Here Comes the Bride...

Back in 1980's Brooklyn, the "in" thing to do after your wedding ceremony (read: "ghetto fabulous"), especially among the Puerto Ricans and Italians, was to barrel around the neighborhood in your tacky fleet of white 1987 Lincoln Town Car Limousines with your pals, while the limo driver would be continuously blaring the custom horn which would repeat the "Here comes the bride, all dressed in white" tune over and over and over.

I remember during one such festive occasion, when I was probably about 8 years old, I guess one classy couple's limo got stuck in traffic on my block, because I heard the horn blaring downstairs for about five solid minutes while I was trying to watch "Diff'rent Strokes."

I looked out the window to see what all the commotion was about, and I saw the limo sitting in traffic right under my window. Just as I looked, the Puerto Rican/Italian (I don't remember which) bride looked up at me through the sunroof, so I stuck my tongue out at her (her convoy was disturbing my TV-watching, after all). She responded by giving me the middle finger.

I miss the old New York.

Staying Out. It Takes a Plan.

So today, Sunday, I shirked off my law school's writing competition and instead spent the morning visiting my friend in Riker's, and the evening having heated sex and reminiscing with my ex-girlfriend who is in New York visiting from Nagoya (after I swore to myself I wouldn't). Temptation is a bitch. However, I call that a day well spent.

Brooklyn Love is All About Japanese Hostess Love

This blog has quickly degraded into a running monologue of my unhealthy preoccupation with Japanese chicks.

Continuing with that theme, here is a quick video example of why Japanese hostesses and their hair rule my world.

When I lived in Osaka, one of my main girlfriends, who was a hostess, used to take a cab to my place straight after work at 3am with her hair still done up like this. It was the greatest thing ever.

"To Find Happiness, Reminisce..."

You know those 'icees' you eat when you're a kid, the frozen things in the long skinny plastic pouches? Remember how after you would eat the actual ice part, left in the bottom of the pouch would be the super-sweet, concentrated syrup stuff that oozed down out of the ice while you ate it, and drinking that was always the best part of the whole deal?

To me, that's what memories are like. As life goes on, you (hopefully) are able to discard and forget about the bland and maybe even bitter times you went through in the past. The only thing you're left with then is a super-concentrated mix of the good times, which you can turn back to on demand and drink up, like those childhood icees, a sweet syrupy bliss on a summer night.

Final Exams and a Chinese Gyaru

No time to write recently due to the lethal combination of final exam preparation and procrastination, however...

I did have the interesting experience of seeing a Chinese 'gyaru' on the train the other day (A 'gyaru,' Japanese take of the word 'gal,' is a type of trend in Japan where the girls do themselves up like scantily clad, smoking hot tropical Hawaiian Barbie dolls). This girl actually had me fooled - when I tried my usual pickup line in quick Japanese, she laughed and replied back "I'm Chinese.."

Just going by looks though, she was about as close to a real Japanese gyaru as I've seen in NY thus far - bleached blond hair, tussled ends, funky eye makeup, and wearing a tiny one-piece and sweater with a Dior necklace and low heels. Very nice.

I've heard rumors that the 'gyaru' phenomenon has spread to other Asian countries. I can only hope that it spreads to Asian-American chicks too!

P.S. - You may have realized that a large part of my social interaction these days takes place on the train... that should be an indication of just how pathetic my life has become since entering law school...

All Those Ones That Got Away...

Damn! I can't stand the feeling of regret afterwards, of not having talked to a girl when I had the chance. Like Edwin Torres said in "Carlito's Way" - "When I think of all the fine trim I let slip through my hands, God damn!!"

Today coming home from school on the train I ended up across from a Japanese chick who was so up my alley - bright-colored heels with jeans, designer bag, that hairstyle where they curl the ends that drives me nuts like in the photo above. I sat the entire time trying to formulate a way to say something - not that I'm afraid (that's never, ever my problem), but because there were no open seats next to her and I didn't feel like carrying on a conversation from across the car and making us a spectacle (J-chicks are especially sensitive to this).

On top of it all, I'm almost positive she took a picture of me! First she was playing with her cellphone. After that, she took out what looked like another cellphone with a digicam and pointed it at me when she thought I was reading my newspaper, and I saw the little rear 'photo light' go off (which Japanese cellphones have to discourage perverts, or 'chikans,' from taking photos of girls on the train without them realizing it).

Anyway, such a lame feeling, when you let one slip away that is so your type. Of course the odds of me actually getting anywhere with her even if I had talked to her are an entirely different matter. But at least I wouldn't have this feeling of regret.

Japanese Girls - Part One

In case there was ever any doubt, I would like to inform everyone in the world of the fact that Japanese girls are God's gift to mankind.

How it can be that there exists such a dichotomy? - a place like Japan, where you can flip through fashion magazines in a convenience store and gawk over the beautiful models, and then step outside into the street and see the same model-like girls dressed to the nines walking right past you. I know this to be true, because I have lived it. Not to mention, the disproportionately large number of J-girls that possess amazing personalities, hilarious senses of humor, awesome interests and hobbies, and so on.

Contrast that with the USA, where the current trend among girls my age seems to be 'who can dress the most comfortably and read the most online celebrity gossip at the same time.' The girls at my school come to class wearing pajamas and Uggs.. PAJAMAS!! In Japan the girls wear heels while riding bicycles to school. I guess they must not be as 'enlightened' as the gems we are breeding over here.

Funny, however, how all the American guys go ga-ga upon arriving in the Crooked Isle and realizing what a raw deal we have here in the States. Unfortunately for most though, the commonly held stereotype of Japanese girls - that they will go for any foreigner - is painfully untrue as of 2008, as any foreign man who has lived there recently and lamented over the unattainability of the vast majority of women will tell you (if he is not deluding himself).

As my male Japanese friends would all tell me, by and large, the only Japanese girls who go for foreign guys nowadays are typically (1) nuts; or (2) unpopular among Japanese guys. Outside of those two categories, you seldom find a high-quality J-girl who will give a foreigner a shot (although it does happen).

Finally, I leave you with a little bit of heaven. Until next time.