All Poked Out

OH NO WE’RE SUCKED AGAIN!
Hi, my name is Shingenmochi and I’m a recovering Pokeholic.

Several years ago when gas prices didn’t require selling your first-born child, my elementary-school age cousins thought it would be neat to challenge their cool gaming cousin (I know this may be hard to believe, but that would be me) to Pokemon battles. I laughed and told them playing Pokemon at my age would make me their uncool cousin.

Then one of them made a smart-alec comment about beating me in the game so — being the mature adult in the group — I bought the latest Pokemon game and dedicated the next month to crushing their little, pre-pubescent Pokemon dreams. I read up on EV training online and proceeded to burn, spike, poison, paralyze and crush their poor, overmatched Pokemon and … wait, wait, wait for it … BUWAHAHA!!! I may not be the best, second best or even 1 millionth best Pokemon player in the world but I should at least beat a couple of gradeschoolers.

Then I realized that grown women likely don’t want to date grown men playing Pokemon so I quit cold turkey. Undefeated and with my point already made to my shell-shocked cousins, I bade farewell to my Blaziken — “Crispy” — and other beloved monsters, swearing to never touch Pokemon again.

Fast forward to the present and we now have Nintendo’s newest Pokemon offerings, Diamond and Pearl. Even with new features such as online battling and trading, I was still safely on the wagon. Then one of the little punks said he could beat me now, just cause he’s older. I bought two games — one for me and one for my kissing cousins, just so I can crush them again BUWAHAHA!!! I think I might need an intervention in a few weeks.

For the complete Pokemon rundown, check this review.

The Phenomenon of the Relaxing Bear

MEANWHILE, BACK IN REALITY: “Ooh, he’s so cute!” gushed two Japanese girls who stood right next to me. For the first time in my life, I finally felt what it must be like to be Brad Pitt or David Beckham. And it felt good.

Then I turned around.

Turns out they were fawning over a variety of products featuring mascot “Rilakkuma,” whose name is based on a Japanese play on words that translates to “Relaxing Bear”. I feel like a kid who just dropped my ice cream and lost my balloon at the same time.

So maybe, just maybe, my mother was lying during all those times she said I was cute. Like a man who got jilted by a pretty girl at a party for a more popular guy, I resented Rilakkuma. Just look at him with his cute face. And his cute mouth. And his cute ears. And his cute little tail.

Oh, who am I kidding, I can’t possibly hate Rilakkuma. How can you hate something that’s just so gawsh-darned cute? It doesn’t hurt that Rilakkuma is such an easygoing fellow. Most of his renditions have him lying down, usually next to a cute chick. That sounds like every guy’s dream right there. Forget Brad Pitt and David Beckham, I wanna be Rilakkuma.

Featured above is but one of the gajillion Rilakkuma merchandise from one of my favorite stores in Tokyo, Yamashiroya by Ueno Station. Recently, Rilakkuma T-shirts have also become available in Japan, much to the delight of many Japanese girls who may or may not think I’m cute. Given the popularity of Japanese-style shirts like Tokidoki among young American women, you might want to hunt a Rilakkuma T-shirt down as a present — especially since I’m hearing complaints from my sister’s friends that Tokidoki’s everywhere now (Heaven forbid a fashion-forward woman shows up in the same shirt as everyone else).

The problem, of course, is finding a Rilakkuma shirt. I was in Japan last April and it was hard to find even there. All I can say is, my sister better be grateful. She can repay me by asking her friends to giggle and tell me I’m cute.

Searching for Oscar the Grouch

TIME FOR SOME TRASH TALKING: If Oscar the Grouch ever decides to get a Muppet passport and fly to Japan, I have a feeling he might feel just a tad out of place. That's because for a country so impeccably clean, Japan has nary a trash can in sight.

Indeed, most of my walking jaunts in Tokyo typically end with my pockets filled with gum wrappers, pieces of paper, used up train cards and whatever junk happens to pile up in my possession during the day. Let's just say Oscar would be a lot grouchier in Nippon if he forgets to include his trash can in his check-in luggage.

This is just one of the many reasons why I love Japanese convenience stores — which I plan to wax poetic about in a future column. Like three wise kings open 24 hours a day, 7-Eleven, ampm and Lawson always bear me gifts in the form of receptacles for my PET bottles, aluminum cans and pieces of paper. My guess is Oscar would dive straight into the trash bin for burnables.

Then again, when you have about half of the U.S. population squeezed into an area slightly smaller than California, you'd probably be conscientious about your trash dumping habits, too. One of the great things about Japan's sparsity of places to dump your junk is that it made me realize just how much garbage I produce — and I'm quite tame compared to some people I know. I haven't thought much about the environmental impact of garbage since, well, I was at that age when I used to watch Oscar the Grouch on Sesame Street. And as someone who studied for three years in Manila, I know full well the consequences of not being obsessive-compulsive with your trash management.

So maybe it's not such a bad idea to wean Oscar the Grouch off his trash habit and make him a more responsible member of society. To wean him off his trash dependence, I suggest doing what I did the first time I visited Tokyo: invest in a good pair of cargo pants.