Sea-Cucumbers :: Personal Narrative Writing

Sea-CucumbersI have always puke in sea-cucumbers to be strange. If you have ever been snorkeling, you may or may non have noticed these elongated vegetables on the sea floor. I cogitate I shouldnt call them vegetables though, because they are slightly more awake(predicate) than garden-variety greenery. Instead I have dubbed them ocean-turds, because honestly, they do look the great shitting of a marine mammoth. They are also well-shaped, perfectly cylindrical turds at that I am rambling again. Forgive me.In eighth grade, my parents and I took a trip to Japan. My dad is a baseball reconnoiter, and instead of move over solo to give the Kyoto Carps the once-over, he decided to make the scout into a family vacation. I was skeptical. I dont like seafood, and hither we are, going to a country that eats raw fish and that call its baseball teams after blunt-nosed marine life.The city itself seemed a bouleversement of day and night. kindlinesss great invention, the lightbulb, mocked with overwhelming voltage, density, and quantity natures supernal fireballs. Bulbs, the imitators, the pupils of fusion, now ridiculed night with flashes from across the spectrum. As we drove into Tokyo, I couldnt believe that its citizens were able to sleep at night, what with such lambent pollution. that I was eager to walk the streets, to run into the shops that beckoned to me with signs for Sony and with gadgetry that inhabited the display windows. The hotel manner had paper walls As an American used to a rooms noiseless seclusion, I liked the idea that here, rooms were not meant to be space with a relentless fixation on privacy. I promptly made my mark. Restless after the long plane flight, I was peppy off the walls when I literally poked an extremity through one. You can ensure my surprise at discovering such fragility. I am in the Blessed land of ninjas and samurai, and I have just punched my way through a wall. Awesome I felt like the kid from Karate Kid. All that was lose was the exotic, ruminative twang and non-western modality of Asian music. Of course, my ninjas-and-gadgets glorification of the place was, alas, not meant to be. My fun and games had to be extinguished a foot had to be put down and that foot was Japans ooey-gooey cuisine. My dad was interested in one of the Carps players, and as was customary, the teams proprietor felt a strong sense of duty to take us out for a traditional Japanese dinner, so that the two of them could demonstrate arrangements for the trade.