A Drifter Supreme

Alright so we remember Jr and Sr. Grade drifters right? Hope so. Same kick here. The last in the drifter ranks: A Drifter Supreme. Because of the extreme force of character of the Drifter Supreme, only very few can exist at the same time let alone the same place. Although both highly respected and successful, Two major factors separate the Drifter Senior Grade (DSG) from the Drifter Supreme (DS). First the drifter supreme works for no man. Although he might hone his skills under the tutelage of another, he isn’t the shogunate’s loyal retainer running errands. Hirori Hanzo and Robocop, for example, both were amazing Battousai (manslayers) but neither played by their own music. The Zatoichi (blind swordsman) however was a Drifter Supreme. No home, no master, (no eyes even)… full on freakin’ Ronin. Second, the Drifter Supreme’s character must be so outstanding and unique that mere mention of his name stops men’s hearts. His greatness of character is such that the name itself is forever transformed. If you’re accend to the rank DS, your first name is essentially retired, never to be used again. Consider the following:

Magellian
Ernesto
Hunter
Ernest (not the one scared stupid)
Jack
Anakin/Luke/Han
Jesus
Marco.......Polo!!
Simon (pronounced /Sea-moan/
Victor
Jimi
Walt (not Disney)
Teddy
Mad Max
Karl (not Rove)
Neo
Musashi
Sidhartha
Bob (both Dylan and Marley)
Mario and Luigi


Hallowed ground. Hallowed ground.

I’m reluctant to do this but I’ll give it a try.

Level of Bad-ass-itude
Highest. You’ve transcended badassitude.

Toys
Once you die everything you own is in a museum or a church.

Clothes
Either an astetic robes (prophets) or worn out dusty old jeans (Jack, Walt, Che)

Car
If you drive it’s in The Great White Shark, but most DSs are such drifters that they just walk. Or they were born before cars.

Chicks
Chicks are all over the place for the DS. They defiantly seek out unique women like Mary Magnalin, Princess Leia, and “The” Princess. Some DSs have huge sex drives, (Ernest, Jimi, Marley) some none (Sidhartha)

Worries
The DS has one primary worry that defines his life. It’s usually the Devil (Jesus, Hunter), Salvation of man/ending of suffering is also a talking point (Sidhartha, Jesus, Marley), and last but not least class warfare (Jesus, Karl, Ernesto, Dylan)

Vacation time
I don’t think this applies!

Drugs
two bags of Grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half-full of cocaine and a whole galaxy of multicolored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers.... also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether, and two dozen amyls. (Hunter, Jimi, Jack)

Or Wine (Jesus, Dylan, Jack)

Or

Straight edge (Sidhartha)

Politics
Bleeding heart liberals (all of them)

Religions
…are based on them.

Friends
Disciples, beatniks, Rastafarinians, “the critics”, Communists. Not Romans.

How to Leave Japan Without a Passport

After speaking incomprehensible Japanese on the phone to the ticket people and constantly repeating the word, ‘michi’ (street, path, road), Devin translated to Em and I the nitty gritty: yes there was space on the ferry, but we would have to sit in the aisle. Sitting in an aisle is not a very Japanese thing to do. This was a good omen. Em and I were on a mission to find the flip side to the Japanese workaday salaryman lifestyle; and we figured our island destination of Hachijojima was the most likely place to find it. Where is Hachijojima? Exactly.

So for the 10-hour boat ride out of Tokyo we sat against a vending machine in the aisle, our space demarked with a ‘leisure mat’. Splayed all about were a regular rogues gallery of Japanese outcasts; fishermen, surfers, and old-faced drunks.

When we landed on the island we realized that we had effectively left the Family Mart Lawson Daily Yamazaki beat behind. It was like Hawaii. Like really old Hawaii without the gleaming side effects. Beautiful. Sparse but beautiful. And mostly free.

We got a ride to the ‘main street of town’. I believe it was a gas station. Thinking that our weak Japanese abilities had failed us we decided to walk to the sea. After all people on islands are always on the sea…. Nope. Empty. We traveled around the island looking for people, only to realize that in fact nobody was anywhere, eventually returning to the first place we went; an abandoned black sand beach…

Miraculously we (and by we I mean Em) stumbled upon a stairway leading up from the beach into tent land. Posh tent land at that… and we didn’t have a tent. Smart planning eh?

No tent + no stores= ???

I combed the island’s meager and dusty wares for a tent. None. Zero. The idea of selling tents in an area where people went to camp didn’t occur to these simple quasi-Japanese beach side people. As I went from place to place asking for tents, I began to think of possible alternative solutions. Like steeling tarps and propping them up with sticks.

In the last possible shop (the dustiest of them all) I inquired in Japanese if they had a tent. They did not (arms crossed). ‘Are you sure?’ I asked. After a lot of head scratching and banter with the other clerk he asked me to follow him up stairs into an even dustier area. He took down a box, seemingly at random, that was filled with……….

Sorta tents.

It was a 4-sided dome with only one side covered. But it did have poles. And they did have tarps. And I did have duct tape.

So I ghetto rigged us up a tent, taping the tarps (using pleats) to the sorta tent. (Picture to come). The tent was the laughing stock of Poshtentland, but I served us well for our tenure on the island.
The tent solution was mediforic of our trip really; no planning, but great results.

We just did:

Nothing. Just chilled, read books, did some yoga, ate well, and took long walks (like 3-4 hours a day) to the waterfalls, onsens, and botanical gardens (all free). It was really nice… and we had beautiful weather with out exception.

On the way back (by boat) I was sleeping (in the aisle) and wide-eyed Em stirs me to tell me that she’s made some new friends. “Japanese?” “Yep” .The friends Em makes in Japan are borderline shady at best. Case in point the crazy dudes we played rain baseball against during hanami.

So needless to say we got drunk (sake, beer, sake, beer) on the top deck of our craft and it deteriorated pretty quickly. We ended singing/teaching “If your going to San Francisco” and practicing singing scales, all while the head dude, ‘Mr. Yellow,’ as he referred to himself, made strange remarks about how if he were still married to Ms. Pink (also present) that he would have an affair. With Em. Gnarly.

It was getting to be a bit much, so we took our leave, got off the boat and hung out with my buddy Devin, and his friend Teruo over pizza and good Spanish wine.

I'm trying to keep, my island vibe alive, but the Toyama grey-kick is giving me chills.