How I Lost My Voice

Thursday, November 2

When I woke up on Thursday morning, my usually-loud and a little raspy voice was missing and there was nothing but a parched sort of wind in its place. My throat seemed to be lined with steel wool. I mentally retraced my steps from the night before to try and remember where I could have misplaced my voice. Did I go to the beach and chug pints of sand and seawater? Did I visit a pampered poodle shop and accidentally swallow a squeaky toy? Or, could it be that I stayed out til 5 AM boozing and carousing with all the other drunks in town? Ah, yes, that’s it.


First there were 8:
My last night in Japan! Woo Hoo!! My friends arranged for a night on the town as my final send-off. The group: Miki, Naoko, Yuki, Tina from Taiko, The CD, Saucy, and Gerald/Gerard. It was a motley crew, but the food was great and the shochu was flowing. We started with dinner at Gonpachi, one of my favorite Tokyo restaurants. Gonpachi is a huge space with three separate restaurants. We ate in the sushi place which was busy and loud. Our table was competing for the “nosiest” award with a group of Japanese businessmen at the next table. The food was delightful and there were a few more gifts. Miki and Naoko gave me a cute little travel bag (to put some stuff in) and my very own (matching) sweat towel!

[On a side note, I mentioned in a previous entry that all of the Japanese
carry their own “sweat towel.” I have since found out that this is because in
primary school, every child was required to carry certain items, towel included,
with them at all times and show them to any teacher on demand. The main purpose of the towel was to dry their hands after washing them in the restroom. It can also be used to mop the aforementioned sweaty brow or for any other reason one may need a towel. Oddly, many of them have never heard of Hitchihiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.]

And then there were 7:
After a long dinner, most of us headed off to another place, an energetic, Australian-themed bar appropriately named “Café OZ”. The CD begged off saying that he had an early morning, but I suspect he was headed for the underground nightlife in Shibuya. At Café Oz, Saucy tried to teach me the correct way to order a beer in “Australian” (first lesson: never, ever order Foster’s). He demonstrated by saying to our [Japanese] waiter: “Schooner-a VB, mate!” (Large glass of Victoria Bitter, please). The waiter started blinking rapidly and foaming at the mouth. I think Saucy may have triggered a seizure. Luckily, Yuki intervened: “Nama bieru, Bikutori Bittu, onegaishimasu” (Large glass of Victoria’s Bitter, please).

Tina ordered tequila shots for everyone at the table. But Tequila and I had a very bad breakup in the late 90s, so I weaseled out of that one. Miki was not so lucky. She also had a cold but was drinking like a champ with the rest of us. I think she was taking antihistamines or something because within about 5 minutes of downing the shot, she was slumped over, snoring loudly. Once we determined that she was, in fact, not dead, we carried on and let her snooze away at the end of the table.

It was almost midnight and the specter of the “last train” was looming, so Yuki and Tina had to dash. The rest of us were committed to staying out later and paying the exorbitant taxi fares to get home. But, as Saucy put it, we needed a change in venue.


And then there were 4:
We put Miki in a cab and headed off to MUSE. It was crowded and the men outnumbered the women. Gerald/Gerard was standing around looking very British and providing a running commentary on the club’s blatant fire code violations. Naoko, Saucy, and I shook our groove thang and shouted over the music.

And then there were 3:
It must have been around 3 when Gerald/Gerard left us, but at that point I stopped checking my watch. The DJ at MUSE started mixing some truly awful beats, so our trio went in search of a nightcap. We ended up at Motown House, an unapologetically gaijin hangout that plays a relentless stream of American rock anthems. Within minutes of our arrival, a zaftig American women with waist-length bleached blonde hair, a screech owl’s voice, and a wardrobe two sizes too small started a fight with two guys at the bar. While Saucy was getting himself involved in that chaos, Naoko was being lured onto the dance floor by a boozy, bloated, blond guy who looked like he may have at one time resembled Stephen Baldwin but has unfortunately spent the last 10 years pickling his liver and growing out his bangs.

My voice was weakening at this point, I remember, because when I was trying to shoo the BBBSBLA (boozy bloated blond Stephen Baldwin look-alike) away from Naoko I couldn’t raise my voice over the music. Saucy and I spent the next hour or so alternately gossiping about the office and guarding Naoko from BBBSBLA. If he came within 3 feet or her, Saucy would point to him and say, “Fuck off, mate.”

I knew it was time to go home when the conversation turned a bit, shall we say, blue.

It was almost 5AM when we lurched out onto the streets of Roppongi but it may well have been 5PM. The streets were crammed with people and cars were whizzing past. Before we poured ourselves into cabs, I tried to say goodbye, but no sound came out.

And then there was 1.