I have a phone with a 16.1 megapixel camera. It's pretty pointless as it doesn't really take great photos, but it is useful if you want to use up all of the internal memory in a couple of shots. So I have mostly stopped trying to take pretty photos, and instead just snap pictures of stupid stuff I see on my daily travails that I can crack wise about later.

 The example sentence in this entry in my electronic dictionary made me laff for some reason. It sounds like something a nerd comedian would say (specifically Dmitri Martin)

No cracking wise necessary for this next one.

 This poster says "Bicycle Accidents. Increase Dramatically!". I don't know if this is a statment or an encouragement to automobilists. By the stae of the roads sometimes, as a cylcist, I lean towards the latter.

 This was a traditional Japanese "water magic" show where this woman made water squirt from different objects. About halfway through I had the sudden thought: "Why am I turned on?"

This here is possibly the saddest photograph of all time. It is a long run down pachinko parlour, that is rusting and literally being overgrown by weeds.

This is a picture of the famous sculpture at Nikko of the See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil. Surely it has been done before by somebody, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to pose in front of it for a "F*ck no Evil" pose. 

 Japanese dramas often have scenes where the main character skips school to lie down on the riverbank. I thought this was so cliche, but once I tried it myself, I was hooked. I often bike into Tokyo, and there is a long stretch (about 30 minutes) along the Edo-gawa river. Recently, I have been taking small breaks there to have a drink, some lunch, listen to my MP3 player, watch the sun set over the golf course and river and strengthen a cliche.

 This also needs no cracking wise, although I will say that the rabbit looks about right.

 This is a small shrine/grave right by my dorm. There are often offerings in front of it. Usually it is a piece of fruit which over the course of a couple of weeks turns brown and powdery, but this time there are three perfectly good cans of beer there. And I'm not talking about the cheap stuff - this is Kirin Beer. Every time I pass by, I want to re-enact that scene from 7 Years in Tibet where Brad Pitt raids a shrine for the food. 3 beers! At my current state, that's enough to get me well-trollied.

This was a floor map at a museum, and I just had to laugh when I saw the key for what the green section is. This is one of those words I would love to use in a conversation, but I can't bring myself to do it without laughing.

 You know how fat chicks often stand in a circle and take pictures of their feet to show how great friends they are? Well, I was on the train with three guy friends and couldn't help notice this photo-op of gender role reversals. I didn't mention that I took this photo, because it would have seemed a little gay/predatory, and because they would never have agreed to it.

This is at a festival, and my friend is just casually strolling by a table full of robotic dildoes.

A "Dramatic Hotel". This is obviously a euphemism for a "love hotel", but I love it when people try so hard to be euphemistically sexy that it just sounds ridiculous. Besides, it's not dramatic if you do "it" in a healthy Christian way: Get married, shake hands firmly, and then roll over to sleep.

Japan loves two things: fireworks and cartoons. Recently fireworks have become more advanced to include things like disney characters and here: a smily face. It's pretty hard to photograph on my phone camera, and it kind of looks like the smily face is bleeding from the eyes, but you get the idea.

Lastly, here is probably the most disgusting photo I've ever taken. Be cautioned if you don't want to see it. The story is, I was taking the last train home after drinking, so once the train finally arrived at my station I was buting to offload the beer and gin from 90 minutes earlier. On the way to the urinal at the station, I saw this scene by the squatter toilet.... Someone had taken a dump and missed the middle the porcelain, and there was a pair of discarded boxers. Now, you just know there has to be a hilarious story behind this scene, and I would give anything to hear it. However, we will never know. All we have is this picture of immesuarble vileness. And this is why having a camera on your phone is not a great idea. Anyway, that's all I have for now. Scroll down if you want to see this terrible photo and possibly imagine a story of your own.

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What's the Deal With Basketball and Enormous Clothing?

I'm pissed. This has simply gone too far. You may have seen my previous post of me in my new basketball uniform. It looks okay because I was tucked in, and also the fabric was thick and double-layered because it was reversable. However, last week we got our uniform replaced with a light micro-fibre version. A teammate gave me my singlet still in its wrapper, and I noticed the sticker which said XXXL. You have got to be fucking kidding me.

 This is me wearing the singlet face-on. I am wearing my boxer shorts, but the singlet is so large that it's basicaly a one-piece miniskirt.

 This is me faith-hilling in the singlet so show you the kind of room I'm working with. How the hell am I supposed to play basketball in this thing?

See, I am what I call a "lean build". Other people call me skinny, which pissed me off. They tell me I should eat more, and all I can think is that they should die more. Fuck you. I eat like a racehorse with a tapeworm - I just make sure I eat good food, and I have always excercised and played sport. Don't insult me because you're a lazy piece of crap. Sure, I don't have a lot of muscle bulk - several times I thought I should drink protein shakes and lift weights, but the problem with that is if I ever stopped, I would simply go back to my current physique only with extra skin like a lipo-suction patient.

And really, I'm super-stoked about my body. I'm fit, strong enough for anything I need to do, and I have a feeling that the reason I have hardly ever been injured is because I don't weigh so much. The only thing I have to be careful of is my selection of clothing. The last thing I want to do is accentuate my ganglyness so I often wear ball-hugging jeans with flares, and I buy my t-shirts several sizes too small. This is because sizes are generally calibrated by height, which as a realtively tall person doesn't work for me. I usually spring for size M. I don't need the sleeves to come down to my elbows anyway. This worked out pretty well for me in the past since much of my clothing were hand-me-downs from my older brother who was shorter than me.

Basketball has always been an issue for me. For some reason (probably black people), basketball clothing is always in super-large sizes. This fashion quickly made its way to my small town in New Zealand. I still have a singlet for my team when I was 11 years old, and it still fits me.Hell, I'm still growing into it. I still have memories of going up the court on a fast break, dribbling with my right hand while using my left hand to lift the shoulder part of the singlet back onto my shoulder.

So when I got my new XXXL singlet, my heart dropped. I put it on, and it looked more like curtains than a singlet. Seriously, a singlet should never "drape". I've watched enough Project Runway to know this. The armholes were so huge that I could fit three of my arms through each one, which would be great if I were Vishnu. I feel like the "after" picture of an advert for a diet programme. This singlet has so much fabric that I felt like a hippy lady who decided to go from hemp to microfibre. Worst of all, I felt like that little kid again running up the court worrying more about the singlet falling off his frame more than scoring the ball - the kid that has been called skinny his whole life.

You may think that I am exaggerating, but I could seriously fit two people inside this singlet. You don't believe me? Here is a visual representation. I put my pillow in the front, and photoshopped myself again into the singlet. Note that the fabric is not being stretched, and there is still room for another arm. [Note: try not to get too turned on at the image of me spooning myself.]


(Never mind the fact that a double Mad-Dog would undoubtedly be the greatest basketball player of all time)


What is even more annoying is that I specifically asked for a size L. Well, I asked for an M, but my Japanese teammates kept saying that I was the tallest player on the team (not entirely true) so I should go up a few sizes. Eventally I settled on an L, which became this comically large XXXL. Now, I don't entirely blame my teammates. Japanese people - and expecially those who play basketball - are conditioned to think that "American Fashion" is cool. The thing is, it's cool on black people, not white guys who get pissed off when people call him skinny - which everyone will continue to do if I'm wearing these drapes. 

Look, I'm not asking for a return to the short-shorts of the 80s or skintight cycling uniforms, but can we please stop trying to put me in these ridiculous clothes? Thank you.

The Return of Mad Dog

Go Geisai

So one of the first things I did when arriving to Tokyo Geidai was to try join the basketball team. And In fact, I asked around without getting a proper answer when I was randomly asked by a member who I chanced across if I played basketball. It's not that I'm really that tall, but maybe I just give off a scent of basketball ability. It's always just below the surface. It can't be tamed. Many people know this phenomenom as Mad Dogness.

Yes, Mad Dog has returned. Japanese basketball teams usually have their nickname on the back of their shirts. I didn't want to have my last name on there because Japanese people can't pronounce it, and having my first name on the back of my shirt would make me feel like a r... er... special needs person. That, and I already have the perfect basketball nickname. Oh, and what a sexy basketball uniform. Sure, it cost a bit, but it's like having a Leaver's Jersey - only the exact opposite (Leavers Pants?)

We only had a few weeks of practice before the year's main event. It's a sports tournament of the five main Arts Universities in Japan - Aichi, Kanazawa, Kyoto and Okinawa.

I'm not going to talk too much about the actual basketball because I want to avoid bragging (whoops...). But it was hilarious fun, and decent basketball. The only problem was that in the first game, I took a series of elbows by Kyoto Art Univerity's Number 4. I played through the pain for the rest of the game, and the next two (all victories) with increading pain. By the end of the day, I had forgotten the pleasure of being able to breathe without wincing pain.

The next morning was insane. I tried playing about 10 minutes over a couple of games, but basketball is significantly more difficult when you can't really breathe properly or raise your right arm above 90 degrees. Tha's when I was I so happy for my great teammates. They pulled through and got us the big victory, which set up the most ridiculously fun night of drinking. It involved an all-you-can-drink evening and a big prizegiving. I was awarded the 'best newcomer' award and was the third overall top scorer. My teammates also picked up the MVPs (both Men and Women), the 3 Point Contest (Both Men and Women) and of course the main prize. So, it still wasn't a bad outing after all. 

Here you can see me completing the putback after an offensive rebound. (called a "roo-bound"). Notice my classic fundamental technique of keeping the ball high, shielding it with my off-hand, and leaning backwards incase the defender gets physical. Either that, or I'm taking it easy because it feels like there is a 10 inch blade through my right boob and out the back of my ribcage.


Here is the championship cup. It may look large, but we had quite a large team, so we got it refilled at the bar. It tasted like victory and anasthetic.

After taking a night-bus home the next day, I went straight to the hospital. A teammate told me of his injury 6 months ago caused from an elbow with the exact same symptoms and circumstances, and he eventually went to the hospital to find out he had broken a rib. By now I was certain I had the same. Luckily I haven't broken anything. On the one hand, it would have been a pretty great story if I had of played through a broken rib, but on the other hand Mad Dog doesn't get injured.

I'm supposed to rest for two weeks while taking patch medicine and wearing a 'corset'. It still hurts like crazy, but it was all part of the fun. I'll be playing plenty more ball this year, sharpening my elbows for the rematch with Kyoto's Number 4, and I'll be back at this tournament next year. A Mad Dog never forgets, and is never forgotten.

The New Me

Japan can change a man. And by "man" I mean the masculine version of humans. Japan can change women too, but they usually just gain a few kilos and lose some self esteem because Japanese girls make them feel much fatter than they are. For guys, Japan is like being a star basketball prodigy and having people coddle you because you're their cash cow and they just desperately want to become part of your possy, and so you risk having a totally inflated sense of self-worth. It happens all the time. I know this because I am awesome.

Within a few days of re-arriving, I decided to go for a totally new look. Here's the first photo I took of myself.

In the distant past I have obliquely referenced Mr Donuts, but basically, it is a cafe/doughnut shop that prides itself on being exceptionally average. I love it because they have "American Coffee" which just means "crappy coffee with free re-fills." Also, it rewards repeat patronage with a points card that allows you to get a soft toy after about 160 donuts. That's a lot of doughnuts. Because of the refill policy, this was the best place for me to sit, write and study for several hours, and that's how I became indoctrinated.

So imagine my delight when I got off the train at my new city and began walking towards my dormitory and see a Mr Donuts on the way. "I'm home" I said, in a scarily cult-like manner. But seriously, I'm on a scholarship and it would be much simpler if the university just wired my salary directly to Mr Donut.

I just wanted to inform you all that I have safely arrived - even if you wouldn't recognise me anymore. But I just had to get a mane made out of a doughnut to show how awesome I am, and my platonic love for Mr Donut. Coming soon will be some more great stories - and perhaps photos - about how awesome I am.