Every day is surreal, but only in the little ways.

It isn't the big things that get me. All in all, the big things are similar to any large city in the world. One of my favorite college professors believes that there is an emerging global culture, such that in 50 years or so, the differences between being Japanese or Russian or American will be more like the differences between being West Virginian or Californian or from New York... (New Yorkian?).

I disagree with his theory, although I can completely understand where it comes from; truly, all the large cities of the world are so very similar, or so say people who have been to many. I've seen NYC and Osaka City to any detail, and can attest that said similarities do abound.

In any case, as I was saying, waking up in Osaka is just a place; it is like waking up in West Virginia now, in so much as it is my current abode and I have grown accustomed to it.

There are no waterfountains in Japan. Absolutely none. Vending machines, however, are EVERYWHERE, and offer a large selection of both heated and chilled beverages. Trashcans are very difficult to find in public places, and often only allow the disposal of plastic and aluminum bottles/cans.

The ladies' sense of fashion can be over the top, at times. My Vietnamese-American friend and co-worker was telling me about the cultural differences between East-Asians and how blunt they can be with criticism of physical appearance, especially family members talking to/about each other, so I can sort of understand why girls strive so hard to be trendy and flawless.

Still, as I said, from an American perspective, it exhausts me (mentally) to just walk down the street because my mind plays through each outfit, the amount of shopping and the hours of preparation necessary for various women to meet for a brief lunch or whatever.

The other day, while waiting for my turn to play Gundam in the arcade, an adult man walked by wearing a pink "fairy god-mother" costume, complete with wig and wand. This was met with absolutely no reaction from anyone save myself. I was with two fellow Gaijin friends. Japan changes people, and I am afraid... afraid that someday I too will fail to react upon seeing this unusual site in a public venue.*

Of course, to be fair, arcades are not the children's playgrounds of America. Nor are they ancient and uninspired.

The Gundam game, for instance, involves climbing into an actual pod (valued at $100,000 per pod) complete with individual controls for both of your hands and both of your feet, along with an IMAX-like view that fully replicates the feeling of being inside of a giant robot. When signing up for a round (approximately $5 for two rounds of 500 seconds worth of battle, being fought against other gamers at other arcades), you must approach a man (an adult, mind you) who is fully dressed up in the (ridiculous) costume of the Gundam officers. Apparently it is inspired from a cartoon or vice versa, but regardless, there is canon which is adhered to.

I was the youngest person waiting in line, aside from a fellow Gaijin who is 22. Our allies, as it were: businessmen every one. "Salarymen" in Japanese-English, whose meaning can be described as "corporate wage slave". Japanese-English is actually quite common. "Pah-tay" for "party, "barry" for "very", "bai-bai" for "bye-bye", and so on. These businessmen do not even bother returning home after work for a quick shower or a bite to eat; all of them still wearing their suits, still holding briefcases and laptops.

All in all, the effect leaves one feeling somewhat awed by the idea that somewhere in the world is a country full of men who, much like myself, have no problem embracing the boyhood desire of controlling giant robots through the means of modern technology and a decent amount of disposable income.

*-I went with a friend to grab a drink at a local bar (near work, that is) before I caught my last train. While sitting at the bar, someone behind me began massaging me. I naturally assumed it was another friend from work, who I didn't see enter. Turned out, after I enjoyed a good five minutes of massage, to be a 40-year-old Japanese man with dyed blonde hair and beard. He was the owner of the bar. We had never met before, nor had we as yet spoken other than a brief introduction from the friend who brought me.

This experience failed to startle me at all, as this type of unexpected and ludicrous event is somewhat par for the course of living in this country... And this is what I fear, my slow acceptance of insanity.