Longhorn In Japan

Random Reason I Love Japan #39218

2006-04-28T15:41:00.000+09:00

So I'm jonesing for a cup of hot coffee, so much so that I'm willing to buy a can of hot coffee from one of the many vending machines in this country.

Alas, I come to the Boss Coffee Machine, not unlike this one:

All the coffee is cold, because we are on the cusp of summer weather. I'm wanting hot coffee. I see a coffee shop across the street, so I decide to order a "take out" coffee. "To go" is not normal nomeclature here. The proprietor looks at me, and says "Doko?"

I don't get it. "Where?" What does he mean? "Take out," I resiliently repeat. "Hotto," which is "hot." He looks confused for a minute, then shrugs and throws some coffee from a cold pitcher (everyone here LOVES cold coffee on warm days like today) into a pot on the stove, and warms up a coffee mug for me in the microwave. An empty coffee mug. I don't know what he thought he was accomplishing.

He then proceeds to give me the full set - ceramic mug, saucer, spoon, cream, sugar, and even the seating treats. I'm confused. "No, no, no...take out," I say, motioning as though I am taking out. He smiles and nods, pours the coffee in the mug, puts saran wrap over the top. "San hyaku-en," he says proudly. 300 yen.

I tell him I will bring it back and he nods and smiles and says, "Ii," which kind of sounds like "e-e," and means "sure," or "it's okay."

So I march back to work with my mug of hot coffee, because I'm technically on the clock, even though I'm not teaching (stupidest thing ever) and so now, as I write this blog entry, I'm enjoying a hot cup of take out coffee in nice crockery. Hilarious.

Expats in Japan and Visitors Coming

2006-04-26T17:26:00.000+09:00

Fucking dorks most of them. Or mildly to grossly unstable in some manner or fashion. It is really uncanny. I'm sure there are plenty of normal expats here, but until the last few weeks, we haven't encountered them.

Oh, we think we have. And then watch as this normal person freaks out when he gets drunk and calls Judaism a cult. Or when another person entirely flakes out and quits the school to embark upon a several week long career of partying, which, while I consider such behavior a noble pursuit, this person leaves everyone else kind of hanging in the balance with her lack of responsibility. Or when another expat meets a J-girl, and gets married on April 26th because it is his favorite student's birthday. He's only been dating J-girl for 2 months. He was quoted three days ago as saying "I have a slave if I want one." If there was a Japanese Jerry Springer, he could find a career's worth of material canvassing expats.

But it seems upon the threemonth's eve of our departure from this bizarre pool of expatriots, we have found two normal ones - a married couple who act like regular drunk human beings when they are drunk, as opposed to blithering idiots. Of course, that's this week. Next week they'll probably try to talk us into joining their ritualistic blood cult or something. Stay tuned.

All of this leads up to the anticipation of showing some more friends from stateside our little slice of Japan. I'm looking forward to meaningful conversation that I know will only delve as deeply into bizarro world as I'm used to. Looking forward to you all coming, J and Car. Godspeed, and bring me a can of Lone Star. This Japanese beer is wearing on me.

Teaching English is a Joke Redux

2006-04-19T15:22:00.000+09:00

At least at my current school. It is unbelievable. I have to build upon the post I made yesterday.

Things are extremely comedic. I work at a new elementary school taught entirely in English with some Japanese thrown in for fun and national standards and all. It is such a fly by night operation. Our Japanese office staff, while two of the nicest ladies in the world, and who are supposed to be the bridge between the English teaching staff (one other guy and me), speak VERY limited English.

So, we get these awesome notes from them about things that they have obviously cut and pasted from the excite.com translator. Things like the following:

"Yuka Nakamura has the egg allergy.
Please take care no lick of her of the egg when you use the egg with the cooking.
Only if the egg places to the skin, it is safe.
The heated egg is safe, if eating."

Now if that isn't hilarious, then you have no sense of humor. It goes back to the difficulty in translating Japanese words and feelings into English. The culture is so infinitely different that there is a shitload lost in translation most of the time. That may be an entire other post.

But back to my school...So I have the at least one of the owners two younger daughters in every class I teach, except maybe one. Basically I am a salary-paid babysitter. For instance, I have them both in the creative writing class for which we developed curriculum. Yet they just had that class on Saturday, and this is considered the same week of curriculum for an elective, one day a week class. So, in one half hour, I plan to give them the same exact activity they did on Saturday. That should be fun.

Then, after that, I have the two daughters in PE, another supposed one day a week class that I babysit them three to four times a week doing the exact same activity. Luckily, it is only them in PE, so I'm going to take them to the park and say "go play." If mom and dad bitch, then I'll open up a can of bitchass on them and tell them I'm not going to be their babysitter.

That should also be fun.

Alas, the trials and tribulations of an grossly overpaid fashionable babysitter.

Teaching English in Japan and Hanami

2006-04-18T23:22:00.000+09:00

It's a joke. I mean, it's really a joke. We are getting paid an exhorbitant amount over here to really fuck around.

I've started my new job, and while the kids are pretty smart and cute (by the way, I'm convinced that there is not a cuter population of kids than Japanese kids) the school is run by two people who are idiots. I don't know how they have run a relatively successful school this long, except I do know. A lot of their students are from their Mormon Church. I should refrain from saying anything more. But you all know what I'm talking about.

But even overlooking my current stint, it is universally true here, from what I can gather. My friend Steve in Tokyo says the same thing. He used to teach in China and Hong Kong, and basically said that when he was there, he felt like he was allowed to teach. Here in Japan, he feels like he is babysitting.

I feel like a workbook whore at my current job. I keep cracking open the covers of these ridiculous workbooks, but I've been told by my boss that the parents would rather the kids finish a 35 page workbook than get halfway through a 100 page workbook. Whatever. Onto better things, like HANAMI!

Seriously, I have watched the cherry blossom season here in Japan with something akin to complete awe. First, there is the anticipation. It is all that anyone is talking about for weeks beforehand. The weather report concentrates pretty heavily on the progress of the sakura, or cherry trees.

Then, suddenly, you get up out of bed, walk outside and there they are on Sunday morning. There really is little other warning. And then everybody goes fucking nuts.

Literally, life stops in a way. There is no workday. There is only hanami, and this is when you see the Japanese in their full throat. It's amazing, appalling, beautiful and disgusting all at once.

The methodology is simple. Everyone buys a tarp. Everyone buys beer and food. then everyone goes and "admires" the cherry blossoms, by spreading a tarp underneath and eating, drinking, and being merry. Salarymen getting stumbling drunk. University students having chugging contests and yarfing into the bushes. On Sunday night. Then on Monday night. Then again on Tuesday night. Then again on Wednesday night.

I shit you not. And it really is beautiful. The wife and I had hanami almost every night the cherry blossoms were out. Maybe 9 days. The short length of the beauty might have something to do with how crazy everyone goes. The Japanese do "drunk" maybe more artfully than any other people I've seen. It's great.

Pics forthcoming in a day or two.

Wow. Has It Been That Long?

2006-04-06T22:34:00.000+09:00

Yeah, uh, sorry fair readers for my long lapse from blogging. I'm sure all three of you were waiting with bated breath.

It's been plenty busy lately, what with changing jobs, hanami, visitors coming in from out of town, etc. And I realize that I still owe you a penis festival post. Rest assured, that one is in the queue. But current events are knocking hard at the door, and I need to answer before they get pissed.

So I traveled to Tokyo a week and a half ago. My time there was a whirlwind of activity from the moment I stepped off the shinkansen right after my last day at my old job. Met my friend Steve, hung out for awhile, then hit the sack, knowing I'd need rest for when Jess arrived. Of course, I severely underestimated the amount of rest I'd need for my Tokyo experience.

Holy shit.

Woke up the next day, and started drinking with Steve in the mid afternoon at a Thai restaurant. Left there, and went to meet Jess at Shinjuku station. Then the madness began. We went from there to Tsukiji, the famous fish market in the middle of Tokyo. There we met up with several people and ate some of the best sushi I have ever had. Fresh, falling apart in your mouth sushi. I'm ruined forever on sushi. When I come home to the states, I won't be able to eat the schleck they dredge up and and for which most places charge outrageous prices. I'm spoiled. There were ten of us eating and drinking, and the bill topped out at 16,000 or so yen. That's maybe $150 on a bad exchange day.

We went from there to find an izakaya with this same group of people. Jess and Tracy were troopers, as they hadn't slept but maybe an hour and they were suffering pretty bad from jetlag. Nonetheless, they came with us to the izakaya, and partied until 1 AM. They left to catch a cab back to their hotel, leaving the rest of us to party until the wee hours of the morning. We got home at maybe 5AM.

Jess wanted to make my blog so, SO badly.
So, I gave her two pics. Also included: Aka, Tracy, Steve.

After sleeping a good four hours, we began anew and refreshed. Well, sort of refreshed. We walked around the famous parts of Tokyo, taking in a few sites and some shopping and whatnot. Then it was dinner, and the asian specialty of karaoke. We figured that Jess and Tracy might not like it, so we booked the room for only 2 hours.

Well, at 5 AM after a six hour karaoke marathon, we decided it was probably time to go. We covered such greats as "Born in the USA," "Let's Get Retarded," and Steve's personal favorite, "I Want It That Way." Of course, I killed with a stirring rendition of "Blaze of Glory," and we had some of Steve's Taiwanese housemate's Chinese songs sprinkled liberally in there as well. "99 luftballoons" is a lot harder than you would think. And some random Thai songs.

Steve's sex appeal is a fucking magnet. God knows it's not his voice.

All in all, it was a success. But good God, it was taxing on the old body. I don't even want to know my liver's opinion. But it was a good time - one of the best I've had since I've come here.

I am not a rock star. But when I'm drunk I feel like one.

A few thoughts on Tokyo:

1) It's is retarded crowded. I mean insanity everywhere. But the strange thing is that people treat the crowding so naturally that it almost becomes second nature. I was only there for two or three days, and it felt natural by the time I left. As a matter of fact, when I came back to Nagoya, I felt like I was missing something.

2) The nightlife is off the hook. There are always people out. Certain streets are as bright as daylight at 2 AM.

Bright, huh?

3) The variety of food is much more diverse than we get in Nagoya. It's so much easier to stumble into a good restaurant there than it is here. I imagine it is a lot like New York in that characteristic.

4) Did I mention the crowding?

5) It wasn't as expensive as I thought it would be. From what I can gather, prices are pretty static across Japan. I mean, the shopping was a lot more expensive, but I'm not interested in Dolce & Gabanna or Coach or Loewe or Louis Vuitton or any of that shit. Hell, we got that stuff here in Nagoya (they have the major brand names EVERYWHERE), and I don't really get off on that anyhow.

But I'm talking about food and drink. Not too bad. I mean, I spent a decent amount of money, but it was a lot less than I expected to spend. Which is always a good thing.

A Lot Has Been Going On

2006-03-23T02:44:00.000+09:00

Sorry for the lack of posting here. Been really busy.

I've been partying a lot, been to a celebration of the penis (more on that in a post next week, and believe me, it will be worth it), and tomorrow evening I'm going to Tokyo to visit with some friends of mine coming into town from America. Happy day.

The real reason that I've been partying a lot is because of these great new Japanese friends I've made. One is a DJ and knows all kinds of crazy clubs to go to where it is ridiculously easy to lose track of time and walk out into the sunrise. Just a fun group to hang out with.

Plus, as I've mentioned, I've quit my job in order to take a full time job for three mnths before I come home. It has been a lot harder than I thought.

The kids have been awesome, drawing me cards, and giving me pictures and hugs. I'm such a big sap, too. I really am going to miss some of these kids, and some of my adult students. But that's kind of the way it goes.

n any case, I'll have some great blog entries coming up soon. I haven't forgotten about you dear reader. But I'll be out of town for a couple of days enjoying the super-metropolis of Tokyo.

Writing Haiku With Japanese

2006-03-15T01:28:00.000+09:00

For a long while I have promised you folks a description of the local snakku. Well here it is. Basically, it is a place where one goes to escape the normal shit of life. In Japan, this is very important. So this place is a bit of a safe haven. You go, you might buy a bottle of booze to drink, which the mama-san will put your name on, and you will drink. You might sing karaoke, you might talk with the folks around you, but ultimately, the place is a perfect example of what you want a bar to be. It is a place to forget about the bullshit and have fun. The Japanese are really good at this.

In any case, tonight, I found myself at the snakku. The wife was asleep and I went there for shits and giggles. I met a few folks who could speak a pauper's share of English. So of course, we somehow ended out in a haiku contest.

Now I speak a little Japanese, and the emphasis is surely on little, but I entered a haiku contest under the understanding that I coudl write in English. there were only three competitors. Strangely enough, there were only three people drinking at the bar. Coincidence? I think not.

In any case, I knock out a bullshit haiku in English:

I see the Ume.
The flowers ride in the breeze.
I feel complete peace.

After much translation, the haiku is understood and awed, far more than it should be.

Then it is Matsuno's turn. He writes something funny.

O-osaka no
Ume no shurui no
o-osaka na.

This is a very clever poem, because it plays upon Japanese linguistics.

Basically, translated:

Osaka's
Ume's kindness is
very very nice.

More or less.

Then comes Maho. The girl in the company.

Watashi no, ko
koro mayo-u wa
hare no chi kumori.

Roughly translated:

In my heart,
I see sun, then the clouds,
But I know the sun will come again.

Damn. And I thought mine was pretty good. But she kicked my ass.

Author's note: Ume means "plum blossoms," and the author will post pictures later this week.

Let's Talk About This Guy

2006-03-13T18:34:00.000+09:00

It is important to note that this guy is a perfect microcosm of Japanese style. Not only is he dressed in vintage jeans, or at least vintage-looking jeans, and a vintage sweatshirt, or at least a vintage-looking sweatshirt, but he is sporting a Burberry scarf, which is not really vintage at all, yet is all the rage amongst all ages here. Beyond that, and you might not make it out from the picture I surreptitiously snapped on a late night weekday train, but at his feet is a patterned bag. Not just any pattern adorns this bag, mind you. The visage of Mickey Mouse is staring back at you with something approaching 4000 big ass ears and 4000 wee beady mouse eyes. Greatness. This guy is taking fashion and standing it on its head, and he doesn’t appear to be losing any sleep over it.

Strange Happenings

2006-03-10T00:17:00.000+09:00

The funny thing about Japan is that the most mundane and irritating things can be mightily hilarious. For instance, today, it was 2:40, and I was about to change out of my pajamas in order to ride the 26 minute train to work. Yes, I have that memorized. I also have memorized exactly which car to get in, and exactly which door will put me closest to the exit closest to my school. Yet I cannot get around downtown without a fucking map or my wife. Ah so.

In any case, I’m in my pajamas, fixing to change when pingpong!, my doorbell sounds. Now, who has sent what?, I wonder to myself, as 6 times out of 7, the doorbell is a package being delivered. I open the door and a very nice looking young Japanese man starts talking to me in Japanese. He pauses, and I reflexively grunt and duck my head.

Now, let us focus on this reflexive grunt and duck of the head, as it is a perfectly acceptable signal of the affirmative in Japan. Or it is a perfectly acceptable signal of “Go on…” But mostly it is a signal, from a gaijin, or at least this particular gaijin, of “Sure, keep talking, I have no fucking idea what you are saying, but I’m sure if I do this, then things will rok themselves out” At least in this particular instance. But 6 times out of 7 it means “okay.”

In any case, my reflexive grunt and duck of the head gives the nice looking young Japanese man pause, almost as though my brain waves have screamed to him in the universal brain wave language my particular meaning in this particular instance. He looks at me quizzically. I try to one up him by looking at him perplexingly. Amazingly, this seems to deepen his confusion. I cannot imagine why.

In any case, I am the first to break the ice of a complete breakdown in communication, as it is a lifelong companion with me here in Japan, and likely merely the occasional drunken acquaintance of this nice looking young Japanese man.

“Eigo?” I murmur. Yet, naturally, he understands. I think the first English word Japanese people learn must be “Eigo.” Or “Big Mac.” One of the two. He smiles uncertainly, and looks me full in the face for a second, as though he was considering how best to assault the walls of misapprehending with a fork and a rubber band. He gives up and sends a linguistic representative with a white flag. This linguistic representative shrugs, points under his arm, and says simply, “This is two thousand yen.”

For reasons unexplained to me by my sense of humor, I find this intensely funny. Obviously, this guy is not any longer going for a proper sale. Laughing unabashedly, I look at him and ask, in perfect English, “What’s that?”

Now perhaps is a good time to inform the reading public that the Japanese for “What’s that?” is well known to this particular author. And that this particular author, urged on by an almost sadistic desire to see how this particular farcical play played out at this particular author’s own front door while this particular author is clad in his pajamas at two forty fucking five in the afternoon, no less, intentionally CHOSE to overlook this common Japanese in order to further baffle this poor nice looking young Japanese man should officially be on record.

So as the pages of the mental English-Japanese dictionary turned in this poor nice looking young Japanese man’s head, slowly translating “What’s that?” into “Sore nani?” this particular author was mentally laughing in perverse glee.

And if this particular author was mentally laughing in perverse glee during that mental dictionary consultation, then this particular was absolutely gleeful at the next dictionary conference, this one starring the Japanese-English dictionary in this poor nice looking young Japanese man’s brain. His brow furrowed, then flattened, then furrowed again, as the synapses in his head struggled for the correct explanation.

Then, again, he shrugged, and said, “This cleans,” and he shows it to this particular author. The product is not without visible merit, as it looks like a smooth wooly rag whose mother clearly touched broken Propecia tablets, and the smooth wool looks as though it could degrease an army deep fryer, and although this particular author is tempted to blow the equivalent of twenty American dollars on something he will never use because of the amusement inherent in the situation, sadly, this particular author merely says, “No thank you,” in perfect, unbroken English, almost reflexively.

“No desu ka?” the poor nice looking young Japanese man says with a big smile, and this particular author is comforted by the fact that the inherent amusement in this particular farcical comedy taking place at this particular author’s own front door, while this particular author is clad in his pajamas at two forty fucking five in the afternoon has reached the poor nice looking young Japanese man. And all is well in Japan, as this particular author smiles and shuts the door and rushes to work while this particular nice looking young Japanese door to door salesman scampers off to sell more wooly mammoth army deep fryer degreasers to the housewives of Japan.

This particular author wishes him success.

Giving Notice and Birthday Bashes

2006-03-08T23:51:00.000+09:00

We’ve made the decision to come on back to the country in July. Or at least, we’ve made the decision to finish out the wife’s teaching contract in order to procure the bonus. In addition I got a full time job at her school starting in April. This is great news, as I’ll be making a lot more money for the last three months here.

However, after giving my notice at my current place of employment, I’ve realized that working with kids is not a stringless job. My kids are pretty heartbroken about the whole thing, and, to be honest, I guess I kind of share that heartbreak. I have one kid who is a private lesson every two weeks. He’s only been my student since November, and I’ve seen him roughly twice a month since then. But it was a little dusty in the room when I saw him leave today, knowing I’d only see him one more time EVER.

Ah, well, onto more money and better times.

My birthday was last weekend, for those of you not in the know. And my wife organized a bit of a surprise birthday dinner at an izakaya, with several of our gaijin friends, and a few of our Japanese friends. It was a pretty good party. We sat there for a good three hours, soaking up alcohol and various dishes of food.

Then, it was off to karaoke, which in Japan is an experience all its own. There is nothing like it in Austin, at least when we left. The private booth experience is exceptional, especially when drunk and screeching out Guns and Roses in a poor mimic of Axl Rose.

Then, it was off to a bar; a bar, it should be noted that was far too sedate for a birthday celebration. It was already 1:30 AM. We had a few drinks, then headed off to Club Mago. Club Mago is a dance club in the basement of some building. I’ve been there twice, and my memories involve a haze of bass thumping through my ribcage, smoke permeating the air, and drinking piss warm can beer. I couldn’t even get to the place by myself.

But I absolutely, and surprisingly, love the place. Maybe because it doesn’t fit my American stereotype of “dance club,” which involved exclusive circles of girls who don’t want to dance or meet anyone, creepy dudes making the rounds and trying to break into said circles, and average music.

Not here. I guess I like house music. Who knew? And apparently, I can dance to it. Although my skills in dancing might just be inspired by the wicked alcohol muse. Who knows? What I do know is that when we left the place at 5:30 AM, my head was buzzing with a mix of intoxication and bass, my lungs ached from exertion and cigarette smoke, and my legs felt rubbery from walking, dancing, and the sailors’ legs earned rolling on the deck of beer, bourbon and sake. And that I had a blast, though I missed all you friends back home.

Making the Subway Train

2006-03-04T18:53:00.000+09:00

Recently, I've come to the conclusion that if you want to make the subway train, you have to REALLY want it. I don't mean that you should think "oh, boy, if I miss this train, I might be late." You need to think "If I miss this train, I WILL be late, and that will be a Problem."

I've watched many people run for the trains, and I have run for them myself. The running theme (har har) is that you don't stop running. Even if the doors start closing, you show impetus. You demonstrate that you will run headlong into a closed door unless they open that fucker up. You run like that train is the last train to anywhere. You run as though that train is the key to Salvation. Because if you don't do that, then the conductors will mercilessly close those doors on you.

All it takes it one expression of doubt. One expression of "maybe I can catch the next train and it will be okay." one expression of compliance. SLAM. you are waiting.

But if your run has the necessary drive, the necessary urgency, the necessary desire for pnctuality, then you win the arm wrestling of wills between you and the conductor, and he will slam open the closing doors for you, because he wants you to be on time.

Really, it is hilarious. I watch people running for the rain with defeat etched on their faces. And defeated they are. But I watch someone really wanting it, and they get it. Because the conductor knows. He knows all.

The Olympics and Nationalism

2006-02-24T00:38:00.000+09:00

Being from the US, it is relatively easy to overlook the international importance of the Olympics. Our country is very large, very athletic, and usually very competitive in most events, be they summer or winter.

However, the fixation upon the games from an expat standpoint is very interesting. Watching the coverage over here beats the fuck out of what most of you are stuck watching. The announcers are blatantly biased, and they show FAR more events than human interest bullshit. But what I want to focus on here is not the sappy ass American coverage, but the blatant bias.

I think it is great. When a Japanese team or person has a chance in an event in the early stages (for instance, in the Board Cross event), the announcers are borderline giddy. There are 3 men and one woman (who is pretty hot, fyi), and it seems that the woman's job is to stand there and "cheerlead" the men on. This observation is via Tokyo from my buddy Steve, who pointed it out to me in the first place.

Basically, she stands there, claps or jumps when something good happens, wears a ridiculously short skirt, says "so ka?" or "so desu neh!" a lot. Roughly translated "Is that so?" and "Exactly!" Hilarious.

My city was especially rocked by Miki Ando, a Nagoya native (she actually lives fairly close to the wife and I), who fell in her short program. Apparently, tonight she will attempt a quadruple spin in her show. She truly is a native daughter.

Miki Ando.

Which brings me to my point. Here in Japan, there seems to be a more visceral reaction to the games and the meaning of medaling and making a good show of your country. this attitude is very different from the level of entitlement I'm used to in the US, where we know we are going to be in the top medal counts. It is somewhat refreshing, I guess, to look at things from an underdog standpoint.

When a Japanese athlete is shown on TV here, whether it be in a crowded Japanese bar or wherever, people stop, and actually watch as though that person were representing their country as a whole. Which I guess is the whole point of the Olympics. Maybe that is pretty easy to forget when you are used to being relatively dominant.

Saint Valentine's Day

2006-02-23T02:28:00.000+09:00

One of the many Western holidays that Japan has co-opted is Valentine’s Day. Of course, here, they call it by its more formal name, Saint Valentine’s Day. Being from America, I’ve naturally been conditioned to recognize this as a woman’s holiday, one where men shower their brides or girls or whomever they wish to lay with chocolate, teddy bears (or teddies) and a nice dinner, etc. You know the drill.

Not so much here in Japan. Actually, it is much better here. Here it is a holiday when women and girls buy the men in their life chocolate. That’s right. They’ve taken the holiday and turned it on its head. Awesome. As a result, I came home with a shitload of chocolate from my students, and the wife, who has considerably more kids than I do, came home with one measly, forlorn valentine. Haha. I rule, right?

Of course, this whole thing, which appears so goddamned simple on its face, is naturally complicated by Japanese gift-giving etiquette. I received a certain amount of chocolate from various girls and women that I teach. Now it is incumbent upon me to respond in kind. Only I have to ensure not to give too much to someone who gave me something small, or risk embarrassing them. Of course, I must ensure that I give enough to someone who gave me some nice handmade chocolate, or risk embarrassing me, and as a result, them as well.

The whole thing is very complicated, and my boss introduced me to his system of taping post-its on nicely packaged chocolate, so I could remember from whom I received what, and complete the necessary circle of gift giving.

Never fear, however, for in Japan there is a day coming up called “White Day.” On that day, men buy chocolates for their ladies, and it is then THEIR responsibility to pay us back. This would suck for so many other people, but since I usually I thrive on unnecessary complexity, I find the whole process somewhat exhilarating. Except the eating chocolate part. I wish they’d just given me salt and vinegar chips or some shit.

Ok, That Was a Little Sad

2006-02-19T03:05:00.000+09:00

As Western gaijin, we don't know how good we have it.

I just got home from an izakaya where I was hanging out with another gaijin girl from Hong Kong. She is living here in Nagoya, near us. I met her at the local snakku, of which I still owe many of you an explanation but am too bored to type up.

After the snakku closed tonight, I agreed to go with her to the izakaya. I was not crazy about going, but in Japan, I've learned that the best course of action is usually to go along with the flow until you can make your graceful escape. I figured I'd have some food, maybe a beer or two, and mention about how I had to make my way home.

Well, upon arriving, we were seated at a table next to a table of six Japanese girls. Many of these girls were quite attractive, with straight teeth, which are rare here.

In any case, Mei, the girl from Hong Kong, is fairly lonely and looking for friends here in town. She engages these girls in conversation and the whole thing is awkward from the beginning.

In case I haven't made it quite plain in the past, the Japanese are not crazy about non-Japanese Asians. Many love Western gaijin, ie, native English speaking gaijin, but when it comes to other Asians, there is a palpable dislike.

Well, poor Mei seems quite unaware of this cultural discord. As a matter of fact, she seems unaware that when in Japan, one must act as the Japanese. Chinese culture is quite a bit different, at least according to my buddy Steve who has spent a few years in that country. A bit more outspoken might be a good way of approaching it.

Well, Mei invades this group of girls with conversation in her fairly decent Japanese. These girls aren't having much of it. They continually address her in English, in a manner I interpreted as mildly perjorative, though you would be hard-pressed to identify perjorative from most Japanese interaction. In other words, they hid behind a bored veneer of politeness.

I've just spent the last two hours watching Mei crash the plane into the goddamn mountain, and feeling terrible about it. Not as though there was anything I could do, and perhaps this could happen anywhere at any time, but it seemed pretty stark to me as these girls were all about me.

To be fair, it had less to do with me, and the idea of me. They were interested where in America I was from, where I taught English, where my wife was from, if we still make love (the ubiquitous underlying subtext to any male Western gaijin conversation with female Japanese), where they have travelled, etc.

About Mei, they asked nothing, though they heard an earful from her about it. I should note that Mei is not overly obnoxious, but in Japan, the culture clash between Chinese and Japanese seemed very apparent to me. And I felt bad almost the whole time, though they were speaking Japanese, mostly because of the body language I saw.

It kind of sucked, because Mei is a nice chick. But Japan is what it is, and they are definitely xenophobic when it comes to other Asians. So it was a little difficult for me to watch.

I Have Never Seen So Much Snow

2006-02-16T12:10:00.000+09:00

So we journeyed into Nozawaonsen last weekend. Apparently, this is one of the more popular small ski destinations in Japan, famous for its natural hot springs. As my last post indicated, I had no idea really where I was even going before I left. I just stepped on a train to Nagano, and let what happen happen.

And what happened was a great holiday. I found us a great hotel, actually, a minshuku, which means guest house. Little family run place about a five minute walk from the mountain. Then it was exploration time, as the wife and Steve were coming at around midnight and the next morning, respectively. Since it was a little complicated to get to Nozawaonsen from Nagano, and the train wouldn't be running, and we'd need a taxi, I decided to meet the wife in Nagano and help her find the place.

Since she wouldn't arrive until about 10:30, I settled into an izakaya and had some dinner and drinks. Strangely, I've grown quite fond of eating things I found disgusting only a few months
ago. For example:

Fried smelt. You eat the whole thing, from head and eyeballs to fish tail. Good stuff.

Well, she arrives, and we take the train from Nagano to Togari-Nozawa. From that train station, the skiing village is a 15 minute bus ride. However, the buses don't run this late, so we knew we would need a taxi. We stepped out into the cold air, and there were no taxis. There was a small group of Japanese. I asked, "Takushi?" in a bit of a desperate ploy to get him to call us a taxi. Nope. He ushered us into his van, told us it was a "lucky day" and drove us to our hotel. Good times.

Steve's housemate got sick and couldn't make it, but he did, and the three of us shared a tatami room, which was pretty cool for a simple gaijin like me. I've never slept on a futon on top of tatami before. It was a hell of a lot more comfortable than I thought. I daresay it was more comfortable than our bed in our apartment.

Somehow, I neglected to take a picture of our room, which pisses me off. But it was small, with a simple elegance, and all the o-cha, or Japanese green tea we could drink. We got Japanese breakfast with our room charge, and it was a treat as well. Rice, miso soup, Japanese pickles, seaweed, and other assorted Japanese small dishes. And the ubiquitous green tea.

And the minshuku mama took care of us. There were about three generations working in this place. Grandma and Grandpa, Mama (did not see Papa), and kids. The ojiisan was especially funny. He ran to get our lift tickets for a discount. When I tried to thank him in Japanese, he laughed in my face. At least the obaasan, or grandma, was nice.

In any case, I won't bore you with an account of our skiing. Skiing is usually a good time, tiring, and an utterly boring story. The only thing I'll tell you is that this mountain had a gondola lift, which was something different for me. You kicked off your skis and walked into a gondola that took you to the top. Pretty cool.

The most interesting parts happened after the fun days at the slopes. We came back from the mountain (Mt. Biko, if you are interested), on the first day, to find obaasan and ojiisan making fresh mochi, or Japanese rice cake - really more of a dough ball.

The woman would roll the dough and add some water, and the old man would pound the shit out of it with that big wooden hammer. That old man had some strength. When he brought the hammer down, that mochi would fly everywhere. It was like a Gallagher show.
When they finished, they made mochi balls and rolled them in either green tea powder or a sesame sugar type mix. Both were really fucking good. I tried to tell the old man it was oishii (delicious) and he just laughed at me. Grandma thanked me, and clucked at the old man. Funny stuff.

So we took showers, and made our way to a party right down the street that our mama had told us about. Something about sake and soup and "no pay," so that sounded right up our alley. Especially the "no pay" part. Turns out it was a kamakura party. Basically, they made a snow house, kind of an igloo. It's a pretty big thing here. The house took three days to build, and they capped it off with a sake party. There were maybe 20 people there, some of whom spoke English. When asked why they made the kamakura, the answer was universally "as an excuse to drink sake." Good times.

Steve and I in the Kamakura.

So we got a little toasty there, because the old men in charge of the sake kept pouring us drinks. Our cups would get halfway full, and they'd fill it up. And we're not talking ordinary sake cups, but more like dixie cups. It was insane and funny all at once. As the nine o clock hour rolled around, the party was over, and an old man told us he'd take us to an izakaya. Instead, he just wanted to hit on my wife the whole way home. "Pretty girl!" She told him she was married to me. He responded in Japanese (Steve was our interpretor) "But does it matter?" Hilarious. He was roaring drunk, and in Japan whenever you do something embarassing while drunk, it is pretty much excused.

Good times. Tomorrow, I'll break down day 2.

Ski ga suki

2006-02-10T02:41:00.000+09:00

Yes, for any of you who actually understand Japanese, that is a terrible joke. And yes, I think it's absurdly hilarious.

I'm going skiing tomorrow. I'm meeting a friend from Tokyo and his housemate. And we have no idea where we're skiing or how. Awesome.

We know that our main target is Nozawa, a quaint skiing village located an hour train ride from Nagano. The place has 13 onsens (spas), all of which are free. Fun fact for the day: Nozawa is owned by the citizens of Nozawa. Profit sharing, indeed.

In any case, I got my camera charged, my ipod charged for the three hour train ride to Nagano, my phone charged for last minute text messages, and I'm ready to go. My wife works tomorrow, so I'm travelling to Nagano on my own. Once there, I will attempt to find a place to stay, ski, and have fun, with three other people.

This is what travelling is all about. I'm convinced that now, for me, who works a shitheap of a schedule, that this whole sojourn is basically a working holiday. It's time to treat it as such. So travelling to a place I've never been, with my and my wife's clothes on my back, and trying to find a way to make a ski vacation happen on a national holiday in Japan is what travelling is all about.

I know I promised you all a snakku post, but its going to have to wait. I leave in maybe 6 hours for Nagano, and I got to get some sleep. Hopefully I'll have some good pictures for you. Until then, here's a great pic my wife snapped in Osu Kannon area...

Pictures of the Week

2006-02-02T23:07:00.000+09:00

I'm going to start a new deal on here. Initially, my idea was for a "shrine of the week," since Japan has so many shrines tucked into corners wherever they fit. I may still do that, and still feature "Pictures of the Week."

The idea is that basically, my job is to take my camera everywhere and take funny or poignant (at least to me) pictures of stuff that I see. Part of it is to help me document the mundane, and part of it is to superimpose the mundane with the extraordinary. In any case, every week, I'm going to post some pictures with a minimum of comment. Here are some pictures I took at Koshoji Temple in Nagoya.

Private Students, Japan Winter Foods, and Snakku

2006-02-01T13:34:00.000+09:00

I have two private students every Tuesday to whom I give a private lesson. Of course, this private lesson consists of free talking. Their level is pretty low, so what I mean by "free talking" is "John attempting to decipher exactly what they are trying to say and reply in a way that can be understood." But it is a fun lesson. Both women, but one is much older than the other. One owns a private izakaya - which is a nice way of saying a very small restaurant. She is much older, and apparently pretty rich. Her name is Kinuyo. The other, Yukari, is much younger, works as a "home helper," basically a travelling in-home nurse for elderly folks, and a bartender/hostess at a Japanese "Snakku." More on that later.

In any case, I make decent coin from these two, since the lesson is two hours. On top of that, they always take me to lunch afterwards. Well, actually, Kinuyo takes us both to lunch. She pays every time. It seems to be Kinuyo's goal to expose me to every type of Japanese food. I've been to a sushi shop where I ate a bowl of sushi rice topped with 10 different types of fish, many noodle shops, pasta shops, and she has many more plans. She wants to take me and the wife to a tea ceremony during cherry blossom season.

All in all, its a pretty good hookup. Well, she's gotten me addicited to a noodle dish that is pretty popular here in the winter. Misonikomi. Basically, its a thick miso noodle soup. And I LOVE the stuff. When its cold outside, misonikomi is just what takes the chill out of your bones. I took a picture yesterday of my misonikomi, much to the amusement of Kinuyo, Yukari, and pretty much every other patron of the small noodle shop. That's cool, because I have no shame.

As for Yukari's other place of employment, Kinuyo has taken me there twice. They keep pushing me to bring the wife too, but they always want to go on her work nights, and she can't devote as much time to drinking as I can. Basically, a snakku is short for a "snack bar." It's a place that charges a seat fee (cover charge), and charges fairly exhorbitant prices for drinks. Sometimes they have a hostess who is there to encourage the karaoke singers and light cigarettes, and laugh at jokes and shit like that. Yukari is such a hostess. It is quite humorous watching the mama-san laugh a little too hard at jokes, clap a little too hard at whoever is strangling the cat, and watch Yukari emulate her. I don't understand most of what's going on around me linguistically, but I still find myself understanding everything that is going on without the words. It's kind of difficult to explain.

Much to my own amusement, I have discovered a snakku in my neighborhood. More on that in my next entry.

Easing Back into Things

2006-01-18T13:22:00.000+09:00

Well, having returned to Japan from America, I feel as though I've "woken up" again. For the greater part of November and December, I feel as though I was wasting a hell of a lot of time and opportunity here. Granted, I'm not used to actual cold weather, and its easy to want to stay in the warm indoors when it is snowing or blowing gusty winds outside that chill you to the bone.

But fuck that. It's time to get back out and see and experience this place while I can. With that in mind, the wife and I headed out to the Asahi Brewery in Nagoya. Right up my alley. We journeyed out there on a Sunday afternoon to check it out.

We stroll up to the front gate of the place and are met by a friendly security guard who asks us our name. Odd. We answer, and he checks a clipboard, nods perfunctorily, and gestures for us to follow him. We bow. He takes off. If you've never had the opportunity to follow a Japanese person who is taking somewhere that they consider somewhat important, then you're missing out. they can walk FAST.

So we struggle to keep up with him as he brings us into the lobby area. There are other Japanese folks here ready for a tour as well. He tells us to wait, and we do. A woman comes out to greet us, and asks us our name again. I tell her. She nods, and asks if we speak Japanese. "Chotto" I answer. A little. She ducks her head, and asks us to wait again. We do.

Another Japanese woman comes out, this one a bit more portly than the first, and repeats the procedure. The wife and I are puzzled, but answer the same questions again. The woman ducks her head, and asks if we would mind following along on a Japanese tour. "No problem," we answer. Of course. That's what we figured on in the first place.

The Japanese tour leaves in 10 minutes, so we wait. The tour guide comes to collect the Japanese tour, and we get ready to leave with them. The tour guide smiles, and holds out a hand, palm toward us. "Not you," this says. Okay....we wait for a minute, then wonder if there was some confusion. So we peek around the corner. A woman sees us and smiles, and repeats the same "wait" gesture.

By now, we're completely confused, but that's okay. There's something charming about being completely flabbergasted. Now the second, more portly woman appears. "I speak a little English," she says. We already knew that, but we pretended like we didn't. We compliment her English. SOP. She blushes and shrugs off the compliment. "I will give you English tour," she says. Wow. Score.

So we go o n a tour of the facility, and it is pretty much beertastic. We come to realize that she was not kidding about only speaking a little English, and much of the tour is made in silence. But I got to peer at huge containers full of beer, and the cannery area, which, much to my disappointment, was shut down because it was a Sunday. I was hoping to see some Laverne and Shirley shenanigans going on on the line. Alas. Plus, we were not allowed to take pictures in the cannery area. Bummer.

But here is a picture of a lot of Asahi beer.

After the tour concluded, we got to go to the beer tasting part, in a beer hall. As we approach the beer hall, we see a table set for us, name card and everything. Nevermind that they egregiously misspelled my first name, I was shocked they spelled my last name perfectly. It is bleeped out here for privacy related reasons, of course.
The snack on the plate is dried apricot, and the bag is full of shrimp chips. Mmmmm.

We each got two beers, one of the largely popular "Asahi Super Dry," the biggest selling beer in Japan. Decent ricey beer. The second beer was "Fuji-san," which is an expensive beer brewed from Mount Fuji water. Please note that we had twenty minutes to down both of these beers (or all four, as the case may be.) We took a little longer, but I made sure to get a picture with an enormous beer can, and then they let me behind the bar in the tasting hall. All in all it was good times.

Have You Ever Seen "Lost In Translation?"

2006-01-13T16:06:00.000+09:00

Yes, I've fucking seen the movie. Stop it.

Back in Japan

2006-01-11T11:12:00.000+09:00

Well, I made it back safely from the holidays. Never mind my airline having to FIX THE FUCKING ENGINE before we took off. As if I don't already fly nervously enough. Waiting two hours on the tarmac while American fiddled with the engine I was going to rely on for the next 13 or so hours not to deliver me into the Arctic Alaskan Sea did wonders for my already exhausted mental psyche.

Did I mention I was AT the Rose Bowl Game while I was in America? That's right. National Champs, bitches.

Second one there is out of focus, but you get the idea. I never thought last year's Rose Bowl could be topped, but boy was I wrong. Hell of a game.

But now, I'm back here in Japan after seeing all my beloved family and friends. Oddly enough, now that I am pretty much over the jetlag, I feel as thogh I never left. I'm already back in the routine of working and trying to puzzle out how best to communicate to everyone around me. Granted, I was only gone ten days, but you really have to get used to the differences in culture when visiting the States.

For one thing, I was bowing my head to everyone, all the time. Couldn't help it. Just kind of comes naturally. In addition, I've discovered that tipping people is pretty fucking annoying. Since there is absolutely no tipping here, I had become spoiled. Things might be more expensive, but at least it is an up-front expense. Tipping is such a backdoor expense. Took a lot of getting used to.

Also, not being able to talk negatively about someone while they were standing right next to me was difficult. In Japan, all I have to do it mumble or run my words together or speak fairly quickly or in too much slang and nobody can possibly understand me. This of course makes it easy to ridicule anyone within sight distance without repercussion. Can't so much do that in the states. Bummer.

And it is pretty freaking cold here. 80 degrees in Texas and LA to 20 degrees in Japan. Ugh. Gotta fill up the old kerosene heaters. That's another funny thing - the kerosene trucks that drive around here like the goddamn ice cream man. It's a small truck that makes the rounds selling kerosene to anyone who flags them down. The kicker is that they announce their presence with this outlandish jingle sung by children, interspersed with an announcer saying God knows what before the kids start back in. If I didn't know it was the kerosene truck, I'd think it was some kind of bizarre propoganda. But I still find myself humming the catchy ass song under my breath. Bastards.

Boninkai, "ByeBye," Snow, and Short Skirts

2005-12-23T00:48:00.000+09:00

Well, I hadn't heard of boninkai until a buddy texted me about it on my awesome Vodaphone cell phone that miraculously seems to keep a charge for a solid week. Boninkai is the Japanese "End of the Year" party. Basically, the idea is to drink all the bad memories of the previous year away. So people get blitzed. This is essentially no different than America. Except we just aren't as honest about our consumption.

In any case, boninkai are going on all over the place, and I guess I was no different. I went to a boninkai party with a couple of students of mine. I ended up at a small club which was crowded to the gills. Somebody was strangling a cat on the karaoke machine, and I had more whiskey in two and a half hours than I've probably had in the past 6 months. Some drunk Japanese guy was buying it for me, and making crude jokes about "pencils." I didn't catch on till later, when he touched my "pencil." It was inadvertent, but needless to say it was a bit startling. I left shortly thereafter. He was embarrassed enough to buy all my drinks.

As we were leaving, a chorus of "BYEBYE!"s rang out. There are apparently some Japanese folks who think that "BYEBYE" is not English. Most notably my 6-7 year old students. They complimented my on my Japanese when I said "byebye!" and "seeyou!" I said, "That's not Japanese." They were flummoxed. They didn't believe me. "Eigo desu." They laughed like I was an idiot, and told me "BYEBYE." Whatever.

And, it is snowing like a motherfucker in Nagoya. 20 centimeters on Monday and probably as much tonight. This is the most snow Nagoya's had in 58 years. I'm priviliged to have been here for the great blizzard of 2005. At least it made my wife happy. Kids and adults alike are out building snowmen. The funny thing about Japanese snowmen that I've seen is that they are really short. Only two sections high, as opposed to the prototypical American three section snowman. And I don't think that is because of a lack of snow. The weather reports here in Japan indicate snow with little dancing two section snowmen, as opposed to the straight-laced typical American snowflake weather icon. Funny stuff.

And while I'm talking about how freaking cold it is here, the women are still wearing their short skirts. The schoolgirls are still wearing their (usually "scandalously-short-I-sometimes-feel-like-a-pedophile-looking-at") uniform skirts. Occasional hose. The schoolgirls sometimes indulge in 1980s style legwarmers. I shit you not.

Japanese women have honed the skill of wearing a short skirt into a finely tuned art. I for one, appreciate their stoic outlook on weather.

Chopsticks

2005-12-08T14:27:00.000+09:00

The thing about chopsticks is that they are primarily viewed in the west as a primitive eating device, far outstripped in technological know-how by things such as the spoon and fork. At this point, I'm going to go ahead and disagree. As a matter of fact, it is completely the opposite.

The fork is far more primitive. It's a stabber and a scooper. With chopsticks, one can grasp. It really makes eating far easier. For instance, I'm eating salad, right now as I type this. I grasp a leaf of lettuce and put it in my mouth. No muss, no fuss. Small bites. No mess on the face. etc.

Which brings me to another point. The Japanese don't use napkins. Really. You get a damp towel right when you sit down, but that's not really your napkin. Now, being the messy guy that I am, this does not particularly bother me. But I'm convinced that chopsticks are the reason why there are no formal napkins. You can't take a bite big enough and messy enough to need a napkin. Except when maybe eating noodles, and slurping like a three year old, which is encouraged. But even then, there is a certain art to the slurp. You never see anyone slap themselves in the face with a slurping noodle. In any case, slurping is the only way to eat noodle soup with chopsticks.

Another funny thing, that I may have mentioned before is that the Japanese LOVE to compliment you. I've been compliomented on my use of hashi (chopsticks) dozens of times. And when I dare speak a Japanese phrase or write in Japanese in front of some of my students, they flip out with praise, as though I just wrote a treatise on Japanese culture's contribution to Man.

White Man's Burden

2005-12-01T02:42:00.000+09:00

The funny thing about being a white dude in Japan isn't getting stared at by any native Japanese, be they young toddlers or ancient ones. That's too expected to be either offensive or humorous. After all, according to the CIA factbook, I'm a fucking "other." I shit you not:

Japanese 99%, others 1% (Korean 511,262, Chinese 244,241, Brazilian 182,232, Filipino 89,851, other 237,914)

Other. That's a strange feeling. Hell, I moved from being a vast majority to being forlornly relegated to statistical "other" status. Pretty sobering yet wildly hilarious fact.

So, in sum, the strangest thing is that this delivers a burden unto the white man's shoulders. That burden lays in simple communication. You see a white person, you are torn between completely ignoring them, as Japanese is a very quiet country, or greeting them with effusive zeal. More often than not, all I produce is a subtle, wry twist of my mouth. I want to laugh out loud everytime I make eye-contact with a white person because of the utter absurdity of the situation we find ourselves in. Other indeed. Ha.

I laugh at other. I revel in being other. Anonymously onymous. There's a certain pleasured pique to enduring stares from 99% on the one hand and "other" on the other. Good times.

On Buddhist Monk Judgment and Thanksgiving

2005-11-25T18:00:00.000+09:00

So, I'm at the local convenience store, loading up on the essentials, when I walk up into line. In front of me I notice a man in the typical Buddhist monk garb, and sporting the typical shorn head to boot. I'm suitably impressed by him, but he sure bought a shitload of stuff. Usually, at the local convenience store, I can locate and grab the essentials, and pay for them in enough time to make the next walk sign across the major avenue on my way home.

Obviously, this is not going to be happening today. So I sigh, and wonder why I didn't get a basket. The essentials are weighing down my arms. The monk empties his basket, and the surprisingly pretty checker begins to scan his items. He politely takes the basket back to the entrance and deposits it in the stack. How typically Buddhist, I think to myself.

As he returns, he eyes your fair writer. Currently, I was wearing a burnt orange shirt in preparation for the big Texas-Texas A&M game for which I'll be waking at 1:45AM to watch. I'm also sporting baggy khaki trousers that are hanging around my waist because I forgot my fucking belt, and a cap from a local bar in Austin. I'm also bearing the essentials. Three "getting colder every frigging minute I'm standing in line" Sapporo Special edition 2005-2006 Winter Brews, and a bottle of Chilean wine for which my wife has grown a fondness.

In any case, his holiness eyes my face, flicks his eyes down to the gifts I happen to be bearing and looks back up into my eyes. No anger, no pity, no...condescension. No judgment. No nothing. Or everything. It was enough to make me cock my head after he returned to pay for his crackers, batteries, tea, and noodle bowls. What just happened there? I'm still not sure. But it was intense for a moment there. I'm going to have to go ahead and get good and drunk by 10 pm in order to sort this out in time for the 4 hour nap I plan on taking before the aggie game. I do, after all, have work in the morning.

On a larger note, I hope everyone back home had a great Thanksgiving. I missed Thanksgiving a hell of a lot more than I thought I would. Naturally, if I'd had my druthers, I'd be home for Thanksgiving instead of the commercial orgy of Christmas. But a nice side note of the commercial orgy of Christmas is the opportunity to go to the Rose Bowl. So I'll take the good with the orgy.

In any case, I'm thankful for the opportunity to visit and, above all, experience, the opposite side of the world. Nothing worth doing is without sacrifice. But I still miss you all.

Temples and Geisha

2005-11-18T01:36:00.000+09:00

Well, we wake up and are bound and determined to figure out Kyoto’s supposedly easy bus system. We take a train to Kyoto from Osaka, an easy 20 minute express, and buy the 500 yen day bus pass. We have an ambitious schedule, and we figure we’ll be spending more than that on the bus. Bus system looks easy enough, and we hop on a bus heading to the Golden Pavilion. Two stops later, we’re at the end of the line in the wrong direction. Ok, try again. Cross the street and we get on the right bus, and find ourselves back at Kyoto Station. That’s when the people pile in. The Japanese can crowd better than any society I’ve seen outside of Hajj pictures. So us and about 60 of our closest friends, all heading to the Golden Pavilion, spend a good thirty or forty minutes in traffic on the way there.

Who would’ve thought that traffic would be this terrible? Apparently it is quite common. Ah, well. We reach the Golden Pavilion, a little sweaty from the bus, although the day is crisp and nice, and pay our fare to get in the temple.

Now here is an appropriate time to address the fact that the Japanese don’t tourist up the joint. We didn’t have to go through a hokey museum or presentation to see the sight. There wasn’t any other extraneous bullshit. We round and corner, and BOOM, the Golden Pavilion. Here are a few pics from the place. Of course, they don’t do any justice.

Afterwards, you get a chance to walk through the gardens just behind the place, though they are not that big. But they delivered on the fall foliage. Here is a great picture the wife took.

Then it was onto Ryoanji. Ryoanji is famous for its Zen Garden. A short walk down the road to the place, pay our fare, and once again, there’s the sight. It is quite amazing, though much smaller than I thought it would be. Important note: there are 15 stones in the garden, but they are arranged in such a way that only a maximum of 14 are visible at the same time. You can see each stone, but not all stones from the same vantage point. This is because 15 is a sacred number in Buddhism symbolizing perfection, and the garden is an example of the unattainable. In any case, it was breathtaking, even with all the people.

In any case, then its off to Nijo Castle, which isn’t really a castle at all, but a palace. The palace is outstanding. It has floors purposefully designed to squeak. They are called “nightingale floors.” No matter how light your step, the floor squeaks. As we were part of a bunch of tourists, the floors were fucking singing like nobody’s business. Still it was greatness.

Can’t really capture the essence of the nightingale floors in a picture, and we weren’t allowed to take pictures of the ornate hand painted screens inside (painted in the 15th century), so I’ll move on.

At this time, we head to Pontocho, a famous area near the river across from Gion. Rumor has it that one can spot a geisha here as well. Well, after walking up and down a very narrow avenue lined with restaurants, we land in a yakitori place to wait for dinner time. Yakitori is basically chicken on a stick. A yakitori place is basically a Japanese bar. They don’t do bars here the same way we do back home. There is always food available, so frequently you go to a snack pub or an izakaya.

We order a beer and watch the fry cook repeatedly burn himself, and constantly earn reproaches from the mama-san. We are drinking beers with enormous heads on them, when a woman in white face paint flashes by out front, and just like that my wife is gone. I mean, I saw a cartoon cloud of dust in her wake as she grabbed her camera to document this happenstance. I save our places in the yakitori place, and casually sip on my beer pretending not to notice that my wife had shoved past three or four other patrons on her hurried way out.

After a good ten minutes she comes back, having documented the poor girl’s journey to a cab on a major street, replete with flash. My wife is the fucking paparazzi. But, she managed to get the quintessential picture of a geisha. Note the neck line, which is prized, and the design in the paint, which is also supposed to be fairly erotic.

It should also be noted that geisha aren’t whores. They do not sleep with their customers, unless they develop a very special relationship with one. They are entertainers, who are well schooled in the arts of dance, music and other assorted Japanese oddities, such as tea ceremony, and any number of other things that I would never even know. They are considered some of the most cultured women in Japan.

So my wife “caught” her geisha, and all was right in the world.

Geisha Search, and Beer Head

2005-11-10T23:45:00.000+09:00

So as I said before, we rolled into Osaka on Friday. The thing about staying in Americamura is that its crowded, and the streets are narrow. And the thing about not staying at a hotel right next to a train station is that you have to find it.

Perhaps now is a good time to tell you about Japanese addresses. They are not very specific. At all. For instance, let’s look at my address here in Nagoya:

Nagoya-shi Nakamura-ku Kamejima
2-21-25 American Mezonette 453-0019

Okay, the first line is fairly easy. Shi means “city” and “ku” is “town” or “ward.” So we live in Nakamura ward in Nagoya. Kamejima is our subway stop. So far, pretty easy, huh? Well, until you get to the next line. 2-21-25 is our address number. Of course, that is useless, and I’ll tell you why in a moment. American Mezonette is the name of our building. There are two apartments in this building, so we’re not talking “Empire State Building” type stuff here. Now 453-0019 is our postal code, but most people haven’t the slightest idea what postal code they live in.

Now what is that address missing? What fundamental component? Oh, yeah, the fucking STREET name. You know why? Because the vast majority of streets in Japan don’t have any names. NO NAMES. “Well, John, how do you find anything?” you might be asking. Answer: you don’t. You either stumble across it, know exactly where it is, or go with someone who knows. Or you ask the police box. There are Koban, or police boxes, on most streets. They are designated by the red light out front. And they are there to assist in directions as often as fight crime.

So how did we find out hotel in Americamura? Well, we didn’t for the first 2 hours or so of searching. Finally, we basically searched in concentric circles around Shinsaibashi Station, and eventually found it. We arrived at 2:40. We try to check in. Check in is at 3:00, but far be it from the clerk to say no to us. “Maybe if you come back in ten minutes?” accompanied by a half dozen apologies and bows. We come back in ten minutes. Rinse and repeat. So we check in at 3:00, and hustle on down to Kyoto.

We arrive in Kyoto by about 4:30, which is almost time for sunset in Japan. It sets very early here. No daylight savings, you know. So we just head down to Gion, the famous downtown district. Gion is a pretty happening place, and here we discover just how authentic that Kyoto really is.

You see, for the most part, Kyoto wasn’t subjected to our little road widening projects in the early 1940s. But Kyoto’s history as capital of Japan also make it a very planned city. A grid of streets makes it very easy to get around, and also provides plenty of opportunities to duck into dark back alleys and check out the old teahouses where geisha still perform nightly.

Above is one of the mentioned teahouses. There was much laughter coming from the second floor. We can only assume that a geisha was indeed performing. It is at this time that my wife is taken with “Geisha fever.” She wants to see a geisha badly. Of course, we would never get into one of the teahouses. One, we’re white. Two, even if we were Japanese, we’d need an introduction. It is a funny world of shadow in Kyoto. Much is still hidden behind shoji screens from prying eyes. Many of the sights need to be privately viewed after writing a letter of permission. The geisha are even more sheltered away. We might get lucky and see one on the street, I tell her.

But now I’m hungry, so we head out to find a restaurant. Easy enough in Gion to find something to eat. Unless your lost in teahouse land. Every once in awhile we would stumble onto an expensive restaurant. But we’re not made of money, so we keep plodding.

We finally find a great dimsum restaurant. If you don’t know, dimsum is basically Chinese dumplings. The place we went to served Shanghai dimsum. I don’t remember the name, but my wife took a picture of the table.

Notice the Asahi on the table. That has not yet been drunk out of. The Japanese LOVE head on their beer. Sometimes a third of your beer is foam. This is intensely infuriating to an American like me, especially when beer is already expensive. But whatever.

The meal is delicious, and we finish up, and have a pot of Chinese tea.

And then we continue in our search for wandering geisha. I don’t think we’re going to be successful, but can’t tell the wife that. She has her mind set. Ah well, we’re tired and we decide to head back to Americamura in Osaka. Tomorrow is another day to possibly find a geisha.

On Time Flying, and Kyoto

2005-11-08T23:11:00.000+09:00

Wow. Last update was all the way before Halloween. That's a long time. Funny how time flies when you aren't paying attention. Hell, it doesn't even seem like that long ago that it was blazing fucking hot everyday, instead of so damn cold. And it's just getting started, according to what everyone is saying.

On the other hand, we have some seriously beautiful autumn leaves in effect. Texas doesn't get this kind of foliage, and, as I've possibly stated before, I've never encountered a culture that is as seasonal as the Japanese. Everyone is going somewhere to view the fall foliage, and I suppose we are no different.

We decided to head up to Kyoto for last weekend. I had heard from a few private students that Kyoto is beautiful in Fall (and cherry blossom spring, and snowy winter, but NOT in miserable summer), and I know that Kyoto is a locus for traditional Japanese culture, so we trained up there.

Of course, it was us and hundreds and hundreds of our closest friends. So we had to stay in Osaka. No big deal, we found a cheap Comfort Inn (yes, THAT Comfort Inn) in America Mura, which is a pretty hopping nightlife spot in Osaka, and literally translates to America Village. The place is replete with a miniature Statue of Liberty and everything.

Now, a funny note about the Japanese that I believe is fairly common knowledge. The society over here is very ordered. VERY ordered. Everything from the greeting from a waiter or waitress to the proper number and incline of bows is scripted. Another odd fact is that they drive on the left side of the road instead of the right, which makes them, to my knowledge, the only country NOT officially colonized by the British to do so. Why are these related, you might ask.

Here in Nagoya, one stands on the left of the escalator, leaving room on the right for passing. In Osaka, this magically and inexplicably changes. As one who is still growing immured to Japanese culture, and finally gaining a firm sense of how things work around here, such a drastic change had a strange effect on me. It was the stupidest damn thing. Why would it be so different? I still have no idea. And it is such a minor thing, but, as I said, when you have grown used to the certain order of society here, any change is profound.

In any case, I got over it. And we went to Kyoto, where there was seemingly little ettiquette at all for anything. Probably because it is such a big tourist city. We ran into more gaijin there than we may have seen the entire time in Nagoya.

But Kyoto is an amazing city. Utterly amazing. I can only compare its history and depth and breadth of culture to Florence. As soon as I get some of the pictures in order and organized, I will post a more comprehensive view of the city. And I promise it won't be two weeks. Heh.

I Have Never Heard of Such a Stupid Law....

2005-10-27T00:06:00.000+09:00

Teaching adults is such a refreshing activity at times. Don't get me wrong, I have a blast teaching kids, running around, acting like an idiot while trying to somehow get them beyond "how are you?" "imfinethankyou" rote type responses.

But adults are a refreshing break from the repetition of flashcards and questions and contrived goofiness on a daily basis. So much more relaxed. Basically, most adults want a chat time. Free talk. So basically, I can teach them new phrases or slang or explain a way I say something while we're just bullshitting. Sometimes its a pain in the ass (taught that gem to the focus of this blog entry just tonight) when you get someone who is not conversationally gifted.

Shit, some of my best students have terrible English, but they try to talk. That's nice. Others...well, it gets tiring.

In any case, to the focus of my story. Takeo. I teach him from 9pm to 10pm on Wednesday nights here. He's a businessman, so he comes in asking tons of business questions. For some reason, I need to explain "either...or/neither...nor" and the guy doesn't stop cracking jokes the whole time. He's a funny dude.

Usually the humor doesn't translate. And I won't bore you with some of the funnier stuff, because it would not translate out of the moment, but he's one of my favorite adult to teach.

So somehow we get on the drinking age, voting age, smoking age, sexual consent age, etc. I explain that 18 is the magical age in America because one can suddenly do everything except drink. Here in Japan, everything is 20. Or so I thought. He asks me about sexual age of consent, and what that means.

I explain that if I were to have sex with a 17 year old girl in America, I would go to jail. He looks at me like I'm from another planet. "Eh?" He asks, a note of astonishment ringing loud in his voice. I repeat myself. He shakes his head, his eyes wide with consternation. "Honto?" He's so astonished, he has momentarily forgotten to speak English. "Really?" he repeats. "Yes, really."

He shakes his head. "I have never heard of such a stupid law..."

This time he wasn't joking. Different places.

Gold Powder People Revisited

2005-10-25T23:34:00.000+09:00

Fresh off the meeting of an underworld underling running an takoyaki stand, and quite pleased with the entire enterprise, we followed our hosts to the Gold Powder show that would be performed just after sunset. We arrive in the main square of the Osu Kannon Temple, which is already packed full of people. The square is not a small place. I'm feeling frisky, so I run off to find a few beers for the folks I'm hanging out with.

More than anything, I hate crowds when nothing distracting is going on. Beers in hand, I return just as people march up bearing torches. They are mostly naked, and, you guessed it, decked out in gold powder. Four men and four women, all topless, and all wearing g-strings. And, GASP, the women have some boobs. Which is a miracle here.

In any case, the music starts almost immediately, and I'm instantly entralled. This show is unlike pretty much anything I've seen. They begin by leaping around like monkeys to techno music. Then they break down into tribal drum beats, and continue to blend and brew music like the goddamn Swedish Chef is running the DJ booth.

At one point, the men flee, and the women writhe about in a wonderfully erotic and seemingly sacriligious manner, on the steps of a temple, with the stagelights flashing and 10 year old techno music pounding. I had to look around to make sure I had not been transported back to the Yellow Rose. Sure enough, there are the people sitting on their plastic sheets, watching the show with their children, men constantly flashing their cameras.

Outstanding. Here is a picture of a portion of the dance.
The picture kind of sucks because it was night time, there was plenty of movement, and our location was not prime. In any case, we watch this show go on for roughly thirty minutes, from garish and brash to slow and almost difficult to watch, as they all had sweat just dripping off them by the end.

All in all, it was the spectacle we were promised, and one of the dancers was even nice enough to pose with me, though she tactfully placed the collection tin in front of her, uh, assets.

Two Docs, the Yakuza, and Gold Powder People

2005-10-19T23:35:00.000+09:00

We were walking through the Osu Kannon district, taking in the sights of a big street performer festival. We were following two new Japanese friends of ours, Masa and Kouki, and they were taking us to meet Yusuke. Why we were going to meet this Yusuke character, I don’t know. They have already taken us to an Otaku shop. Basically, that means “nerd” shop, and it certainly was, as it was full of comic books, gundam models, schoolgirl anime porn, you name it, they had it.

Not that we asked to go to the otaku shop. It would have been rude to refuse. Besides, they really just wanted to show us the girls in the coffee shop dressed up like French maids, in pseudo-provocative wear. I was not that impressed, but oh how I pretended to be.

And now we were meeting Yusuke. Meanwhile there’s a seemingly fun festival going on right around the corner. Ah, well. So we meet Yusuke. I introduce myself, my wife, and a friend from Jenn’s school named Kenny. Yusuke runs an octopus ball shop. No, not octopus testicles, perverts. Basically a fried hushpuppy of octopus meat and vegetables. And apparently Yusuke’s takoyaki (literally “cooked octopus”) is the best in town. I’m not sure I believe it. That’s when Masa turns to us and whispers, “He’s our mafia friend.” And I remember dinner with them only two nights before:

We were huddled around the smallish gas grill set in the middle of the wooden table, tossing back beers at a yaku niku joint near the hospital where Masa and Kouki are resident ER doctors. The wife had run into these two guys at a local kaiten sushi place around the corner. They had bailed her out of a bit of trouble with the obaasan sitting next to her who had objected to the plate she had taken off the conveyer belt.

In any case, Masa throws the beef tongue on the grill next to the strips of beef diaphragm muscle. Beef diaphragm is very good, and I was focused on not overcooking my strip, when a discussion about Yakuza broke out.

“This neighborhood is controlled by the Japanese Mafia,” he explains. Immediately, my interest is piqued, and I forget about the strip of meat on the grill. Not that was news to me, as there are “soap lands” all around the area, and one can frequently see nice Jaguars or Lamborghinis parked on the streets.

Then my wife begins her typical interrogation. We learn that the Yakuza boss lives in a big black house around the corner, which they later would show to us. The Yakuza do not come to their hospital, because the state runs their hospital and the Yakuza have their own somewhere in the city. They also have a friend who is a Yakuza. “Maybe someday we can introduce you to him.” Apparently he’s got the full tattoo. Hmph. That’ll never happen, I think dourly, looking down at the now charred piece of diaphragm muscle. Damn.

But here we are, meeting him not two days later. He does not live up to the hype. A smallish guy, with no menace. On top of that, he runs an octopus ball shop. Frankly, I’m disappointed. But naturally, the wife starts in on him. “Do you have the tattoo?” His good nature evaporates in a second, and he looks around. I begin to worry if he is going to flip out and kill us. Then, seemingly satisfied in his search, he relaxes, and nods. “Can we see it?” Masa looks uncomfortable asking the question. But he does, and Yusuke nods, and kind of turns around, pulling up a portion of his shirt to reveal a swirl of vivid color painted just millimeters below his skin. But only quickly, and it is gone. I’m satisfied, knowing that I just saw something that very few people actually see in the flesh.

The wife is not satisfied. “Can I take a picture?” If poor Masa was uncomfortable before, he’s absolutely mortified now. But he asks the question in many words, presumably lacing it with the necessary buttering up and politeness that pervades Japanese culture. Yusuke grins and nods, but looks around again.

He beckons us to follow him around the building. He waits for a group of girls to pass by, and then we are alone with him. He pulls up the back of his shirt, and we are greeted with the full amazing image.

We find out that it cost him about four million yen. That’s roughly forty grand in dollars. Holy shit. And it took 3 whole years to complete. It snakes down his legs, and he still has his arms to finish. We find this out as we follow him back to the shop, where he serves us the best takoyaki that I’ve ever had. Definitely up to billing. So as we’re eating the balls, he chats us up, asking us questions about America and everything. As we finish up, and head off to the “gold powder show,” whatever the fuck that is, I just kind of shake my head. I just saw a true Yakuza tattoo. Wow.

My day was made. Nothing could top it. Then the gold powder show started on the steps of Osu Kannon temple. But that may best be left to my next entry.

Peculiar Happenings

2005-10-11T21:13:00.000+09:00

The thing about living in a foreign country is that you never know what's going to happen next. For instance, watching a Japanese work crew systematically tear a building down over the course of a week, then suddenly be done and have this on the empty lot:

This is right down the street from our place. I have no idea what this is, but I assume it is a Shinto blessing of some kind on the land. Here is a closer image of the area.
In the foreground in the upper left of the image, you can see a folded white piece of paper. This paper is called O-shide. I think. Basically, it is a piece of paper that acts as a boundary marker around a sacred area. I wonder if they will build a shrine on this ground. Stay tuned, avid readers, and you will find out. Also note the bamboo poles and the paper lanterns in the background. No, I don't know the significance of that.

So, in addition to this mystery is the completely random shit that happens sometimes. For instance, waking up, stepping on your front porch with coffee in hand, and seeing this:
I was left idly wondering if one f our elderly neghbors died. We have a lot of old folks in our neighborhood. Apparently not, because in the distance I hear drums, the clacking of sticks, and what sounds like cymbals. Curious.

We finish up with breakfast, and get on our bikes to see what all the commotion is about. We are greeted with this sight:
Yes, that is a miniature dragon dance, like you would see on New Year's, or any other large celebration, except it is being done by kids. What you can't see are the small drums and cymbals they are crashing. You can also see more of the lanterns in the background. Basically our whole neighborhood is festooned with lanterns. People are also sitting in their places of business on tatami mats with lanterns and what looks like Buddhist offerings.

So, I ride down to the local "Indo-Pak" Restaurant, K2, which serves a damn fine curry, I might add, and ask the owner what the hell is going on. He tells me that it is a Nakamura festival, basically for our whole little ward of the city. There was a procession to the temple which we missed, and it was basically over by the time we had dragged our asses out of bed. Hey, we were up until 6AM watching Texas destroy OU. Give us a break. But the long and short of it is that my friend from the subcontinent has no real idea what the fuck is going on either.

This is all a little bit frustrating to me, because this is obviously at least a prominent weekend for our neighborhood, and I had no idea. Even beyond that, I cannot piece together from clues what is going on. Nothing makes sense, and being the curious dork that I am, my desire to know everything gnaws at me.

Anyhow, shortly after that, we see a monk walk by, and Jenn snaps a quick photo of him.
In the background, maybe too small to see, you can see the street is lined with paper lanterns. Puzzled, we continue on with our daily life, and nothing of note really happens for the next 24-30 hours. We happen to be coming home from dinner, step off the subway, and hear more drums. What now? It's roughly 6 or 7 pm, but the sun is already down.

Well, we follow the sound and see a procession of people, complete with traffic warders, marching through the streets of our neighborhood with what appears to be a portable shrine, a drum, and a few small floats. A full miniature parade marching through the streets.
Here is the shrine. Now it is rather important to note that this whole deal is accompanied by rhythmic chanting with a few "s"'s in there. I don't know what they are saying. But the way they march with this shrine is in an almost drunken fashion, with those in the lead leaning back, but marching to and fro across the street in a zigzag. It is interesting, but not interesting enough to follow around. Especially because we just can't figure out what the shit is going on.

Behind the shrine is a group of kids carrying...something.

Well, we come home, and make ourselves comfortable, when we hear chanting and drums. We open the door and the whole procession is proceeding past our house. These pics are taken from our doorstep.
In the distance, the shrine has already zigzagged its way down our street, and there is the mardi gras looking float, and the drum carried and pounded by kids in perfect rhythm. At this point, I believe it is all coming together in my head. Here is a pic of a little boy carrying ceremonial (I assume) fans.
In any case, I believe these people were blessing our neighborhood with this shrine, and the reason they staggered from side to side is so that both sides of the street got even mojo from this shrine. It seems that they marched down every street in the neighborhood, so this is all for a lucky year. That's my story and I'm sticking to it, in any case.

The Economics of Japan

2005-09-30T00:11:00.000+09:00

After three months living here, I think I've successfully begun thinking of money as "yen," instead of trying to convert it back to dollars every time I see something to buy. The conversion rate I've been using is a quick and dirty "divide by 100" method. I see something that costs 2500 yen, I think "Hmmm, 25 bucks..."

Well, that shit has to stop in Japan or you'll go crazy. Prices here just don't make sense in that context. Beer is ridiculously expensive. 500 yen is normal at any festival or at a bar, and it's not all that uncommon to see 700 yen beer. As a matter of fact, anything that you buy in a place of business is more expensive than you'd be used to at home. One of the primary reasons, I think, is NO TIPPING. That's right, Tipping isn't a city in Japan at all. And you know what? It's glorious. I'm talking angels singing from the clouds as you stroll out of the restaurant glorious. No drunken math at the end of the night at a bar. No hurried math at the table after having dinner with 8 people.

It's easy. But it means that shit costs more. Which is totally worth it. Service is so ingrained into Japanese culture that tips are not necessary. They just plan on giving good service from the get go.

In addition to that are other things that are randomly cheap or expensive. Of course fish of any kind is super cheap here. The market down the street is amazing for its selection of fish, and they are the smallest market in the area. Fish fish fish - there is fish in everything. Naturally, sushi is easy to find, and also super cheap.

Beef is naturally expensive - roughly a pound of ground beef will run you 700-1000 yen. And a steak, at the market, will run you about 2500-4000 yen. One steak. One measly steak. But their steak is more marbled than any I've seen at home for that price, so it's give and take.

Parmesan cheese - the green can of grated, you know what I'm talking about - yeah well, the cans we can buy are about a third of that size and they run 300 yen. Yikes.

But electricity is super fucking cheap. For our two bedroom apartment, we're lucky to crest the 7000 mark - and that' s in the heat of summer. Maybe it has to do with the nuclear reactor roughly 50 miles away on top of a fault line. Yes, that's right. On top of a fault line. Goody.

In any case, I've passed the conversion in my mind. As a buddy in tokyo told me, you get to the point where you hear someone talking about a restaurant being really good and cheap, and it only costs 5000, and you think in your mind, "Wow, that's a great price." Ha. You were right, Steve.

Cormorants, Monkeys, and Sleeping on a Train

2005-09-26T23:00:00.000+09:00

Night has fallen, and I find myself in a boat on the Kiso River surrounded by a dozen of my closest friends. In the distance, Inuyama Castle shins on its hill, the last traces of a fleeing sun color the horizon, and my bladder is stretched to epic proportions. My back teeth are floating. On the shore, several men sit around a good sized bonfire, as crickets chirp in the distance. An overly friendly interpreter presumably hired by the quiet, unassuming Brit next to him informed us that when the crickets stop singing, then summer is over.

I idly contemplate pissing over the side of the boat in full view of a dozen of my closest friends. The chill of the early autumn breeze over the water does nothing to assuage the strained muscles in my lower abdomen. Why the fuck haven't they started? I think to myself. The overly friendly interpreter informs the entire boat that we are sitting here "to enjoy the moment." There isn't much to enjoy about a stretching bladder. So to comfort myself, despite any sort of common sense, I take a sip of cold beer. I am one of 3 Westerners drinking on the boat. The rest of a dozen of my closest friends actually seem to be enjoying the moment, although I heavily suspect that one of the Japanese women fell asleep.

Japanese people can fall asleep anywhere. They find any small opportunity to take a nap. You see non homeless men asleep on benches with their feet up. Rest assured, they have remembered to take off their shoes. Wouldn't want to make the bench dirty or anything. One time, on a subway train, I witnessed a salaryman asleep across the way. The train stops, and he looks around blearily, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. The doors begin to beep, signalling their closing, and he suddenly bolts out of the train. Only when he is at the doors does he realize that this isn't his stop. He skids to a halt, and sheepishly regains his seat. The two obasans across from him laugh loudly in his face. He just smiled, and went back to sleep. Awesome.

I glance at my watch. It is 6:45 pm. I was under the impression that they would have begun by this time. At least that is what we gleaned from the friendly elderly couple who worked the small tourist office in Inuyama Station. They had about 15 words of English, which wonderfully complimented the 15 words of Japanese that Jenn and I share. Yet, despite roughly 30 words of mixed language, we had managed to find out how to get to Monkey Park, book a hotel for the night, and reserve two spots on a cormorant fishing expedition.

We had arrived on Sunday at about noon, still a little tired from Friday's trip to the 2005 World Exposition, hosted by Aichi Prefecture. Our prefecture. It was the last weekend for the thing, so we decided we should check it out. The World Expo is a place for every country in the world to showcase what they want to showcase. So there are pavilions everywhere from various countries around the world, including countries not so friendly to our native US.

We had strolled in and out of quite a few pavilions, including Cuba, Sri Lanka, Bhutan, etc, etc, etc. Of course, at one point during the expedition, we enter Libya's Pavilion. Emboldened by a mixture of beer and a sense that our trangression would not be looked favorably upon by our government, I suddenly called my wife "MARTY!" and told her to "Run for it!" in a rather uncomfortably loud voice. She looked at me like I was crazy. I told her again to run for it, and that I don't know how they found me, but they did. "What are you talking about?" she asked me. People were staring. "The Libyans, Jenn! They want their plutonium back!" then I fell over myself laughing at my own incredible sense of humor. The locals were not amused, although my wife was, which is good.

In any case, this whole episode had drained us, and we had work on Saturday, but had decided to go ahead on into Inuyama on Sunday. We, ever the intrepid travellers, made our way to the amusement park and zoo of Monkey Park, which was brought to us by the Discovery Channel and Animar Pranet. There we laughed heartily at monkeys, because monkeys are funny, and rode a few rides, including the ubiquitous ferris wheel. We could actually see the JR Central Towers in Nagoya from the top. The day was epically beautiful - clear skies, not hazy from smog, and just perfect. Did I mention we got to see monkeys? And that monkeys are funny? Indeed.

In any case, back to the present situation. I'm sitting, shivering in the boat, trying to think about anything but standing up and doing the pee dance in full view of a dozen of my closest friends and the overly friendly interpreter man, who assures us every 5 minutes that it will start in another five minutes. I'm ready to throttle him, but I force a smile and watch as he begins to give the various Japanese folks on the boat English lessons.

Suddenly, there is stirring around the bonfire, and the interpreter gives us an all knowing "I told you so" glance. Indeed, if you guess every five minutes that it will start in five minutes, you will eventually be at least close to right. So, it appears that there were actually two bonfires on the shore, and in reality they were merely iron baskets full of wood.

The men carry these iron baskets to the prows of their boats on the shore. I bite the inside of my cheek to see if I still feel any other pain than that of my bladder. Yes, that still hurts, dumbass, I think to myself. A good sign. There's a good chance I won't defile myself in front of a dozen of my closest friends.

With remarkable speed, the men fasten the fiery baskets to the prows of their vessels and find themselves in the middle of the river. I don't know how it happened that quickly, but time becomes very elastic when one is in the throes of seriouslyhavingtotakeapiss-itis. Unconsciously, I take another sip of beer, again cursing myself as I do so. Unfortunately, there is no place to safely set the beer can on the boat, so I must hold it, and if I have something in my hand, and it is edible or drinkable, I will be consuming it. Such is the case now.

Suddenly, the fiery basket is very close, and my pupils retract. I can feel the heat on my face. Another good sign. Then I see the cormorants. A cormorant is a medium sized bird that these fellows are using to catch fish. See, before this little expedition, I watched, amused and sipping the beer before this one, as the men in the boats handled the cormorants, massaging their throats and demonstrating how they regurgitate the fish they catch, because they aren't allowed to swallow the fish.

So now, I see these birds, looking quite proud and noble as they race ahead of the boat, strings tied around their necks all leading back to the hand of a man in the prow of the boat. My urgent need to micturate actually takes a back seat to fascination watching how the birds dive below the dark surface of the Kiso River and emerge holding small trout in their mouths. In short, I stop thinking about having to pee, which is nice, because that means I'm winning the mental battle with my bladder. As a bird struggles to swallow the wriggling fish, the man holding the strings pulls it back and forces the bird to spit the fish into a bucket. He then releases him to catch more fish. The strings around their necks prohibit the bird from swallowing.

The man in the prow of the boat beats the side of the boat with a piece of wood, creating a loud thwack! As one, all the birds dive below water. I watch, amazed, as more than half of them come up with fish, and the man somehow manages to keep all eight birds separate. It is a sight to behold. Somewhere in the back of my mind, the apparition of my bladder is pounding on a closed door. I tell him no one is home, as I watch the birds and the bird handler with awe.

The overly friendly interpreter informs me that "The fire brings the sleeping fishes to the surface." I ask him if the fire will bring Luca Brasi to the surface. He looks at me blankly. This time my wife rolls her eyes. Again I chuckle at my own incredible sense of humor. Then I feel compelled to explain the joke. He still doesn't get it. I shrug and smile like a vapid gaijin should, and turn back to watch the birds.

It is over too quickly, but I glance down at my watch and realize they have been fishing for almost half an hour. Then we pull over the boat so the cormorant fishermen can explain the history of the tradition. Apparently it started 1200 years ago in China, and was brought over to Japan 600 years ago to entertain samurai from Inuyama Castle. Now that the minor adrenaline rush of watching the birds catch fish and puke them up has evaporated, the little door in the back of my mind opens back up and the apparition of my bladder storms forward in my mind, taking some very resonating steps that leave echoes all over my body. Wow, I really have to pee.

Well, the fellow stops with the history and we meander back to the takeoff pier where I practically shove past everybody in my hurry to make it up to the bathrooms. As I stand in front of the urinal, struggling with my zipper - this only happens when you really have to go - I realize that despite my condition I really enjoyed myself. My zipper comes free, and I find nirvana in release. I really think heaven must feel like a pee after two hours of frantic waiting.

My Job

2005-09-21T14:27:00.000+09:00

I guess it is time to write about what I actually DO for a living. Teaching English is a simple way of putting it, but some of you seem to be wondering what exactly it is that I have to do.

First of all, I work at Toyota, once a week, for 2 hours, until the end of this month. It's been kind of fun, but for the most part, it's been a pain in the ass, because Toyotashi is way the fuck out there. I gotta take a train to Akaike, (30 minutes), then take a hired cab to the Takaoka plant (another 30 minutes). I know, I know, that's not a lot of time to get to work for some of you who have to deal with rush hour and shit, but with an efficient subway system, its a long time.

That class is with adults, factory workers who are interested in English. It's fun. The curriculum sucks, but we get through it, and then basically chat about America. Good times, for almost $40 an hour + travel expenses.

But I also got a new, more permanent gig closer to where I live. It's still 30 minutes by train, but it is also good times. I get Fridays and Sundays off. This job is cushy, and actually quite fun. I have four adult classes. This means I sit in a room with adults, drink tea, and chat for 1 hour. About anything. There's also some teaching to be done - for instance, correcting their mistakes, or showing them a better way of saying something, but that's it. Easy. Fun.

The real work is with the kids. I have 12 hours of kids lessons. Well, sort of. The preschool kids classes are only 40 minutes long, the elementary kids classes are 50 minutes long. If a parent wants a private, then that is 1 hour long.

The class consists of sitting on the floor, doing like 10-15 minutes of workbook work. then I break in the flashcards. The Japanese do not learn the same way we do in America. There is a high value placed on so-called "right brain learning." Flashcards are the cornerstone of this type of learning. It seems to work to increase their vocabulary, though. My boss wants me to go through roughly 500 flashcards per class. Doesn't matter which sets I use, as long as I hit about 500. Anything else I do is gravy, as long as its fun. I'm encouraged to goof around, and have fun with the kids. This is real easy for me.

Other examples of what we do are word games - anything can be a word game. We play chutes and ladders, but involve conversational English. It really is cake. I don't think I've ever had such an easy job pay this well.

Every class pays me 3000 yen. That's roughly $30. To goof around. And the best part is the schedule. On Saturday, I have four straight classes, from 10 to about 2:30. Every other day I don't have a class before 2:45. That's right. And if you're any good at basic math, you can easily see that I work 16 hours a week. The boss is trying to scare up a few more classes for me, which is great. His goal is to have me working about 24-28 hours per week. I told him that I think I could manage that.

Oh, and about my boss - cool dude. Just me and him sitting around - it's a real small private school. We sit and crack fart jokes and play around on the computer during down time. And he loves fishing, so he plans on taking me out to some of the spots he knows. He doesn't drink, so he told me that if we go fishing I have to drink enough for the both of us. I told him this wouldn't be a problem.

In any case, the point of this is that Jenn and I feel pretty lucky, but from what we hear, this is pretty common. It's cake to come over here as a native English speaker and make decent money, with no special skills. Hell, there are TWO 21 year old girls without college degrees at Jenn's job teaching English. That's how easy it is.

A Perfect Day

2005-09-19T02:11:00.000+09:00

Summer is officially over here in Japan. The Equinox has come and gone, and yet again I've forgotten to try and balance an egg up on its end like Dad taught me so many years ago. One of these days, I'll do that again.

In any case, on the Autumnal Equinox, the weather broke. As I posted previously, I believed that Summer was having her last gasp, and I guess its true, although I'm touched by the eerieness of the timing. How often have I ever experienced something SO on time? Probably never. I don't know if it is an anomoly, or a function of Japan's climate, but it feels like autumn out. The leaves are even starting to show a tinge of red, as you can see in one of the pictures of the Japanese Maple tree I took.

The weather is beautiful, and it just feels perfect outside. I had a blast roaming through the castle grounds, smelling the crisp breeze and just taking comfort in the day - all of it. The sun, the breeze, the smell in the air. It was a perfect day. Words cannot do it justice.

Here are some pictures from that perfect day.

I'm Addicted to Green Tea

2005-09-15T13:59:00.000+09:00

Seriously. The stuff is amazing. Cold, hot, lukewarm, whatever. It's just plain good stuff. You can wake up with a hangover shipped Fedex from the ninth concentric circle of hell, have a bottle of green tea, and its like an exorcism. I'm convinced that the power of Christ compels green tea. I'm drinking the stuff right now, cold, since it is warm outside. I'm not sure if it compares to iced tea from home, but its healing properties kick the shit out of iced tea from home. I think I could heal lepers with this stuff.

Another interesting thing: Kids bring tea to school with their lunches. I've mentioned this before, I believe, but it strikes me as the strangest thing. Not coke, not water, not lemonade or koolaid. Tea. Either wheat tea (an acquired taste, but I love the stuff now), barley tea, chinese oolong tea, or japanese green tea. Bottom line: boiling water was required at some point. Even kids as young as two are guzzling tea at lunch. It really is ubiquitous.

Another note: It is an absolutely amazing day out today. Yesterday a major storm blew through here, whipping rain and wind and more rain all around. It was stinking hot - you know the nasty, clingy, sweaty city heat that dangles a fetid aroma just beyond the threshold of your olfactory? I wonder if it was the last gasp of summer before Autumn here in Japan. Well, the storm came through, and I woke up this morning and stepped outside to a crisp, fresh day. As the day has born on, it has gotten hot, but it isn't that stinky heat. It's a clean heat. Glorious.

They love their seasons here. I mean, I stopped at the 99 Yen shop on my way home from work to pick up a can of beer, and they had their autumn varietals out.
It definitely was a "Rich Taste of Autumn." They weren't lying. I don't know how they canned autumn. I must tell you that I'm looking forward to a proper autumn with beautiful leaves and beautiful weather. It's almost palpable, the anticipation for summer to be over. All over the city, you can kind of see people furtively glancing at the sky, the sun, the leaves, almost willing summer to end and for autumn to begin.

It is an odd national pride that the Japanese take in their seasons. Almost one of the first questions I answer when someone finds out I'm from Texas: "Are there 4 seasons in Texas?" Laughingly I reply that no, there are not. There is summer and not summer. They don't get the joke. And usually, they just ignore it in order to extoll the virtues of the four seasons here in Japan.

New neighbors...apparently

2005-09-13T12:47:00.000+09:00

First of all, sorry that I've been completely halfass in updating this blog. I haven't even been busy enough to warrant excuse. Just lazy. I'll be better about it, promise.

In any case, a few weeks ago, our doorbell rings on a Wednesday. Since my job is an easy 15 hours a week, I spend a lot of time here at home doing nothing. As usual, I'm sitting around in my boxers, so I go to the bedroom and throw on a pair of pants and a shirt and answer the door, not knowing what to expect.

An older woman is standing on the stoop, her bike in the street. A older man, whom I presume is her husband, is half hiding behind the stairway, on his bike. I open the door and behold the two of them. They behold me. I believe it dawns on all three of us at the same time that there is no way we're going to understand what the hell is going to be said either way.

Undaunted by this seeming realization, the woman commences speaking in Japanese, introducing herself and her husband. I nod dumbly. I have no idea what she is saying. But she is bowing a lot, so I bow back. She's also smiling, so I smile back. I assume this is proper behavior.

She continues talking, and asks me if I speak Japanese. I assume that she asks this because I hear the word nihong in there somewhere, and that means "Japanese." I smile. Iie. No. This does not deter her. She continues forth as though I spoke Japanese, but this time with equally undefinable gesticulating, which does little to illustrate to me what she is seeking to communicate. I continue to nod, smile, and bow, because I think that's what's expected of me. The old man is looking at me with a gleam of amusement in his eyes. I meet his gaze, and we share a moment of understanding. He smiles and nods toward his wife. Just humor her, is what his look tells me.

I hide a smile, and continue watching the woman. Finally I hear go, while she's holding up 5 fingers. Of course, I already know that go means five, and then she starts pointing down the street, and it dawns on me. Maybe she lives 5 doors down. I smile, and nod, and bow some more, and then out of nowhere she produces this box, beautifully giftwrapped, and presents it to me, and leaves me with dozo yoroshiku, onegaishimasu. onegaishimasu. as she backs away, bowing. The old man does the same, bowing and backing away until they have fled.

Non-plussed, I take the box inside and open it. Inside, I find this:
These are tea treats, to be eaten before drinking green tea. This box of treats probably set them back about 1500 yen, which is equal to roughly $15. It was nicely wrapped, and I laughed when I opened it, knowing that we wouldn't be eating these. Still, I was confused as to the goal of the gift, and started wondering if they had opened a tea shop around the corner or something.

But no, I found out that they are indeed our neighbors, five doors down, and that when one moves into a new neighborhood in Japan, they give gifts out instead of receiving them. Interesting. In any case, I found it humorous.

Teaching. English. In. Japan.

2005-09-06T00:21:00.000+09:00

Teaching English can be difficult at times, especially for one from the South. Being from Texas, as many of you know, causes one to frequently drawl out their words. To slow down, in effect - a very Southern effect on the English language in America. But for me, I tend to speak fairly slowly, but quietly, and I mumble like a goddamned moron sometimes.

So, as a result, sometimes my students don't understand me. The kids ignore it, and continually try to yammer at me in Japanese, but the lessons are much much simpler for the kids, and they focus on flashcards, the simple "how are you?" and "what's your name" and easy shit they can memorize. They spit out "I'mfinethankyouandyou?" quicker than I can process it, probably because it has been hammered into their heads at public school. The Japanese are very fond of rote memorization, and are very eager to speak when the know damn good and well what the correct response is. However, if they aren't sure, their fear of making mistakes rears its rather shy head, and causes them to clam up.

But it is different with the adults. They are a bit more bold, and always cock their head quizically to the side, as if to say, "I have no idea what you just said, but I'm far too polite or afraid to say that." As a result, one really needs to slow down one's conversation. I've never, in my whole life, really placed intentional spaces between words. I do happen to talk slow, like any good Texan, but there is rarely a space between words. I realize this, especially when I screw up a sentence and quickly saw "Waittaminute - ignorethatwillya?" or I mumble "doesthatmakesense?" not realizing that "Does that make sense" is nonsensical slang to an untrained Japanese ear. "Do you understand?" is easier to understand. However, even beyond my highly slang-ridden vernacular rises the problem of my speaking. I've taken to intentionally putting commas or periods in between spoken words.

"I, am, from, Texas." "No, the. hurricane. did. not. hit. my. hometown." Shit like that, that makes me feel like I'm talking to half a retard. But they really appreciate it. Hell, my Toyota students actually asked me to speak slower. I did not realize that I wasn't putting any spaces between my words. I can speak at the same speed, as long as the end of one word is clear and the beginning of the next as well. Which makes sense.

However, an interesting side effect of this is that when one spends all day at work ensuring to place spaces in between words and use simple, easy to understand phrasing, that carries over into the home. I'll come home and when explaining something to my wife, I find myself talking to her like half a retard, because I've just spent hours at work doing that very thing. I just kind of shake my head to clear the cobwebs off rusty unspoken slang vernacular to which I'm better versed.

I don't know if this "dumbing down" of the language is good for me or not. It makes you realize how much slang is really used, however. Even something so simple as "No, I'm not living here for good."

God only knows how the Brits and Aussies who teach here confuse the shit out of their students. Heh.

An aside - Interesting anecdote for the day...Something strange happened on the train today that may have happened many times before, but I only just noticed today...I get on for my 26 minute train ride to work, and sit down. My apartment's stop is near one end of the line, and my work is near the other end. So I get on a relatively uncrowded train and get off a relatively uncrowded train, except during rush hour.

Anyhow, I sit down, in between an older man and a younger woman, except there is a seat on either side of me. It is bench seating. I have my headphones on, and I break out my book to read on the train. On my trip to and from work, the train passes through the main station and two or three more popular parts of town (one of them being Sakae, which is the downtown district), and can get quite crowded at any time of day.

Well, we hit the first stop - Nagoya, the main station, and people predicatbly flood onto the train, standing everywhere. Yet the seats on either side of me remain empty, even as people race to fill up the rest of the seats. I look up, and notice people eyeing the seats next to me, even as they stand right in front of them, but then as I shift my gaze, I feel their eyes studying me. Strange, I think. But I continue reading my book. We hit the next station, and the train get a bit more packed with people heading to Sakae. Seats on both sides to me are empty. I made it all the way to my stop without anyone sitting in the seats on either side of me.

So, after finishing my lesson, I hop back on the train and commit myself to the same type of seat, find on, sit down and start reading, trying to take up as little space as possible. Same scenario. Train gets crowded, every other seat is taken, except for the ones on either side to me. Nobody wants to sit next to the round eye.

It doesn't seem hateful, only...cautious. I believe the assumption is that I don't know the proper response to someone who wants to sit next to me - they look at the seat, then at you, then bow their head to request the seat, you incline your head, make a show of making more room, even though there is no more room, and they sit down - because I am a gaijin. Funny stuff.

So I went to the barber...

2005-09-02T21:37:00.000+09:00

There are barber shops all over the place here - with the old time barber shop poles out front and everything. Every one has one of those barber shop poles. It is outstanding. Anyhow, as my hair was getting a bit scraggly, I decided it was time to brave the barber shop, knowing full well that they wouldn't speak any English.

So I went to the old timey barber shop around the corner, and marched in, with my memorized phrase in mind....mijikame ni shite kudasai - "I want it short, please." A male barber almost fell over himself trying to get me in my seat between onegaishimasu's and Dozo's (both very polite equivalents of "please"). I sit down, and he cautiously asks me in Japanese how I would like my hair cut - of course that is a complete assumption.

In any case, I break out the old mijikame ni shite kudasai, and he noticably brightens, probably thinking to himself "hey, this barbarian knows some Japanese!" At this point, he decides to test my knowledge of the subject by yammering at me for about 30 seconds solid. I have no idea what he said. I smiled and repeated, mijikame ni shite, kudasai, and shrugged. gommennasai I say, apologizing for having no idea what he said. He kind of smiles, shrugs and breaks out the scissors.

At this point, the differences between Japanese barber shops and American ones are negligible. He cuts my hair. No biggie. He asks me a question and pantomimes cutting more, and I nod. "Yes, shorter." So we make it through the trial of the haircut. And this point, he breaks out the straight razort and trims my neck and sideburns. Outstanding. Nothing beats this treatment.

At this point he asks a question, and I assume he's asking if I want a shave. Fuck yeah, I've grown this beard out for 3 days for this. So he leans me back, wraps my face in a hot towel, and lets me relax for about 5 minutes. I almost fell asleep. Then he comes back and starts smearing hot shaving cream on my fucking eyebrows! I immediately say iie (no) and cross my fingers into an X - a very universal sign here of "no!"

He bows, and sits me up and apologizes about 20 times. I still want my shave, but he's unbuckling the drop cloth around my neck. So I motion toward my face and nod. He says, "Shave?" I nod, then point to my eyebrows, make an X, then point to my cheeks and neck and nod.

He understands, lays the chair back down, and proceeds. Meanwhile, the guy in the chair next to me, receiving a shave from the lady barber, seems to have fallen asleep with a cigarette in his hand. Hes snoring, and the lady gently takes the cig from his hands and places it into the ashtray, not putting it out, in case he wakes up. Closest shave and best haircut I've had since I had the Reverend give me a shave and a hiarcut in Gladewater, Texas. Good times. Only cost my about $20 american.

More about Inuyama

2005-08-25T16:30:00.000+09:00

Jenn downloaded some of her pics from Inuyama, so I got a few more pictures from the castle. Bear with me. Here is a pic of me climbing the stairs.

See where it looks like my head is fixing to hit the crossbeam? Yeah, I had to bend almost all the wqay over at the waist in order to clear that. Steep steps and low cielings. I felt like a cross between a midget and a giant. Like a goddamned funhouse.

And I have one of my dumbass chilling out near one of the arrow windows.

I think the fire extinguisher really sets the scene there.

So, after the castle, we went wandering in search of the Jo-an Teahouse, one of the three National Treasure Teahouses in Japan. The thing about Japan is that they absolutely LOVE rating things, and classifying things, and limiting honored status. So to be one of the Three National Treasure Teahouses is a rare honor. It stands in the middle of Urakuen, which is the Garden of Uraku, the man who built Jo-an. He was a younger brother of Oda Nobunaga, a big warlord back in the 1500s.

In any case, I guess a younger brother of a big time warlord doesn't have much else to do but to commit his life to teahouses, so he did. This is one of the few remaining that he built, though I doubt that he hewed the bamboo and slapped the mud on the sides. But what do I know, anyways?

We go in search of the Teahouse and the surrounding garden. We thought that we had bought a ticket for all the sights in Inuyama, but apparently the Uraku Garden and Jo-an Teahouse were not included. So we ended up paying an obscene 3000 yen a person, but that included a bowl of tea at the teahouse next door to Jo-an, because only members of the Imperial Family and others can actually enjoy a bowl in Jo-an.

Anyhow, one is compelled to remove one's shoes in order to stroll the Uraku Garden. One is also compelled to wear ridiculous house shoes provided by the garden. Ah, well, when in Rome...

So we are strolling through the garden, trying to make sense of the unintelligible map when an older gentlemen comes rushing up to us, apologizing. Jenn and I look at each other and he introuces himself as our tour guide. "We didn't pay for a tour guide," I reply, unsure. But he assures me that it is a "Service" - Japanese schools must teach "free = service" in their vocabulary or something, because they all say "service" when they give you something for free. The Japanese love giving gaijin free shit.

In any case, this guy gives us the big tour, and I normally hate tours, but this one was awesome. He showed us a sui kim ketsu, which is really cool. It literally means "water japanese harp cave." More figuratively, it means a hand washer - basically a bucket full of water that one uses a ladle to wash over their hands in a purification rite. However, in this case, below the rocks where the water runs down as you pour it over your hands, there is an underground harp that somehow the water "plays" as it drains. It is really amazing. Sounds like wind chimes. Apparently trhey are very rare in Japan and there are only a handful here and there.

In any case, he shows us Jo-an. Remarkably, we don't have a picture of the outside of the place. But here is a peek inside...
Very rarely is anyone allowed to take pictures inside, the guide told us. I'm not sure why he let us take a picture of the inside, but he did. Note the tatami mats on the floor. Jenn took this picture through an eye level window right above the doorway. The doorway was very small and square, and it is called nijiri guchi. Literally means "crawling mouth." Fully translated it means "crawling entrance" or "small entrance," designed so that everyone had to crawl on their hands and knees into the teahouse, even samurai and daimyo. Because at a tea ceremony, everyone is considered and equal.

Pretty cool. Shortly thereafter, we had our little tea ceremony at the house next door:

It was nice to look out on the Japanese Maple trees and sip the green tea. The guide chatted us up, and complemented us on our knoweldge of the tea ceremony, which was minimal, I assure you, and enjoyed a bowl of tea himself. The lady who served the tea gave us a sweet treat to much on before the tea, to assuage the bitter taste about to assault our mouth. I've never thought green tea was THAT bitter, but I choked it down all the same. The tea was really good, and the tea bowls were very nice.

At a formal tea ceremony, which this was not, one is supposed to take the tea as proffered, turn the cup or bowl about a quarter turn clockwise, drink the tea in three long sips, and then admire the bowl or cup. But, like I said this wasn't formal, so we just enjoyed our tea.

It was nice, as was the entire garden. One of the coolest things we've done since we've been here, and one of the nicest surprises. We should've gotten a picture with our guide, as he was exceedingly nice and happy, and free.

FINALLY

2005-08-22T18:47:00.000+09:00

I'm connected to the internet. Such a trial this has been. We arrived here on June 19th, and finally on August 22nd, the internet is hooked up. I cannot even describe to you the hoops we had to jump through to get this thing hooked up. Needless to say, I'm happy it has finally happened. More regular blog entries will appear.

Inuyama

2005-08-16T17:36:00.000+09:00

Jenn and I went to Inuyama yesterday. What a great little place. It cost us about $10 a person one way for a thirty minute train ride, and BAM, we're way the fuck out of Nagoya all of a sudden. It was great. Inuyama is the home of the oldest remaining castle in all of Japan, and it's a castle that hasn't been gutted by either war or the greedy state. The steps are steep and difficult to navigate, and the castle isn't all that large, but what it lacks in size it makes up for in originality.

Of course, one of my first thoughts was predictable: "Hmmm....These steps rise up to my knees, and I'm six foot. How did all these feudal Japanese samurai manage these stairs?" It was very cool, though. Actually the entire surrounding area was pretty amazing. Inuyama town proper is rather quaint and charming, lined with old style shops, and streets and alleys bordered by old samurai residences that still retain their historic architecture, probably because Inuyama didn't draw the bombs that other more industrial targets did.

The entrace to the castle is bookended by probably a hundred different shrines, the names of which are escaping me right now (imagine that), but they were very cool. There were chickens running loose all through the shrines, proclaiming a new dawn every two or three minutes. Here is a pic of one of the bridges (ceremonial and closed off) leading into the shrines.

It might be difficult to see in the picture, as I had to resize it for this blog, but sitting at the crown of the bridge is a pigeon, roosting up top there, as though he was king of the bridge. I thought that was pretty funny.

Here is a picture of something. I don't know what the characters mean, and I'm pretty sure it was a shrine. Other than that, I'm worthless, except that I thought the picture was worth taking. I like the two lanterns framing the stone. What can I say?

this is an example of just how many shrines we in the area just below the castle. Every one of those tiny little buildings is a shrine, and I would wager that each one has a different kami or God to which it is dedicated. The white things hanging out front are prayer sheets - pieces of rice paper with wishes and prayers inked upont hem and hung out in front of the shrine where the kami can view them. This is just a few of rows and rows of shrines.

A shrine that was way to picturesque to ignore. Beautiful. don't ask me what the yellow light in the picture is. It was not there at the site. Might be a ghost or a kami floating around waiting for someone to take a picture.

And finally, Inuyama Castle. Like I said, it is small, but it is one of the best in Japan. Did I mention the steps were steep? Heh.

A view from the top. Not the greatest picture, but the Kiso river is very clear, and the clarity of the day was really nice. No smog in Inuyama. On that river, cormorant fishing is quite popular. Sometime in late August or September, Jenn and I will return to check out this strange way of fishing. They use birds to catch the fish, but choke the fish out of them, or some suce. Should be pretty cool to watch.

PETA watch - the birds are well trained and well fed. So I don't want to hear it.

A view in the other direction. A storm was blowing in and the wind was pretty fierce, but that didn't stop us from braving the observation deck. Nevermind that it sloped away, and was slippery as shit, and we weren't allowed to wear shows into the castle, so our socks were slipping and sliding everywhere.

Yeah, you read that right. No shoes in the castle. Greatness.

This is a view from inside. I used the flash because it was pretty dark inside. That window has a shutter, and a rice paper shoji screen that slides over the shutter to give it a more pristine appearance. When the storm hit, all these were closed, and the inside was plenty dark. I thought it was pretty cool.

Also inside, but not pictured was the armory room. My pictures did not come out, but the original shelves upon which the samurai garrison placed their arms and armor are still in the castle. Outstanding stuff.

I'll have more later on the rest of Inuyama.

I Work in Socks

2005-08-08T15:14:00.000+09:00

All fucking day, just socks. The kids sometimes wear socks, but sometimes they NEED socks because they got some serious funk on their feet. I have two weeks left in my current job, then I get a week break, then I start my REAL job. Fuck yeah, that's right - I got a job. It's only 16 hours a week, but it pays 3000 yen an hour, which ain't bad. And I don't need to get up before 10 in the morning every day. So that's cool. Hopefully I can find a few bored housewives to give a few hours of lessons to a week, to supplement my income.

But back to the socks. My feet hurt. You don't really understand the benefits of wearing shoes all day until you traipse around on hard wood floors all day in socks.

Anyways, I told you we were on our way to check out a festival in Toyota last weekend. It was pretty crowded and very hot, but the fireworks were fucking awesome. I saw a face made with fireworks. Why can't we do this in the states? In any case, here are a few pictures from Oiden Festival.

There were supposedly 15000 people there. It sure seemed like it. Everyone claims their spot with a plastic mat, as you can see. In addition, shoes are not worn on the mat; they are left on the side. I saw one old woman without a plastic mat, but she had a newspaper she was kneeling upon. Her shoes were off and still on the street. Hilarious.

Here's some fireworks. They really were pretty spectacular. Huge fireworks, small fireworks, cat face fireworks. The Niagara fireworks were in effect and were pretty goddamned big. i hadn't seen fireworks that big before. Here I should note that we sat near an intersection of the closed street to view the fireworks and an open street with regular traffic. There was one red faced Japanese man who was apparently in charge of orchestrating the safety and efficiency of the intersection. He was prettty fun to watch, as he yelled at people, at cars, and cops directing traffic incorrectly. He ran to and fro, yet managed to save an awesome seat for his family right next to his frenetic work. One family tried to take it, but he shooed them off quite rudely. It was almost as entertaining as the fireworks themselves.

We left before the festival was over, so we didn't have to fight Japanese crowds. The Japanese love to push and shove on trains and the subway, and it isn't considered rude. And getting pissed about getting shoved is viewed as a great loss of face, so you must endure it. But it is pretty miserable, so we cut out a little early and missed the finale, which was probably more fireworks. The display was three hours long, so we'd had enough.

There was also a matsuri in our neighborhood this weekend that we stopped by to check out. It was very small, and consisted of music and dancing, but no beer, so, needless to say, we didn't stay long. Here is a pic from the festival.

Note the drum on the left. An old man was playing that, and people danced in that little pavilion, and others gathered in a long line around that and mimiced the dancing inside the pavilion. It was entertaining for 5 or 10 minutes.

My wife also caught some fish out of one of those tubs. We were watching a little boy do it when a middle aged woman rushed over and asked her if she wanted to try in broken English. Jenn responds with a tentative "Maybe." This sent the woman scurrying for a baggie and showing Jenn how to properly catch these little goldfish. There must be some sort of symbolism about this that I have yet to discern, because the woman kept telling Jenn that the fish she ushered into the baggie were either "happy" or "unlucky." So now we have some fish, some of which are happy and some of which are unlucky.

As I've written before, Japan is peppered with shrines. Everywhere there are shrines packed into any small and large space. Here is one I stumbled upon on a small side street that I thought looked interesting.

It might be difficult to make out, but the defining feature of the shrine is a twisted dead tree. I thought it was very artistic.

Trash Day

2005-08-05T08:31:00.000+09:00

So trash day was yesterday. Here in Nagoya, it is a little different. In Austin, I would roll the big green mammoth out to the curb, carry the little blue bin out to the curb and go on my merry way.

But here...Here, there are four different color of trash bags for different types of trash. Red is for incinerable trash - organic food and shit like that. Blue is recyclable trash - but you separate it. One blue bag for cans, one blue bag for paper (which i just toss into incinerable), one blue bag for plastics like wrappers (the Japanese fucking wrap EVERYTHING), what looks like styrofoam, but is in reality plastic, and one blue bag for PET bottles. You know - like plastic coke bottles, water bottles, shit like that. And then there's a green bag. That's for other stuff. I haven't quite figured that out yet. non-recyclable stuff, like batteries, I guess. Bottles don't get a bag; they go in a blue bin, but the blue bin is at the trash location. You'd think this would irritate the shit out of me, but I derive a bizarre satisfaction from separating my trash successfully.

So on trash day, your red bags go out on the curb. This happens twice a week. But one day a week - thursday in my case - you take your blue bags to the trash location. In our case, this is right around the block. Trash day is "Get to Know your Neighbors Day." Everyone hangs out at the trash pile and smokes cigarettes and gossips. Then up comes the gaijin carrying his trash bags, not entirely knowing which pile is which. So there's one old man who comes up to me, pretty much every week, and helps me put my trash away. On the most ridiculous days, the obasans (old ladies) all gather around me, pelting me with "Ohayo gozaimasu" as they take all the bags and shit out of my hands and place them in various piles while bowing to me afterwards while I stand there, somewhat dumbfounded with probably a crazy smile on my face as I return their bow. At this point they check the bags, and if something is out of place, they untie the bags and fix it.

Hilarious stuff.

Osu Kannon Temple

2005-07-31T13:46:00.000+09:00

Last weekend we journeyed over to the Osu Kannon area in Nagoya, home to a fairly large temple, and a huge shopping area full of second hand shops. Seriously, the shopping area was an Austin hippy's wet dream. And there were more bad English shirts (not the band, dumbass) there than I have ever seen in one place before. Store after store of "I (heart) Favor" and many other such mistranslations, some of which were so unintelligible that they weren't even funny.

In any case, we took a few pictures of the temple, though the typhoon was supposed to be hitting us that day, so we did not linger as long as we may have wanted. It looked dangerous overhead, and there was copious amounts of thunder and lightning, but only a little drizzle before the fucker blew over. How dull.

Here is the front facade of the temple, one of the oldest in Nagoya. It dates back to the 1300s, but I imagine bits and pieces of it were blown up in the war. Most of it now, from what I understand, are 20th century reconstructions.

The above is a small shrine outside the entrance. I like the guy on the cell phone in the background. It is a perfect juxtaposition of how ancient beliefs and modern technology cannot be separated in Japan.

Here is a pic of the santuary next to the main altar. I don't have too much to say, other than the fat happy budda is very cool looking. Also note the tatami mats. If we were allowed to enter, no shoes for us.

Here is a pic of a monk doing what monks do: pray and sing. It is pretty moving, listening to the Buddhist monks sing their prayers as wafts of incense permeate the air. You can't help but just watch in awe. Everything is so ritualistic and formal. You feel like an intruder, although the temple is open to all.

Lastly, I'll leave you with a picture of the Japanese carry-all I bought to carry all my fucking shit around. Jesus. Wallet, camera, phone, iPod, sunglasses, any other random shit that I buy...I feel like a goddamned woman. But I guess the life of a semi-permanent tourist has its needs, and one of those is a man purse, so I got one at the army navy second hand shop in Osu Kannon.

I don't know if you can make it out in this shrunken version of the picture I took, but it still bears the initials KL. I assume it was an American soldier's bag. I can't help but wonder if it is merely second hand from a place like Okinawa in more recent times, or if KL was an island hopping unfortunate who did not make it back home during the war. In either case, I happen to think that if I am reduced to carrying a goddamned bag, it might as well be cool.

Tonight, we're headed out to Toyota City to check out Japan's second largest fireworks festival -- with 15000 of our closest friends. The Toyota Oiden FEstival. Apparently they have 600 meter long fireworks called Niagara fireworks. THAT should be interesting.

"Kancho" means Enema

2005-07-28T08:44:00.000+09:00

So I started a full time part time job today. What that means is that I get to work full time for a month. Some would call this a temporary job, but those people don’t entertain the same wonderful grasp of the English language as me. Which is why I’ve been hired to this job.

Well, that and I regularly lay the pipe to another employee there. Them’s plumbing terms for “being married to.” In case you were wondering. So we began our strenuous work schedule with a trip to the pool. In this case, the local public pool. Proper attire is required and proper attire includes no tattoos (check), proper swimwear (check), a swim cap (check), no jewelry (took off the necklace, so check), and…wait…did you say a fucking SWIM CAP? Yes, that’s right, a swim cap. Apparently they are all the rage here. I can jump into a pool of screaming kids presumably shooting pissing all over the goddamn pool, but god forbid my balding head drops a hair or two in there.

In short, this was tough duty. Actually, it wasn’t. Ha. However, We did have seventeen kids that I had not yet met, all of whom bear names foreign to me, and who are all wearing swim caps and are submerged in water. But I actually knew one of them, so there’s something. One out of seventeen is a commanding percentage.

So, this “pool” also consists of a lazy river about three feet deep, a small wave pool, two medium size slides, and a few Jacuzzis. But it was good fun. Once I figured out which screaming, pissing kids were ours, I had no problem. That is until little Toru decided to poke my asshole with his fingers. I grabbed his hand and said “No!” in a tone I felt was forceful enough to convey the proper level of alarm. Not five minutes later does he decide to nail the boss with the fingers as well.

At this point a stern and public talking to is had by poor Toru, who knew no better, having learned from his mates in public school where Kancho is all the rage. By the way, kancho means “enema.” And these kids LOVE kancho. They’ll wrestle around on the ground and kancho each other remorselessly.

Well, needless to say, I anticipate experiencing the finger enema at some time in the future. We were strolling through a festival near our neighborhood thrown by the local Yakuza (sort of a “thank you, community, for allowing us to operate sex operations and other quasi illegal activities in your neighborhood” kind of festival – the cops blocked off the streets for the Yaks on this special happy occasion), and I say a Yakuza member kanchoed in full, with a plastic festival bought sword, by a local kid. He laughed, and exclaimed “Kancho?!?” and proceeded to wrestle around with the kid. I watched in horror, waiting for inevitable real katana kancho to be delivered to the child. Alas, I was disappointed. If the kids are emboldened enough to jam things up the ass of the nefarious local crime bosses, then who is to stop them?

In any case, allow me to tell you about Ryunosuke. He has a huge fucking noggin. Like a melon. In any case, the point of this story is not Ryunosuke’s sputnik shaped head (round, but pointy at parts), it is the spread he brought from home. This spread, folks, is bento. That’s Japanese for “box lunch,” and good Christ, these parents go all out. They pack perfect little box lunches – I’m not talking PB&J and chip, but fucking Japanese rice balls stuffed with fruit, some kind of meat, usually some nori seaweed for dessert, and other assorted odds and ends. A real balanced meal. Then they take this box, and wrap it in a cloth, perfectly knotting the cloth at the top. The kid then uses this cloth as a little table cloth. And spreads it out to capture any stray food so there is no mess. Just in case there is no table, the mother packs a tatami mat for the child to sit upon. Shoes are verboten on these mats, so each child dutifully removes footwear before sitting down to unwrap lunch.

Mom also packs an entire utensil set, sometimes forks, spoons and knives, all plastic and themed and in a special case, or personalized chopsticks, again in a special case. These aren’t just rich kids either. This is fairly commonplace. It is hilarious, and really quite eye opening how self-sufficient kids can be, and clean, when it is obviously an expectation.

There is also a strange custom of eating the grapes and spitting out the skins. I don’t understand it. He offered me a grape and I popped it in my mouth and chewed it and swallowed it. It was good. But he and his friends laughed that I didn’t spit out the skin. So, I hope the skins aren’t poisonous or anything.

Also, there is little Yuuki. He’s a cool cat, but his mother is convinced that if he gets water in his ears, then the shit’s going to hit the ceiling fan. Yet, there he was, sans earplugs at the pool. And he was a big slide fan. So either the boss of the school, or me, had to ride down the slide with him, and hold him up at the end so no water touched his precious ears. And mom would always be waiting at the bottom with a hand on her heart, and concern in her eyes. I kept his ears dry, and happiness and harmony prevailed.

Festival

2005-07-25T12:00:00.000+09:00

So a typhoon is headed this way. It is actually a bit early for the season. Normally typhoon seson is late August through September. So that's nice. I'll keep you informed on the weather conditions here. Should be fun to weather a typhoon. According to the US Navy Joint Typhoon Warning Center, Banyan should make landfall about noon tomorrow. I'm supposed to be at a public pool with a bunch of kids. That should be interesting. Bangan is his name.

There has also been some angst expressed through email as to the earthquake in Tokyo. We did not feel it. As a matter of fact, I'm more than a bit put out that I haven't experienced even a tremor yet. I've been looking forward to adverse conditions, because I'm a sick fuck. Mind you, I don't want to experience the great Tokai Earthquake, which is due any day now, apparently. It has been 144 years since the last Tokai quake and it occurs every 100-150 years. Wonderful. Apparently, it should be something along the lines of an 8.0, so I'd rather not have to worry about that. I'll settle for a 4.0 or a 5.0. Enough to feel, but not be extraordinarily dangerous.

Same goes for the tai-fun. I'd love to experience one, but I don't want to be carried away in torrents of water or blown away by the wind. So call me a fair weather disaster fan.

We went to a very cool festival this weekend. It was in Tenno Park, about a half hour on a train ride. The Owari Tsushima Tenno Festival. I don't know what we were celebrating, but the kimono were out in full force, and it was quite crowded. We had not eevn planned on going to the festival, but at the last minute we jumped on a train, not entirely sure of where we were going. But we got off at the correct station, and followed the crowd through the misty dark to find the park.

One thing to note: when they do a festival here, they do it up right. Fireworks, kimono, all sorts of booths full of food, some more fireworks, beer tents, etc. It is very cool. Many Japanese let loose for these things. And usually they are quite outrageous.

Basically the park is a river park, with a large pond in the middle. When we arrived, boats bearing fireworks were spouting large gouts of flames to the ohs and ahs of the crowd. Japanese people LOVE fireworks, and there usually is no shortage of them. Although this festival, from what we read, was limited to fireboats, as opposed to actual explosions in the sky. Maybe I was a bit disappointed about that.

We kept walking through a crowd of people. Now there's something strange about Japanese. Shoving and pushing through is perfectly acceptable under crowded conditions. But actually getting upset at getting pushed by is disgraceful. So onem ust just politely shove their way through a crowd. The result is somewhat chaotic, but all in all, good fun.

As we continued walking, the crowd grew silent, and I could hear some drums. I was unsure as to what was actually happening, and then I could hear a high pitched pipe as well. We rounded a bend, and then we saw the boats.

Hundreds of paper lanterns are strewn upon five boats that are floated out into the lake. I assume this is some sort of harvest festival, but, again, the Japanese love their festivals, and look for any damn good reason to have one. There is usually a religious significance, and I'm sure there was one here. I simply don't know what it was.

The crowd was pretty quiet, all straining to hear the slow music as it was played on each boat. It was an eerie sound. Here is a close up of the lanterns.

And here is a close up, if a little out of focus, of two people who look important. I assume they were people of some sort of honor in this boat parade.

You can see how they poled the boats along in the water. No oars, just long poles. Very cool.

After the boats floated by, we decided to grab something to eat at the booths. There are some standard booths at all Japanese festivals I guess. One of the kids' favorites are the fishing booths. Whole tubs full of various kidns of goldfish and shit like that that the kids can use bowls to grab the fish of their choice. Lots of fun for the kids there.

So we walk past a booth, and I see corndogs roughly the size of a Fletcher's, and my mouth starts watering. We buy two, and actually see a mustard tube. Now mustard is highly rare here, so we were pumped. Jenn slathers mustard all over the corndogs, and we chow down. The first bite was great for about 2 seconds. Then we realized that this was HOT mustard, and not like a dijon hot, but that nasally hot that wasabi gives you. I'm trying to chew through it, willing it to pass, then my body says "Nope!" and tries to cough. I try to direct the cough inwards, but nothing doing. That just makes it worse, and I projectile cough my corn dog into a crowd of people. Pieces of corndog and mustard fly out into expensive kimono outfits. Ashamed, I fled to the beer tent to nurse my pride.

We wiped off the corndogs a bit from the mustard, and begin to chowdown in earnest. With the mask of the mustard removed, the true flavor of the dogs shone through. We were not eating corn dogs, but fish dogs. Ugh. That was it for me. I was done eating, and dedicated myself to drinking beer for the rest of the evening.

As we were leaving, Jenn found two kids to pose for a picture to give the full effect of the kimono. I'll leave you with a shot of them.

Started a Job the Other Night

2005-07-22T13:19:00.000+09:00

I got a job at a Toyota Factory out in Toyota City teaching some of the factory workers English. It's about 40 minutes away, but it pays 3800 yen an hour for a two hour class once a week. Not too shabby. And I had three students in my first class. Three. Greatness.

Two secretaries and one factory line maintenance worker. I'll let you guess their gender. It was pretty funny. I let them ask me some questions about myself, and the two secretaries would emit a high pitched "ohhhhhh!" that would continually ride up the treble clef until it hit the top. No matter my answer.

The two women were better students, and the maintenence worker tried. He really did, but through 10 classes of perfect attendence, he just does not understand much. Might have something to do with a non native English speaker teaching the class before me. They made many common mistakes, but these mistakes are relatively easy to correct.

For insance, the words "think" and "them." They would pronounce them "shink," and "zey." It took me all of two seconds to demonstrate the "th" sound, and they had it for the rest of the class, with no problems. It's no wonder that many Japanese can read English fairly well, and write it fairly well, but have trouble both speaking and understanding a native speaker.

More Out and About in Nagoya

2005-07-19T15:36:00.000+09:00

Well, first, some of the pics that I forgot to post last time. Of course, everything but the whale shark that Dave wants to see. In due time, big man.

This is a shinkansen train. I think my favorite thing is the little tiny windshield wiper. I would think that the sheer speed and aerodynamics of the thing would get the water off fairly quickly, but what do I know?

Here is a street garden on my street. This is one example of many in the area. It really is amazing how much attention gets paid to plants. Also, another frequent thing you see is some omasan throwing water from her doorway onto the street. It apparently cools the whole area off. Seems to work. I have yet to water the fucking street though. Something you cannot see in this picture is the row of ubiquitous old water bottles full of water behind and throughout the plants. This keeps the fairly large feral cat population from shitting and pissing in the pots. Why? Because cats are apparently fucking stupid and do not like seeing their own reflection or any of the strange contours provided by a full water bottle. Whatever.

Ok, this is an abortive looking Eiffel Tower look alike. Eh. It is apparently the TV tower, but since buildings went up that block its signal in certain areas of town, it does not broadcast, and the public channels are broadcast through the cable line. Also, basic service is "free" here, except for the TV guy that comes around trying to collect. That's right. Some fucker comes to your door wearing a public TV uniform and tries to browbeat yen out of you in order to subsidize the public channels. We have satellite, but that doesn't apparently matter. I play the stupid gaijin card (ie, a lot of shrugging and looking helpless because I don't understand anything) and he walks away.

There are a few funny things to note about this picture. First, it is taken at roughly 9 pm on a Sunday night. Second, your eyes are not deceiving you. That truly is a band rocking out in front of the fountain.

The funny thing about Japan is that it is totally of the attitude that asking forgiveness later is eminently better than asking permission beforehand. And the thing is, it works here. Nobody wants to take the trouble of asking the band to stop playing and take everything down. Nobody even wants to ask them to turn down the music. But if they had asked permission for this, the answer would ahve surely been a resounding NO!

A lot of bands do this all over the place. And the thing is, a lot of them are pretty good. I have no idea the quality of their lyrics, but their music and sound, for the most part is decent to flat out good. This band was good. And their name was Dolphin Peace. I shit you not. Dolphin Peace. I got a flyer.

They are playing on the 30th at CAM HALL. Wherever the fuck that is. If I manage to find the joint and manage to make it out there on the 30th, I'll let you know if their real set is any better than their street set. These bands always do this stuff for free to advertise their shows at various clubs all over the place. It seems to be pretty effective.

One of the funniest parts of the picture of the band above the flyer is the part you cannot see. the fans are all ages. You had your typical young fans dancing and jamming to the band. But there were also the older folks also jamming and dancing. Old people here LOVE rock. You always see old people rolling around with an MP3 player, jamming to something. It is pretty cool.

Our downtown district in Nagoya is Sakae. That's where that tower is, and that's where one of the ubiquitous ferris wheels resides. I have yet to go up in it, but I'm sure I will. Sometime. Maybe. I mean, it's a fucking ferris wheel right? How exciting can it be?

But Sakae is where most of the bars are. And arcades. And a little further down in Imaike are the pachinko parlors and whorehouses, though both exist in Sakae in the side streets. The arcades here are a fucking trip. There's a whole floor of picture taking booths. Like do-it-yourself glamour shots. The chicks LOVE them. The ads for the various booths are "all flash" "no blemish" and shit like that. The flashes are so powerful and the lens so soft that it takes all the wrinkles and features out of faces. It is big here.

Also big here are the video games. I'm a video game dork, but mostly on PC games and shit like that, not arcade games. But their games here are badass. There is one battle game where the player has cards with sensors that he places on certain points on the battlefield in front of him, and the movements of the cards register on the screen. Same deal with a soccer game. I guess you collect players and put them in formations and shit. Looks a little complicated for me. But their shooter games are fun.

But the drum game takes the cake. Interactive drum smacking game. It is actually kind of a blast. Here is my stupid ass making a high score.

Trip to Osaka

2005-07-16T11:37:00.000+09:00

Traveling here is pretty damn expensive. We went to Osaka on the Shinkansen (bullet train) on our first weekend here. Round trip was about $130 a person. Which, I guess could be worse, as the trip only took about an hour and was cheaper and easier than an airplane. The shinkansen was fast. Really fucking fast. It was kind of fun.

The trains leave every eight minutes or so. They must run 30 or 40 a day on the Tokyo - Osaka vein, stopping here in Nagoya. They are on time to the minute. So we arrive in Osaka on seemingly the hottest day of the year, and we cannot check into our hotel until 3, so we drag our backpacks around the corner to check some temple on the map.

Now an interesting thing. I was surprised to notice that the symbol on maps here for temples is the swastika. This surprise quickly faded, as I remembered seeing the swastika in the Christian Catacombs in Rome. A few googles later, and the rich history of the swastika is pretty apparent. Worldwide, cultures use it as a sign of good luck. It's a real shame that such a cool symbol is forever stained by the specter of nazism and hate.

In any case, we head to this temple, and it's real fucking hot. And Japanese streets do not have names, and we get a little lost. How strange is that? No real names for streets. Anyhow, we finally get to this little temple, called the Sozenji Temple (the -ji suffix denotes something as a temple. -jo means castle, and so on), and it is pretty cool. Here is a pic we snapped.

Note the prevalence of the swastika al over the place. Also note the difference between that swastika and the one bore by the Nazis which was not straight, but cocked on one corner. I assume that has some sort of significance, but what do I know. Like any good religion, the prominent box in front is for coins and cash. One slips it in between the slots. Though typically, people only drop a 5 yen coin into shrines and temples. That ain't much, but it is considered good luck.

So we check into our hotel amid a flurry of bowing and obsequiousness, and hit the town again. We do not even really know what we want to do, so we decide to devote the bulk of the sights to the next day, and just find something cool and go from there. We head to the south of the city and get into a farmhouse replica museum right before it closes. We got some cool pics there that i forgot to bring to the cafe. But then we decide to check out the view from the Umeda Sky Building. Here is a pic of the place...

Apparently the design is a subject of much debate in Osaka. I think it looks kind of cool, but I don't know shit about clean lines and things of that nature. I know that it is a nod to the Arc d'Triomphe in Paris, only much more modern and a shitheap taller.

In any case, one can travel up to the top and look out from the observation deck. That's big here. It is like ferris wheels, which are seemingly on every corner. Tall buildings have observation decks. That vertical clearish structure in the middle there is the glass elevator that you take to the top. It is pretty fast, and extremely unnerving. There is definitely a small feeling of vertigo associated with it here. And when you reach the top of the elevator shaft, you can see two diagonal chutes - yeah, those are glassed in escalators, suspended from one side of the building to another. One up and one down. Here is a close up pic of one of the escalators from the other.

Looking down from there is fun. 50 stories or so, which is not an enormous building or anything, but it is one of the taller ones in Osaka. The point is that you feel like you are fucking floating that high in the air, and you realize that just the escalator is between you and death. Fun!

But once you get to the top, you go back inside and there is a bunch of cool shit. A bar (woohoo!), a shrine (of course!), and the observation deck. We have a few drinks while checking out the sunset.

Of course Osaka is a smoggy city, so the sunsets are particularly beauthiful. What you cannot make out through the haze is a picturesque mountain background. We couldn't make it out either. So we go back inside and have another drink so we can check out the skyline at night. Turns out that it was worth it to wait.

Jenn took that picture with some sort of special setting on her fancy ass camera. Pretty cool, if you ask me. I can't tell you anything else about those buildings, other than they seem to be pretty at night.

So the next day, we decide we want to see the aquarium - which holds a fucking whale shark and a manta ray - i forgot to bring the pics to the internet cafe, but i might post them a bit later. We also wanted to see Tennoji and Osaka-jo. Remember what I told you about the suffixes.

So we check out the castle. This one has also been gutted and modernized, though we actually didn't bomb the shit out of it. And it was the site of a pretty important battle, so that's cool.

It is a lot more attractive than Nagoya-jo. Pretty much all the gold had been removed from Nagoya, as well as the crown. That stuff remains here. the inside is pretty interesting if you're a nerd like me. All sorts of original artifacts, including letters written by Ieyasu Tokugawa. These letters are almost five hundred years old. Very cool.

So then we head over to Tennoji, a pretty large and famous temple. We took a ton of pics there, but here is the centerpiece structure:

Very cool place. There were all sorts of services going on at the various structures, and you could have a monk sing prayers over pieces of paper that you bought. There was also a place where they would wade your prayer papers down in a sacred pool. We didn't do any of this, as we don't fully understand it, and, uh, we don't want to be sacriligious or anything.

They also had a pretty fucking cool garden. Here is an action shot of the waterfall. heh.

There was a little kid fishing in one of the gardens we went to (not at Tennoji). Jenn got a pretty good pic, I think.

So we wander aound there a bit, then head out to find a place to eat, and we actually stop to eat at a place called Lone Star Restaraunt. It is a Texas themed restaraunt in Osaka, where I had probably the worst, Golden Corral quality steak. It is funny because they served Miller beer, but it was expensive as shit. I stuck with Bass. The Japanese couple in the booth next to us kept staring at us, because they were drunk, and I was wearing a Texas shirt. I know they were drunk by the fact that the man had a row of expensive import Millers in front of him. They were afraid to actually talk to us.

Anyways, I got a picture with the owner/manager guy, who was pretty goddamned funny. I think he was drinking.

I don't know what he is trying to do with his hand in the air. I assume something Texan. I should have tried to get him to put up the hook em sign. Alas.

Out and About in Nagoya

2005-07-14T11:32:00.000+09:00

Well, now that I have figured out how to embed pictures in this blog, I am hoping to get more posts churning out. The most difficult part is that they have these windows 2000 machines at the internet cafe by my house, and they are all in Japanese characters. Including all the tabs on blogspot, which makes things a little difficult. If anyone has any idea how to change the language, I'm all eyes. Email me or comment at the bottom.

Now, onto some Nagoya stuff.

I have to admit that we got some pretty sweet digs here. Nagoya is not so busy, but has some big city appeal. That's kind of the cool thig about the place. Well, that and its inherent "foreign-ness," which, to be honest, we came to Asia for in the first place. The drawback is that there just ain't a hell of a lot to do, since the US bombed the shit out of the place 60 years ago. Much of the city was destroyed, including the magnificent Nagoya Castle (which has been rebuilt and modernized). The cooler places are supposed to be Tokyo (up the coast) and Osaka and Kyoto (and surrounding areas) further down the coast.

But it is a rather cool place to live. Here are a few pics with small explanations underneath regarding our place and a few cool things about the city.

Our front door. Nothing amazing, except it offers a bit of a view of the recessed area where one would discard their shoes before stepping on the floor proper. Our place is VERY Western style, though many of our neighbors have more traditional Japanese style architecture. As a matter of fact the entire city of Nagoya (and I think this may be a common theme throughout Japan) is a strange mix of very old and very new.

This is the view from our front door onto our "street." You can see from our across the street neighbors that their building is much older than ours, and more Asian in design. Note the makeshift, halfass greenhouse the neighbors have erected. Many Japanese folks in the cities have full on garden in spaces of that size, or smaller. You'd be surprised at how cool and beautiful these "street gardens" can be. They really green up the place.

Here is a picture looking down our street. I've placed my bike in the middle of the street so you can see how thin the avenue is. Apparently our area of NAgoya was not hit very hard by the bombings during the war and the streets retain their traditional width. The amazing thing is how the trash trucks and shit fit down these streets, but everything is a little smaller here.

Also, that bike set me back about 12,000 yen, or about $110. I wish I was kidding.

Ok, this picture kind of sucks, but it does two things. First, it shows the two towers that sit atop the main train station in Nagoya. Secondly, it shows what wonderful weather we have been subjected to lately. Not that I'm complaining. Last night it was nice and cool. Didn't even have to turn on the air conditioning. In July.

We are about that far from the main station, which is to say, not really that far at all. From there, we can catch a train that will go anywhere in Japan. Nagoya is a transport hub, and it has trains that go anywhere on Honshu.

This is the Tsubaki Shinmeisha Shrine right around the corner from our place. It is not the best kept shrine we have seen, and I'm somewhat ashamed to report that I don't know much about it. There are shrines all over the damn place, though, and each one has a different kami, from what I can understand. A kami is a kind of deity which authority over certain aspects of nature or life. Though I'm still trying to navigate my way through the confusing array of Buddhism vs Shintoism vs the weird lovechild of the two.

Here is Nagoya Castle, or at least the reconstruction. The original was an Edo period construction built by the Tokugawa Shogunate. Nagoya was one of the three major Edo castle towns. For those that do not know, the Edo period began roughly around 1600, and is basically the feudal age of Japan. One cool thing to note is the trees. The Japanese do know how to use nature as an isolating force.

Here is a closer view of the castle. The area in the foreground is where the palace used to sit, before the war. They are currently taking contributions in an attempt to reconstruct the palace.

And here is my dumb ass trying on a Noh theater mask at the Nagoya Noh Theater, which, inexplicably, we have no other pictures of. However, rest assured, fair reader, I will be sure and book a showing of Noh theater. I may not have any fucking idea what they are saying, but I plan on seeing a performance, as they are supposed to be pretty damn cool.

Well, that is all for today. I'll have more tomorrow, I hope, from our trip to Osaka.

Cleanliness in Japan

2005-07-13T12:48:00.000+09:00

This country is obsessed with cleanliness. And when I say obsessed, I mean they wrote the fucking book. Everything is designed around being clean, including many of the customs that we in the West find “quaint” or “charming.” Even things that seem utterly simple and small mean something, and that something is usually very important.

Allow me to start with the completely simple. Do not sneeze or blow your nose. Nobody does. Everybody holds their sneezes, and even if you catch them doing so on the subway, they give a small bow of the head to apologize.

In addition, “the street” seems to be considered extremely dirty and unclean. One does not eat while walking along the street. Street vendors do not exist here. It is very bizarre compared to back home where everyone eats anywhere. Yeah. Not so much here. Even if you buy from a take out place either in a train station, you are expected to take it home. They even tape the fucking bag for you. I’ve seen some people sitting in the subway station eating, but never actually on the train. They will wait for the next train if they are not finished eating.

Oh yeah, feet are fucking dirty. NEVER touch someone else with your feet. Sandals are a lot more common than I’ve been led to believe, but I accidentally touched an old woman on the train with my feet on her leg when I uncrossed my leg. Now, I have gross feet, I will not deny, but I do not have leprosy, which was how this lady reacted. It was quite comical. Of course, I responded with a deep bow with clasped hands and a “Sumimasen, gomen asai” – excuse me, I’m sorry – which appeared to mollify her. I was nonetheless shocked at how they react to feet.

For instance, in a custom with which many Americans and other Westerners are familiar, the Japanese remove their shoes when entering certain areas. These areas are a lot less diverse than I initially thought. I thought every restaurant and semi-private area was “shoes off.” Not so much. Most restaurants allow shoes, but some have special tatami (reed mats) rooms that are shoes off, for reasons I’ll get into in a second here.

Every residence has a shoe portico. Usually when one enters a residence in Japan, there is an area, sometimes with a porch mat, where one kicks off their shoes. However, it goes deeper than that. Once you kick off your shoe, you are not to touch that area with your foot, be it bare or socked. That foot goes immediately upon the raised real floor of the house, and the other shoe comes off and the foot does not touch the lower portico area either. Please note that this area is inside the doorway. Under no circumstances is the sole of one’s shoe to touch the floor of the home, as it carries with it the street dirt, and that is not acceptable inside the home.

I’ve had servicemen come here to the apartment, and it is almost comical to my Western way of life that they observe this rule so fastidiously. The satellite installation guy was a great example. He comes in to investigate the place, and he kicks off his shoes in typical Japanese custom, and steps up into the home. However, the satellite dish needs to be installed on the backside of the apartment, which is a closed in area. It being the rainy season, it is rather muddy back there. Well, he puts on his shoes, gets his ladder and tools, comes back inside the home, kicks off his shoes, takes the ladder and tools to the back area, comes back picks up his shoes, sets them outside the back door, slips them on and goes to work. Finishing up, he kicks off his shoes, brings the tools to the portico area, sets them down (absurdly leaning out the door to make sure the muddy ladder does not touch any part of the home), returns for his shoes, takes them back, bows to me, slips his shoes on, and takes everything away.

I wanted to laugh, but it is serious business. When sitting in a tatami room, you should not actually point your feet toward anyone.

In addition, in some houses (and at the school where my wife works) inside slippers are provided. However, these must be kicked off if there is a tatami room, as that room is usually extra special, and must remain cleaner than anywhere else.

Another example has to do with dining. Before every meal or even drink at a place of business you are given a cloth. Depending on the season or weather, this cloth will be warm (actually, pretty fucking hot), or cool. Always it will be damp. This cloth is so one can clean their hands, face and neck before dining. It also doubles as you napkin, though I’ve rarely seen Japanese folks dabbing the corners of their mouth. They just do not stuff their face the way we do in America. Chopsticks lend themselves to smaller morsels, and they are quite delicate eaters, unless they are slurping the shit out of noodles, but I’ll get to that in a later entry.
But more than anything else is bathing. It is almost solely done at night, as one does not want to sleep in their bed with the dirt of the day. And bathing is done fucking right. Our bathroom has a self contained area for both showering and bathing, sealed off from the rest of the house. The bathtub is next to the shower area – no curtain, though there is a separation from the rest of the house with a frosted glass door. You draw your bath, then quickly shower off. Never in Japan does anyone enter a bathtub or hot spring, either public or private, without having cleaned first. Taboo. Big time taboo. So you shower, shave and take care of all that shit, and get in the tub. Here is our tub:

But the tub at our place is different. It has a temperature regulator which keeps the temp at a constant of your choosing.

There is no hot water heater. You choose the temp of your water and somehow it is magically piped into your house. It is fucking cool. You can fill the bathtub to the brim, and spill all over the fucking place while screaming eureka! with obscene archimedean delight, and no one will give a shit because the area is built to drain it off with no damage.

Those of you that know me know me as a pretty dirty fucker. No longer. I cannot imagine crawling into bed without a shower, and I rarely take a shower in the morning. In many of the bathhouses or onsen (hot springs) morning bathing is highly irregular, and in many more remote locations, from what I understand, hot water is not even available in the morning. Weird.

And there really is no substitute to a hot soaking after a day. It is awesome. I’m convinced this is one of the reasons that Japan has the longest average life span in the world. You spend ten to fifteen minutes in a 39 or 40 degree Celsius bath, sip a beer (this is my American contribution) and just let the day seep out. Fucking awesome.

So, it's the rainy season

2005-07-04T13:02:00.000+09:00

I've never really lived anywhere with a defined "rainy season." Until now. It has been raining for 3 solid days, which, in and of itself, is nothing spectacular. however, looking at the ten day forecast for Nagoya on weather.com has convinced me that this seasonal moniker actually carries the ring of truth. 10 more days of thunderstorms. And we haven't even entered tai-fun season yet. Wonderful.

The rainy season is SUPPOSED to be the months of June and July, however, this year it was late for some reason, leading to some higher than normal temperatures in June. Boiling, soupy hot. Those of you who have ever been to Houston in July know that of which I speak. It's like swimming when you step outside, it's so humid.

Well, finally that culminated in all the humidity just raining down. I'm not really complaining, however, because today's high is going to reach 84. Sure it will be raining and shitty on July 4th, but at least it will be cool. However, after the month of August, September is supposed to bring us the tai-fun. That sounds like a barrel of fucking monkeys. Last year apparently brought the worst post war typhoon season to Japan killing over 200 people.

So the weather is fun. And then there's still the earthquakes to worry about, so if you ain't getting it from the sky, the ground will get you too. Alas, every season is earthquake season. Call me sick, but I've never been in an earthquake, and I'm actually looking forward to it. I'm sure that opinion will change after the first shake of the ground, but until then, I will remain in a state of curious anticipation.

The one thing that really sucks about the rain is the fact that bicycle is one of the main modes of transportation in Japan. Almost everyone has a bike, and they are all registered with the government. Apparently stealing a bike is more involved than the mere petty theft I believe it entails in the states. Grand theft bicycle? Who knows?

In any case, when it is raining all day every day, and one needs to get somewhere, one needs to don a raincoat or some other such device (my wife has a fucking umbrella holder installed on her bike, due to her inability to control the damn thing with one hand - she actually has crashed her bike not once, but twice thusfar, and one time in a comedically inspiring tumble into an entire rack full of bikes) before leaving the house. Which really isn't as bad as all that, I suppose, but it sure is different than piling into your car and turning on your wipers.

Which brings me to something I'd thought I'd miss but don't at all - Driving. Seriously. Not all it's cracked up to be. It's great going around the corner to the market and grabbing today's fresh fish or meat and produce for dinner everyday. It's not a big hassle like hitting HEB, which can take up to 2 hours on a bad day and cost you over $200. No, not here. You can easily spend too much on food, depending on what you want, but buying fresh food for every meal is easy when your store is merely a 2-3 minute bike ride away. Hell, the fish market is only a 15 minute ride away. We really could learn a lot in Texas about this.

To Bow or not to Bow

2005-06-29T09:09:00.000+09:00

Ah, a trite title - the rite of passage for a blogger, no? In any case, it is a fair question, and your answer is never wrong as a gaijin. If you fuck it all up, most Japanese seem willing to merely chalk it up to you being a dirty barbarian foreigner who knows no better. If you get it right, the they chalk it up to dirty barbarian foreigner who at least knows SOME courtesy.

Ha. No, I kid, I kid. Most of the Japanese we have encountered in our short stay here seem to be exceedingly polite. Of course, some of this is related to the fact that we are indeed gaijin, and as such we need to be kept at arm's length, and exceeding politeness is the Japanese way of doing so. But it has unintended consequences, such as my relating story after story of outfuckingSTANDING customer service that went way beyond the scope of someone's job description. Like the satellite dish girl who knew a little english and left her desk with NTT (kind of the japanese Ma Bell, who is in charge of the fiber optic internet) to go help us at the vodaphone area (cell phone company) by translating for us. Her manager gave her leave and she came. Or like the above mentioned airline employee. As I relate these stories to my friends and family, it would seem to encourage more gaijin to visit. But that's not that thought process. The idea is that if you treat foreigners like foreigners instead of being inclusive, then your way of life and can continue unabated. At least that's my guess.

But back to bowing. It is so unlike anything that I've experienced in the states. Even when one makes eye contact with one of the elderly peepers, they bow, as though they've been caught doing something bad. And the Japanese will always have the last bow or last word. I try to thank the waiter for bringing my beer or my meal+ "Arigatooo!" I say. "Gozaimasu!!" he says. This happens everywhere. There isn't much that is casual, which is anathema to John here. I love casual. I define casual. But everything is structured and very formal in a very bizarre way.

For instance, the wife and I journeyed to Osaka this last weekend, and stayed in a cheap hotel. Nice room, provided kimono robes for us and slippers for the room (as shoes were expected to be removed - this happens everywhere considered a domicile of sorts). In any case, we come out of the elevator in the morning to eat breakfast and begin touring the city, and the three clerks at the counter are already facing the elevator and as we emerge, all three bow deeply, as one. I give a little half bow in return and they repeat their bow. I'm talking hands in front, bowing at the waist to about 45 degrees bowing. So I incline my head, and they repeat. They would absolutely have the last bow, no matter what I did, so I smiled in return, and guess what? Deep bow. I finally just had to walk past them to the breakfast room, as seemingly any action on my part was to elicit a bow, and I felt a little uncomfortable and a little guilty, though I'm sure I should've felt neither.

I'm convinced they would have bowed back to me all day long.

We Have Arrived

2005-06-21T10:54:00.000+09:00

And the old people love us. Or so it seems, as every one of the elderly we pass on the street keeps staring at us. Kids, too, love to stare at the wide-eyes. Nobody in between. Some will flat out stop on the street and stare in open-mouthed wonder. Others will sneak "furtive" glances that would only be sneaky to the blind. But they stare, and I think it is as amusing as hell.

On the other hand, it appears that service is tantamount to any Japanese lifestyle. No shit. People here will pull off the impossible if you merely act polite and ask nicely. For instance, we were allowed in the country without a visa stamp in our passport. We got one in the airport, against the rules, because we were nice, and they made "very special exception," or something similar. You are not supposed to be able to get in at all without the stamp, and of course the stamp must be procured on non-Japanese soil. Except for us, I guess. So that's nice.

Never mind that we had been detained in a small gray room surrounded by pissed off Indians, Thais, and Koreans. Various graffiti decorated the Immigration Control Inquiry room, and the stuff I could read was not particularly complimentary to the Japanese. Go figure. My favorite one was the "Fucking Japs" intertwined with the swastika. Yeah, um, that guy may need to brush up on his history. Also of note there was "Japn is Fuk," "Jap is Sht," and other such grammatical marvels. I assume that the author of such jewels was not a native English speaker, yet lacked sufficient words in his native tongue to express his angst, and turned to English. Gave me a good laugh after a few hours in the uncomfortable room.

But, after all the mercy bestowed upon us by the clerk in Immigration, we had missed our connecting flight to Nagoya. Enter the most friendly service employee in airport history. Remember that scene in Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, when Steve Martin is at the counter? Yeeah, it was nothing like that at all. We march up the gate counter, announce that we have missed our flight and had no idea what we should do. This clerk informaed us that she did not work for Japan Airlines, but she had a flight on Air Nippon to Nagoya leaving in an hour. I ask about our luggage.

She is alarmed, and picks up the phone and starts making phone calls. I have no idea what is happening. She makes 3 phone calls, most of which consist of "Hai!" ("Yes!") exclaimed wonderingly, as though she were amazed by something. Then another clerk comes along, and there is a five mintue conversation that involved many gestures in our direction, and many more "Hai!"'s. Then she tells us she can get us on her airline for free, even though we had a restricted ticket bought in the states through American Airlines. Maybe they are part of the One World Alliance or whatever. I don't know. What I do know is that we had no right to the free ticket because the reason we missed our flight was our own, not the airline's. In any case, she talks more the clerk behind the desk, and then motions us to follow her. Somewhat bewildered, we do.

This is the part of the story where I should mention that she is pretty fucking hot. In Japan, airline employees all have a uniform, which involves some sort of scark tied around their neck, a hat, hair up, and sometimes a hairnet, and sometimes white gloves, but always a tight fitting suit. Salivating, I follow.

She leads us to customs, where, lo and behold, our luggage awaits. Never mind that it must have materialized out of the ether, because we had scoured the customs area prior to giving up and rushing to our plane that we missed.

She leads us back to customs where they check our passport. Meanwhile she's over there piling our 200 pounds of bags onto a cart and wheeling them over to us. The customs lady asks us if we have nothing to declare and the clerk makes a "tch!" sound. We so no, and the customs lady wants to ask us more, but the Air Nippon clerk breaks in and stops her right there. Before we know it, we are at the Air Nippon ticket counter, watching She-Ra pile our bags on the scale, tag them and hand us a boarding pass with a smile. Then she thanks US, and bows. What the fuck Twilight Zone have I just entered. It was like a bizarro American airport.

Before we knew it, we were on a plane to Nagoya, our final destination, wondering just how in the fuck it was that we managed to escape immigration without deportation or incarceration, find our luggage that had seemingly disappeared, and somehow find ourselves on a plane on which we had no right, on our way to our final destination, when a mere four hours earlier things were looking pretty fucking bleak.

Friends, man.

2005-06-16T16:44:00.000+09:00

Friends are the people who define your life. Without friends, your life is what it is ultimately meant to be: nothing. When you have friends, however, you have meaning. You have meaning. I have friends. True friends. None of this acquaintance bullshit. True fucking friends.

When you have a last night to see your friends, and you don’t want anything special, but rather just some quiet hours hanging out with those whom you implicitly trust, and when those few people come and hang out during those quiet hours, drink some scotch, smoke some expensive cigars, and just share the time with you, you know there’s some cool shit there. To my friends – Jason and David – I thank you. I know I leave for a year. I know that in the grand scheme of things, a year ain’t shit. I know that if we decide to stay perhaps two years, in the grand scheme of things, that still ain’t shit. But you are my boys. We’ve been years and years together, raising hell, doing stupid shit, and having fun in general.

And I’ll miss the shit out of both of you. You guys define friendship. That’s pretty much all there is to it. To David – man, you helped me so much with my house. There was so much work for which you wordlessly volunteered, expecting no reward, but that is not the only thing. The heavy lifting is nothing compared to the coolness you exhibit whenever I have shit to talk about.

And Jason…man. Jason. What else is there to say? You define friendship. You opened your house to Jenn and me. I’ve known you since we were 8ish. There’s nothing to be said that you don’t already know. Except thank you. Apparently my stupid ass personality profile states that I am not good at expressing gratitude towards those that mean the most to me. So thanks, man. Just thanks.

To any other readers…These two guys are the fucking shit. As I said in the beginning, I believe that people are defined by those whom they consider friends. And these two are my very best friends. And if they consider me the same, then I would have to view my life as a success. Friends, man. Friends.

One Last Trip

2005-06-14T02:37:00.000+09:00

Well, before we embark on our little adventure in the Far East, we decided to do the most American thing possible. We went to Vegas. We showed up in the Aladdin Casino and Hotel and were immediately accosted by some fucking timeshare vampires. Huh? Promising all sorts of gifts as long as we put down a twenty dollar deposit to go visit their new properties (condominiums are going up all over the fucking place), these vampires continued to try to buy us off with a show to see Sheena Easton. Dealbreaker. I know I don't look that old. We walked.

We arrived in our room with a nice view of the Bellagio fountains. Very cool, but it really loses something in translation without the music to accompany. We’re starving so we decide to go down and brave the buffet. Supposedly the Aladdin has one of the best buffets in town. Apparently so, because we ran into a pretty deep line down there. Wait about twenty minutes amidst the fatties, and finally get up to the register. “Two please.”

“Thank you sir, that will be $51.28.” Holy shit. Seriously? This better be good. I looked around and saw all sorts of genres. “Middle Eastern” “Asian” “Seafood” “Salad” “Soup” “American” wait. WTF. American? What do they have, hamburgers? Nope. Fucking turkey. Some fatty sirloin. Hmph. In short, the buffet sucks, but maybe I’ve just gone ahead and matured past the buffet stage in my life. If I’m going to pay $25 for a meal (give or take) minus the alcohol, I guess I’ll just pay $40 for something better somewhere else. Was not happy.

So we move on to the casino afterward. My wife sits down at a Let It Ride table, so I roll over to a $10 blackjack table with a friendly looking blonde older lady dealing to what appeared to be competent players. Well, I lose roughly 11 hands out of 14. Even God wants you to leave after you lose 4 hands in a row, but sometimes I just don’t listen to the fucker. In short, this friendly looking older blonde lady was murdering the table. It might have been better had she merely mounted the table with a goddamn cutlass and threatened to start skewering us.

So I’m down right off the bat. The craps table appears to be golden, but its busting at the seams, and I just feel pretty shitty all around. Tired after getting up at 8 AM Texas time for an appt, then traveling for roughly 7 hours on various planes to get here, I hit the hay at midnight to save myself for the next day.

Wake up, and hit the poker room. Wife and I buy into the $40 tournament downstairs at the Aladdin. Lots of folks - probably around 70, and free breakfast. That is, if your breakfast includes coffee and sugary shit. Needless to say, I stuck with the coffee. Busted out fairly early after an unremarkable showing. Last hand was a K-5 against 4-4. I had the K-5. It wasn’t suited. There was absolutely nothing redeeming about this hand save for the fact that I had $400 in blinds out there, $500 behind, and was raised in the big blind by the small blind. Figured I had one over, and only $500 left with which to play (with blinds sitting at $200-$400), and it was time to take a paltry stand. So I pushed, and missed. He managed to catch a 4 on the turn which was nice for him, I suppose. The wife busted out earlier than I did, with pocket 10s against overs.

I was sitting with an older man who was playing loose, but very successfully. I wish I had a hand with which to look him up. Everytime I knew he was running a position play, I was stuck with 6-2. And after he doubled through twice (once with a full house, and another time with a straight) I knew I couldn’t pull any sort of raise that would push him out, because he was playing $500 into the pot. Anything I could raise him with would not have been enough to push him out. So I was stuck watching him bully the table with no recourse. Talk about a bad taste in your mouth.

So so far, I’m down $40 for poker, and some more over all, but whatever. Time to hit the town. We head over to the Flamingo so the wife can see the penguins. She fucking loves penguins. We stop by Paris and the Barbary to see if ANYone is offering action on the USA-Panama World Cup Qualifier. Nope. Nobody in town. WTF. Not to mention the fact that we got hit up AGAIN for a goddamn timeshare. At the Barbary Coast. Seriously. WTF. The Barbary fucking Coast.

So we head over to New York New York to grab reservations at the steakhouse over there before we hit up the Zumanity Cirque show at 10:30. We do so, but only after getting hit up AGAIN for a fucking timeshare. This time I just laughed in their face when they offered a free show. I said “Timeshare?” they nodded. I said, “Not today, pikers.” I had had a few cocktails. They were not amused, but they can go fuck themselves.

I grabbed a $5 blackjack table. I won a few bucks, and everybody seemed in good spirits, and the dealer was cracking jokes, and karma was good. Then the guy on third base got the idea that splitting his fucking face cards was a good idea. After losing $40 due to this asshat splitting his 10s and taking the dealer bust cards, I got up and decided to try something else.

This was mirrored many times, and you realize just how elusive that good blackjack table can be. We managed to find a few here and there, but mostly we went for the utter vacation of it. Had a blast watching the Zumanity show, George Carlin, and a vegas revue at Bally's, which was so-so. Ate like a king - steak almost every night after that god-awful buffet. Probably spent way too much on food, but who gives a shit? Won $100 on the Spurs in Game 1, and pushed my poker winnings up a few hundred. Had a great run at the craps table right before we had to leave to get on our plane. Isn't that always how it in in Vegas? But leaving close to even is no small feat in a town that is geared around getting in your wallet. Can't complain about that.

Not a Dry Eye

2005-06-06T12:38:00.000+09:00

So tonight I left my Labrador-Shepherd pup with the brother in law and his new wife. I already miss the old girl. She’s only two years old, but Jenn and I have raised her since she was a small unwanted pup in the SPCA. I’m leaving her in a good place - the two of them will love her completely. Yet, I already miss her. I’m leaving for Vegas on the morrow for four nights, but even after that, I believe I will refuse to see her until I come back for a visit. I do not want her getting confused.

I know she’ll feel betrayed by my leaving her. She’s used to us leaving for up to a week or two on various vacations. But we’ve always come back. We won’t be coming back for a year. Maybe for a bit of a vacation over Christmas, but that is it. She will not understand. She’ll probably never understand. A year is a good percentage of a lab’s life. Two years is a generation. When I come back, she’ll have a gray snout. She’ll have a heart full of experiences, good and bad, that don’t include me. I will miss her much, but my heart hurts for how much I believe she will miss me.

She just will not understand. But this is better than subjecting her to the trial of an overseas flight (with three connections and 22 hours involved) and the stress of quarantine. But she’ll never know that, and for that, I’ve cried. I’m completely worthless when it comes to dogs. The bond formed between humans and dogs is so amazingly powerful, is it not? I already feel as though I can feel her angst in my heart - or perhaps I just need her to miss me. I’m not sure.

What I am sure of, however, is the effect of her absence has already has upon me. Driving away from their apartment, I cried like a baby. They decided to take her for a walk and she tried to follow me and Jenn to the car, panting in her own familiar grin. I simply patted her head, and kind of steered her in their direction as I averted my eyes, because they were quickly filling up.
She looked back one time, tongue lolling. I lost it. And that’s that. I got in the car, drove to the nearest bar, had a few beers, and I’m pretty sure I’ll need to go ahead and get drunk tonight. I’m the type of person that avoids finality. I’m pretty laid back, but when the time comes, the enormity of something weighs heavily upon me. And I’m now worthless. Ugh. I miss her. I hope she doesn’t miss me as much.

The questions

2005-06-03T15:14:00.000+09:00

My advice to you:

If you are ever to decide to leave this country to live abroad for a year or so, absolutely spring it on everybody at the last possible minute. That way, you won't face weeks and weeks of the same fucking questions.

"Are you ready?"
"When do you leave?"
"Are you all packed up?"
"When do you leave?"
"Are you excited?"
"When do you leave?"

JUNE EIGHT-FUCKING-TEENTH. Jesus. I've gotten to the point that I answer every question with a complete blank face, as though by rote.

"Yeah, we're ready. "
"June 18th."
"Well, we're sort of packed up."
"June 18th."
"Yeah, I'm real excited."
"June 18th."

Goddamn, it's tiring answering the same questions all the damn time. So, again, just don't tell anyone. You'll find yourself answering the fucking mailman, the security rent a cop at your office, some fucker you're buying a latte from at starbucks. Anyone. It's amazing. Everyone is suddenly interested in every little detail of your life. You should make every preparation, send out one email to everyone stating that you are the fuck out of here, and just up and disappear, and start a dumb blog to keep everyone apprised on every little detail of your life, because they really want to know. So, yes, we are leaving June 18th. No, we're probably are not ready, we aren't even fucking close to being packed up, and we're thrilled as hell. Mostly because all these uninteresting questions will stop and hopefully be replaced by more meaningful ones, such as "What do you think of those people?" Because that's a fun one too.

Land of the Rising Blog

2005-05-26T07:18:00.000+09:00

A fucking blog. How...unextraordinary. Here, with just over three weeks left on US soil, it has occurred to me that I might need some way to keep in touch with folks back home. And mass emails are so a decade ago. So I’ve ventured into the dark underbelly of the web – blogs. A place where most folks document the daily events of their boring ass lives and other people with boring ass lives read and comment. How exciting. How droll. How trendy!

Really, I consider blogging a world full of teenage girls and political psychopaths. A world full of people who have any number of antisocial behaviors and feel the need to vent in the anonymous void of cyberspace. Not me. I’m a blog revolutionary. An online Che. I got shit to say. And if you’re reading, then you’ll likely have your mind blown at some point. Fair warning.

Anyhow, I’ll be distributing this URL to friends and relatives who want to keep up with the happenings of Jenn and me in Japan, and the days leading up to our journey into the Land of the Rising Sun. The land of ninjas, green tea, and violent earthquakes. A land where this WASP boy is going to be a minority for the first time in his life, and LOVING it. A land where I will be a giant barbarian, though I’m just about average here in America. A land where I’ll be prized as a novelty. A land that will be paying us for growing up speaking English. Should be fun.