Jason Porath

has a website, i guess

Category: wacky adventures (page 3 of 4)

Oh, daiba.

Two things:

First: My school had a mini-culture day yesterday. This involved them bringing in a former boxer as an inspirational speaker — a nice man who spoke very fast, liked gambling, and ended every sentence in “ne.” Poor bastard got assaulted by every special ed kid in the school when he opened the floor to questions. They just kept asking in rapid succession. He was really confused.

After that, they separated everyone out into random groups for learning aspects of traditional Japanese culture. They of course put me with K-chan, the “special” kid who’s always trying to steal my watch, in learning Sadou (tea ceremony). It was us two, one other random guy, and a ton of women. The guy students laughed at me as they went by. It was overall pretty fun, but HOLY HELL does it hurt sitting in the seiza (traditional Japanese sitting position). They took pity on me after a half hour or so and let me recline a little bit. I almost fell over when I finally stood up, because there was no blood in my legs.
Afterwards, I found out that the boys who were laughing at me were stuck doing flower arrangement. Ha ha!

Second: So I took a trip into Tokyo today and went with my friend Ananda to Odaiba, a man-made island that is kind of like San Francisco’s Fisherman’s Wharf on crack. For starters, there’s a smaller-scale Statue of Liberty there for no reason. Behind it is an imitation Golden Gate Bridge for no reason. Afterwards, we went into Sega Joyopolis, a massive arcade that afforded some very bizarre entertainments. I took the opportunity to shoot some video on my phone, most of which didn’t come out great, but you get my witty and incisive commentary. Check it out:

There was also an attraction called “the room of living dolls,” but the video was crap. It was creepy as hell. We didn’t go in.

Everything I know about Japanese culture I learned from immature teenagers

Been a bit since a substantial blog entry, and I apologize. I’ve had a bad run of things, and have tried to get out of the house more, to improve my mood. Results have been mixed at best. Anywho, the Kyoto trip was a pretty big deal, so I figure I should blog about it. Here we go.

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The Unrepentant Awesomeness of Mayonnaise-san (and other stories)

I just got back from 3 days in Kyoto, and am completely bushed. I uploaded 134 photos to my flickr account, so check it out.

Some of my favorites:

  1. Rick at the entrance to Fushimi Inari. (with special guest star My Thumb)
  2. Hiromi taking a breather underneath some of the Fushimi Inari gates.
  3. Hiromi on the Shinkansen.
  4. Our new friend Mayonnaise-san.
  5. Hobby Adviser FREAK.
  6. The picture in which ant meets ear.
  7. Ginkakuji.
  8. Rick communing with the fish.

Masters of Fashion

So, I’ve mentioned Eimi in the blog before. Eimi is the trauma survivor JET who’s out looking for new and spectacular ways to get herself killed every weekend, preferably ones that will take as many of us out at one time as possible. Basically, her job is to get us into trouble; suffice it to say, she’s quite the model worker.

In fact, it is due to Eimi’s diligent craziness that we’re now friends with Yuusuke, our friendly neighborhood yakuza. This is the story of how we all met.
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It’s been a whirlwind weekend, and at this point I can barely talk. Three consecutive karaoke-filled days — especially considering the way I sing (“scream” is probably a better verb) — will do that to you. So let’s cover it from the top.

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More LA weirdness:

1) Walking to my car, I see a woman pushing a stroller, walking towards me. As she gets closer, the baby carriage begins to emit a hideous howling noise. Peering into it, I can see the woman is carrying her dog.
2) Walking to lunch with my co-worker Amy, a short, fat young woman, holding her crotch and walking like a pimp, comes strutting by us. From down the block, we can hear her piercing voice. As she passes us, she yells to Amy, “Nice catholic schoolgirl outfit! Want to come home with me?!” Amy was wearing a plaid skirt. On the way back, we meet up with another co-worker who has been hassled by her. However, with him, she stood next to him the entire time he was in line and talked to him about Jesus and the Prophecies and the End of Days.


So just now, on the way back from Subway, a short, muscular man put his arm around my shoulder and exclaimed, “How could a skinny thing like you eat all of that sandwich?”

I sort of stared at him, horrified, until he left.

…my co-worker Amy says that I should have replied, “I fuck like a rabbit.”

Return of Uncanny Bus Tale

So the other night, I was out and about, and was riding the subway back to my place. And as usual, LA public transit never failed to let its freak flag fly.

So I get off at my subway stop, and as I’m heading up the stairs from the platform, I heard the sound of liquid spilling and hitting the ground. When I got to the top of the stairs, a puddle of yellowish liquid corroborated my auditory observation. “Oh,” I thought to myself, “someone has spilled their lemonade. That’s kind of gross. I’ll step around it.”

Then I heard the spilling sound again. Not ten steps ahead of me festered another yellow pool. Perhaps some sort of leak from the ceiling?

Rounding the corner, once more the sound of liquid familiarizing itself with tile flooded the corridor. This time, though, the source revealed itself — the yellow beverage was issuing forth with nonchalant effort from the mouth of a nearby subway passenger. The remarkable thing about all this is that this Paragon of Puke never slowed his walk; he just kept on trucking as amber fluids made an exodus from his gullet. This man vomited no less than ten times (I counted), three of them on the escalator. He was singularly unfazed both by his alarmingly routine cleansing, and the half-dozen subway passengers who were exclaiming, “Dude! Come on!”

As I exited the station, I saw this remarkable man continue his amble down the street. In the direction of the cheapest bars in the neighborhood.

Godspeed, Mr. Sloppy Drunk. Godspeed.

UBT: WTF (and other acronyms)

A short one for you all:

Sitting on the bus. A 6 foot tall woman with sunglasses, hair done up, wearing an extremely baggy t-shirt has just gotten on the bus. Wait, no, she just turned around. An extremely baggy FRONT of a t-shirt. Starting with the sleeves and going down, she cut out the back and… clothespinned it around the waist. So there’s her back. And there’s her bra. It’s black. Huh.

Oh, and she’s wearing high heels. So that’s why she tripped and spilled her Starbucks concoction all over the lady right next to her.

She’s got kind of funky tattoos behind her ears and going down her neck. Kind of Jadzia Dax with a loopy floral pattern. That’s neat, I guess.

…and she’s getting off. At the next stop. She got on the bus for one stop. And paid cash for it. Huh?

UBT Symphony

On my way back from Fry’s the other day, the bus stops at a not-oft-stopped-at locale (I didn’t even know you could get the bus there) to let a middle-aged woman on. The woman looked like Reba McEntire if she let her makeup department go and cried herself to sleep every night. This woman, despite having sunglasses on, had a facial expression that made it look like she was going to cry the entire way home.

Immediately she starts with the crazy, as she sits down and starts talking jovially to a wheelchaired woman (who could not escape) about what a nice day it is, do you watch American Idol, I really think that Kelly should get with that Clay fellow, I do work on movies, I’ll see you on the set, etc.

This wouldn’t be really so bad, her chattering incessantly about mindless drivel, were it not for her excruiciatingly painful laugh. It’s like Barbara Walters replaced her vocal chords with sandpaper, then laughed into a megaphone.

I am not the only one that picks up on this. Several Latino kids (guessing somewhere between 12 and 15, obviously insecure and uncool — one of them looked straight up like Wayne from Wayne’s world, even wearing an ACDC t-shirt) start making fun of her. When she mentions Donald Trump, they immediately butt in, “Yeah, you kinda look like him!” When she laughs, they laugh back at her. The stare at her, toss crap in her hair while she’s not looking, etc. Stupid teenager stuff.

Well, she gets the bus driver into it, and so they start having a shouting match, as he tries to drive.


The old balding guy behind me, to my surprise, has scooted over next to the Italian lady across the way from me, and, in an attempt to impress her, has started to sing Italian opera to her.


The Punjabi guy three rows back gets annoyed and turns up his hand radio a little loud, so he can hear.

…I almost want to start singing along to my headphones.

Finally I get to my stop and start taking the train home.

On the train I notice the guy next to me has a toothpaste tube sticking out of his sock. And a toothbrush.

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