nude highway driving

I finally took a day off Monday … a much-needed downtime after a seven-day workweek with some evil-ass hours thrown in there. I knew I was going to be busting ass when I came out, and while I’m in the middle of it I don’t feel that fried. But last night after working the late shift my mind was mush and I was ready for a day of no news.

I got a late start, but I began the day with a nice, quiet visit to Meiji Shrine. Once you cross through the first main torii you forget you are in Tokyo, save for the sounds of the JR Line trains. The walk from the main entrance to the shrine is a long, wide gravel road surrounded by trees and birds. The air gets thick with nature as spring and summertime approach. You know you’re halfway there when you see a wall of colorful sake caskets on the right.

I made my way to the main shrine, washed my hands and went to the altar. Tossed some coins, clapped, bowed, said a prayer, bowed and clapped again and peacefully walked away. The place puts me at ease … you can feel the holiness in the air even if you don’t quite understand the religion. It’s usually very quiet there except for the sounds of clapping, coins and crows.

Out front there is a “sacred tree” surrounded by a wall packed with votive boards on which people write personal prayers. The priests stand around it each morning and offer your prayers and thanks to the deities who live throughout the shrine. There are hundreds (probably thousands) of these boards hanging on the wall, and they fascinate me. The hopes, dreams, prayers and gratitude of people from all over the world, written in so many different languages, hanging there for the priests to offer and passers-by to read. Some are beautiful, some are sad, some are goofy … all seem so hopeful. I took my time walking around the wall, breathing in the spiritual optimism. I hung some of my own hopes around the tree. I tried to imagine what the original shrine felt like.

The day remained relaxing from there. Ate some octopus balls in Yoyogi Park, then wandered around the area, eventually making my way down Omote-sando to Kiddy Land for some toy madness. From there I walked to Shibuya, where I spent some time in the Starbucks that overlooks the major intersection, watching hundreds of people dash across the street every time the lights changed. (Once I buy a bigger card for my camera I will make a Quicktime of it.) I made it to T.G.I. Friday’s in time to have a couple Lights of Havana at half price, then enjoyed an amazing Thai dinner at Elephant. The pad thai was amazing, and the Indonesian spring rolls in Thai chili sauce weren’t so bad, either. (I’m just glad I ate them before I asked what they were made of.)

It was exactly the mind-clearing day I needed. On top of work stresses, I hit “the wall” Saturday night. It happens every time I visit — there’s always one day (or night) where I feel completely lost here, stupid for not speaking Japanese, annoyed at the crowds and the constant smoking and cell-phone chatter, overwhelmed by trying to plunge myself into a foreign culture, so very tired of not being able to walk home from a night out with friends without armies of girls in big coats asking me if I want a massagee. I felt it coming on as I headed out Saturday night and ended up having a bad night (save for when I blew away all odds and saw a second Japanese man impersonate Angus Young on a bar).

But Monday was good, the reset I needed. Special thanks go to Emperor Meiji and Empress Shoken for helping me out.

So Saturday night I went out with some of The Expats and we began our evening at Train Bar, because it rules. I showed Roy, esteemed owner and barman, the photos from the previous night’s AC/DC performance.

“That guy down there,” Roy said pointing to another wiry Japanese guy, “he likes AC/DC, too. He works for the guy who got on the bar last night.”

Soon an AC/DC song came on the stereo and Roy started clearing bottles off the bar. Sure enough, Japanese dude at the end of the bar starts pumping his fists into the air and banging his head. In no time at all he’s up on the bar, doing the Angus Young thing, kicking his legs and banging his head and sliding down the bar on his knees. The gaijin in the bar are raising fists in support. The two quiet Japanese girls next to me are smiling nervously, trying to look like they’re down with this scary man.

For his finale he lept off the bar and ran out into the crowded sidewalk to do a final guitar solo and share the love with drunk people passing by. Roy informs me that this guy and his boss, the performer from the night before (who in my opinion is a way better Angus), are Japanese police officers. The beauty never ends here.

The song ended, the crowd calmed down, people started putting their beers back on the bar. Then a live track came over the system, and all we hear is some stadium chanting “Angus! Angus! Angus!” The Japanese guy perks back up and starts chanting with them, and before the song begins he’s back on the bar.

The moral of the past two nights is that when visiting Tokyo, make sure you carry some AC/DC with you at all times. If you’re ever in trouble with the law, just crank up “Highway To Hell” and kick back. There’s a chance you’ll see some nightstick air-guitar action and you’ll be able to slip out while the heads are a’ banging. Of course, there’s also a chance you’ll be beaten on the spot … but at least they’ll beat you very politely.

So the past three days have been the epitome of what drives journalists to drink, do drugs, leave the profession to hook themselves on street corners or just sit in a shrub and drool a lot while throwing poo at passers-by.

Two nights I worked 9 a.m.-11 p.m. trying to bring together a big-ass follow-up to a story that was huge for our readers. Tonight (though technically last night since it’s 2:40 a.m.) I worked 9-9 just because Fridays are insane out here. All the reporters try to turn everything in on Friday so they don’t have to come in on weekends unless there’s an emergency. That means I get most of the stories around 4, which means the scheduled 6 p.m. end-of-shift time is not my reality. Especially when I’m trying to make sure everything’s in its proper place on the news budget for the next few days and reporters are calling me from all over Asia to talk about story edits or cool shit they saw. It’s a fun stress, but it’s still stress

I needed a break. I needed food and beer. I got the food at Tengu, the previously mentioned restaurant (the logo of which is a guy with a penis nose) where you just pick lots of little shit from the menu and eat different things. I had tasty gyoza, rice, shitake mushrooms, miso soup, prosciutto and chicken meatballs. Fuel for madness.

Reawakening to more energy in my body, I started the night at Mogambo, one of the groovier shots bars in Roppongi. I started talking to some expats (not The Expats) — two Americans and an Englishwoman (and a non-expat Japanese person). Laid-back grooviness and hanging, but there seemed to be some inner-group drama going on (the Englishwoman, girlfriend of one of the American guys, flirting with her other male friends) so I needed to bolt.

I went back to Train Bar, one of my favorite spots. It’s the rockingest bar in Roppongi, and Roy the owner was flying high and cranking the tunage. I ran into the guy I met there the night of the Bowie show, and he had brought some of his friends from the Tokyo office of Deutsche Bank.

He pointed at a wiry little Japanese dude at the end of the bar and said “See that guy? He fucking loves AC/DC. Wait till Roy plays some AC/DC, he’s going to flip out!” I forgot about it, but then suddenly heard the opening riff of some AC/DC song I can’t remember the name of.

The transformation was frightening. The little Japanese guy’s eyes rolled back in his head and his mouth opened slightly then curved upside-down into the full-on Angus Young expression. He started banging his head and doing air guitar. Before I knew it, he was on top of the bar — a very long bar — going up and down in a perfect Angus Young strut, holding his air guitar in the perfect position and banging his head with his mouth open and his legs kicking. The little Japanese dude was Angus Fucking Young … I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone come close to replicating him like that.

The bar went apeshit, everyone screaming their support and throwing down the devil horns while Roy ran around with a bottle of vodka on his head, pouring shots for whomever felt inspired. My stress vanished and I stopped worrying about what time it was and the fact that I had to be at work at 9 a.m. on a Saturday morning the next day. This was rock and roll, pure and raw. The little Japanese man was possessed harder than Linda Blair and it made my night.

Now that I’ve figured out how to transfer pictures from my camera onto the computers at work, I’ll soon be able to share a visual snippet of the night’s rock-star glory. Hopefully I can squeeze in five hours of sleep before then.

The sun has returned to Tokyo. I got up this morning, and it was bright and sunny. Of course, the past two weeks it’s been bright and sunny when I get up. This time, however, it wasn’t evil-ass deceiving bright and sunny, which makes me leap out of bed and run outside only to freeze my ass off, but actually warm bright and sunny. For this I am thankful.

When I e-mailed a coworker out here before leaving he said “Oh, it’s been sunny and in the 60s for the past few weeks. Don’t bring too many warm clothes or coats.” So I brought one sweater, one pseudo-sweatshirt and a trench coat (with the lining removed) for dressy nights. It was gorgeous when I arrived, stayed gorgeous for two days, then started hitting the 20s at night and spitting snow during the day. All the while teasing me with bright and sunny mornings. Meanwhile, D.C. went from sucky cold to warm and bright.

I’ve worn the same sweater or pseudo-sweatshirt every night for almost two weeks. They smell like Denis Leary’s lungs (no smoke-free bars in Tokyo) and I’m sure The Expats wonder why I came to town with only two sets of clothes. (They don’t know about my vast array of colorful boxers.) It’s time for some warmth.

Tomorrow I walk around Ginza naked.