Now that I know I'm going to leave, I'm already starting to miss this shithole.

Yes, what a paradox it is. It may seem to be a hideous contradiction, but how is it that one can start to develop a nostaligic feeling for a place before one has even left, and then on top of that, for a place one has done nothing but bitch about like a little girl the entire time they have been there? Oh, the irony of it all. I suppose it comes down to a matter of focus. I basically focus on what is bad about something while I am within its midst, and in turn, focus on what is good about something when it is gone. Is this healthy? Ah, who gives a fuck anyway.

But, really, what will I miss most about my life here? I suppose the immediate answer would be people. Friends, to be more specific. As much as my inate cynicism hates to admit it, there are some pretty nice people around here, and then there are also some complete terds. But, I will try a new tactic today and only focus on the nice ones. At least at first.

An example of one of the nice ones has to be the Sharaku snack-bar mama-san. Wonderful lady. Can't say enough about her. Always pleasant. Has greeted me with a friendly smile from the first time I had the honor of gracing her and her husbands local watering hole. But, what do I really like about her? First, she always gives me a discount, and more importantly she never greets me with a retard-esque "haa-ro" followed by a dorky giggle everytime I see her. For those who don't know, "haa-ro" represents a weak Japanese attempt at the English "hello" layered with a disturbingly thick accent, and then of course mandatorily followed by the dorky giggle. I will not miss the "haa-ro" greeting after I leave. Also, she acknowledges my presence in no different manner when I see her outside of her bar as when I see her inside of it. The Japanese have this socially disturbing habit of being your best friend within certain enclosed places and then acting like you are Patrick Swaze in "Ghost" when they see you outside. I can't even begin to count the number of times I spent an evening drinking and thus, what I thought was bonding with and getting to know some new fellow in the town, and then upon seeing the person the next day having them treat me like I'm some member of the gulag and they are a social dissident on the run. Basically, fleeing from my presence in a cold run for the hills, leaving me standing in the local grocery store with a box of mayonnaise doughnuts feeling all but a little confused at the cultural undercurrents at work. "Oh, so you only like me when you're drunk, huh?"

Maybe the Japanese have something of a "beer goggles" equivalent for foreigners? A translated conversation between two Japanese guys about the above topic might go something like this:

Japanese redneck #1: "Ya man. I must have been really drunk last night to have been talking to that foreigner. You know I would never do that if I was sober right? Right?"

Japanese redneck #2: "Whatever. How many times have you got wasted, Itchi, and then next thing you know you're all over some foreigner dood, talking with'em, and then even trying to get them back to your place to talk some more. You can't fool me."

Japanese redneck #1: "Well, today, man, I saw that guy in the store, and I was like, 'oh fuck! I hope he doesn't remember all the talking we did last night.' But, I think he did 'cause it looked like he wanted to say haa-ro or something, but I just took off when I saw him, and got out of there."

Japanese redneck #2: "Well, at least you didn't give him your phone number and ask him if he would like to get together some time and go fishing or something."

Japanese redneck #1: "Well, ummm..." (getting a little red in the face)

Japanese redneck #2: "No! Tell me you didn't. You idiot! You did give him your phone number. Well, maybe you'll get lucky and he'll never call."

Japanese redneck #1: "Fuck. I hope not."