Anel transversal de Carlos Souza, $3.850 Vivre.com

Honolulu é como eu imaginei sempre que o heaven estaria

Muito bonito, e muito aborrecido.

E apenas porque Jesus julgou o heaven deve ser, Honolulu está cheio de americanos médios mediocre, escapando-se do purgatory que fizeram seus everydays, gorging sobre overpriced a recompensa para as vidas nem realmente boas nem o bad: para coveting a esposa do seu vizinho e não fazer qualquer coisa sobre ele, para “OMG texting” durante Idol americano, para assassinar suas próprias almas com um suffocation lento do greed saudável.

Eu ando a Starbucks, minha pele de mármore branca sponging na umidade. O céu é mais áspero, mais azul do que o Pacífico, o sol é unquestionably que a esfera grande de cristãos adiantados do fogo o negou para ser. E ambos fervem o ar quente como o inferno. I order a soy latte, and the price makes me wonder if I’m also paying a sin tax. Mas eu sou prendido em um console que esteja para sempre umas férias da realidade; estou onde mais eu que vou comprar a água holy para workaholics?

Tão rapidamente como eu posso ser, eu estou para trás em meu quarto do hotel, escrevendo estas palavras para construir meu próprio heaven na terra, fazendo-se myself ausente slave cada momento, wringing o trabalho fora de cada segundo agora daquele componho o eternity verdadeiro.

Eu pauso, e olho fora no céu brilhante cozinhando os corpos unmoving que encontram-se na praia, aqueles corpses da ambição, aqueles

Thighs. Deus, verificação para fora o cellulite nesse pintainho.

Eu farei qualquer coisa escapar do heaven.

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I say “to Louis.” And Frank. and John.

Life’s short, like my skirt.

Coco de Mer Geisha Gag, $165

My back’s flat against a black sheet of stage that’s speared with a pole, and warm air over my bare legs is like a comforter. A couple of two-dollar bills melt into one between my teeth, pillowed by my wet tongue. Lured by that make-out Monopoly money, a topless Japanese girl slithers over me, her skin powdering my nose, her head nuzzling my thighs, pausing. Then her hands massage my breasts as she crawls back, kissing me, biting the fake money into her mouth. She pecks me on the cheek, chirping, “Arigatou!”

“No,” I giggle. “Thank you.” As vulgar as the world might make watching naked, thin girls strip to buy clothes and food, Japan styles the experience as gracious, as graceful, as losing your virginity on your wedding night.

Only maybe more mildly mannered.

I sit back down at my table, with a hostess. Her eyes are wide, their slant exaggerated with false eyelashes and lips constantly curved up. “She good dancer, yes?” She echoes my declaration from a few minutes before.

I smile. “Hai!” I say, with a short nod. The only Japanese I’ve spoken my two days in Tokyo is “Star-uh-bucks-oh,” “Yes,” and “Thank you.” Excepting my Engrish chant while hunting for soy lattes, this seems to be the most Japanese spoken by the natives, too. With such soft language, what little I’ve seen of the megacity makes it feel feminine, despite city myths of men groping women in crowded elevators, in spite of the aisle of rape porn I stumbled onto in a six-story sex shop.

Tokyo is just too polite to feel fully dirty and urban.

Though the metropolis is dense with thin buildings nodding to the sky, heavy skyscrapers bending under the clouds, and a tower that flatters the Eiffel with its likeness, it’s urbane about its urbanity, completely clean, only littered with bowing trees offering to shade your stroll on the sidewalk.

It’s partly this prettiness that makes exploring Tokyo vibe like virtual reality: everything is blinking and bright and light and seemingly safe, so consequence-free. So I wondered through alleys, sky walks, and sidewalks, finally entering Kabukichō, a district that was hardly lit in the red it’s famed for: instead it was flashing yellows and greens and blues, and the whites of Japanese men’s eyes, against the gray of their European business suits.

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Pill producers YAZ are running a contest to redesign the birth control case.

Launched by Project Runway judge Nina Garcia, backed by Step Up Women’s Network and Bayer HealthCare Pharmaceuticals, the contest gives aspiring designers the chance to test their talent.

“The design challenge we’re posing is a fashion transformation unlike any other,” said Garcia. “We’re taking an iconic accessory—the birth control case—and asking aspiring designers to take a shot at redesigning it into a chic, more sophisticated carrying case that they could slip into their purses.”

Design submissions will be accepted until June 30. One winner will receive $10,000 to invest in his or her career dreams, via enrollment in design classes or to buy special design materials and software.

So get to it. I’m over strange-named babies as arm candy. Population and figure control are the new black.

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