there's always something in miso soup

Nothing gets me into a real party mood as Japan – I love Pizzicato Five and its odd cover-versions of French chansons from the 60s; I can spend hours watching Miyazaki’s movies or reading Murakami’s books; I am willing to pay a fortune to get Heidi Slimane’s newest edition of Vogue Hommes Nippon; I think that Rei Kawakubo’s Comme des Garçons offers the coolest goodies EVER; and last but not least, I’ve  just finished my Salmon skin roll.

My fascination with Japan always was and always will be. As a kid, I wore a kimono during Mardi Gras. At boarding school, I spent all my allowances on Kurosawa’s movies. At college, I had my first date in a sushi restaurant.

welly, welly, welly, well. I must admit that I haven’t dared to take the final step toward turning my life into the ultimate BIG-IN-JAPAN freakshow – i.e. taking Japanese. Haven’t I? During the summer between my freshman and sophomore year, I decided to break the line, be a big boy, and take the allegedly most difficult language ON THE PLANET.

Now, I’m probably expected to say something along the lines of – it wasn’t  that difficult, with a little bit of effort anyone can do it. NOT TRUE. My dear friends, I have struggled in my Japanese class a lot, A LOT. With a 9:25 class in the basement of Yale’s most derelict building, the Hall of Graduate Studies, aka  the Sauron’s Tower, my sophomore year has become a sort of Nihongo-inferno (with more inferno and less Nihongo)….well, long story made short, I was the dumbest kid in my Japanese class, but I’ve made it through the year with no major scars but those on my academic reputation (“Is he retarded? Or still asleep?”).

And now, thaaaanks to the Light Foundation, I am going to Tokyo over the summer. From early June to early August, I will be attending classes – besides other things – in Japan’s capital. And I can’t wait.

To make sure that moments of my crazy Tokyo extravaganza are being reflected upon, I decided to run this blog. As a check on my sanity,  I will try to write regularly about my summer adventures in Japan – about vending machines that sell all kinds of crazy stuff, college girls who dress like they just graduated from 3^rd grade, poisonous tabemono that makes one scream with pain and, not to forget, clubs that turn Serge Gainsbourg’s La Javanaise into a fast-paced techno hit. In short, all that I will find in miso soup. And trust me, there always is something in miso soup.

I’m so ready for the summer wave in Tokyo….cause after all, who wouldn’t when Japan is so 

like totally smokin’