People, Places, Things & Ideas

Saturday Night. Perhaps against my better judgment I followed my herd instinct to meet some acquaintances at a bar, after a very long day of work. Fortunately my second wind arrived after sleeping on the train en route. And, despite the fact that I have no sense of direction, I somehow managed to locate the place I was seeking. Before I even got there two Japanese who were also on the way started talking to me as we crossed the street. One of them said she had seen me somewhere before. Keep in mind this is in a city the size of Los Angeles. Odd. The whole night went like that, actually. Well, night and morning. But I am getting ahead of myself.

The bar was pretty mellow, actually, which made me glad because my second wind was fast becoming a light breeze. I sat at the bar and ordered a drink with my random new crosswalk pals. While I was waiting for my American friend, I noticed that someone who isn't my friend was there too. OK, that was true of almost everyone at the time. So this person would be more like, the anti-friend. That is too strong, actually. Let's just say the last time I talked to him his arrogance made it hard to breathe. But he came to the bar and I made polite conversation and this time he was actually pretty decent. He went away, and I chatted a bit with the bartenders. Nice folks, all. Finally my friend arrived. I mentioned him before as the larger-than-me American with whom I encountered super duper placist-racist man. No sooner had my friend taken his seat next to me than he started laughing and hitting me on the shoulder, pointing. "I don't believe it! That's the guy!" And indeed it was. Irish and Israeli hater had come. And the next thing we knew he was apologizing for his behavior of two weeks ago. Call me unforgiving, but despite his improved conduct, I was not unhappy to see him move on. How is it that, in this huge city of millions of people, the ones I least want to meet seem to have a way of finding me? On this night it took a total of about 15 minutes. So very strange.

Next was a guy I am just getting to know from Germany, who has two Ph.Ds and can speak five languages, including very good Japanese. He is only 32, I think. I went to meet him to show him where the place was, but not before just barely making it to the McDonald's second floor restroom. I was dancing with myself. Oh oh oh oh. Another 10 seconds or so and I think I would have been intentionally spilling something on myself to cover my, uh, embarrassment. Sometimes I feel obligated to buy something in this situation, when a restaurant restroom comes to the rescue. But being that it was McDonalds, I was not affected by any such concern. Refreshed and relieved, I soon found my friend, talking on the phone while two Japanese men stared at him and talked about his Japanese prowess. He was, in fact, using great Japanese, but not only that. He was speaking in what is known to some as "the waiter voice." I could tell immediately that he was talking to someone female, and likely attractive in his eyes. When he hung up I asked him, and he told me it was a sixteen-year old girl he had met at a party in Tokyo. Apparently they have developed a relationship that consists almost solely of exchanging R-rated personal experiences over the phone. People never cease to surprise me. Possibly for the better, our conversation about that went nowhere because McDonalds (yes, again) took priority. This time the purpose was withdrawal, not deposit. My friend required nourishment, and for whatever reason he felt McDonalds was the place to get it. So I gave in and had a hamburger too. As we dined he told me about his arrival at the train station. According to him, he was about to go upstairs to the street when he heard a girl screaming and crying. He followed the sound to a dark corner where he found a Japanese guy and girl maybe in their early twenties. The guy was punching her repeatedly in the face. Germany intervened, and though obviously not happy about it, the guy withdrew without further contact. After making sure the girl was relatively OK, Germany continued his journey and it was less than an hour later that we met. Whatever I thought about his telephone habits, I was impressed by this latest tale. Having finished his French fries, the big German and I walked on. He informed me that it was his intention to drink copious amounts of alcohol, to ease the pain of a teeth-whitening procedure he had underwent that day.

So we went to the bar, we talked, and we left (after a brief scare of being followed to the next locale by p-r man). Outside the bar I met two guys from India and a Japanese guy, and soon the six of us were headed for our next destination, though none of us quite knew what or where it was. After an hour or so of not uneventful meandering, we surrendered to our contingency plan, which was another bar/club. Met some more people outside and chatted for a while, then went in. For the sake of brevity (though it is obviously too late for that) I shall condense: we drank, talked, met people, lost each other, danced a bit, found each other, I got my face painted (I still have purple on the sides of my right thumbnail), I bumped into a friend of a friend, and I met the guy who plays Frankenstein at Universal Studios Japan (or something like that). My big American friend came around at about 4:00 a.m. saying he was ready to go and wanted to know if I was keen to join. At that point I was all for a change in scenery. So he, I, and two girls he had been talking to before went to a 24-hour restaurant.

Apparently he and one of the girls had been dancing together and getting along quite well. But as we sat in the restaurant the language barrier, not to mention the difference in age (she ten years his senior) became apparent. Perhaps realizing there was not much of a future in this, my friend fell asleep on the table and soon started snoring, though not too loudly. The friend of his friend followed suit, though her volume was more impressive, especially considering her petite stature. So there I was, at 5:00 in the morning, making conversation with the remaining conscious person at our table, raising my voice only slightly to talk over the stereo-snoring. (See photo on upper right.) After about ten minutes of small talk, Friend's friend's friend woke up, her lucidity returned, and just in time for the show. For not long after that, Friend woke up with a start and indicated his desire to get up from the table. I got up to accommodate, assuming he needed to use the restroom. But he walked in the opposite direction, to an area of empty tables at the back of the restaurant, about 5 meters away, pulled a chair into the aisle, and sat down with his back turned to all. He had assumed a pose resembling that of "The Thinker," but he was in fact to become "The Puker."

After an impressive round of dry heaves to signal the nearing end of the spectacle, he returned to his previous pose. It soon became clear that it was to be on my shoulders to handle the situation. And in retrospect, I think I did OK. First I had his "date" write her e-mail address and phone number down for him on her cardboard drink coaster. Then I ushered the ladies to the door, explaining that at this point it would be better if he did not have to face them, and bid them a simultaneous good night and good morning. Next, I went to my friend and asked if he was going to be OK, and if he was, er, finished. I told him just to grab his coat and leave, again to reduce his embarrassment as well as that of the unfortunate ones working there, who I am sure did not want to talk to him anyway at that point. As he was getting himself together and meekly making his way out the door, I paid for our breakfasts, apologized profusely, and then asked how to get to the nearest train station. I must say the restaurant staff, though unimpressive in service, more than made up for it with their graciousness on this early Sunday morning. Got my friend to the train, got myself home, and slept like a baby. And if anyone is wondering, the fire engine did not disturb my slumber, nor did any dancing people with grey-haired crowns of splendour. I woke up feeling fine, having experienced life and people in new and exciting ways.

May! The Bu log persevering! (Translator Tomfoolery, Take Two)

If the ほ it is, there is no white pig
(On the link clicking, and page bottom to going it is, don't you think?)

Lost in Translation

See "Gomeiyage"'s comment regarding the recent Japanese post. He only wrote about 5% of it himself, but that is nothing to be concerned about. It's so funny it warrants a post all its own. And here it is.

Hello Dolly

Today I ate out at two great restaurants, bought some downright funky Japanese retro remixed music, and actually managed, almost miraculously, to secure a seat on the fast train during rush hour. And I involuntarily spent 10 precious minutes of my life comparing the quality of various Barbies and other dolls. "This one has actual eyelashes, but this one's are just painted on." Stuff like that. There was one that was pretty sexy, and she did in fact have eyelashes. And a skull for a belt. And a short skirt. And yes I did look up it. She was wearing leopard print undies. If you think me perverse, I ask you, would you not have done the same? If not, why not? Besides, the female friend I was with looked too. So that makes it OK. Pretty sure. It may have been a necessary act to achieve some sort of balance, or something, after my monumental, though in the end futile, perseverance in the coffee shop.

The Bitch is Back

Went to my pseudo-home stay family's house. We ordered pizza (from Pizza Hut, of course). Watched a Japanese TV show where they asked questions like, "What kind of sounds do you make when you are having sex?" This was on public television and, if you didn't understand the Japanese, you would think these people are all very innocent and even naive. Ha. Talked and drank and ate the pizza and talked and drank some more. My experience in Japan the second time around is markedly different from the first. Oh my head. Yeah.

Time went on and, while my friend was taking forever trying to change her hair from black to brown, I watched some more very late night Japanese TV. So many cartoons. In fact I challenge anyone to name a country that is more cartoon-crazy than Japan. People read comic books in trains, waiting rooms, restaurants. There is an entire separate (and extremely lucrative) industry for pornographic cartoon-"anime"-movies and comic books. Naked or not, cartoons permeate this culture. They are everywhere, and it is seen as completely normal. Of course most people have been known to occasionally watch cartoons or even read comic books. Duh. But it really does take a while to get used to seeing 60-year old suit-clad businessmen on trains completely engrossed in comic books which are usually about sexual conquests or baseball. Or both. Where is your Wall Street Journal, man?

Turned off the TV and then talked some more and drank some more. One friend is leaving for a four day trip to Hawaii very soon, but she can't speak English. Apparently it is not much of a problem there, though. Anyway, she and I looked at pictures of the bastard puppies that have all now been given away and we both missed them. Then I posted too many pictures of them to my photo album. Then we realized that the bitch mother of said bastard puppies was missing, so we went to search for her. Happily, we managed to locate her. And now I am home and it is 5:30 in the morning. Right. Well, at least we found the dog. Sleep isn't all it's cracked up to be, anyway.

つまらない物ですが。。。

まだ下手くそなんですけど時々日本語でポストするつもりです。更にブログのやり方もよく分からない。でも頑張りますね！

今日は今までだらだらばっかり。怠け者じゃないと思うけど、たまに”lazy day”は気持ちいい！とにかくそろそろ仕事へ行かなきゃ。日本人はこのブログを見るのは良かった！皆さん来てくれてありがとうございます！もしもお客様は何か言いたかったら、”comment”でどうぞ。あと”guestbook”にも何か書いてちょうだい！よろしく！

あ、ところでもし僕はものすごく変な日本語を使ったら教えて下さい！

One of these things is not like the other

So I went to Hanzhou, China back in late November of 2004. The experience was heightened by the fact that I went with a Japanese tour group. So for four days I was trying to remember my Chinese while at the same time using my Japanese. I even did a wee bit of interpreting. Emphasis on wee. It is not common for a foreigner to join a Japanese tour group, as everything is done in Japanese, and the schedule for the tour is very structured. Everything was planned. Not only that, but the theme of this tour was the historical relationship between Chinese and Japanese Buddhism. I went because it was free. I was the mascot. No, actually I just knew the right people and took an opportunity when it came. It was fun seeing the expressions on people's faces when I showed up at each new location on our agenda, as they tried to decide what language they should use to attempt communication. Good times.

On the second to last day, the day I didn't have my camera, we went for a long walk around a big, beautiful lake. Maybe someday I will tell you what it is called. It is one of the main domestic tourist attractions in China. Also about 20 Chinese college students who were studying Japanese joined us. I, being a member of the Japanese group, had to wear a really stupid orange baseball cap that was too small for my head. A beanie with a bill, really. The college kids wore white caps. Apparently it was important to be able to know on sight who was from where. Wouldn't want to mistake a Chinese person for a Japanese, or vice versa. I still haven't figured out why they insisted I wear one. Perhaps the hats were there to eliminate the question of what language to use....

Of course we couldn't begin our nature walk without proper East Asian style warm-up exercises. During these rather ridiculous looking drills, one angry Chinese onlooker was walking by and shouting in Chinese, "Go back to Japan! We don't want you here!" and some other choice words as well. Rather awkward, but he was outnumbered so he kept walking. Still a lot of cross-cultural wounds to be healed there.

During our walk it came to my attention that none of our Chinese host students had ever met an American before. I talked with about half of them during our extended stroll. Though tempted to fill their minds with fallacious ideas about American customs, I decided to behave myself instead. The little man (my conscience to the uninitiated) got his way once again. But to make up for it, I and one of the Japanese members of the group ducked out of the second half of the day and went shopping with a group of the college students and then to karaoke. Except that in China it is called KTV. I have been to a lot of karaoke places, and this was, by far, the most luxurious. Five TV screens, two interactive monitors, various types of seating, and everything sparkling clean and new. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if Feng Shui had been applied to the design of this room. It was the living room of my dreams. So we sang, we drank, and we bid one another farewell. Meanwhile, all the other people hiked all afternoon, despite the fact that they had been walking for hours in the morning. Some of them were actually sleeping in the lobby of the hotel when we got back, they were so exhausted. Suckers!

Oh yeah and I saw lots of Buddhist temples and art, met priests of varying degrees of importance, took forbidden photographs which I later discovered were permitted after all, and ate like a king. And then there was the rather suspicious police escort that sped our bus full of Japanese tourists through red lights and traffic jams so we
could get to our calligraphy ceremony (which was held outdoors despite below zero temperatures and featured liquor floating down a half-frozen stream, and a Chinese photographer who seemed to think that the best angle for every shot could be acquired by placing his rear end centimeters from my face) on time. All of the Japanese on the bus were standing up to see, going crazy with a combination of fear, anticipation, and amazement that this was actually happening. I was actually asked to get out of the way and return to the back of the bus so that the people behind me could see. I was, at the time, crouching near the front of the bus talking with a friend because I
had been asked to go there--by a woman in her fifties who wanted to change her dress. Yeah, on the bus. Anybody who had happened to turn around at the right moment would have been in for a little surprise, but I don't think anyone did, though I was kind of hoping they would....

Double Tall Caffeinated Paranoia

Annoying experience: I went into a coffee shop to have some lunch and at a nearby table there were two Japanese girls in their twenties, one of whom was wearing a rather short skirt (despite the fact that it was freezing cold outside--fashion slave!). They were talking pretty loudly, rudely in fact, enjoying themselves and their coffee. I turned in that general direction to call the waitress over for more coffee, and, at that moment, the girl who wore pants whispered something to skirt girl. Skirt girl immediately reached for her coat and put it in her lap, and then looked at me, accusingly. For the next five minutes the two girls were very quiet, conducting their entire conversation in whispers, with occasional glances in my direction. Grrr.

First of all, I wasn't trying to look up your skirt, skirt girl. Second, if you are so concerned about it maybe you should think more about how you dress, 'cause that was one short skirt. Third, don't flatter yourself. Any interest I might have had in your legs eroded soon after I (and everyone else in the coffee shop) heard you talk. So there.

Will You Marry Me Bill? I Love You So and I Always Will

Why am I writing anything at this moment? I should be sleeping. I can hear the birds chirping. It is 5:30 a.m., but I have only one class at 11 and then I am free for 30 hours or so. I just now got home from karaoke, where I randomly met a Japanese guy I had randomly met there before, and of course I didn't recognize him but he remembered every little detail about me. I felt like such a jerk, but then there is a reason for that. Anyway, it goes without saying that I had a great time... yeah. So I am home, Bill has started a blog, I commented on it in Klingon, and all seems to be well with my personal universe. I should try to get to sleep before I get past my own subconsciously fabricated facade of extreme contentment. Then again, whenever I do finally get horizontal I have a lingering feeling that I will see more dancing old people. I like old people. If any old people read this, I hope you are not offended by the term "old". I mean it with the utmost respect. Political correctness at times requires verbal olympics that are well, more tiresome than I can bear. Especially at such an hour as this. As long as I get 3 hours of sleep, though, I know I can perform well. But I will probably take a nap in the afternoon. Mmmm... forbidden sleep... soooo gooooooooood. And I must retire.

(Near) Death from Above

Today at the beginning of an advanced class I had the students asking each other about their weekends. One student, in her forties, said she visited her grandmother-in-law in the hospital. She is 95 years old and going strong. The next student shared an exciting tale of shoe shopping with her husband. Next one of my older students, whom we will call Mrs. Y, spent about 10 minutes telling about her ongoing battle with a department store over a carpet washing problem. She didn't ask for it to be washed, they washed it anyway, the color was changed. She has been demanding that they replace it for 3 1/2 years, to no avail. Not one to give up easily, if at all, the powerful and persistent Mrs. Y did not stop trying. The entire time she has been carpetless in an uninsulated house. At 70 years old that means something. At the end of her story Mrs. Y said, "I am proud to say that yesterday I won. They finally agreed." She proceeded to share all the details of how she got a $15,000 carpet for only $4,500, and then when she was finished, she asked if I thought she had done well. What else could I say but "Congratulations!"? Clearly this is a woman who values principle highly.

Last a young man who is still in college shared about how he and a friend went out to eat, and even though it was windy and pouring rain, he refused to take a taxi (which would have cost each of them $3). Instead he insisted they ride their bicycles while holding umbrellas, even though the restaurant was more than a 15-minute bike ride away. He said his friend, who had suggested a taxi or a nearer restaurant, was noticably annoyed, but eventually went along with him. I asked him why he didn't just take a taxi. Eventually I got two reasons: 1) "I don't like going to a restaurant by taxi because somehow it seems like an empty way to behave." and 2) "I wanted to make sure I was hungry when I got to the restaurant so I could eat a lot, so I rode my bicycle to get an appetite." I told him that if I were his friend he would have been pedalling alone, and I would have been warm, dry, and laughing at him when he eventually made it to the restaurant and I was already enjoying appetizers and beer. But I have to give him credit for knowing what he wants and sticking to his guns, even if it did mean getting himself, and his friend, soaked.

Near the end of class I thought it would be fun to ask if any of them had ever had a near-death experience. All of them shook their heads with one exception, Mrs. Y. From previous experience and today's carpet story, I know she is not one to be trifled with. She carries a certain amount of authority, and demands respect while at the same time being able to joke and laugh. As a result of that, plus her often dry sense of humor, it can be hard to tell whether she is trying to be funny or serious. "I have had a near-death experience," she began. "When I was a child, I almost died when the B-29 Bombers flew over Kobe. They dropped so many bombs. They were falling all around me. Those planes and those bombs came from YOUR country, right?" I have shared many laughs in the past months with Mrs. Y, but she was not laughing when she said this. It was more than a little uncomfortable. But Japanese People who remember WWII well enough to talk about it, and talk about it in ENGLISH, are few and should be treasured. So I asked her if we could talk about it again sometime one-on-one. She agreed. That seemed to lighten the mood slightly, and then class was over. I am looking forward to talking with her. And I'll be sure to post the pearls that are bound to come from that encounter.

Nothing New Under the Sun

The title of this post was almost the original title of this blog. A bit ironic, I think, as I recently discovered that what I thought was a clever play on words is not at all unique. It was my own narcissism that led me to this revelation. I typed the words "Pilgrim's Digress" on a search engine and found lots of matches, including at least one book title, none of which had anything to do with me or this fledgling blog. Now accepting nominations for a new title.

More Gyrating Geriatrics

Last night I was chatting with a friend at his apartment when out of the corner of my eye I saw something that instantly distracted me from our conversation. I walked to the window to get a closer look. Sure enough, in the apartment building across the street there was an old man dancing and singing, in a rather animated fashion. He was waving and jumping, twisting and shouting. His room appeared to be rather empty, from what I could see, except for the microphone he was holding and the television displaying the lyrics to the song he was singing. Also the room had wallpaper that was memorable: broad, bold vertical stripes in eight-to-a-box crayon colors, with white alternating between. I took it all in, knowing that I may never again have the opportunity to witness such a spectacle. Then, just when I thought the show couldn't get any more interesting, he ripped his shirt off and flamboyantly threw it into his imaginary audience. I was unable to avert my gaze until it occurred to me that I ought to save this moment for progeny, or at least blogeny. I went to get my camera and when I returned, he was closing his curtains. And then I woke up.

Why did I dream of an old man singing karaoke in his apartment? Why in my dream was I such an unashamed voyeur? Why did the wallpaper make such an impression on me? And why, unlike most of my dreams, did everything flow and make sense? Am I that old man? Was it a prophetic vision that will one day be dismissed as mere deja vu, as I am sometimes inclined to think happens? And one more thing: what was he singing?

From the mouths of babes....

Once a week I meet with a little boy named Kohei to teach him English. Our first few months together were spent largely playing games and reading simple and short children's stories to work on vocabulary and phonics. One day his mother, who also studies in one of my classes, came to me and asked, "WHAT are you teaching my son?!" "Is something wrong?" I inquired. "The other day I asked him to clean his room and he looked up at me and shouted, 'Go away! You're ugly!' I scolded him and asked him where he learned such a horrible thing. 'Tony taught me!' he said." "Well," said I, "I guess that means we are ready to move on to the next story book. Sounds like he has a good grasp on 'The Ugly Duckling!'"

That Not So Fresh Feeling

Why is it, I wonder, now that I live in a place where I can't fit into my bathtub, that I often feel so compelled to bathe? When I had a big bathtub I always showered. This perplexes me. Also, how do baths and showers stack up from an environmental standpoint? And is it feminine to take a bubble bath? And more so if the name of the bubble bath liquid is "Pear Berry"? It's just that it smells so fruity fresh... I can't help myself. I am drawing a bath and the bath is drawing me. It's reciprocity. I must go lest it overflow.

P.S. My kitchen still bears the faint odor of Mexican food. I kinda like it that way.

By the way....

To those of you who have taken the time to post comments, and/or sign the guestbook, I extend my thanks. Though in many cases your comments are more witty and impressive than mine, I encourage you to continue. I am honored to be visited by my betters. Baby, you keep me bloggin'.

Step left, around, and together with the right

Today I made Mexican food for a friend and myself and then crushed her at Mariokart Double Dash. She could not understand why victory, without exception, eluded her, and frankly I didn't want to go to the trouble to explain to her that I practically majored in Mariokart in college. I thought it best to humble her quietly, consistently, and relentlessly. The Mexican food, chimichangas, was dang good too, if I do say so myself. Of course I left the room many times in order to spare my friend the after effects (and myself the embarrassment). If there had ever been any danger of defeat, though, a potent secret weapon had I. Fortunately it was never necessary.

After that I had two classes, one with five elementary school girls, the next a private lesson with a rather eccentric young man who knows nearly everything there is to know about major league baseball. He is one of those people that is easy to caricature, even in a second language. I always look forward to our time together. It makes me wonder, though, if he might not be mimicking me to his friends as I do him. Am I a bad person? Yeah, OK.

Next I went to yakiniku (Japanese do-it-yourself bbq) and karaoke. I do these two things so often that I usually don't even mention them. This time I am mentioning them, though for what reason I do not know.

Moving on.... Picture if you will a covered street for pedestrian traffic only, with various and sundry shops on each side--everything from very sexually oriented bars, clubs and video viewing centers to Hello Kitty theme stores. Now on this street imagine thousands of people walking to and fro, on their way to who knows where, talking and minding their own business, trying to avoid bumping into the other people surrounding them. Kind of like the video game Asteroids, but instead of shooting all you can do is dodge. On second thought, more like Frogger. Right, so I have mentioned three video games, actually four, in this posting so far. Yet here I stand; I cannot recant. Anyway, on the street imagine a girl in her twenties with an open guitar case, a mic, amp, and her axe singing away to any who will stop, or for that matter pass, and listen. As she sings one person, and one person only, finally stops to enjoy her musical stylings. This person just happens to be in her sixties or seventies, wearing a white hat and a white surgical mask because she has a cold and wants to protect others from her virus-infected breath. She stops, listens, and before long begins to dance rather conspicuously, Pee Wee's Playhouse style, right in front of the performer; or should I say her fellow performer. For not long after the dance began, the onlookers, myself of course included, increased exponentially. Not only that, but the passersby could not help but rubberneck as they moved on, slowing down noticeably to take in the scene. I captured the whole phenomenon on video with my cell phone, everything from the growing crowd and double takes to the singing, strumming and dancing. It was, I must say, hilarious. It made me wonder what the dancing lady was like forty or fifty years ago. I would have liked to meet her. What am I saying? I would like to meet her now! It is people like her that add that indefinable flavor to the casserole of life. Though I may never be able to truly understand such spicy people, I hope I will always appreciate them. People like her amaze me. Their oddity is simultaneously thought provoking, instructive and unifying. (If you were to accuse me of overanalyzing, you would be in good company.) The most amazing part of all was not, however, the shamelessness of the old lady in a society that is in many ways ruled by shame, but the incomprehensible and commendable ability of the singer to keep from laughing as she performed, with the masked dancing grandma boogeying away two feet in front of her. Very impressive. Perhaps one day I will attach a photo. But probably I will not. Let your mind's eye take you there. Imagine your own grandma. She won't know.

Life is like a box of chocolates, and I've got nine

Today was Valentine's Day. Here is a link to a very pink website that gives some interesting history, but also contains plenty of stuff that could make you gag on your candy. It seems to become increasingly cheesy and nauseating as you scroll down. Further disclaimers should be inferred. Click here if you are bored enough. I can't mock you, or at least I shouldn't, since my boredom--uh, no, make that attention to detail and thoroughness--drove me to actually make the link. And besides even if you click, I won't know. It can be your little secret.


In Japan St. Valentine's Day is an occasion upon which females present chocolate to males, and not vice versa. It is not necessarily meant to carry romantic implications, but in many cases does. It is also often given merely out of kindess or as a nice gesture. This explains the immense amount of chocolate I have received from housewives. Or at least it better. One month after Valentine's Day is "White Day," the chance for the males to reciprocate. They are of course especially likely to do so if they were given chocolate by anyone from whom they would like to receive more than a Hershey's kiss. So far I have received 9 boxes, and one single piece from one of my high school students. She actually asked to leave class because she had forgotten something, and I told her fine but she needed to be back in one minute. I was just kidding (myself, mostly, since I don't expect the students at this particular high school to listen much to what I say, if indeed by some miracle they should happen to even understand me), but I have to admit I felt a little bad when she came back to class 57 seconds later, out of breath, with the little brown, rainbow-sprinkled jewel from her locker.

So it looks like I will be eating chocolate for a while. And in a few weeks I will have to shop for it. Then again, perhaps I can get a discount this week on the stuff they haven't sold yet. Yes, I can be that cheap. But I am rarely that motivated. That is to say I am much more likely to spend the money when the mood strikes me than to actually make the effort to go out looking for a bargain on something like chocolate. I have considered regifting, but even I can't seem to bring myself to stoop to that level. Too bad, considering the fact that, in addition to this year's bounty, I still have three boxes of chocolate in my freezer from last Valentine's Day.

And the winner is....

Friday was a national holiday, so Thursday night I went into the city for the night. As it seems that most Japanese, for whatever reason, don't view the night before a national holiday as an extra night to play, I was hesitant about going out. But a Peruvian friend seemed to have ideas for things to do. Upon arriving, however, I found that he was taking me along to meet a friend at a club where they were conducting "Salsa Night". Unfortunately this was referring to the dance and not the condiment. I don't have anything against Salsa, per se; it's just that I don't know how to do it and the people who go to such events tend to be rather serious about it. I met one girl there who recently quit her job and at the moment does nothing but eat, sleep, and salsa. Or so she said. Anyway I was less than pleased with my friend because he is aware of my aversion and yet said nothing. On the up side, though, I made friends with one of the bartenders, got free drinks, and now I know where I can go if I ever want a good tattoo.

Friday I slept all day and then met students for a "New Year's Party". Seems a little late for that, I reckon, but it was an excuse to drink really bad "refreshingly bitter" beer and talk about everything and nothing in particular.

Saturday evening I tried a new church then went out to dinner with the other four people who attended the meeting. OK, I am exaggerating. There were nine other people, but five of them were conducting the service. It was nice. One Australian girl was explaining why she can't seem to communicate well with Americans (can't understand that accent, and they are so uptight!). Next I met an American friend and a female pal of his at a British pub. It was during this time that I met perhaps the stupidest person I have yet encountered in all my time living in Asia.

Here's what happened: I went to the bar to order a beer, and for no particular reason thanked the bartender in an Irish brogue. Imagine that. Then I went about my business, returning to our table. Keep in mind, now, that I am 6'0" and weigh in at 240 pounds, and my American friend is 6'3" and 240. (The Japanese girl was 5'4" and about 80 pounds, probably, in case you were wondering.) In spite of our peaceful behavior and prominent stature, a rather wiry British person found his way to our quiet little spot and started leering at us/me. He was standing right over me, with an angry look in his eyes and a pint in his hand. So in order to get whatever awkwardness he had planned over with, I said, "Hello", in the most diplomatic tone I could muster. At this point the person in question proceeded to all but challenge me to a fight, stating, "Tonight I hate anyone who speaks with an Irish accent. Because I hate the Irish. All of 'em. And Israelis too. They blah blah blah blah..." Nothing he said warrants repeating. The fact that he was being so openly and rather loudly racist/placist does. Especially considering the fact that we were in a bar full of people from all over the world. One hopes such a fellow, if his thinking remains unchanged, will not procreate. Eventually my friend and I managed to sort of ignore him until he went away, but not before he called me a "worthless Pole" and "an all right guy." The queerest part about it all is that, though he was talking nonsense and being incredibly offensive and rude, he did not appear to have had that much to drink yet. Glad we didn't stick around to witness his progress (regress) over the course of the evening....

Open Up and Say Moo

Tonight I went with three beautiful young Japanese women to a very special restaurant. It is special because the entire menu consists of various manifestations of the same cuisine: cow tongue. We started off with the cow tongue steak fingers, followed by raw cow tongue slices. Next was barbecued cow tongue with garlic, and finally cow tongue soup. Dessert was an exception: green tea ice cream topped with sweet bean paste. Mmm, tasty!

Also, while I am on the topic of culinary experiences, last week I finally ate fugu, the blowfish that can kill you if it isn't prepared correctly. That was really good. The cow tongue, though a bit chewy, was yummy too--as long as I didn't think about what I was eating. Tasting that which itself once tasted cud... not a particularly appetizing notion.

Crescent Fresh

I haven't left the apartment yet today. I think I will try to do that now. If only I can find a pair of socks....

Click me Amadeus

Sock me Amadeus

Silence is Golden

Well, I don't really have anything to say today. But here's a link to someone who does. You should click it.

Important messages

Mr. Footsie

I just finished teaching a high school class. The teacher I work with is a nice guy, but sometimes a little peculiar. Today he was putting his feet on one of the female students' stockinged legs and saying in Japanese, "Warm! Very warm!" Mind you this had absolutely no correlation to what we were covering in class. As I was wondering to myself, "What is that about?", the student in question turned to her friend and said, basically, "I don't know what that's about." The teacher repeated the exercise more than once during class, as if he were Jacques Cousteau and he had just made the most fascinating discovery. "Your leg is so warm!" We were all a bit perplexed by the whole situation, so I thought I might provide some comic relief, and maybe make a point. I pulled up the leg of my corduroys to expose my right calf, and said, "Sensei, my legs are warm too. Would you like to feel?" Of course everyone understood it was a joke. He blushed and said, "Oh no, not a man's leg!" He didn't stop putting his foot on the girl, though. Neither did the students (nor I) cease to be utterly befuddled as to what was going on. At one point he asked another girl, "Is your leg warm, too?" Finally one of the boys said, "Sensei, what are you doing?" He replied, predictably, "It's warm!" The students invariably looked at him like, "Yeah, and?" One of the students then jokingly accused him of sexual harassment (a rather cliche joke in Japanese schools--"sekuhara!!"), and the teacher said, "No, no. It`s warm. Really." Huh? If her leg were cold, now that would be another story. Definite grounds for a lawsuit then. Anyway, I said no it wasn't sexual harassment, the teacher is just a strange old man (which is another common Japanese joke). It wasn't a big deal at all, just weird. But I don't think the students were too bothered by it, though a bit confused. I think they just chalked it up to his age and tolerated it. He's not yet 50, but relative to the students he is elderly--at least in their minds, or so it seems. I on the other hand don't think his age has nearly as much to do with it as the fact that he is a sax player.

I can't find 'loogie' in the dictionary. How is it spelled? What is its etymological history?

So last night, wonder of wonders, I was doing a bit of channel surfing. I stumbled upon an old B/W Japanese movie about World War II and Pearl Harbor. Made me wish I could understand more and read faster.... I felt too tired and sick to try to follow it, so I surfed on. Coincidentally my next discovery was an episode of "King of the Hill" where they were visiting Japan. Why? Because Hank Hill's WWII veteran father, Cotton, had been invited to participate in a symbolic ceremony in which old enemies would finally make peace. He went, but all along with the intention of spitting "lung butter" in the face of the emperor. Meanwhile, Hank discovered he had a half-Japanese half-brother. It was amusing, but mostly I was intrigued by the fact that I kept finding Pearl Harbor stuff on TV. It was rather late... perhaps they wanted to get it all broadcast in one swell foop.

I was considering a further discussion on the topic of phlegm, but perhaps that is better saved for another time. Or no time.

Since, however, in only two entries I have already exposed myself as being somewhat juvenile in my humor, I might as well go all out and give the following link:

http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/groupx/

A CD-R of this group was found by two of my best friends while they were playing frisbee golf. Upon listening to it, they were nothing less than flabbergasted. How could such a thing exist? And without our having known about it? And what "idioth" left it on the ground for us to find? And what good fortune to have found such a treasure! While listening on, and being caught in this powerful swirl of emotions, the two almost simultaneously had a realization: we have to give this to Hack. And, when presented with it, I was in fact nearly beside myself with glee. I confess I am a little embarrassed to admit this. Anyway, click if you dare, but don't blame me if you are offended. You have been warned. OK, maybe not enough. It is childish and vulgar and kind of stupid and maybe racist and definitely chauvinist. But it is unique, creative, and hey, it's catchy. Just don't let it get stuck in your head and start singing it aloud at work. You may get slapped. Or fired. Again, don't blame me. P.S. The views expressed by "Group X" and the material portrayed on the related link in no way reflect the views of this writer. Except that I sometimes like things that are strange simply because they are strange. Is that wrong?

Influenza as Incentive

After 21 hours straight in bed, I am finally able to do more than just lay around wishing I were doing something. Arguably, blogging is doing something, so here I begin. I tried this once before, when living in Taiwan, but apparently my account was deleted due to inactivity. It is a good thing inactivity does not always lead to deletion....

Why does this thermometer take so long to beep? Honestly, five minutes? Then again, at least it is in my armpit and not somewhere more unpleasant. Who thought of the rectal thermometer anyway? I mean of all the places one could conceive of to... never mind. Still waiting for the beep....

At last! Survey says: 36.5 degrees Celsius. That, I am pretty sure, is good. Yesterday it was 39.3.

Oh yeah and speaking of shoving long foreign objects into various orifices, I had to do this with what can most easily be described as an elongated Q-Tip, minus most of the soft cotton end, at the hospital yesterday. The doctor, who was kind of cute and about my age, and female too, said in quite matter of fact Japanese: "This is going to hurt." Uh, yeah, OK, well thanks for the warning. So she started, rather unceremoniously, to put it in, and I immediately jumped back. She seemed to have no appreciation for the fact that this was territory heretofore untrodden by the patient in question. No one ever tried to stick anything up my nose before, and I needed time to get used to the idea. I asked if there were no other ways to see if I really had the flu, and she said nope, this was the only way. One more scrap of my innocence to be taken by the Land of the Rising Sun. Finally I asked if I could do it myself. I like to be in control of this kind of thing (doesn't everyone?). I switched nostrils and, ever so slowly, in it went. Not so many years ago I would inhale spaghetti noodles through my nose and pull them out of my mouth, mainly to sicken friends, acquaintances, and random onlookers. But even that did not prepare me for the incomparable sensation of the super-swab. I felt a little violated, to be honest, when the doctor was doing it. And what's worse, I told her so. Though I know how to be polite in Japanese, I failed utterly on this occasion. After the ordeal I apologized profusely for my rudeness, but I knew the damage was probably already done. Any ideas I might have had about a cup of green tea after work were crushed before they could blossom.

An interesting tangent, while on the topic of Japanese medical practice: A few months ago an Australian friend of mine had way too much to drink and managed to find a way to get hit in the head by a subway. (Speculation continues as to how he accomplished this feat, but two of the more credible theories are: 1) He was bending over to throw up on the tracks; 2) He was looking to see if the train was coming yet and, alas, it came.) When I heard the news, I and a Japanese friend went directly to the hospital to see him. She took it upon herself to tell the hospital staff that I was his cousin, and advised me not to speak any Japanese. Somewhat reluctantly I went along with her ruse. Since he believed me to be family, the doctor told us the whole prognosis. This is what he said: "He is in a coma. He will never come out of it. His brain is like tofu. He is a human vegetable." That was all in Japanese. Then he looked at me and asked, in perfect English, "Have you been able to contact his parents?" "Uh... no," was my clever reply. Anyway, to make a long story short, that same friend of mine, after waking up from his coma and going back to Australia for a few months, is now back in Japan doing business again. I told him what the doctor had said and his response was: "I love proving people wrong!" Apparently the saying "always get a second opinion" holds doubly true in Japan! It seems that because of cultural differences, doctors here prefer to paint a pretty dark picture of the situation, then if reality proves to be brighter, all the better. For if they were to hold out hope which would later be deferred, that would be shameful. This is not my observation only, but comes from many conversations with Japanese friends who all agreed that Japanese doctors, as a rule, have a tendency to be rather pessimistic. So remember that if you are ever in Japan. They may SAY you are dying, but you might just have dandruff.