Can't Explain

Today is Wednesday, September 25, 1991.
I'm living in Ohtawara City, Tochigi-ken, Japan working (sometimes) as an assistant English teacher on the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme.
My dad calls at exactly 7:10AM just as I asked him to yesterday. Because I have a female student who speaks Spanish, I thought I could get a few lines from my dad to help me look smart and charming.
However, my dad says that rather than just tell me a few phrases, he'll send me a book.
I'd have preferred the quick fix because I'm only at Wakakusa Chu Gakko (Wakakusa Junior High School) until the end of this week and won't be back for a month or more, but still... it's better than nothing.
I have three classes today. As usual, they all involve me reading from the English text book and having the class and then individual students repeat it.
I'm really tired today, but I survive because really, what other option do I have?
At lunch, I play with the mentally challenged kids (I always eat lunch with them when I visit this school... I have to admit, despite their learning disabilities, these kids are so much fun and lively, and are always playing practical jokes on myself and the other kids and teachers... it warms my heart!).
Because they have to do some chore or something, I find some first-year students to play with. It's raining, so all of our activities are indoors.
I then look out for and find the Peruvian girl. She nearly dies laughing after I say that one of the boys is "loco de la cabeza" (in Japanese it's 'Atama no kurutta')", which if I recall my Speedy Gonzales cartoons, it means 'crazy in the head'.
Ahh... it's good to be the king!
After school, I ride over to my back doctor for an adjustment, though I still feel tense when he's finished. Oh well, at least I no longer ned to wear the back brace I had brought with me 14 months ago.
Next, it's over to my kyudo (Japanese archery) club with my ex-girlfriend Ashley (who now better serves me or us as a friend-with-benefits), and one of my Ohtawara Board of Education (OBOE) supervisors, Kanemaru-san, who is teaching both of us archery. We both suck... or rather I do. Ashley's not so bad at it. She's a lot better than I am and it pisses the hell out of me considering I bragged to the Japanese about my sports dominance back in Canada.
Oh well... if the Japanese are smart (and they are), they simply have to look at the sports dominance of the USA versus Canada and know that the Yankees are a whole lot better than us Canuckleheads. Of course, Ashley isn't a damn Yankee... she's a southerner from Augusta, Georgia.
Having said all that, I hit a bullseye on my first shot.
Then, because form and technique are everything in Japanese society, Kanemaru-san begins to teach me the proper way to hold an arrow in my bow. Damn, but that feels a lot better! My finger no longer hurts!
Of course, I don't hit the target again for the next hour, but at least my form is good.
That's kind of what gets me about Japan. I finally succeed in shooting an arrow and hitting the target dead-on, but because it doesn't conform to the Japanese way, I am deconstructed.
Fortunately, my other supervisor Hanazaki-san, did not attempt to change the way I hold my chopsticks. Round about my first week in Japan - certainly the second day I ever spent at the OBOE office, Hanazaki-san took a pair of pencils and taught me the correct way to hold them as through they were chopsticks.
Now... perhaps because my hands were a little wider or longer, I couldn't grip those pencils the same way as he, and therefore had to create a different grip for myself. I showed it to him - and he said if it works for you, then maybe Japan could learn from Canada.
My test with the chopsticks involved me having to pick up slick, raw shelled beans with them.... if I could do it quickly by picking them up from one bowl and then into another, then my style was golden.
I'm still awaiting my royalty cheque from having taught the world a different chopstick grip. Excluding my pinkie finger and index finger, I use the two middle ones and my thumb to grab food as fast or faster than the Japanese.
Back to the point - kyudo: Because I am tired, my eyes are, too... or maybe it's the other way around.
When we finish, and Kanemaru-san drives Ashley back to my place. She hangs around and watches a couple of Mission Impossible episodes (original series) and one of McGyver.
I figure she's hanging around for a reason, so I sit beside her on my couch and cop a feel. My grip must be good because I feel no pain, though there is the odd moan evoked.
She doesn't seem to mind (or say a word) as I unbutton her blouse and move her bra out of the way... as I time it perfectly for the end of McGyver, because as soon as it's over she jumps me!
We head for the bedroom and without going into details (which I have actually written down here in my diary), we come out gasping for air 90 minutes later marveling at how good that felt.
Not an idiot, despite what I have written under the name of the whole blog, I suggest that maybe we can do it more often.
She smiles, and in her usual understated way simply says, "maybe." No capital 'M' either. Now that's understated.
It's also so friggin' Japanese. The Japanese have a hundred different ways of saying maybe, including the infamous sucking of air through the teeth... which is all done rather than saying 'no" and possibly disappointing someone. Is Ashley turning Japanese?
If not, at least it wasn't a 'no'. But if the endorphins weren't kicking in, perhaps it would have been. Who the hell knows what she is thinking? Probably that we are just friends-with-benefits. But I want more. The king wants more!
I ride my bicycle back to her place. Tell her I enjoyed the evening, and ride home floating on a cloud.
Oh yeah... while I was making the moves on Ashley, Kevin called wanting to talk with me about last Saturday night. That was when he kept trying to poach the Japanese woman I was chatting up - and doing quite well with - until he butted in and started speaking his fluent Japanese drawing her out of our broken English/Japanese chat. Bastard.
I tell Kevin I have my hands full with some things now (and I do, too, thank you Ashley), so he suggests we chat tomorrow. I say okay.
What the hell is there to talk about? Bastard. Just don't ever get in my way again! Stupid gaijin.

Somewhere riding the high,
Andrew Joseph
Today's blog title is sung by: The Who: MINDMINDMIND

Laugh, Laugh

(Dictionary: 'san' means: Mister, Monsieur, Miss, Mrs or even Ms. 'sensei' means teacher.) 
I don't want to get up today even though I've set the alarm a half-hour later than usual. Still, I don't leave my bed for another 30 minutes.
It's Friday, July 5, 1991 and I feel emotionally tired. The Junko saga has really wiped me out.
How can I even tell anyone what's gone on? It's going to be 20 years before I'll feel comfortable enough to talk about this with anyone.
Still... when I go into the OBOE (Ohtawara Board of Education) office for my 'office day', everyone treats me likes it's just another day and that they are super glad to see me again. I like that.
Kanemaru-san comes over quickly with his Japanese-English dictionary in hand which prompts to automatically reach for my English-Japanese dictionary. But either he's been practicing English with someone else, or I'm a better English teacher than I realized.
"An-do-ryu sensei want to go to (pause to look up a word) individual kyudo contesto on July 19?"
In two weeks? I choke on some phlegm and laugh because I'm still not good enough. I still haven't hit a target and I need to practice a lot more. Still, my laugh feels good and real. Aside from laughing maniacally to myself at all of the great sex I had been having with Junko, I haven't laughed much in a couple of months. Actually, since I had been having frequent sex with Junko, I guess I had been laughing often.
Hanazaki-san talks to me in English knowing that no one else in the office will understand us.
"An-do-ryu sensei... we took Junko back to her mother's house in Utsunomiya. She told us that you are in love with her and that you made her drop out of university because you said you would marry her."
I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. Actually, I did yell: "She's lying!" and slammed my hand on the desk in front of me."
To their credit, no one looked shocked. In fact... no one looked up from their desk. Crap. They all know what's going on. They just don't want to embarrass me.
Hanazaki-san continued: "Yes. We know. We realized there was something wrong with her on her first day at Ohtawara Chu Gakko (Ohtawara Junior High School) - that was the day you first met."
We did meet that day - she was a university student on a one-week internship at this school, one of seven I teach at here in Ohtawara-shi, Tochigi-ken (Ohtawara City, Tochigi Prefecture), Japan.
"How did you know?" I asked slowly.
"At school lunch that day, we know that miso soup was one of the dishes. According to our sources, Junko said she didn't want to use Japanese chopsticks and instead asked for a spoon. Now that's crazy."
I looked at him for about six seconds, opened my mouth to say something. Closed it and then looked at the twinkle in Hanazaki-san's eyes.
"Jodan! (Joke!)," I screamed and laughed in a roar.
And the whole damn OBOE office began laughing with me.

I'll continue this day in another blog. It involves me being followed by a Japanese woman and sleeping with another woman.

Somewhere I love my board of education office,
Andrew Joseph
Today's title is inspired by the Beau Brummels: HAHA. The group is American - which surprised me. The song was produced by Sylvester Stewart, who would later grown into mega-fame as Sly Stone: you know, of Sly & The Family Stone back in the 1960s??! Huh? Huh? Ahhh forget it. I must be old.

Run To The Hills

Who are the Ainu?

The Ainu are a race of people in Japan and Russia (Russia's inclusion depends on which of the two countries actually owns some islands).

These people speak their own language, and live in Hokkaido (the northern large island in Japan, the Kuril Islands and Sakhalin. Officially, there are some 25,000 people who consider themselves Ainu, but unofficially--meaning census takers have been a tad lax--the numbers might be closer to 200,000.

Ainu culture dates from around 1200 AD which may itself have emerged from the joining of two other cultures: the Okhotsk and the Satsumon... which to me shows that we're all pretty much from the same genetic stock if we go back far enough - if you believe in evolution, of course, but it's safe to say that not everyone is convinced it really occurs in nature.

The Ainu were hunter-gathers who did lots of hunting and fishing, and followed a religion similar in scope to Shinto in that it followed a belief in nature.

It's known that the Ainu had contact with the mainland Japanese (known as the Waijin) as of the 13th century, and between 1600 thru 1868, they did lots of trade with the Japanese  and became dependent on such trade to exist in their day-to-day life... which to me already means the Ainu culture is on a fast road to ruin.

In fact, as of 1868, with the onset of the Meiji Restoration (end of the Shogun military reign and reversion back to the reign of the Emperor), Japan looked to control the land of Hokkaido as a means to protect itself from expansionist Russia. So Japan annexed Hokkaido, and the Ainu, as of 1869, were labeled as being 'former aboriginals' implying that they were now Japanese.

As former aboriginals, the Ainu lost their land to the Japanese government. Provided with automatic citizenship, the Ainu lost their heritage - at least as far as Japan was concerned.

Land. Language. Religion. Customs. Gone. They were expected to toe the line like the rest of the Japanese population, because they were now Japanese. I'm unsure if there was a heated discussion with the Ainu asking them if this was what they wanted.

But let's not be too critical of Japan here. The U.S. has its Native Americans - the Indians; Canada has the Indians and the Inuit (once known as the Eskimo); Australia has its Aboriginals (which seems kind of generic to me, but perhaps it was used to describe these folks and their multiple languages, as we do with the Indians). I'm sure there are many, many other instances of indigenous folks being usurped - feel free to enlighten us with a comment.

The Ainu land of Hokkaido was offered to the Waijin people who were encouraged to go there to exploit the land's abundant natural resources.

Basically, the Ainu got screwed. Screwed royally. The Japanese made them become Japanese. They had to learn the language. They had to adopt Japanese names. They were told to stop their religious practices of animal sacrifice, and not to partake in their tattooing custom - which may be Polynesian.

There were mixed marriages between cultures. Nowadays, are there any pure Ainu left? Maybe a few. It's said that perhaps only one hundred people can speak the Ainu language nowadays.

Full-blooded Ainu are lighter skinned than their Japanese neighbors and have more body hair. That was the telling feature of the Ainu for all of the people I talked to in Ohtawara-shi, Tochigi-ken, Japan. They are hairy men. To me that what implied is that they are not of Polynesian stock, and perhaps are Mongolian, as far as a genetic background is concerned.

Back when the Ainu were Ainu and not Japanese and had their own cultural identity, after reaching adulthood, the men grew their beards and mustaches - never cutting it. Head hair on both men and women was usually kept at shoulder length, with the back length cut in a semi-circle. The female Ainu performed mouth tattooing, doing the side of the mouth and added more as they got older. 

Check out my photo at the top of the Ainu man and woman (I'll assume it's his wife) taken in the 1930s by the original owner of a scrapbook I purchased at a church sale in Utsonomiya-shi. I wish the photo showed colour. I'd love to know what colour the clothing is! Out on a limb, I'm going to guess an indigo with white, though some current Ainu wear grey and white clothing with bands of pale red. The clothing - a robe - is made from spinning the inside bark of the elm tree - of course, in the Winter time, they would add deerskin leggings, boots from dog or fish (I'm guess dog would be warmer--and thicker!). While both men and women could wear earrings made from a vine, the women would wear bead necklaces (see the photo - it's a sign of 'affluence' or at least 'status').   

The Ainu traditionally would eat the local wildlife of the north: fish, birds, vegetables, grains, herbs, bear, fox, wolf, oxen... which just makes sense. Deer and salmon were their two big meats. Food was always cooked - roasted or boiled in a stew. No one ate sushi or sashimi. They did use chopsticks, however - at least the men did, while the women only used a spoon... but I'm going out on a limb here and suggest that  the men probably used a spoon too, prior to the Japanese introduction of chopsticks into their culture.

They lived in reed-thatched huts - a one room home with two doors and a single window to allow in some light. There was a hole angled into the roof to allow smoke from the cooking fire to escape - and to prevent rain water from coming straight down onto the fire. They did not have conventional furniture - no desks or chairs - but would use mats on the floor, and would bring out the beddings at night time, consisting of a a low slung hammock-like device, with animal skins for blankets.

There... who says you can't learn something from a stupid blog? Okay, I say that, but this time I'm wrong - except about everything I wrote before this paragraph. 


Somewhere being hairy,
Andrew Joseph
Today's title is by Iron Maiden - now even if hard rock/heavy metal isn't your cup of tea, listen to the words - it's an epic battle between the U.S. army and the Indians, and while the Japanese (or Waijin) did not resort to genocide, it's possible some of the same feelings expressed in this song are appropriate.
RUNFORYOURLIFE.
PS: Today is my son Hudson's 5th birthday!

Prisoner

This was originally called: Welcome to Munchkin Land... and just so you know, I wanted to use the Prisoner song by the Killer Dwarfs, but couldn't find a version of the song for you... so I found something heavier.


Part of the regular duties of a junior high school AET (Assistant English Teacher) on the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching ) Programme, is to visit primary schools (grades 1-6) during the month of March while the middle schools are completing final exams. Yes, the end of the school year is the end of March - and no, they don't go on vacation until August. I'll show you a list explaining the number of school days.

It was a Friday - my office day. Lucky bugger that I am, all us AETs really only do teaching four days a week and are supposed to spend the fifth day at the board of education offices writing up reports of the weeks events or teaching people there English. I did both for a bout a week. And then it was just kind of never brought up again. If you think about it, how the hell is anyone just arriving in Japan supposed to teach anyone English. At least at school, I had a Japanese teacher of English. Back to the long-winded story.

As I sat down at my desk near Hanazaki-san, he told me that I would have to visit a primary school soon. Apparently soon meant today.

At 10AM I was whisked away from the security of my desk and computer and was tossed into the backseat of a white Cherry Vanette (a popular mini van built by Nissan). My driver, whose name I did not learn for months - Hashimoto-san, explained to me (in Japanese) that when we arrived at Ichinosawa Sho Gakko (I now realized I was going to Ichinosawa Elementary School) for the afternoon seeing as how I had failed to provide weekly reports to the OBOE (Ohtawara Board of Education). Of course I didn't do reports. I'm from Canada, and unless you ask for one every week by actually asking about it every week, I'm going to conveniently forget about it. At least that what I remember about this situation.

After a short 15 minute drive, Hashimoto-san removed my blindfold and handcuffs (he didn't have to apply the handcuffs and blindfold, that's just something he liked to do). Looking about, I certainly wasn't prepared for the sights before me. All I could thin was: "Don't look now, Toto, but I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

I was surrounded. Peeking through the car windows, standing on their toes were thousands of Munchkins--all of them jabbering away in a strange tongue I later came to call Munchkinese. Not having a command of the language, I was loathe to leave the santuary of the car. My hosts thought otherwise and dragged me screaming hysterically from the vehicle.

I was paraded through the school to the freezer room that funnily enough looked just like the unheated gymnasiums I had come to know through my 20 years of being a student back in Canada.

Pete Rose's haircut

Here I was welcomed to Munchkin Land by an eight-year-old boy with a Pete Rose haircut who screamed a welcome into a microphone - in English, thank goodness! I was touched.

Just like the movie The Wizard of Oz, it was evident I had nothing to fear from the tiny creatures.
We sat cross-legged on the cold, hard floor and began to build our own kites - because it was March and it was windy, and perhaps I could use it to escape Munchkin Land. I drew a rocket ship on my kite--one of the little fellows pointed at it and asked: "SCUD desu ka (Is it  S.C.U.D. missile?)"  Who the heck teaches little Munchkins this kind of stuff?
Anyhow, following the kite-building, there was a 20-minute autograph session. Who knew that the news of my new found sexual prowess had reached Munchkin Land? No, that couldn't be the reason--I'm sure I was the first real-life foreigner they had ever seen in the flesh. I suppose all the other foreigners they had met were on TV or in the movies, and are thus famous--ergo, all foreigners are famous, so we better get this guy's autograph just in case.
Finally, after running out of ink, we went outside to fly our kites, As luck would have it, we had a hurricane (sorry, typhoon)-like wind blowing.
Wonder of wonders! Our pathetic little kites worked! Aviation pioneers around the world would have been proud! But things in Munchkin Land are never as smooth as they would first appear. In this my first ever attempt to fly a kite (really!), it flew up a few metres and crashed to the ground, killing one of the poor unfortunate Munchkins. He let out his death scream: "Bakayaro! (Ya stupid idiot!)", and then expired. Good grief.
My next attempt at kite flying was better as I managed to use up all 1,600 metres of string. Ah, what fun. There were kites and bodies everywhere as the poor Munchkins tried to get their creations in the air. I helped as many as I could--but when I tried to help a little girl Munchkin with hers, I asked a boy Munchkin to hold my kite. He hasn't been seen since. Perhaps he made it back to the Kansai Region (could that just be a misspelling of Kansas?)
Thankfully (for them), it was soon lunch time. They made me sit in a tiny chair at a tiny desk, with tiny amounts of food on a tiny plate. It was then that I first wondered if Munchkins were good to eat. Didin't matter anyway--I couldn't really use the tiny chopstick-like utensils they gave me that they called hashi.  
Afterward, they made me sing a song from my homeland--so I sang the Canadian National anthem, O Canada. I couldn't remember the words - stage fright, I guess - but my embarrassment quickly disappeared as I realized they didn't know the difference.
Next, they gave me one of their costumes--a large, dark blue tracksuit--and then really srtared to pile on the gifts they called omiyage. Then someone found another pen and they forced me to sign my name onto various parts of their hairless bodies. It was tattooing or branding, and I got the feeling they were saying we were now a part of one another.
After spending 20-minutes saying bai-bai (good-bye), Hashimoto-san drove me back to my apartment in Ohtawara. No handcuffs or blindfold was provided this time. Awwww.
Catching my breath, I examined the worth of the presents they had given me: cookies, candy, manga (comic books), flowers, photos, a hand-sewn hanky with my name on it, an Ultraman action figure, and potatoes (I got three of them!), I determined that visiting a primary school aka Munchkin Land can be very beneficial to one's knowledge of life in this strange country.
The next day, I was taken to Udakawa Primary School, where we did a lot of Conga Line dancing. PHOTOS.

Somewhere over the rainbow,
Andrew Joseph   
Today;s title is played by Iron Maiden. Listen here with EDDIE.
PS: I wish I could show you a lot of the things I got that day - but I lost many things in a house fire a few years back. It really does suck. That handkerchief with my name on it was great--how long had they known I was coming?

Born Under A Bad Sign

Have you ever had one of those days when absolutely nothing went according to plan? Well, when you live in a place for nearly a year and you still can't speak the lingo or understand anybody, you don't make too many plans, but fortunately for you, oh gentle reader, it has made for an interesting rife.

One of my most 'enjoyable' but embarrassing moments occurred whilst I was visiting Chikasono Chu Gakko (Chikasono Junior High School). I was standing at the urinal doing my business when a couple of girls walked by the doorway (there are no doors in Japanese public washrooms) and waved hello to me. I, unfortunately (or fortunately  for this blog) waved back. With the wrong hand. Whoops.

Later that day at lunch, I was asked the question all foreigners are asked by curious Japanese folk: "Can you use Japanese chopsticks?" It was in English, too!

Not to belabour a point, but there is a difference in chopsticks between Asian nations, and this SITE can offer you more--so it is perfectly fins for the Japanese to mention the country of origin when asking that question. Anyhow, Japanese chopsticks are called hashi. Check OUT this site for more on chopsticks and a photo of natto (rotting soy beans). 

Now, as for the answer to that question about my adroitness using the hashi (chopsticks), I had been taught by my boss, Hanazaki-san about a week after landing in Ohtawara. He taught me using a pen and a pencil in lieu of the chopsticks - placing my ego aside for a moment, I am quite adept at using them, as I am able to quickly pick up single grains of rice or smooth round beans with ease.

However, on this particular day, after I answered in the affirmative (Hai!), as if on cue, I dropped the chunk of stewed squid onto my white dress shirt. The only plus from this moment was that I made two kids laugh hard enough for milk to squirt out of their noses. At least I think it was milk.

After lunch, I, as per my norm, walked alone around the school as it is easier to pass gas that way. Unfortunately, the kids at Chikasono seem to be very friendly kids (mostly farm kids, as Chikasono is smack-dab in the middle of Ohtawara's farming community - even though it seems to be mostly a farming community) - I was beset upon by what seemed to be hundreds of girls lining the hallway looking, pointing, smiling and waving frantically at me. My now replaced ego would tell you that this is a normal occurrence.   

Anyhow, one girl finally worked up the courage to come up and talk to me. Before turning a brilliant shade of red and bursting into laughter, she had time to say: "Zippa down!" Hey, at least it was English!

Geez. I wonder if it had been a left-over by-product from the wave incident. Man... and I thought these girl's liked me for my sense of humour and good looks. And what the heck were they doing looking down there anyways?

Next up, I received a phone call from Hanazaki-san wanting to know why I had flipped off (given the finger) to the Kocho Sensei (school principal) from the Ohtawara Senior Girl's High School (well, there goes ANY chance of me getting to visit that school). I tried to explain that I didn't know it was anybody important who had splashed a mud puddle on me when he had driven by this morning. When I added that I thought it was just a science teacher, Hanazaki-san bought my story and all was forgotten and almost dry. My explanation was also in English!

So... there I was - having a really bad day (though my hair was perfect - I'm very vain about my hair. It's the one vanity I have that I will admit too). To make this a completely cruddy day (I am excluding the possibility of anyone here jumping up to mess up my hair), all I needed was to have students try and strike up a conversation with me.

Friendly buggers, they were right on time. It seems that during my personal introductions here during my last visit, I must have mentioned that I could slam dunk a basketball. The kids had finally looked up the words to call my bluff. Y'see, I figured that by the time they had learned enough English to ask the question, I'd be home in Toronto after my one-year gig was up. Smart buggers. Anyhow, I had assumed that since the average Japanese person is as tall as a Frenchman (5'-8"), that the basketball hoops would be lower. So I don't know basketball very well.

What a day: I've been caught for a liar; flipped a principal the finger; have muddy pants with squid stains on my shirt; and I've exposed myself. Twice. The only way I could possibly top this school day would be to have an adventure at my acupuncturist. 

My back has been a bit of a problem since I got here. It has been relieved by the new double bed generously given to me as a gift by a Japanese family (Ashley and I and a few others, say thanks), but my bosses Hanazaki-san and Kanemaru-san had made my first appointment for me for today.

I rode my bicycle to the doctor's office and upon walking through the door, was quickly ushered into a room (perhaps so no one else could see a gaijin (foreigner) take off his pants and shirt). Doctor XXX (they told me his name once, but I quickly mis-remembered it as I am lousy with names and faces, which sucks when everyone here in Ohtawara seems to know who I am) had me lie on my stomach. 

I guess the day's events had made me unusually tense, but I screamed 34 times as 34 needles were plunged into my neck, back, but and back of my thigh. Apparently, acupuncture isn't supposed to hurt at all. It it must be true because I never heard the doctor scream even once.

As the needles were removed, the doctor rotated them slowly and lifted the out starting at the top and working down. As each needle left my body, so too did the pain, as it travelled down to the next needle, causing me to cry out. 

The 298-year-old man lying on the table beside me laughed at my wimpiness and called me the Japanese equivalent of a cat. 

Sore physically and emotionally, I went home and crawled into bed. Alone.

Somewhere knowing I have four more days left until the weekend,

Andrew Joseph

PS: Today's Title is found HERE , and was originally performed by Blues legend Albert King, and was written by Booker T. Jones who fronted Booker T & the MGs.  Check out THEIR hit with Donald Duck Dunn on bass... who was the pipe-smoking bass player in the classic The Blues Brothers movie - everyone has seen it, so here's something DIFFERENT.