, oncles et cousins) mais je reviens dans 11 mois.

La prochaine fois, ce sera moins une ‘course contre la montre’. Il y a aussi beaucoup de gens que j’aurais aimé voir davantage mais j’espère qu’ils comprennent que je ne suis pas un super-héros.
Donc après les très populaires statistiques lors de mes vacances avec Ben, voici mes …

STATISTIQUES DE MON PÉRIPLE MONTRÉALAIS :

Animaux tués pour me nourrir: 30 et plus (Merci special au Pied de cochon)
Nombre de rondes de golf jouées (et gagnées): 3 (C’est pas grave Ben)
heures de sommeil en moyenne: 5
Nombre de fausses boules pongnées aux danseuses : 13 (J’ai amené ma bière à l’isoloir pour la dernière)
Argent donné à l’osti de dentiste: 775$
Argent perdu au casino: 80$ (C’aurait pu être pire)
Bixis empruntés: 4
Jours de pluie: 1
P’tits P’tits P’tits spectacles : Eh Boy… Who knows?
Nombre de fois où j’ai dit à ma nièce que c’est la plus jolie : au moins 80
Pourcentage du staff féminin qui à de fausses boules au Boston Pizza de Mascouche : 100% (Je recommande)
Nombre de fois où j’ai entendu ‘Pis le Japon?’ : Au moins 60
Nombre de Bud Light Lime consommées : 3
Nombre de Bud Light Lime que je vais avoir dans le reste de ma vie : 0 (déguelasse)
Argent dépensé : Beaucoup trop
Note générale sur 10 : 18
Merci, ce fut parfait
One LOVE
P

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My vacation in Canada was nothing relaxing but it was a great time. There are some people I would have liked to see that I didn’t see but I’ll be back soon enough to see them.

Also, there are some people I would have liked to see more but 16 days was a short time. I hope all of them understand that I love them and that I’m not a superhero.
So after my Golden week vacation stats, I give you my

CANADIAN VACATION STATS:

Number of animals killed to feed me: over 30
Number of rounds of golf, and number of rounds won: 3-3
Average hours of sleep: 5
Number of strippers touched: Secret
Money spent at the (FUCKING) dentist: 775$
Money lost at casino: 80$
Poker games: only 2
Bixis ridden: 4
Rainy days: 1
Times telling my niece she is the cutest thing ever: at least 80
Times I’ve unintentionally pissed of my best friend Maryann: 3
Number of girls that have fake boobs at the Mascouche Boston Pizza: ALL OF THEM (I recommend)
Number of times I was asked 'So how is Japan?' : at least 60
Number of Bud Light Lime I’ve had: 3
Number of Bud Light Lime I’ll have after this: 0 (its seriously bad)
Money spent: Waaaay too much
Overall feeling: BEST. VACATION. EVER.

Thank you all, it was Perfect!!!

This VIDEO

... is a video of me making a good bye speech in Japanese. I had to say good-bye to this school even if I love this school a lot more now. I wish I could have stayed...
It's a pretty cool video.

I am going home for 2 weeks so to those who read this shit... I'll either see you in 3D soon or I'll see you when I get back
1 Love
P-Y


CLICK HERE

Rilakkuma

Dans un pays come le Japon, axé sur le travail et la performance, il est normal de voir certains phénomènes crées pour compenser le stress que vivent ces gens qui travaillent des heures impossibles. L’hôtel capsule est un de ces phénomènes. Mais il ne s’agit point de ce que je voulais aborder ici. J’ai eu le privilège d’être initié lors des derniers mois à Rilakkuma. Vous connaissez tous Hello Kity mais Rilakkuma est définitivement en train de rattraper Kitty dans le cœur des jeunes Japonais. Kuma veut dire Ours (Bear) en Japonais et Rilak est une merveilleuse traduction de relax. Rilakkuma est donc un Relaxing Bear. La plupart du temps, il nous est montré en train d’écouter de la musique, de dormir ou même en train de manger. Il à un acolyte, Korilakkuma (qui est blanc et un peu plus petit) et ils se tiennent avec un oiseau jaune. La plupart de mes étudiants ont quelque chose à l’effigie de Rilakkuma et j’ai commencé à trouver que cet ours avait une bouille sympathique et je dois dire que j’ai quelques trucs Rilakkuma. J’ai visité l’appart d’une amie l’autre jour et sa ‘chambre’ (je connais des gens qui ont de plus grosses salles de bain que cet appart) est un sanctuaire rempli de Rilakkuma. Oreillers, draps, oursons, tapis. TOUT! C’est elle qui m’a fait comprendre le paradoxe de Rilakkuma. Elle travaille 10-12 heures par jour et elle a 6 jours de congé par mois. Elle dort 5 heures par nuit et trouve le moyen de jouer au handball et de sortir un peu. Elle devrait être cliniquement morte mais elle trippe sur cet ours qui relaxe. Je crois donc que les Japonais (et surtout les Japonaises) aiment cet ours parce qu’il vit la vie qu’ils aimeraient avoir. Mais aucun Japonais digne de cette nationalité ne pourrait se permettre de passer ses journées à dormir, manger et écouter la télé (Bonheur Social) donc ils se réfugient dans des sanctuaires dédiés au Relaxing Bear.
Bon…si c’était moi, je deviendrais probablement fou et je lui crierait ‘Criss d’ours sale, t’aurais pu faire la vaisselle au moins, BOUGE ton CUL.. Fais de quoi! Ah pis t’es encore avec ton ami Korilakkuma et cet oiseau de merde!’ avant de tout brûler et de virer fou. Mais bon, c’est des Japonais et ils aiment ce genre de conneries.

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In a country like Japan, based on work ethic and performance, it is normal to se some phenomenon created to compensate the stress that live people who work over 80 hours a week. Capsule hotels are one of those things. But I wanted to talk about. I wanted to talk about Rillakuma, the ‘relaxing’ bear. Hello Kitty is the champion with kids but Rillakuma is quickly gaining up on the cat. He’s a relaxing bear cuz he doesn’t really do much aside from eating, sleeping and watching TV. He has a best friend, Korillakuma (white and a little smaller)and together, they chill with a small yellow bird. Most of my students have something representing Rillakuma and I know that a lot of bedrooms are plastered in Rillakuma gear. I think that Japanese people like this bear because it lives the life that they would like to live. But no Japanese people could live such a life so they go home and sleep 4 hours a night in their relaxing bear sanctuaries.
I know that if it was me, I’d totally become schizo about it and I’d go home and be like: ‘What you looking at you stupid bear? I look tired? Well you’d look tired too if you worked 12 hour shifts just to come home and have you, your stupid white bear friend and that bird, eating all my food and watching TV!!! DO SOMETHING! I Hate you you fucking relaxing bear’ (And then I’d grab a knife and stab them all and burn them)
But Japanese people love that kinda crap!