February 25th, 2006
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Bus trips mean adventure
Long bus trips always mean two things: poor climate control and the same canned rowdiness at the back of the bus. Long ago I had my first bus trip with the TJ thespians to see Blue Man Group and Broadway. Cliques solidified faster than crazy glue and on the way back Kyle Thomas lost out in a game of truth or dare, prompting him to walk up and down the aisle with his pants pulled down saying “Take me as I am.”
It’s always been impossible to sleep. Next to the window is freezing and the aisle seat is beyond boiling. It’s almost as bad as a plane. When I came to Japan during winter break at the end of 2002 to look for a job, Nobue and I took an overnight bus to Kyoto to save money. She got a terrible fever from the poor circulation (or maybe because I left the heater on while we slept in our Akihabara efficiency). She had to go to the hospital and then back to her house where her mother could take care of her, so I spent the “night” (5:30am to noon) in a love hotel near Yasakajinjya. A depiction of the Disney Snow White resided over my pink bed and tiny bottles of complimentary massage oil. The next day I met Nobue’s mother at the Hankyu store and then I was smuggled into her house (in case her father came home). Then we spent the afternoon wrapped in many sweaters while her mother made me the best damn pork cutlet ever sired on the face of the earth.
There’s something very true about all of this, as Kamiyama expounds in Cromartie.
