Post by Ishida Kentarou Mitsumasa on Oct 25, 2011 21:38:13 GMT -5
This is slightly off-topic, but I thought it might amuse some people. I've been part of Toastmasters, a public speaking organization, for just over four years. This Friday, I'll be competing in the District-level annual Humorous Speech contest. The following is my speech. While giving it, I wear my black and red plaid kosode, my green and red plaid hakama, and a grey and white check dofuku, as well as my daisho, which makes me quite a sight to the uninitiated.
----
The Craft Store Ninja Conspiracy
Mr. Toastmaster, fellow Toastmasters, and guests, one day about a year and a half ago, I decided I wanted to dress up like a samurai.
The first thing I did was go looking for clothes on the Internet. I found a lot of modern Japanese clothing, and I found a lot of cheap low-quality costumes. I also found some really wild stuff, like Hello Kitty branded katana.
But I wanted clothes that were historically accurate and high quality, and no one on the Internet would sell that to me. So I did exactly what any self-respecting young man would do in that situation: I decided to learn how to sew.
Now, it’s a little absurd to use a sewing machine to recreate four hundred year old clothing designs, and it’s more than a little absurd to wear them with skin this pale and hair this red. But there is no greater absurdity in the universe than being a twenty-five year old man in a craft store.
My craft store of choice is Joann, which is a big-box national chain. You can find all kind of things there--felt, embroidery floss, glitter, googly eyes--anything a man could possibly need.
You may not be aware, however, that the people who work there there have a dark, dark secret.
Let’s say you’re at Joann, and you need to find a seam ripper. You don’t know where the seam rippers are. The place is huge, so you get lost in the maze of bias tape and ribbon trim. Pretty soon, you realize that you have no hope of finding the seam rippers on your own. You start looking for someone to help you, but the employees seem to be hiding from you. Right when you’re about to flee forever from the labyrinth of knitting looms and magnetic snaps, <turn suddenly> there someone is.
How did they get there? There’s only one explanation. They’re all ninjas.
They may look like harmless middle-aged women wearing green aprons, but I know the truth.
That would be bad enough, but it’s even worse for me, because no one hates a samurai more than a ninja.
Luckily, there’s still good news. The Japanese feudal system has been dead for a few hundred years, so the ninjas have lost some of their edge. Now instead of poisoning men in their sleep, they just make men feel awkward at craft stores.
My first trip to Joann was uneventful. I only needed a pair of scissors and some thread, and through some miracle I found them and checked out without a problem. On my way out, though, I used the restroom, and let me tell you, that is the cleanest men’s restroom in the universe.
It’s pristine, and the door makes a sound like an unsealing vacuum when you open it.
I should have known right than that something was wrong, but I bravely forged ahead anyway. It was the second trip when the ninjas caught on to me. I was looking for denim, and failed to find it on my own. I proceeded to fail to find an employee to help me. Just when I was about to leave, <turn around> someone snuck up on me. She was more than happy to take me to the denim. Unfortunately, everything they had was either expensive or had pink flowers embroidered into it.
So I said, “I’m looking for something less nice than this. Do you have anything on clearance?”
(mime a confused look.) “What are you making?”
“I’m making medieval Japanese clothing, but my collars won’t stand up straight enough. Someone suggested that I hide a layer of something thick inside them to give them more body.”
(mime a glare) “I don’t think they had denim in feudal Japan.”
Luckily, there was another customer nearby who overheard. She told me she thought it was a good idea, and took me to a bolt of white denim on clearance that she thought would be perfect. As we walked toward the clearance section, though, I saw the employee move with unnatural speed into a back room. As I left the store with my denim, she was still watching me.
The ninjas did not strike decisively until a few months later. This time, I needed burlap, and managed to find it entirely on my own. The fabric cutting line was long, though, and as usual there was not a man in sight.
The ninjas chose their agent well this time -- the woman at the cutting counter was gorgeous and about my age, with long, curly, platinum blonde hair. If she hadn’t been a ninja, things might have worked out between us.
By the time I got to the front of course, there were another fifteen women in line behind me. I put my burlap on the counter. “I’d like two yards of this.”
“What are you making?”
“I’m making the fabric backing for medieval Japanese armor.”
She gave me that disapproving look that only the ninjas can do. “You know, if you put burlap against your skin directly, it won’t be very comfortable.”
I could feel the fifteen women behind me shifting. What is he doing here? Does he really think that’s a good idea? Is he stupid?
I gave her a glare right back. “It will be sandwiched in between two layers of linen. I’m using it to add body. I need two yards.”
We had a bit of a staredown, but then she cut my burlap, handed it back to me silently, and didn’t say another word until I walked away.
I may have won that battle, but the ninjas don’t seem ready to give up yet. Just last month I was working on (point to pants) this hakama when I made a mistake, and realized I needed a seam ripper to fix it. (pull out seam ripper from obi next to swords) Now this seam ripper is a nice shade of dark blue, but the day I bought it, there were twenty-three other kinds of seam ripper in the store, and this was the only one that was not pink.
They knew I was coming, and they got to the seam rippers before I did, but they missed this one.
As you can see, the ninjas haven’t stopped me. I’m wearing a recreation of a sixteenth century Japanese warrior’s everyday autumn casual clothes, and I made all of it except for the footwear.
While it took me a while to get here, the journey has been more than worth it. I know how to make and wear medieval Japanese clothing. I know how to succeed in the face of unexpected adversity. And I know where to find the cleanest men’s restroom in the universe.
Mr. Toastmaster.
----
The Craft Store Ninja Conspiracy
Mr. Toastmaster, fellow Toastmasters, and guests, one day about a year and a half ago, I decided I wanted to dress up like a samurai.
The first thing I did was go looking for clothes on the Internet. I found a lot of modern Japanese clothing, and I found a lot of cheap low-quality costumes. I also found some really wild stuff, like Hello Kitty branded katana.
But I wanted clothes that were historically accurate and high quality, and no one on the Internet would sell that to me. So I did exactly what any self-respecting young man would do in that situation: I decided to learn how to sew.
Now, it’s a little absurd to use a sewing machine to recreate four hundred year old clothing designs, and it’s more than a little absurd to wear them with skin this pale and hair this red. But there is no greater absurdity in the universe than being a twenty-five year old man in a craft store.
My craft store of choice is Joann, which is a big-box national chain. You can find all kind of things there--felt, embroidery floss, glitter, googly eyes--anything a man could possibly need.
You may not be aware, however, that the people who work there there have a dark, dark secret.
Let’s say you’re at Joann, and you need to find a seam ripper. You don’t know where the seam rippers are. The place is huge, so you get lost in the maze of bias tape and ribbon trim. Pretty soon, you realize that you have no hope of finding the seam rippers on your own. You start looking for someone to help you, but the employees seem to be hiding from you. Right when you’re about to flee forever from the labyrinth of knitting looms and magnetic snaps, <turn suddenly> there someone is.
How did they get there? There’s only one explanation. They’re all ninjas.
They may look like harmless middle-aged women wearing green aprons, but I know the truth.
That would be bad enough, but it’s even worse for me, because no one hates a samurai more than a ninja.
Luckily, there’s still good news. The Japanese feudal system has been dead for a few hundred years, so the ninjas have lost some of their edge. Now instead of poisoning men in their sleep, they just make men feel awkward at craft stores.
My first trip to Joann was uneventful. I only needed a pair of scissors and some thread, and through some miracle I found them and checked out without a problem. On my way out, though, I used the restroom, and let me tell you, that is the cleanest men’s restroom in the universe.
It’s pristine, and the door makes a sound like an unsealing vacuum when you open it.
I should have known right than that something was wrong, but I bravely forged ahead anyway. It was the second trip when the ninjas caught on to me. I was looking for denim, and failed to find it on my own. I proceeded to fail to find an employee to help me. Just when I was about to leave, <turn around> someone snuck up on me. She was more than happy to take me to the denim. Unfortunately, everything they had was either expensive or had pink flowers embroidered into it.
So I said, “I’m looking for something less nice than this. Do you have anything on clearance?”
(mime a confused look.) “What are you making?”
“I’m making medieval Japanese clothing, but my collars won’t stand up straight enough. Someone suggested that I hide a layer of something thick inside them to give them more body.”
(mime a glare) “I don’t think they had denim in feudal Japan.”
Luckily, there was another customer nearby who overheard. She told me she thought it was a good idea, and took me to a bolt of white denim on clearance that she thought would be perfect. As we walked toward the clearance section, though, I saw the employee move with unnatural speed into a back room. As I left the store with my denim, she was still watching me.
The ninjas did not strike decisively until a few months later. This time, I needed burlap, and managed to find it entirely on my own. The fabric cutting line was long, though, and as usual there was not a man in sight.
The ninjas chose their agent well this time -- the woman at the cutting counter was gorgeous and about my age, with long, curly, platinum blonde hair. If she hadn’t been a ninja, things might have worked out between us.
By the time I got to the front of course, there were another fifteen women in line behind me. I put my burlap on the counter. “I’d like two yards of this.”
“What are you making?”
“I’m making the fabric backing for medieval Japanese armor.”
She gave me that disapproving look that only the ninjas can do. “You know, if you put burlap against your skin directly, it won’t be very comfortable.”
I could feel the fifteen women behind me shifting. What is he doing here? Does he really think that’s a good idea? Is he stupid?
I gave her a glare right back. “It will be sandwiched in between two layers of linen. I’m using it to add body. I need two yards.”
We had a bit of a staredown, but then she cut my burlap, handed it back to me silently, and didn’t say another word until I walked away.
I may have won that battle, but the ninjas don’t seem ready to give up yet. Just last month I was working on (point to pants) this hakama when I made a mistake, and realized I needed a seam ripper to fix it. (pull out seam ripper from obi next to swords) Now this seam ripper is a nice shade of dark blue, but the day I bought it, there were twenty-three other kinds of seam ripper in the store, and this was the only one that was not pink.
They knew I was coming, and they got to the seam rippers before I did, but they missed this one.
As you can see, the ninjas haven’t stopped me. I’m wearing a recreation of a sixteenth century Japanese warrior’s everyday autumn casual clothes, and I made all of it except for the footwear.
While it took me a while to get here, the journey has been more than worth it. I know how to make and wear medieval Japanese clothing. I know how to succeed in the face of unexpected adversity. And I know where to find the cleanest men’s restroom in the universe.
Mr. Toastmaster.
