Galvin's Japan Journal
the end
Crap.
What am I supposed to do with this site now? It was about Japan; I'm no longer in Japan. It was about my life; I certainly don't have one of those for the time being. I guess I could just lay back, let my narcissicm take over, and continue to write about the trials and travails of unemployed, suburban Pennsylvanian life, but...meh. Since I've got back, the most difficult choice to be faced each day is whether the next hour's snack should be covered in cheese, chocolate, or God willing, perhaps both. Not exactly enthralling stuff, and far too 'bloggish', at that. I am sure I appear to be driving the giant gas-guzzling SUV of inflated self-importance here but, eh-eh, no, I will not become one of those people who write in their Livejournals about what movies they saw on cable and what their uninformed knee-jerk reactions to current political situations are. No, better to burn your children alive, rather than let them turn out all lame.
More to the point, in Japan I had a life I felt like writing about. That's all gone now, and to be honest, I'm having a bit of trouble wrapping my mind around that. A week ago I got on a plane and suddenly my job, apartment, friends, and comforting, reaffirming little daily routines are gone. Now? Now I am living with my parents going days without ever setting foot outside and not even noticing. I probably did leave Japan at the right time but I am missing it a great deal more than I'd anticipated. On that last ride to the train station I actually started flipping out. I couldn't believe it was all coming to an end. And now I'm in this weird country where everyone is fat and loud and striking children is a heinous crime instead of an amusing light-hearted diversion. I go into a store and no longer hear deafening welcoming shrieks of IRASSYAIMASEE!!!!!!!! instead faced with staff that quite clearly would rather wish me dead than let me give them an extra two cents so my change comes to an even dollar. Going to Japan is always easy because I know enough to mentally gird myself against the bizarre. Coming home is always hard because what strikes you before you know it is just how very much everything has stayed the same. It makes you feel like you accomplished nothing, like the whole thing may as well not have happened. It makes you feel sixteen again and not in that wistful, nostalgic Wonder Years way; but in that way you feel when you are actually sixteen. Which is to say, crappy.
I'll tell you one thing, though: years from now, some of the more deviant among you may walk into a bookstore of somewhat ill repute and find yourself purchasing a copy of what appears to be an Evil version of the Kama Sutra but is actually just a book I published that compiles and illustrates all the various sordid things I would sooner have done to me than even for one second consider becoming an elementary school teacher again. I am already thinking of going to Japan again but I can tell you this: speaking as a man who cannot even promise you that tomorrow he will still like purple, I can guarantee you that I will never, ever teach classfuls of tiny children again. All joking of anal debauchery aside, I hate it. Partly this is because it was absolute hell; but admittedly, most of it is because of my own personality faults. I mean, I hate being looked upon as an authority of anything, I was unnerved when I saw that little kids were picking up mannerisms from me, and by God, I simply could not have lasted another year of doing all my lesson planning at the literal last minute before (sometimes several minutes into) class. Part of the reason I was able to enjoy my last month in Japan as much as I did was because I knew the job was ending, and with that felt a tremendous pressure, a pressure that I wasn't even entirely conscious of before, lifted off my robust, masculine shoulders. Yeah, I hated the job, plain and simple; but that certainly doesn't mean I regret it. It was good for me, I know that; more than that, it was a trip. It's kind of like starring in Major League 1 and 2: sure, it was good money, and got you some fame for a while; but Lord, you have to wonder what kind of sick psychotic loser actually signs on for Major League 3.
Anyway. I can write as much as I want about what my time in Japan means to me and blah blah blah GOTH POETRY blah, but fact of the matter is, at this point, doesn't really matter what I write; by now anyone who's read any significant portion of this journal has formed their own opinions of my time there anyway. So now let's just smoothly segue into a a bunch of photos of my last couple nights in Japan, which I am too lazy to actually write about. Here you go:
kindofcrap Men, kindofcrap Ladies. Many not pictured because I couldn't be bothered to look for decent photos.
Hey everyone, I'm Terry McMahon
1-2-3 times two to the six! Jonesin' for your fix of the Limp Bizkit mix!
Entranced by the movie inexplicably played every other time we went to this bar...Coyote Ugly
And finally, what we've all been waiting to see...just what's underneath my boxer shorts (more 'sensitive' parts censored to protect the innocent):
Okay, that'll just about do me. After two debatedly great years, kindofcrap is officially over. But hey, as for those still continuing the fight, check out my poor, poor kohai Chris' blog, for he is still stuck in Japan for at least another half-year and will no doubt continue to rock the room with his various dragon-laden apparel. And for fans of St Mongo's Tales of Sin, she'll be continuing her stories at her new site, over at http://stmongo.blogspot.com. Check 'em out and and keep the spirit of KOC alive.
Speaking of which, *ahem*. Oscar-like shoutouts go to the following people:
To all the fellow Far East Nagano teachers, and that includes, so everyone gets to see their name dropped (in no particular order as I've stolen it from a mass e-mail) -- Kevin, Paoro-sensei, Keiko, Katy, Mike, Julianne, Heather, Mark, Pervert Mark, Man-Boy Girl Michelle, Spongy, Steve, Puxley MEEEMEEMEEMEEMEEMEE, Andy Smerzcak-Zorza, Rob, Clistofaa, aaaaand Marc -- thanks for making the past two years at least marginally tolerable great. Realistically speaking, I probably won't see most of you again for a long time (and only half of you are reading this), but someday, when I inevitably embark on that journey to kill everyone I know, I'll hit myself in the face with a crowbar until I forget I know you. You'll all be lifelong members of Team Bukkake to me.
To the peanut gallery low enough to dwell in my dank little message board: let it be known that I do not hate every single last one of you. In fact, if I passed certain ones of you on the street and you were on fire, I would at least stop to pee on some small percentage of your body, such as your face, or right kneecap. No, I'm kidding, I downright love some of you. Such as that Pinny chick and that Ishbot guy. They were pretty cool.
Speaking of which, thank you to my carefully-selected moderators for taking the authority with which I entrusted you and using it to either vanish in an eventual fog of apathy or embark on the anticipated rampage of power and banning people like it was a bodily function. I am happy you were able to mooch off my marginal internet fame in some small way.
To my students who, according to my former boss who did the math, number over 4,000: You cannot read this because I was a horrible teacher and you are all I am convinced stricken with learning disabilities. Also most of you are 5. Nevertheless, I hate you, and should I ever see any of you again, your limbs will belong to me.
And finally, to my legions of Faithful Fuckbots: Thanks for reading. Now go back to building your life-size Gundams or something.
************************************************
As for me...who knows where I'll go from here. Could be anywhere, but one thing's for sure, I bet it involves getting increasingly gelatinous and touching myself. As for this site, well...I'm having some last-minute separation anxiety. Why not continue it, I'm thinking; if not in its current form, than in whatever permutation my new life calls for? Yeah, I could simply tailor it to suit my future plans, or maybe even turn it over to a trusted kindofcrap lieutenant. But...naaaah. I'll leave it up as is, but I'm not one to drag out things past their due. Except for, arguably, this entry.
At any rate...g'bye, Japan, g'bye internet. Mark my words, someday, you'll both be hearing from me again.
