Hello, I Love You

Hi. It's Monday, September 16, 1991 and I'm somehow surviving here in Japan. I've been here over 13 months living in the fishbowl that is Ohtawara-shi (Ohtawara City), Tochigi-ken, (Tochigi Prefecture), Japan as an assistant English teacher on the JET (Japan Exchnage & Teaching) Programme.

I haven't been in a great mood for the past couple of weeks. Some of it may be due to the euphoria of my mother flying back to Toronto.

Or maybe it's woman concerns: I had an American girlfriend, but now we're just friends... friends-with-benefits, mind you, plus I have another woman (Canadian)  chasing after me that would like to have a boyfriend, but I just want sex from, and then there's the Japanese fox I like, who likes me, but for whatever reason, the fates continue to conspire against us.

Of course, my mood might also be due to a lot of pressure (real or imagined) from having to perform my duties as a teacher last week at the worst school in the city. Or the fact that I haven't actually gone on vacation in a while (though every day in Japan could be considered a vacation by some people).

Or maybe it's because the Japanese like to invite me out for dinner and drinks - but mostly drinks - that I am feeling like an old distillery.

 Or maybe I miss my female stalker who provided me with awesome nights - so much so that I didn't sleep for a week. Only a guy would sleep with his stalker.

 Or maybe its the fact I don't have a girlfriend, and I want the one I can't have. Or maybe its not doing as well as I wanted in a sport I have no business doing well  - kyudo (Japanese archery), or maybe I'm not sleeping enough or maybe... just maybe I like to worry about things.

Personally, I hope all of this angst is due to me no getting laid enough. A month a ago, I was in Thailand and was getting it four times a day from two Thai women I befriended.... the last time with all three of us together.It's tough to go back to 'routine' after that!

 Maybe it's the heat? Maybe I just miss Ashley and the way we were. I feel absolutely awful after telling her last night that my grandfather had died and I was depressed. He had died, but that was in February. My cat died that month, too. Also a friend back home died, as well.

No... probably just miss the regular sex. People... man does not live on bread alone. We need to be regular, despite all of the fiber in bread. 

I spent last night at Ashley's place. She's my current friend-with-benefits. She's very attractive and very, very smart, but not that smart - else why get involved with me. She's an introvert, while I am an introvert pretending to be an extrovert. Apparently, I'm good at it.

And by the way... who goes to Japan to get an American or Canadian girlfriend? Apparently I do. 

Ashley and I get up at 1PM! We snuggle a bit, talk, get up, talk some more, eat some more of her week-old soup, and talk again.

Don't ask me what we talked about. It was pleasant, but I think I was in shock by all of the crap revolving around me and how I don't think I like the person I am becoming.I need to change. Get back to who I was with a hint of who I want to be.

 I leave her place at 3PM - she wants to do laundry, and I don't want to hang out anymore. I need to feed my fish, anyways.

 Back home in my stately apartment (3 bedrooms, LDK, western bathroom and laundry and two balconies - yes... this is Japan, where everyone lives in a rabbit hutch! Not! Maybe in Tokyo. Maybe) i futz around with my puzzle when I get a phone call from fellow AET John Abraham.

He says he'd like to purchase my motorcycle.I bought a low-powewred motorcycle two months ago, and aside from driving it around while testing it before purchasing it, I have not yet been on it. It scares the crap out of me. Considering how my mind is, do you really think I should be riding a motorbike? My board of education office doesn't want me to because they know I'm accident prone - what with being hit twice on separate occasions by cars while riding my bicycle. I wonder if I gave myself brain damage then. It would explain so much.

 So... he quickly comes over, hands me 30,000 yen ($300) and I hand him the motorcycle keys. Yay! I hope he doesn't kill himself.

I did pay 30,000 yen for the damn thing didn't i? I didn't lose money on the deal did I? Oh crap.

I go back to my apartment and call Catherine - another new girl on the JET Programme who seems to like me (she was not mentioned in the diatribe up above). I know... how do I feel down about my wonderful rife when I have women throwing themselves at me?

 We chat until 1:30AM - and wow does she sound hot to trot. 

What does she look like again?

Somewhere trying to remember,
Andrew Joseph
Today's blog title is by The Doors: HELLO!
PS: Crap! I bought the damn motorcycle for 35,000 yen ($350). I lost 500 yen ($50) on this deal! Man... I need to get some real sleep. Maybe tomorrow.

Paranoid

You know... when I start each of these stories, I do so with everyintention of keeping things short and to the point. But then I startremembering things and I enjoy reading between the lines so you don'thave to.
It's Friday June 21, 1991.
My girlfriend of the week, Junko, leaves my place for the last time at7:30AM. She came prepared and brought a change of clothes with her.
I am out of condoms... I think I went through a box and half with her this week.
Since I am giving every single woman I meet  'the eye', it seems prettyobvious to me that I'm going to have to get my hands on more condomspretty darn quickly, because there's no telling if Junko has actuallyleft to go to work, or if she's hiding outside my door to jump me.
(Un)fortunately, she's not waiting for me.
Before leaving I drop a load of laundry into the wash. I need cleanclothes that don't smell of Junko when I go to Utsunomiya and Tokyothis weekend with my ex-girlfriend Ashley. We still like each other, soin my mind it means I'm going to get laid eventually.
Today is an office day at the OBOE (Ohtawara Board of Education). Iwrite a letter to my friend Doug back in Toronto. Go home and vacuum my apartment andput cloths in the dryer at lunch.
I also visit Iseya grocery/department store get a bite to eat forlunch. While I was there, I saw two gorgeous women - Filipino maybe -who were giving me 'the eye'. They were anywhere between 20-23 yearsold, maybe 5'-2" with long black hair. Yum.
I wish I could tell you that I went over and gave them both my phone number, but I didn't. Chicken.
I headed back to the office to shape The Tatami Times newsletter I putout for JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme people here inTochigi-ken (Province of Tochigi). I also write a letter to Kristine -why? Because I really like her and there are some things I prefer towrite down rather than say in a phone call to someone 500 kilometresaway. It must have been important, but I have no idea what it was Iwrote to her about.
It looks like it's going to rain. At 6PM, I ride my bicycle to Ashley'splace in Nishinasuno-machi (Nishinasuno Town) and head out to the trainstation to ride down to the capital city of Utsunomiya.
The two of us have dinner together - separate cheques - and then meetup with Susan St. Cyr at whose place we'll be spending the night beforeheading down to Tokyo Disneyland the next morning. David, another JETteacher is the only other person going with us.
Nertz. I didn't want it to be the Ashley and Andrew date in Disneyland.I was hoping to come and go from her as I pleased and hit on a fewother women or talk with a few other guys.
I wonder how this will work out? I'm semi-anxious to find out.      
My mood has already shifted in anticipation, with me about to walk into the lion'sden this evening. We are going to meet some of Ashley'sacquaintances: Chrissy, Sienna and Marion. They don't seem to like mewhich immediately makes it reciprocal.
Because of this, I'm not overly talkative to Ashley most of the evening.
Upon arrival in Utsunomiya, Ashley tries to call home on anInternational Pay Phone to wish her dad on his birthday, but it doesn'tseem to work.
We then look for a bar where we are all supposed to meet - find it,plus the three women who hate me and a Sienna look-a-like named Stacy.She's 17 and pretty, but there's something off-putting about her.
Surrounded by women I'm not sleeping with, I decide that I need to getdrunk. And quickly. I have four beers in a half hour, just finishingoff the last one when David and Susan walk into the bar.
We decide to go to Shakey's for pizza and I notice Dan Brudos leavingthe place. I call him back to join us knowing that these girls don'tlike him either. Maybe they just don't like guys. Or nerdy guys.
I'm totally wasted, as I have another couple of beers before we leave the pizza joint to find another bar.
Most of us wanted to dance - but not Sienna or Chrissy. Since they overrule everyone else, we went to a small hole in the wall where I beganto drink with an even greater ferocity.
Sometime soon, I became rude and obnoxious towards Chrissy whoattempted to impart some sage advice to me while she lurched off herbar stool.
I smoked about six of Dan's cigarette's - I don't smoke - spilled beer on a woman's hair and just acted grouchy.
This is the longest I've gone without sex this entire week - and I'm surrounded by women!
I did talk to some Japanese dudes who are architects - they were reallycool and fun, and moments before was heading straight into the toilet.
At 12:30AM, Ashley and I accompany Susan back to her little apartment.It's neat but small... about the size of Ashley's place, meaning it'sabout 25 percent of my apartment. Yes... the OBOE spoil me.
We pass out asleep. I wasn't really talking to Ashley. She did saysomething to me at the bar - and it really did piss me offbecause it was pretty insulting, I forget what it is. Screw her. She’snot my girlfriend.

Somewhere, desperation breeds tiny monsters,
Andrew Joseph
Today's blog title is by Black Sabbath: DROWNING.

Here's the words: ENJOY LIFE because it's starting to fit my frame of mind.
PS: That "desperation breeds tiny monsters" quote is something I came upwith back when I was a teenager. It should be a more popular quote thanit is... which isn't popular at all. Sucks to be me. At least it doestoday.
PPS: Now that I'm with Ashley, I miss Junko. I wonder what she's doing?If she were here with me, it would have shut up all of these bitchywomen. Why did I tell her not to come? I wish she was here right now.

Welcome To The Jungle

Hello Amanda Goodsell!

How are you enjoying your first month here in Japan in the large city of Ashikaga-shi, Tochigi-ken? You're a real pretty woman - I love your long blond wavy hair - okay, okay, I'm backing off. Yeesh.

Okay darlin', you've got the most beautiful mouth I've ever come across (that sounds dirty!), so how about you give me your first impressions of life in Japan as a 5'-8" blond from the U.S. who decided to come here in August 1991 as an Assistant English Teacher on the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme?

Thank-you...

• Big bugs
• Small people
• My kitchen sink is at knee level
• Perma-smile (boy, this hurts)
• (What am I doing here) 
• Why is there a sink in my toilet?
• I'm sorry I forgot to take my shoes off.
• How can anyone wear pantyhose in this heat?
• Praise-be for bilingual television!
• (But I never would have been excited about Knight Rider before.)
• Which way does the hanko go?
• (Are those rice fields?)
• I'm so happy my predecessor was perfect.
• Why don't they wear sunglasses?
• More packets of JET information? Why THANK you!!!
• What do you mean, "The directions are in Japanese?"
• I need more omiyage (gifts to give out) Tobu department store to the rescue!
• I come from the galaxy - not Mars, OKAY!?!
• WHAT AM I DOING HERE!!???

Somewhere wondering if I should hit on her,
Andrew Joseph
Today's title is rocked out by Guns N Roses: FUN&GAMES
PS: Amanda was quite obviously shell-shocked upon arriving here in Japan. I did not actually try to hit on her. I knew it wouldn't work, as I believe she told me so after first saying hello to me back in Tokyo when I went down to scope out the chicks - I mean welcome the JET newcomers to Japan.
PPS: Amanda recovered quickly enough and soon became a power fixture in our Tochigi-ken, taking over for me as editor of the monthly Tatami Times JET newsletter after I got tired of the politics (and was depressed over the whole girlfriend thing and quit being the Editor). I was getting regular sex from a lot of different women - but I had no girlfriend. I'm sure I'll explain more later.
PPPS: The cover image at the top was from the September 1991 issue of The Tatami Times. I'm unsure now where I got the image from, but I certainly had students who acted like The Three Stooges! This is the cover to the issue Amanda's First Impressions was first printed.

San Francisco

True story.
Sometimes I like to buy flowers for my apartment. It's to make it look nicer, and to make it smell like something other than my chili con carne or my farts (I mentioned chili).
I don't spend a fortune - maybe Y1000 ($10), but for that amount I get a large bouquet of mixed flowers.
You might have thought that I might be buying flowers to either give to a girl or to impress them by being in touch with my feminine side. Nope. It was purely selfish - I just wanted my place to look better. If it happened to get me laid, that was merely an innocent byproduct of having a nice smelling apartment, a winning personality, great hair, a super sexy body and no ego.
Anyhow, on one particular evening, some of the ladies from my Ohtawara International Friendship Association night school English class came over to give me a birthday present. It was very thoughtful of them but completely unnecessary. And who told them it was my birthday soon? Probably me. Okay... so maybe I have a little bit of an ego.
Upon entering, all four of them immediately told me my place smelled wonderful and that they could hardly smell my farts. Even better they did it in English. Man, I'm a great English teacher!
Walking further into my place they saw my flower arrangement sitting on my dining room table for two. Okay... rather than use a vase, I had a 6-inch by 4-inch metal plate that was covered in spikes - it's so you can impale the bottom of a stem onto it to hold a flower upright. The plate is placed in a shallow dish with water covering it.I had placed my 10 flowers in some sort of mishmash that looked good to this 26-year-old man's eyes.
All of them asked me if I had taken ikebana classes to learn how to do it, each swearing that I am very skilled.
Ikebana is the Japanese art of flower arranging that I have apparently mastered without having to learn anything.
Apparently people take these classes for years and years and years to achieve the same result as myself after a mere two-minutes - 90 seconds of which was spent looking for a bandage after I stuck my finger on several metal spikes that while able to hold up a flower stem, also do an admirable job on my ikebana master green thumb.

Somewhere mastering all of the Japanese arts,
Andrew Joseph
Today's title is brought to you by Scott McKenzie - FLOWERSINYOURHAIR.
PS: No... I'm sure I wasn't an ikebana master. Rather I'm sure what I witnessed was the Japanese ability to lie in a nice, convincing manner to make this homesick boy feel better about everything in Japan. And you know what? It worked. I love Japan because it is a wonderful rife.

Sock It To Me, Baby

I've mentioned in here my penchant for diving face first into the whole Japanese culture thing - and why not. If you are going to Japan to vacation or live - or heck, visiting any other country than that which you are used too, you must immerse yourself into the culture.

Now obviously I didn't listen to my own advice completely, what with having gaijin (foreigner) girlfriends mostly for the first two years of my stay in Ohtawara-shi... it was a language thing, I tell myself.

Still... there are many interesting and fun ways to become more Japanese-like.

There's learning the language - hell, I can barely speak English - how am I going to learn Japanese?

There's getting involved in cultural hobbies: ikebana (flower arranging); bonsai (tree bondage); drinking; pachinko (arcade time-waster); trying to pick-up gaijin women (did that), and learning how to cook (nearly burned down the place the first time I made tempura)... wait! What was that one I said? Drinking?.... Hmmm.

The Japanese love to drink alcohol. Not at work - which is most of their day - but when work-time is over and they have a few moments to themselves with their co-workers, before they need excuse themselves to go back home to their wife and kids, or to their mistress. 

Yes, believe it or don't, it's a well known fact that most Japanese men have a mistress on the side. And, as long as the wife doesn't know who, things are okay as long as there is food on the table and the bills are all paid.

Now... personally, I never heard of any of my male Japanese cohorts heading out for a quickie. I did my best to associate with good people with good intelligence. And while that doesn't necessarily mean you aren't going to cheat, at least they should know better. Unless it's a cultural thing.

Whew! I need a drink.

While beer and whiskey were very big amongst the Japanese - especially as they wanted to be more Western, I wanted to appear more Japanese and got my swerve on with Japanese rice wine (sake). 

Now I wasn't such a knob that I'd order sake when out with Matthew or Ashley. Naw... I'd have vodka-based drinks or rum-based drinks. Sake was the alcohol of  choice when the Japanese were involved, as they enjoyed themselves a little bit more (in my humble opinion) when you drank a Japanese drink.

I've already recounted quite a few episodes of me and sake, but should you wish, please have a sip again, and another. And another. It tastes like water doesn't it?

Now wait a few minutes, while you keep drinking wondering if it's ever going to make you feel drunk - and that's when it hits you like an apartment building falling on your head destroying your brain, your equilibrium, and your ability to form compl sentenc.

By now, you are long past caring what your brain is trying to do (hide), and continue to pour sake into your gullet. You've usually only had enough when your brain shuts down for the night and you pass out.

Man, I love sake.

My convection oven/microwave oven had a setting on it to warm up: one cup of sake; two cups of sake, and; three cups of sake. Seriously. That's how you know the Japanese are serious about sake.

Should you ever find yourself in a situation where you have to drink sake, please don't be as stupid as I have been. Sake. Water. Repeat. Don't forget to urinate. Once you open up the gates to whizz, you'll be going all night. This will help you avoid a bad hangover - which, by the way, I never, ever had. That's right... I never had a hangover. I've done irrepairable damage to my liver and self-esteem... but never have I spent a cold morning in the drum.   

So what's this blog about? Well, actually, I just wanted to show off some of my lovely sake bottles and glasses via photographs.

Sake bottles, when taken from a glass bottle, and placed into a decorative decanter, those decanters are called tokuri.

Actually, the tokuri are used more in the consumption of hot sake. The tokuri, filled with sake, are set in a bowl of hot water - but it's only immersed a tad around the base. You don't want to get the neck hot or no one will be able to grab it to pour it.

Now here's something interesting - the Japanese using different counters when counting objects of various sizes or shapes. For example, a beer bottle and a sake bottle are similar in shape, and are much different from a cat, (neko), let's say. The cat (and other small animals) has its own counter, in this case, it's hiki. One cat is spoken as 'ichi hiki no neko')... So how would you say one bottle of sake? It's not 'ichi hiki no tokuri'. It becomes 'ippon no sake'.

Hmm... can you see why learning Japanese is a bugger? There are counters for flat things, round things - actually, there are pretty much counters for all nouns.  

To avoid confusion when you are ordering, hold up one finger and say sake! That'll get you on your way to a good drunk-on.

Anyhow... check out my lovely sake cups and bottles.

Somewhere not hungover,

Andrew Joseph

Today's blog is by Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels. I chose Sock It To Me, Baby because of the similarity between that phrase and sake it to me, baby. Pretty lame, I know, but I was drunk when I came up with the idea.

PS: Did you know that Winona Ryder took "Ryder" as a stage name, after seeing a Mitch Ryder album in her father's collection? I didn't which is surprising seeing as how I remembered to include that fact here.

PPS: I wasn't drunk. In Japanese, being drunk is called 'yopparai'.

Hit Me with Your Rhythm Stick

Part of the coolness about living in Japan was the never-ending supply of new cuisine to try. At least that's what I tell myself now here in 2010.
Prior to arriving in Japan, I was 25-years-old, living in my parent's basement watching Star Trek and reading porn with one hand. Although I had spent five years in university (York) doing Political Science, and a couple more at Humber College studying journalism (yes, I graduated both), I had never left home before.
While not exactly a momma's boy, this former king-of-the-nerds managed to reinvent himself into court-jester-of-the-normals. Whatever that means.
Back in Toronto, my parents, Ron & Lynda (who were born in India), used to cook for my brother Ben and I. One meal for us, and one meal for them - on many, many occasions.
Us two kids were spoiled and had no interest in eating 'foreign' food. We were brown guys living in Canada and wanted to be as Canadian as possible in order to fit in. Believe it or not, but racism was rampant in Canada during the 70s and 80s (and I'm guess, before that, and after that).
I'm just saying that I was no great connoisseur. I used to eat pork shops (not a typo), steak and chicken, with potatoes and if I had to, something called a vegetable.
In Japan... it was adapt or die.
And, let me tell ya.... those first three weeks in Ohtawara-shi, Tochigi-ken, Japan.... I didn't eat that much, except when we had office lunches (every weekday) or there was an enkai (party) or festival.  Combine the lack of eat with the heat, and I dropped about six-plus kilograms. Not that anyone noticed.
My parents had warned me before departing to have an open mind. So I did. And I do. I made it my goal to eat everything placed in front of me, and to stick with the things I liked the best. Okay, that last part came out wrong... but the first part is the part we should all remember. Go to Japan with an open mind and an open mouth.
A co-worker of mine recently went to Japan on business (I don't get to go anywhere!). She hated the food... but then again, she's so skinny that I think she hates all food.
Now, I've already talked a bit about Natto, and other somewhat strange Japanese foods, so today, let's talk about a veggie called a daikon, a white radish.
The radishes I know about are these cherry-sized and shaped, purple coloured sharp-tasting things that I have no idea what the heck to do with. The Japanese daikon looks vastly different. It looks, well, it looks sortta like a sex toy that I may have heard the big kids talking about under the bleachers the other day. No wait, scratch that... they are cylindrical (like a rocket), white, generally smooth-skinned (similar to a carrot), and have a tuft on top like a carrot. As well, like a carrot, they grow pointy end down in the ground.
Generally speaking, the daikon has a diameter of about eight centimetres and a length of 40 centimetres. And after I've just spent this length of time to describe it all to you, I suddenly recall that there is also a round variety - see photo above.
Now... unlike a carrot, I've only seen daikon used in a grated form called daikon oroshi, and is often found served with fish--always with one called a Pacific Saury.
Though having a sharp, almost bitter taste (unlike a carrot, but more like a radish), the daikon is served to help cleanse the palette, as well as for its digestive properties, as enzymes contained therein can help break through any greasy meal.
From what I've observed, daikon is used as  a condiment (like ketchup and mustard) and is put into tempura dipping sauces. When I made tempura that one time in Japan, I did not use grated daikon, and after the fireman came to put out the blaze engulfing my apartment, it was obvious to me that I should have used some.
I'm not a tremendous fan of daikon--I mean, I'll eat it, and it is tasty, but I guess since I really didn't know how to prepare it, I was always leery of using it in my chili con carne a la Andrew or my spaghetti sauces, or in my heat-and-serve meals from Ai-Ai-Town or Iseya. Hmm... in hindsight, it was probably a food thing that I never used it when cooking.

Somewhere wondering how I'm supposed to fit this stupid tuber in my tiny fridge,
Andrew Joseph
Today's title is by Ian Dury & The Blockheads, Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick. Listen to the second line of the song and know that I chose this song because a daikon is one rhythm stick is one you don't want to get hit with.
PS: Here's something interesting - a Japanese anime (animation) show called Nerima Daikon Brothers.
PPS: In the photo up above, you can see a young Japanese boy (circa 1930 - and from my personal collection) holding a daikon radish that's far larger than what I have described because it was grown in the rich soil of the ever-exploding Mount Sakurajima volcano in Kagoshima.
PPPS: In the photo below, you can see my tiny fridge in my large apartment in Ohtawara-shi. The swivel chair is sort of blocking it, and it has a convection microwave oven atop it.  

Mercedes Benz

Hello to all you people from around the world who are reading this - hello! Konichiwa!

A lot of you seem to read my first blog detailing what my apartment in Ohtawara looked like - HERE, and that's cool! The blog provides an accurate description of my apartment in Ohtawara, Japan.

However, I want you to know that should you ever come to live in Japan, you are NOT going to get a place like what I have described. The place provided to me, was the exception and definitely not the rule. I don't want to mislead you (at least not like this).

Your apartment in Japan is going to be small. It will be so small that the mice will all be hunchbacked (I believe all mice are, but that's beside the point).

Apartments in Japan - size and rental cost is first of all determined by location. Big cities like Tokyo... you could have a place that's a 3m x 3m tatami-matted room with a shared bathroom... and that's it. Kitchen? Bedroom? No. Just one small room. But what do you care? You'll be out working or seeing the sights anyway, right? Ri-iiiiight. So, what might a small place like this cost? Try US $2000 (200,000 Yen) a month? Outside of Tokyo, the prices begin to come down, of course...

What did my mansion cost? Well, I was maybe 200km north of Tokyo... the place was a 3-bedroom, living room-dining room-kitchen (ldk) with a large bathroom area complete with a separate shower stall and a separate water closet. There was also a gas heater for hot water... lots of amenities like washer/dryer, stove, microwave, etc... I paid 30,000 Yen (or $300 US) per month... The place was subsidized by the OBOE (my bosses).. in reality, the full rental costs would have been around $1200 (120,000 yen).

For example... my girlfriend Ashley's place was a hovel. I hated it.There were two tatami rooms (each about 3m x 3m (or less)... there was a long, narrow kitchen with tile. She did have a bathroom ... with a sink, Japanese toilet with a western toilet perched atop it that was difficult and dangerous to use... but the bathtub... oh, dear god... I watch Ashley use it once... pouring hot water from the sink into it... she sat down, scrunched up her knees and soaked. It's like what they used to use in the old west of the US. These tubs are called furo.. or if we look HERE - and see the first line, it is written in a more honourable way ofuro (see another blog for more honour and dishonour - ONANI). So... what did Ashley pay in rent? If memory serves me correctly, it was about 12,000 Yen ($120 US).      

So... she was able to save more money than me, but I'd rather pay more and live in comfort anyday...but, as my girlfriend, she spent most of her time living in luxury at my place (ate my food, too)... all of which meant that not only did I spend more on rent, I spent a lot more on groceries. On the plus side, I got sex. I traded food and shelter for sex. Dating or legalized prostitution? You decide. Of course, I was too blind to see any of that - probably too much onani.

Oh... I almost forgot... whenever you rent an apartment, it's not unusual for the owner to ask for something called reikin (key money).

Reikin is a mandatory payment made by the renter to the landlord. It is a gift, and is not a deposit that is returned when you leave. It's a scam, in my opinion, but it's a legal scam.

Sometimes you'll get lucky and the reiken is the same amount as the original deposit (shikikin) which is the equivalent of two or three months rent.  However, the reiken can be six months rent or more. Still want to go to Japan?

Here's a list of possible rental costs, with about five to seven month’s worth of rent being a standard cost:

• Reservation fee (tetsukekin) of 1-month’s rent that is paid when the tenant applies for an apartment and before the contract is signed. After the contract is signed, the money is included as part of the deposit.
• Security Deposit (shikikin) of 2- to 3-months’ rent that is used to cover any damages to the apartment or unpaid rents and fees. You may get a partial refund of this, but the odds are good you won't.
• Key money (reikin) of maybe 1- to 2- months’ rent which is considered a 'gift' to the house owner when making a contract and is not refundable
• Advance rent – 1 month’s rent which is paid before the month starts.

A guarantor is also required before a contract is signed. Usually, it is the tenant’s company or you can hire a Japanese guarantor. The guarantor takes the responsibility if the tenant is unable to pay the rent or room expenses.

In my case, the OBOE (Ohtawara Board of Education) took care of everything. I had zero move-in costs. In fact, I don't believe any AET (Assistant English Teacher) on the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme had to pay any key money... though I could be wrong... not every AET was/is as open (big-mouthed) as myself about thier situation. 

Now that I`ve scared you, know that there are some affordable rental apartments in Japan.Looking on-line, I found this SITE. I have no idea how good or bad the apartments are.

As well, look HERE for some nice-looking apartments that are quite expensive.

Just remember, people often get what they pay for. I got lucky. I could have had a small, cramped and cold apartment like Ashley for less money... but my apartment was my home for three years. Rent according to your budget and to your needs.


I hope you found some of this mildly interesting. It's factual.

Somewhere in my huge, inexpensive apartment - betcha can't find me!
Andrew Joseph

Today's title was sung by Janis Joplin... it's a song of monetary envy. And, should you just wander into Japan and try and rent a place, I won't envy you.
You can listen to this beautiful pearl of a woman sing; C'MON.
PS: The photo above - that's my rental apartment in Ohtawara-shi. I had more room than I needed, but I was always glad to have it. In one of the rooms, I kept my clothes; in the other, I hung my clothes to dry during the heavy humidity summer and whenever I felt like not spending the electricity to dry my clothes... yes, I could have hung the clothes out on a balcony... but if I waited too long, the spiders would come out to party on my underwear. You can read about that HERE.

These Eyes

This one is sub-titled: Interview With A Japanese Housewife

This was more like a conversation than an interview, but I'm told that most of my conversations have the appearance of an interview because of my bluntness.

Yumiko was my friend. I met her through an Ohtawara city English class I donate my services to for ¥10,000 ($100) for a three-hour class. She has since moved away from Ohtawara, but she and I did get together for a friendly meeting or two.

She's 26-years old, about 5'-3", with jet black hair that hangs in shiny curtains past her shoulder blades and  possesses alabaster skin that would make all of the doll makers cry in shame. She's pretty, though perhaps not the head-turning type. What catches your attention are the eyes that sparkle with glee. Her lips tell a different story, though.

Yumiko has ben married for two years, and is pregnant. She lives in a company housing project apartment and tends the daily running of the household. I rode my bicycle out 30 minutes to visit her.

"I've been out to my old hometown of Kawaguchi to buy some clothes for my baby. They are very small. Almost all of them are white or yellow," she says in perfect, but hesitant English. When I asked why she only purchased items in those two colours, she smiled at me as though I was her baby and patiently explained: "I don't want to know that our baby is a boy or girl. But my doctor knows. I want the surprise."

When she and her husband went to visit her family, she said grimly that "We have grown about two kilograms." She then puffed out her cheeks and made a tiny piggie sound. She then asked me if I liked sumo. When I answered in the positive, she said, "Good. because I am now big enough to join. Please cheer for me."  How could I not?

Then it happened. I spoiled the moment by asking what she does during the day. She let out a big breath of air and shrunk a little. The smile slowly became invisible. "I don't like to wake up early in the morning in winter. But I wake up at 6:40AM (except on Saturday and Sunday). I prepare a sandwich for my husband that he eats. Then we have a sandwich, a cup of milk and fruit every morning."

"You and your husband?" I asked confused.

"No. He quickly eats his sandwich and leaves home at 7:10AM," she continued after pouring me a cup of o-cha (green tea). "It takes him three minutes to walk to his company. Then I sleep again. I'm a bad wife!! I wake up again at 10AM and wash and clean our rooms..."

"A bad wife? A bad wife?!" I shiver incredulously. "You do all of the housework, make him his breakfast AND you're seven months pregnant!"

She seems shocked by my 'western' ravings - and well she should be - this is the way it has always been in Japan. She agrees that it is not a fair world for the women of Japan, but she is confused that I would agree with her, what with being a man and all.

"I usually have lunch alone," she continued. "But sometimes with my friend." I notice the emphasis on the singular. "Do you have a school lunch, An-do-ryu? When I was in elementary school and junior high school, I always was looking forward to my school lunch.

"My friend is a Christian and an English teacher. She teaches me about the Bible once a week. I go to the public hall to study English twice a month and to learn patchwork once a month. I'm stitching a bag of patchwork - it's my hobby besides looking after my husband."

Did I detect some bitterness? Hmmm.

"I listen to classical and jazz music, read books and watch TV in my free time. My husband used to come home at 10PM all of last year - he works hard, but his pay is very low. He would have a bath and dinner and go to sleep almost immediately. I suppose he was very tired, so we didn't have enough time to talk with each other. I often felt sad and felt like I was a housemaid."

I want to say something, but don't for fear of depressing her even more. Perhaps sensing my discomfort, she added: "It's a wonder I am now pregnant."

Ah the twinkle is back! ... fading?... "But he comes home at 8:30PM this year because his boss has changed. So we have time to talk with each other."

She's smiling again, but I can still see the sadness lingering. There didn't seem to be much use in me prying into her life further, after all I have a pretty good understanding of where she is at right now. She's merely a lonely, pregnant housewife who would like to spend more time with someone - anyone, even a gaijin (foreigner) - but mostly her husband.

Damn this country.  It's not her husband's fault, it's just the way things are in Japan.

Somewhere I have to make time to talk with my wife more,
Andrew Joseph
PS: Today's title is by The Guess Who. You can listen to it here: 20/20

Photo above is from a New Year's Eve card Yumiko gave me.
Second photo shows off the reverse of that card - you'll notice that there are some numbers along the bottom - it's for a New Year's Day lottery. Since I never saw the results, I'm unsure if I ever won - or what you did win if your numbers came up. Matthew?

PPS - Photo below - That's Yumiko's baby 17+years ago.

We Are Devo

Q. How many people does it take to screw in a gaijin's light bulb?

A. Sixteen: One gaijin (little old foreigner me) to call his office supervisor (Kanemaru-san)(2) to ask where light bulbs are sold. The supervisor to call the apartment building superintendent (3). A visit from 11 Ohtawra-shi volunteer firemen (14) to come to said apartment after the supervisor and superintendent mistakenly believe the building is in flames. A visit from an electrician (15) who arrives on the scene at 9PM on a Saturday night with visions of Yen symbols in his eyes at the thought of overtime as he determines that the gaijin only has a non-functioning light bulb. And the superintendent's junior helper (16) aka idiot son-in-law who insists on installing a new lighting system all over the apartment building complex to ensure that nothing like this ever happens again.

Somewhere, are we not men?
Andrew Joseph 
PS: That's a photo of me standing outside the entrance of my apartment complex, waiting until the electrician leaves my place. Really. Except for the crappy shoes, I look goooood.
PPS: Title provided by Devo.

Welcome To The Apartment-Ohtawara

I've delayed posting the concluding part of my first teaching day at school until I can find the photos to go along with it.
In the mean time, here's a few shots of my apartment: 307 Zuiko Haitsu in Ohtawara, Japan.
Unlike most people on the JET Programme who spent time in Japan, I did not have a small apartment. It's not to say I was treated better or worse than others on my program, it's... okay, maybe I was treated better.
The OBOE was pretty liberal. By that I mean they were not strict, and pretty much allowed me free reign in how I chose to live my life. And that was appreciated.
As an example, I began growing my hair during my second year, and eventually had it down past my shoulder blades, though I did keep it tidy in a pony-tail. one of my fellow AET friends told me that it was suggested by his board of education that he get a hair cut, as it was getting kind of long. It was just past the back of his shirt collar.
Heck, along with the pony-tail, by my third year I had an earring and a beard... I still recall one of the OBOE women coming up to me and telling me in Japanese that I looked cool, and all of the other men and women there nodded their head emphatically in agreement.
I did have a wonderful rife in Japan - as I hope you will continue to discover - but it certainly helped that the OBOE helped create a healthy work and living situation for me.
Anyhow, enough melodrama... check out some pics of my apartment by clicking HERE. By the way... did I mention that my rent for a 3-bedroom, LDK with two balconies, fully furnished place cost me the equivalent of $300 a month?
I did okay.
Somewhere scanning photos wishing I had digital camera in Japan.
Andrew Joseph
Title is a parody of the great Eagle's tune: Hotel California. 

Magic Carpet Ride

On the third day of our (dis)orientation in Tokyo and after lunch, all the AETs (Assistant English Teachers) met again in the hotel’s meeting room before separating us by prefecture (province) for bus or plane rides to our specific destinations.
While I didn’t get to say goodbye to Kristine South who was off to live in Shiga-ken about five hours away by Shinkansen (bullet train), rest assured that she’ll be back in this BLOG.
We waited outside for the bus to take us to our prefecture – but the heat! We were all dressed to the nines in anticipation of meeting our bosses – I was wearing a then-fashionable double-breasted suit and tie – and began sweating as soon as stepped from the air-conditioned comfort of the hotel. In fact, I don’t think I was dry for my entire stay in Japan.
Ashley chatted beside me on the nondescript 1-1/2 hour ride north to Tochigi-ken’s capital city of Utsonomiya. After meeting the Prefecture's education big wigs, they called our names out one by one, and were quickly introduced to the people who would essentially be responsible for our welfare over the next year, or should we/they wish us to stay longer, a second and third year.
During our initiation back in Toronto, we had been told that the Japanese could be a tad xenophobic. So, it was with even greater fear and trepidation as a visible minority involved in the JET Programme that I stood up and walked to the front when my name was called. Let me get one thing straight with you all… I don’t see myself as a minority. I see myself as Andrew.
Mr. Hiroshi Hanazaki and Mr. Masahiro Kanemaru were my supervisors. Both of the men were about as old as I am now at the time of this Blog – 44, and seemed like very mature people.
After we all bowed to each other, I repeated a phrase I was told to say: dozo yoroshiku onegai shi masu (please take care of me). More bowing occurred as I said it. It was kind of cool.
Hanazaki-san and Kanemaru-san (the Japanese call each other by their surname, adding the word san after it, denoting Mr/Mrs/Ms) were office workers at the Ohtawara Kyoiku Iinkai (Ohtawara Board of Education) – a place that I was told I would spend each Friday. It was expected that I would teach the workers there English. Monday through Thursday I would be an assistant English teacher at one of seven junior high schools in Ohtawara City, visiting one school per week.
While the students also went to school a half day on Saturday, I was not expected to teach, as they realized that the non-Japanese were lazy buggers and needed two days off per week. It’s difficult to argue with logic.
In the hour-long drive up north from Utsonomiya to Ohtawara, my two supervisors - though not the driver - began to chat with me. Hanazaki-san spoke pretty decent English and immediately cracked me up with a dirty joke.
Kanemaru-san chained smoked and was quiet. Too quiet, it seemed, as he looked severe and often glared at me. It figured to be a long year if this guy was going to be my boss.
But then, it all turned on a ten-yen coin. Kanemaru-san pulled out a Japanese-English dictionary and sidled close to me and between puffs of his cigarette began to speak looked-up-English-word by looked-up-English-word. Five painful minutes later, it was over and Kanemaru-san had told his first ever joke in English.
Because of me.
How can you not like a guy who tries to do something like that? It beats me how they knew that I liked a good joke – or a bad joke even. Sure the jokes lost a little bit in the translation, but I sure as heck appreciated the effort.
Most of the trip was a complete blur. I occasionally glanced out the window to peer at the tiny white cars speeding by us on the Tohoku Expressway. Mile after mile (kilometre after kilometre) we passed rice field after rice field. I once again wondered what the hell I was doing here.
That feeling never did leave me throughout my wonderful stay in Japan. The blurriness, I mean. I think I needed new contact lenses.
After Kanemaru’s initial jodan (joke) that had me howling in pain thanks to his love of back-slapping, the man was a non-stop joke-machine. Maybe that’s why it was such a blur. He slapped me so hard my contacts fell out.
We finally pulled off the highway and drove by a score more rice fields and according to Hanazaki-san were approaching Ohtawara.
Oh-ta-wara (Big-rice field-field) City. The city so rural they had to call it a field twice.
Rather than bore you, click here to learn a bit more about Tochigi-ken, and click here to learn more about Ohtawara. Let me just say that when I was there in 1990 – 1993, the city barely had 50,000 people. There was no McDonald’s or KFC (back then, it was still called Kentucky Fried Chicken, ya youngins!), but there were plenty of bike shops, restaurants, something called a Mosburger and plenty of other surprises that I’ll reveal here.
“Zuiko Haitsu!” exclaimed Hanazaki-san like I knew what the heck he was talking about as the van pulled up to a parking lot in front of an apartment building. Apparently this fancy place had a name. Its nickname was Zuiko Mansion. Okaaaaay. This place had almost as many names as me.
Grabbing my seven (yes, seven) pieces of luggage – including an electric keyboard, a clarinet and at least one change of underwear (it cost my dad an extra $400 to get the stuff on the airline!), we decided not to take the elevator and dragged my stuff up the stairs to apartment 307 on the third floor of the eight-story white building.
Having never lived in anything higher than my parent’s basement in over a decade, the thin air took some getting used to.
The apartment jutted out as a wing meaning I had no neighbours beside me, just one above and one below.
Expecting to see hunchbacked mice in my new tiny apartment – according to those in the know (???), Japan is crowded and everyone has a tiny living space – I grabbed a breath while I could, as Hanazaki-san gave me a door key and bade me to open it.
Unlocking the door, they pushed me in. Taking a few steps forward, the three of them immediately began screaming at me – oh crap, I thought. They really do hate foreigners here – they’re going to kill me!
Slowly I turned and stared blankly at the ever-smiling face of Hanazaki-san, and the ever-smoking visage of Kanemaru-san, and the bespectacled face of the driver whose name I never managed to learn even though we “worked” together for three years. I know, I know. Pathetic.
Apparently upon entering any Japanese home, whether it’s guest or resident, one is expected to take off their dirty shoes and slip into something more uncomfortable – plastic slippers that are always neatly placed facing inwards to the home by the side of the door.
As you may or may not know, the Japanese as a whole are not described as being overly big people. Hanazaki-san and Kanemaru-san were both about 5’-8” (I think as tall as Gasoline!), while I was a towering 5’-11.25”). As a smaller race, they tend not to sell shoes in Japan larger than a men’s size 9 – or what they call a size 26cm. I’m a size 10-1/2 aka 30cm foot – which makes me sound a lot bigger elsewhere, if you know what I mean.
There were two sets of slippers laid out for me - one pair of baby blues and the other in cotton candy pink.
So there we were: two sets of slippers and two Japanese supervisors, a big-foot Canadian and a driver of indeterminate name and rank in the apartment.
Who would have to wear the pink slippers and who would dare go without? Believe it or not, I wore the blue slippers – jammed’em in tight - two of the Nihonjin (Japanese people) brought their own – pulled them out from the inside pocket of their jacket – while Kanemaru-san began taking off his socks after first slapping his forehead in disgust and swearing at what I assume was himself. He also lit up another cigarette – Golden Bat, I believe. At least it smelled like bat.
No one put on the pink ones. I like these guys already.
They all took turns showing me how to put on the tiny slippers – uh, there’s no real Japanese secret to that. I think that after my initial gaffe they thought I might be a tad slow. I skated (thereby affirming my tetched-in-the-head-ness) past the bathroom area immediately to my right and along a 4-metre hallway into an enormous living room/dining room/kitchen open concept area that was easily 10m deep by 5m wide.
At the end of it was a sliding door leading out to a full-sized balcony (facing north). Alongside the hallway on the left there was a 4m x 4m bedroom that had a small walk-in closet, a writing desk and chair and another balcony (facing west). A second bedroom beside it and accessed through the l/d/k was the designated bedroom, and a third larger 5m x 5m room that contained what can only be described as a turn-of-the-century German mahogany clothes drawer/liquor cabinet. At least that’s how I used it.
Even though I have no idea what a metre is, I’m pretty sure that this was a really big apartment. I wondered how the other AETs had fared?
All of the rooms were carpeted in a thin, ugly green ply, while each individual room had real doors on them save the middle room which was laid with tatami (grass floor mats) and had authentic Japanese sliding doors complete with a beautiful hand-painted landscape on it.
The kitchen area had a nice stove – but no oven, a fridge small enough to satisfy a Brit (1m high), a deep sink, lots of shelf space, and a convection oven with buttons to heat up one cup of sake (rice wine), two cups of sake, or god help us all, three cups of sake. There were also separate buttons for warming milk, and for cooking various weights of meat, including beef, veal, pork, chicken, and I kid you not, goat.
The dining room consisted of a four-seater pine table and chairs and a China hutch (actually a Japan hutch according to two-pack Kanemaru-san) that was filled with four sets of dishware and flatware, as well as various cups and mugs, spices and a tin of Twinings of London Earl Grey tea.
Hanazaki-san opened up some of the cabinets beside the fridge under the ample counter space and proudly showed me the cooking implements, including what Kanemaru-san’s dictionary said was a rice cooker – since we were men, none of us had actually ever cooked a meal, so the cookware was a bit of a mystery for us, although I was able to correctly point out a frying pan.
As an aside, Hanazaki-san promised to send an office girl or three around to show me how to use the cooking utensils. He did and they did the very next day, but he failed to send one who could speak English or one with a Japanese-English dictionary. I never did learn how to use a rice cooker. Nineteen years later, I still have no clue.
The living room contained a three-seat couch and an armchair that were both covered in a soft, luxurious but ugly, moss green fabric. Along with a 24-inch television on a small stand, a 2m-long marble-top table and a book case with a faded olive green dialer telephone, there was also something called a kotatsu (a 30-cm tall, wood table frame covered by a futon or heavy blanket, upon which a table top sits. As an added bonus, the table can be plugged in to act as a heater with the blanket capturing the heat).
The walls of the apartment were covered in white wallpaper with a light, light, light blue floral pattern that looked nice and not too feminine.
Each room had a 10-foot high ceiling - I hate the Metric system – and had more than its fair share of fluorescent lighting.
Drapes covered every floor-to-ceiling door/window in the place – except for the tatami/bedroom which had a pair of non-decorated Japanese sliding rice paper windows that covered up the 8’-wide x 1’-high window.
There. Hopefully you get a pretty good idea of how the Ohtawara Board of Education (OBOE) set me up. The OBOE (I only JUST came up with that acronym) rented out the place from their own budget, and really wanted to impress on me on how much they wanted me to enjoy my stay in Japan. If I was to compare my situation with any other AET in Tochigi-ken or even Japan, I might actually have had the largest apartment with the most Western amenities.
Oh… and much to the chagrin of one Jeff Seaman, my bathroom came with a Western-style toilet.
I also had a washer/dryer machine – an important luxury in a country with 200% humidity – as well as a shower. There was also a small gas heater that I had to turn on if I wanted hot water.
The toilet room – a 1m x 1m cubicle – also came with its own set of slippers – dark green ones with little cartoony frogs sitting on lily pads. Apparently they are only supposed to be worn in the toilet room and woe to the person that doesn’t wear them.
No offense to Hanazaki-san or Kanemaru-san or to the people of Japan, I never wore any of the slippers ever again in my place. Worse yet, I encouraged others not to as well.
By the way, my hosts had hung a banner across the living room: Welcome to Japan Mr. Andrew Joseph.
They had spelled it right and got the order of my name correct, too. Something that doesn’t happen often enough back in Canada.
Hanazaki-san then pointed to a large black and white map hung on the wall above the telephone. Strangely enough, everything was in English, so even I might be able to understand it. Showing me a small photo in his wallet, Hanazaki told me that the map was drawn by my predecessor Cheryl Menezes, an English woman of Indian descent.
I didn’t think it odd for them to have chosen another person of colour to be an AET. I thought it was pretty cool, actually.
Just then, the telephone rang. Picking it up and saying 'Moshi Moshi' (hello – for use on the telephone only), Hanazaki-san handed the phone to me.
Monkey see, monkey do, I said Moshi just once; a fact that elicited laughter from everyone in my apartment including the person on the phone but me. Moshi means insect. So, if you say it twice, shouldn’t it mean insect-insect? Or is that exactly what it’s supposed to mean: "Sorry to bug you…"
On the other end of the phone, it was Cheryl wishing me good luck in my stay in Ohtawara. She told me to have fun, because that’s what it’s all about. Life, that is. That and the Hokey-Pokey.
After taking her phone number – she was back home in the UK – I slapped my two friends on the back and said domo arigato (thank you very much). In the process I dislodged Kanemaru-san’s cigarette onto the floor.
And that’s how I got a new blue carpet.

Somewhere having to cut those slippers off my toe-jammed feet,
Joseph-san
Today's title is by Steppenwolf.