New Addiction Decanted and Ready for Consumption

I have a new addiction, people, and this time it's of the Japanese flavor.

Through Netflix Instant Play, I have discovered "The Ouran Academy Host Club" series, a short but mesmerizing romantic comedy anime.

Our heroine, Haruhi, comes from a working class family and is accepted into an uber-elite private school. On one of her first days at school, she is trying to find a place to study quietly. In an abandoned music room, she meets up with the "Host Club," a club of six boys whose sole purpose is to make money and connections by entertaining the young ladies of Ouran Academy.

And so the gender ambiguity begins. Haruhi is wearing boys clothing, for reason we can make guesses about later in the season, and it fools the Host Club. All except one of them think she is a boy.

This whole idea of the club and its purpose disgusts Haruhi, (who, coincidentally, is a super-hot nerd but a nerd nonetheless) and she only wants to be left alone to study. She tries to escape the presence of the Host Club, but as she runs away she knocks over a priceless vase, shattering it.

The HC boys determine that Haruhi has to be their errand boy until the debt is repaid.

This little tableau is the basis for the entire season (26 episodes, 20 minutes each).

Anime can make me uncomfortable at times. Emotional extremes are represented graphically and often. When someone is mad, they are raging. Jealousy, lust, and love of all kinds are overt. Anime does not lack subtlety.

But if you like romantic comedies, if you can overcome the in-your-face representations, and you can withstand some highly uncomfortable taboo scenes (meant to be heavily satiric), you will love this show.

I keep putting my foot(ball) in my mouth . . .

That doesn't sound too sanitary, now, does it?

So the other day one of the interns I work with asked me how I became a soccer fan. His face was both perplexed and amused. He was really asking, "Why the hell does anyone like soccer let alone a middle-class American mother who eats Hershey kisses all day from the office snack bowl?"

I can answer that. First, about the kisses: in my defense, whoever keeps the bowl stocked is doing a really good job. Second, I didn't start out a soccer fan.

In 2006 Ryan insisted we watch the World Cup, and by we I mean he alone because I would rather pick the smelly gunk out of my toenails than watch soccer. We still had a VCR way back then, and he lovingly taped each game and labeled the videos.

Perhaps the first instance of my interest in soccer came in the World Cup Final that year, where Zizou (as Allen informs me is the nickname for Zinedine Zidane), captain of the French National team, head-butted an Italian who had, quote, "made fun of his mother." Zizou was red-carded and ejected from the game which the French consequently lost.

For real? I mean, I love my mother and all, but if you insulted her during the World Cup Final I'd join in if it were in any way advantageous for me. Zizou's tantrum was the hook that got me interested in learning more about a sport that had previously seemed drama-less.

Why, I wondered, was this the preferred sport of the world? What about it inspired crowds to riot?

I put those questions on the back burner as I watched Ethan go out for community soccer. Though he was already in gymnastics and golf, I could see he was a natural. He seemed to be one of the better ones on his scrappy team. When he told me that he liked it more than golf, I tried to dissuade him.

"Tiger woods makes more money than David Beckham." That was my entire argument for keeping Ethan out of soccer. Needless to say, it didn't work.

Moving to Boothbay sealed my soccer fate. Soccer was the only sport they had up there, and Ethan went into it whole-hog. He started watching games with Ryan, and then would tell me about the players from time to time.

First he told me about Wayne Rooney. I learned he was the striker that fans loved to hate from Manchester United, the go-to team when you talk about soccer. Man U is one of the oldest teams with the richest soccer history.

I learned about the Spanish and Brazilian footballers, who had a different style of soccer than the English. Messi and Kaka and Fabregas came on the scene.

I learned that the English Premiere League wasn't the only game in town, so I started watching the Bundesliga, La Liga, and Serie A and began to notice the characteristics and personality of the teams.

I began to notice how hot these men were.

After that, there was no stopping me.

What about you?

Top Ten Reasons I Want to Visit Europe . . .

10. I want to drive on the wrong side of the street into a bunch of meandering sheep.
9. I want to hold a saucy sailor's hand and skip down Portobello Road in London, looking for Substitutiary Locomotion spells and singing.
8. I want to share a pint with Bono.
7. I want to cultivate an extreme longing for Wal-Mart and other big-box stores.
6. I want people to ask me to say something in American.
5. I want to sit front row at Old Trafford and squeeze the buttocks of Wayne Rooney or Fernando Torres as they crash into the signage.
4. I want to try blanc-mange and crumpets and have afternoon tea every day.
3. I want to see if it's really true that there are no fat French people.
2. I want a scarf from Hermes and gelato from a hole-in-the-wall in Sicily.
1. I want to come back and start every phrase with, "When I went to Europe . . . " and follow it with some sassy story that no one can top because they'll all be JEALOUS of me.

Sigh. Anyone want to go to Europe?