Club Pure . . . yes, well, the less said, the better. There's a Charlie Brown cartoon where he wakes up one day and all his friends are telling him what a great time he had the night before--he even got to dance with the red-haired chick he has a thing for--only he can't for the life of him remember it. That about describes my second visit to Club Pure (sans the red-haired chick, of course). Apparently we went to Club Pure, and somehow made our way from there to karaoke. And while I'm buggered if I recall the events of that evening, we have photographic evidence (most of which we'll eventually get around to Facebooking) that suggests they did indeed transpire. Weird, huh? Anyway, I'll let the slideshow below tell the story.
(Click image for slideshow)
Note to self: while the cocktails at Club Pure are watered down to the potency of weak cordial, the vodka shots aren't.
(P.S. Don't get the wrong idea: we had a fantastic time with our friends as always, and Wendy and Aimee were kind enough to put on a great nabe the following day. Emma was a little worse for wear--though it was nothing to do with the nabe, I hasten to add.)
On Saturday I decided to get into the spirit of things and tune in to the Triple J Hottest 100, and found that I didn't recognise most of the songs--including the winning song. ("Knights of Cydonia" by Muse--which isn't bad after a few listens.) That could only mean two things: I'd been living in Japan for a good part of 2007, and I'm getting old.
Well, 31 isn't exactly old, but then age is a relative thing. I realised this one of the last times I set foot inside a nightclub in Perth, and felt like I had stepped into a child care centre. So it was with some trepidation that I ventured into Osaka's Club Pure with young Emma and the other Perth JETs on Saturday night. You see, when I think of thirtysomething males in nightclubs I think of bearded and be-stubbled men wearing tight black jeans and those Chinese/Hawaiian-style shirts that were popular for about 5 minutes at the end of the 1990s (after which most died an honourable death in the local Vinnie bin before resurrecting themselves on the backs of Centrelink clients), dirty-dancing to Gwen Stefani with some pre-pubescent muffin-top. Honestly, boys, it's like watching someone do the "Lambada" with a fetus. And I don't want to be one of those guys!
Fortunately, I was able to overcome my neurosis long enough to have a really enjoyable night with my JET friends (the Daniels C and K, Goran, Aimee, Michelle, Susie and Amanda), as well as chat with (chat with, people, not chat up) some of the locals. There was a dodgy character haunting the dancefloor like the unmistakable odor of eructated garlic ramen--someone who doubtless would have felt right at home at The Shed or The Craic (for those of you with long memories) or Gobbles (for those of you with really long memories)--but the female clientele, gaijin and otherwise, were wise enough to give him a wide berth. The cocktails--watered down though they must have been at $25 for all-you-can-drink--were strong enough for me to lose my inhibitions regarding uncoordinated dancing and seriously off-key singing. Emma, as you know, needs no help in either of those departments, but she appreciated the chance to let her hair down all the same.
Michelle stayed at our place that night, and the next morning was telling me about the mukade (that's giant centipede to you) she encounters in her house from time to time. I showed her a site listing the 5 Most Horrifying Bugs in the World (language warning). The mukade doesn't make an appearance, but another insect commonly encountered in Japan does: the Japanese Giant Hornet. Watch as 30 of them massacre a hive of 30, 000 honeybees.
(Click image for slideshow)
