Shout At The Devil

Just a quick shout out to all my American friends - Happy Independence Day!

Let's read about another party day in Japan:  

So... It's Sunday, August 25, 1991. My mom has returned to my apartment in Ohtawara-shi, Tochigi-ken, Japan after spending the past week traveling around the country by herself. That in itself is pretty amazing, as I usually get lost crossing the street. In any country.

I have zero sense of direction.

I'm in my 13th month here, flying over from Toronto as part of the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching Programme) to teach as an assistant English Teacher to seven junior high schools in the city. That's how many there are, and that's how many I teach at - one per week for four days. It's an easy job, and despite some internal belly-aching about things, I really do love my job and love the people and the culture.

Today, I get a peak at some of people and culture.

My mom and I are up early. Suzuki Tokunori (surname first!) comes by to pick us up at 9:30AM. He's a farmer of everything from vegetables to flowers. He's a fine English speaker, tall, strong, intelligent and good-looking with a wicked sense of humour. He's also the leader (at least I think he is) of the Ohtawara International Friendship Association, a group that likes to get together with gaijin (outsiders/foreigners) and make them feel welcome so that each can learn about different cultures.

I may not have fully appreciated it at that time, but I did enough to know that I liked the people in this club.

Suzuki-san takes us over to his farm and house first, where he dresses me up in the appropriate matsuri (festival) garb.

Today is the Sakuyama Obon Matsuri ... it's a Sakuyama district festival of the dead where according to Buddhist traditions, the spirits of those passed are allowed to leave Hell where they reside to come up and hang-out with family for three days. It sounds totally wild - and I wonder how many people really believe that... but then again, this is part of Japanese culture so who the hell am I to even question what they believe - and besides... it's not like it's offensive or someone gets hurt... they have other festivals that do that! More on those later!

I'm wearing a blue hoppi coat with a yellow ribbon and shorts that, for lack of a better term, look like diapers.

God but it's hot outside - 37 Celsius (98.6 Fahrenheit). Hotter than hell, I'd wager.

We walk over to a shrine near Suzuki-san's home. People are praying while a ton of kids are running around screaming at the top of their little lungs. The kids are totally oblivious to the solemnity of the ceremony, though  none of the adults seem to care.

There are no teenagers around and thus, no one knows who the heck I am. Not really, anyway.

My mom, Lynda, talks with Suzuki-san as he takes pictures around the shrine. His kids are hanging around me like flies for some reason... but I'm cool with that, because they are nice kids.

We then walk over to the district chief's home (he's one of eleven). Four men carry around a large portable shrine to his house. Two men dressed as dragons run through the house to chase away the evil spirits. I think that's in case some of the evil dead leave Hell and try to bother the nice spirits and the living.

The chief gives everyone (me, included) a lot of food and beer. It's only 10:30AM.

Thirty minutes later, we're off to the next house. It's more of the same - but it is very cool. I am always taken aback (not surprised though) by the generosity of these people welcoming a pair of strangers like my mom and myself into their home and then plying us with food and booze. I know I'm drunk by 11:15AM. Oh god... only nine more chief houses to go... or are we just hitting everyone's house in the neighbourhood? Why does my liver hurt?

The folks let me carry around a huge banner between a few of the houses. Honour yes - heavy - holy smokes it's heavy. I think we the guys wearing the hoppi coats take turns doing stuff for the matsuri!

Round about the fifth or sixth home, Suzuki-san go and I visit the home of a local ham-radio set. We contact a guy from Moscow - wow - it's just three days after the failed coup attempt! He tells us that things are crazy over there right now with people wondering if there is going to be a civil war.

We head back over to the festivities (after the ham operator gave us more food and booze). The booze, I should mention could be anything from sake (rice wine), beer, or whiskey. I never eat breakfast... but I think I wish I had today.

It's a good thing the dysentery I picked up on vacation a week or two ago seems to not be bothering me at the moment.

By the way... it was only Suzuki-san and myself who visited the ham-radio operator. I have no idea where my mom is, and presume her to be hopelessly lost here in the Sakuyama district (a major farming section of the city) of Ohtawara. Except for Suzuki-san, it doesn't appear as though anyone here speaks any English.... at all.

I'm not knocking the intelligence of farmers - Suzuki-san is proof that they are smart - but it is often true that many Japanese farmers are not exactly highly educated. But even if no one speaks any English, they are smart enough to see a guy large enough to be a small sumo wrestler (a normal-sized gaijin) as a means to help carry around a heavy shrine.

And so I do. But... I do present a bit of a problem for my new friends. I'm about four inches or more taller than everyone else. At least my shoulders are a lot higher... which means that while I can easily carry my load of the shrine, my height will tip it down onto the smaller people.

I learn how to crouch while carrying a heavy load... I am  sure my chiropractor is going to get a visit this week.

We head down with the shrine atop my broad shoulders to another district chief's place. With the shrine, we turn a few circles, sing a song (I don't - I'd love to, but I certainly don't know the words!) and then place the shrine down in his home.

Then it's food and beer time (again!). It hasn't stopped - and I'm so hammered that I'm pretty sure I could lift the shrine up all by myself. Bets are taken and I get to work. Let me tell ya... just because you are drunk, it doesn't mean you are any stronger than usual. I definitely have to see my chiropractor!

Next, I get to play the part of a dragon. Actually, I get to play the rear of the dragon. Figures. To me, this is still the ultimate cool thing, regardless of whether or not I'm a dragon's ass or not. My name Andrew is translated phonetically into the katakana alphabet of An-Doh-Ryu. For my hanko (signature stamp) and meishi (business cards), I use kanji (a Japanese alphabet based on the Chinese pictographs) to make my name mean something in Japanese: An-Doh-Ryu is translated into "Peaceful-Leader-Dragon". Joseph - or in katakana/kanji is Jyo-se-fu means "Help-World-Walk".

I was also born in 1964 - the Year of the Dragon... so if I was to ever get a tattoo, it would be of a Japanese dragon (ryu)... but everyone does that for some reason... even if they don't have as many reasons as myself.  Buggers. It's why I am still tattoo-free.

So... dressed as the rear of the dragon (not the year of the dragon), I run into every single house in the district and shout "Ongiri!" At least that's what they told me to say. I assume it means demons out... but while writing this up 20 years later, my dictionary says the proper way to say 'demons out' is to say: "Oni wa soto". Perhaps these guys were just having fun with me and I was actually shouting for some rice balls (onigiri)!

As I am running through the house yelling for the demons to leave the house, I am expected to toss off my sandals while I continue running around. Fine by me - I have a wicked blister on the top of each foot from sandal's strap!

Oh - there's my mom. She's wandered into the house I am currently in. The men (like men everywhere) are pigs, and are ogling my mom saying she has nice tits (that I did understand in Japanese - having used the term myself on quite a few young ladies here these past 13 months). Everyone is drunk, so whatever.

After the 11th party of food and booze, my mom, Suzuki-san and I slip away to Suzuki-san's home to relax. We get plied with even more food - but this stuff is substantial - onigiri,unagi-no-kabayaki (grilled freshwater eel) on rice and yakitori (grilled chicken chunks on a skewer) ... ahhhh, it helps take some of my buzz off. Not all, mind you, as it was one heck of a noisy day.I love it!

At 8:30PM, we head out to see some of the bon odori (obon dancing). Despite being in Ohtawara, I am told the Sakuyama district does not do the Ohtawara bon odori, but rather chooses to do the more famous Nikko bon odori, complaining that the Ohtawara version is too new at a couple of hundred years versus the 500+ year-old Nikko one. Nikko is a very old city about 45 minutes west of Ohtawara, and is famous for being the birth place of the three wise monkeys (Hear No Evil/See No Evil/Speak No Evil). It sounds funny to me.

As I sit and watch the dancing, little kids find me and begin crawling all over me, grabbing my hands and playing with my long pony-tailed hair. A few little girls grab my hand to make me walk around with them - so I do. Some of the kids started giving me presents and then gave some to my mom, too once they found out who she was.

Whomever said that the Japanese are afraid of or don't like foreigners is an idiot. And not the type I am.

We go home at 11PM with a ride from Suzkui-san's wife, as it appears as though every single man in Sakuyama is smashed drunk! Man, I love this place.

Somewhere hell is blistering hot,
Today's blog title is by Mötley Crüe: SHOUT
PS: In the photo above... I'm the tall brown non-Japanese fellow. See HERE for more photos!
PPS: Oh... and read my other blog! I just added a new entry a day or two ago: FEELTHEHEAT

Stand

February 3rd is Setsubun, a festival whereby the Japanese celebrate the coming of Spring.

Personally, I think it's a little early in the year to be doing this, but I guess it's sort of an anticipatory thing. And, if I understood all things Japanese, there would be no need for this angst-riddled blog.

Setsubun means 'seasonal division' and got its start in the Muromachi-jidai (1336 - 1573 AD). Back in the day, it was a household mini celebration to cleanse the house of evil (I guess evil likes a warm place to stay in the Winter) from the past year (oops, I should have read what I was going to write before that snide remark) in anticipation of having an evil-free start to the new year (the Year of the Rabbit - as China and Japan use a similar calendar - though Japan only for astrological purposes, it too follows the Julian calendar).

The preferred way to do the purifying is to have a male of the household who happened to be born in a corresponding year - in this case, a male born previously in The Year of The Rabbit lead the event.

The 'Buck', or male rabbit guy tosses roasted soybeans out the front door or at a member of the family wearing an oni (demon) mask while others yell: "Oni wa soto! Fuku wa uchi! (Demons out! Luck in!)". The door is then slammed shut, thereby expelling all the evil.

While people in Japan don't really do this anymore, they do go to a temple and see it being done, expecting that the exorcism will occur if one is nearby watching the ritual.

Nowadays, the Japanese kind of make their own luck by eating Eho-maki (lucky direction sushi  rolls) whereby you are supposed to face towards the year's 'lucky direction' and eat the whole sushi roll without stopping. No problem. You are not allowed to talk until you have finished eating. That's a problem for me.

For 2011, the lucky direction is south by southeast. I am unsure how the heck they came up with that one. Regardless, it is a nice little fun oddity that I wish we had more of that here (wherever you are that doesn't do this). 

Somewhere looking for a compass,
Andrew Joseph
Today's blog is brought to you by R.E.M. I always liked this song: STAND
It was also the theme song for a short-live TV comedy I liked: Get A Life, starring Chris Eliott.
PS: Hey! Finally a timely blog. Happy New Year, you wascally wabbit! Watch THIS.

Life Is A Carnival

Saturday, November 3, 1990

I’m up at 7:30AM and I already feel exhausted thanks to the drinks and the panic. I dress in jeans and a t-shirt and head over to the festival located at the Nihon Tobacco Company Grounds, find the stage set up for my big radio interview that will apparently be done live on-stage for the town to see. I see the happy Mayor Sembo who comes over to shake my hand. The radio crew see him talking to me and figure I must be the guy they are going to interview. They are correct.
My first question by the CRT Tochigi radio network is in Japanese. I answer them with a flat “No.” They all look horrified. So, I smile like I’m joking and say I don’t speak Japanese.
The lady disc jockey asking the questions smiles and asks me her question in English – thank goodness it’s the real basic stuff, which she can easily translate back into Japanese for her audience.
"What do you think of Ohtawara?"
"How are the students?"
"Do you like Japanese girls?" She said this and squeezed my left leg just above my knee.
There were a few other questions, but after she squeezed my leg, I don't remember specifics... I'm sure I supplied candid rote answers. When it was over (after five minutes), she squeezed my leg again. She’s cute, but seems kind of old – maybe 40. (I see the irony of writing this out in the blog at the age of 45).
I wander around the festival and meet three girls from New Zealand – 14 and under, named Fiona, Rebecca and Melissa (see photo) who are in Japan because their dad is working for a Japanese company on a six month exchange. The youngest, Fiona, catches a goldfish for me in a game of chance, as I mentioned I have an aquarium.
These young kids like me because I don’t treat them like kids… I treat them like people. Everybody’s happy. And then I run into Ashley. She seems distant and bitchy and is looking for the Ohtawara Friendship Association. I accidentally steer her the wrong way before realizing it’s only about 15 feet from where I’m chatting with the Kiwi’s.
After she tracks them down, Ashley comes back to inform me that they want me to come and play the clarinet. I tell them I forgot mine at home in the rush this morning. She tells me they have one waiting for me. Zoinks!
While trying to tell them my ribs were still hurting from the car-bicycle accidents and it’s difficult to blow, they pretend they don’t understand English. Which they don't, so I'm screwed.
I play something for them – St. Louis Blues – a Dixieland piece (the clickable version is kindda how I played it, but with the clarinet doing the lead) to raucous applause, do some bowing, grab a Coke and leave to go purchase a table with short legs made of some very dark wood. The table sits maybe four inches high. I don’t know what to do with it, but it looks cool.
When I return, I see Ashley. Apparently she’s mad at me and gives me the whole Spanish Inquisition routine as she tortures me about my lack of religious conviction... and nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition. I’m not sure where that came from. But I can’t defend myself to someone who knows they are right and that you are wrong.
Why am I even in this relationship? Oh yeah, the convenience of sex.
She heads over to my place later that evening, we have a spaghetti dinner and watch Quantum Leap, Letterman and Saturday Night Live.
She’s probably asking herself why she’s in the relationship. Oh yeah, food and television.
We go to bed and she hits me with the religion stuff again. I walk out into my living room and have half a bottle of Kaluha - the real hard stuff. Ten minutes later she comes out, apologizes, and we go back to my bedroom.
Angry make-up sex is good, or at least I assume it’s good for her. Half a bottle of Kaluha makes things impossible me.
I don't even know what the festival was for.
Somewhere looking for a happy ending,
Andrew Joseph

Poison Arrow

Judging from the scowl on her face, I guess Ashley wasn’t expecting me. That’s okay, as I wasn’t expecting to see her either.

We weren’t on the outs or anything, it was just an unexpected visit.

I had just been dropped off at her place by the Kanemaru family on a dull, overcast Saturday morning after spending the night at their place on a home-stay. They did not drive off, however. They were waiting…

Not knowing what to expect—and not one to quibble—I was still surprised when she grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me into her apartment. Before I could stammer that I had nothing to do with this, she planted a really decent kiss on me.

Not able to follow up on that kiss, she told me she knew all about Kanemaru-san’s visit, my visit, too, and that she even knew where we were going… though she continued to revel in my ignorance and discomfort by not telling me where we were going.

No big deal… not knowing what I’m doing or where I’m going is pretty much the norm for me in Japan.

Grabbing a coat and her camera, she got into the backseat of the car—though Tomohiro (the six-year-old Kanemaru son), wiggled around so he could sit on my side – sticking me in the middle seat (and the hump) of the white Toyota Cherry Vanette.

It was Saturday, September 8, and we’d been in Japan for a month… which is probably why Ashley decided to show off her recently learned Japanese language skills by starting a conversation with the Kanemaru’s.

I have no idea what she said, but Kanemaru-sand and his wife both turned to me and stared for a few seconds, before saying in English: “Ash-a ree Japan-eezu berry goo-do. (Ashley Japanese very good.)”

I suppose I deserved that. In the month there, I didn’t really say too much in Japanese – and surely not anything as complex as whatever it was that Ashley said.

By the way… did you notice how Kanemaru-san phonetically said Ashley’s name? It’s important for later.

A short while later, we arrived wherever it is we were supposed to arrive at. No, don’t anyone tell me – I’m only a writer who likes to think he knows everything. Which I don’t… so I suppose the trend continues.

>Anyhow, the here were we were—as opposed to the here where we are—was in the southwest area of Ohtawara, and there was a festival-like atmosphere about the place. Not surprising since it was a festival.

According to Kanemaru-san this was a festival to celebrate Nasu no Yoichi (aka Yoichi Nasu – the name/word Nasu is pronounced nass) who was a famous warrior from the 1100s.

It bothers me that I only had to learn a couple of hundred years worth of Canada/British North America history, while the Japanese learned a millennium’s worth. It bother’s me that I didn’t do it very well.

That brief interlude brought to you by ‘Whining™’, when merely complaining just won’t do.

Short story now merely long, Yoichi Nasu is a hero of Ohtawara – and you can read about him HERE.

Nasu was an archer of great renown (obviously), and not only did he shoot a bow and arrow to smite the enemy, he did so atop a moving horse. I know, I know… what’s the big deal? Native American Indians have been doing it for centuries with a lot of success – just ask General Custer. But the Japanese bow utilized in kyudo (Japanese archery) is a big one. For someone my height – 180cm (I was taller back then), my bow would be 7’-7.5” in height or 223 cm. That unwieldy weapon is a bugger to shoot with—but more on kyudo and Andrew later.

The Nasu Yoichi festival opening ceremonies began with a small, wizened old man shooting an arrow at a far away target – obviously he hit it, and the festival began. Or rather the second part of the opening ceremony began.

Next up was a kyudo warrior dressed in 11^th century battle garb showing off his accuracy and long-distance shooting (that’s the photo atop the blog). Impressive as all heck. In fact, when Kanemaru-san asked me if I liked it, I immediately grinned in wide appreciation and said ‘hai!”

In fact, he then turned to Ashley and asked her: “Ash-a-ree play ah-sha-ree, too?”

I thought the old boy was stuttering, but it turns out he was asking Ashley is she wanted to do kyudo

A-sha-ree, he asked Ash-a-ree if she wanted to learn ah-sha-ree. (Actually, he asked Ashley if she wanted to learn archery.)

Man, do I love this place. The stories just kind of write themselves—a bit long-winded, though.

Anyhow, the Kanemaru’s, Ashley and I had a great time at the Yoichi Nasu festival. If you like, you may click HERE to see some photos of the event.

There was some excellent horseback kyudo and then there was a very long archery competition amongst a couple of local clubs—and though Kanemaru-san belonged to the Ohtawara Kyudo Club, and though they were at the event, he did not take part in it for some reason. I guess because he was babysitting us.

Anyways, the whole point of this particular blog was that single sentence wordplay. Okay, it’s also about how cool Kanemaru-san and his family are. And it does set in motion how I spend a lot of Wednesday nights.

Somewhere a-sha-ree wondering how everyone is doing…
Andrew Joseph
Today's title brought to you by ABC

Have A Drink On Me: Obon I

It beats me how I can take one of the most solemn traditions in Japanese culture and turn it into a farce, but bear with me. I think I did it.
O-bon or Bon (the Japanese add an “o” to many words to make them more honorific) is a festival celebrated by Japanese Buddhists. Called the Feast of The Lanterns, Hanazaki-san simply explained it as the Festival of the Dead. Which one do you prefer? Me, too.
In Tochigi-ken, O-bon is celebrated by Buddhists (about 99% of the population) between August 13 – 16, with the 15th being the important date.
Here’s what occurs:
On the 13th, people clean their houses and visit the shrine (cemetery) where their family monument resides (Upon death, Japanese Buddhists are cremated and the ashes are spread on the family shrine). Families spend a few hours tidying up the shrine and then place food and drink offerings upon it.
Perhaps I am over-simplifying things, but this is how it was explained to me. The food and drink offerings are for the dead. Actually, it is meant to entice the souls of the dearly departed up into the land of the living. For three days every year, the gates to Hell—where the Japanese Buddhists believe the dead reside (probably not as humid as Ohtawara, though)—are opened so that they may visit the living.
Apparently the dead are blind, and the scent from the food and drink will lead them to the proper family shrine. From there, they follow the family home, where more partying ensues. I’m not sure if the spirits need to wear seat belts.
I swear the following incident is 100 per cent true.
On August 14, around 8PM, Hanzaki-san came calling with Kanemaru-san. It was another hot, sticky humid night, but the three of us walked a short distance from my apartment to a festival. While it was only a five minute walk, I really have no idea where it was actually held.
The festival was like an old-fashioned carnival with people selling all kinds of freshly made foods and drinks—all locally supplied. I had some blue cotton candy, a lot of yaki-tori (skewered, grilled chicken and something deep-fried—it was sortta rubbery, but it was still really tasty. Kanemaru-san brought out his dictionary and told me it was ika or squid. Pretty good actually considering the suckers were still attached and trying to grab my uvula on the way down. I had another.
We watched singers and folk dancers, jugglers and pukers… I did say there were drinks, right?
While Hanazaki-san went to clean up the mess someone left on his shoes, Kanemaru-san dragged me over to a tented kiosk that sold sake (Japanese rice wine and is pronounced sah-kay). He talked to the vendor – I heard the word gaijin uttered by the vendor and Kanemaru-san correcting him by stating my name. I didn't take offence, and seconds later the vendor turned and handed me a very large paper cup of clear liquid.
Kanemaru-san smiled at me and said: “You to-rye Japan-ezu sake?” Hai! (yes!) I answered.
I sniffed it—citrous-like. Putting the cup to my lips, I momentarily savoured the cool sweetness of the drink on my tongue before I looked at Kanemaru-san and drained that sucker in one large gulp.
Oohs and Ahhs lit up from all around me as apparently all eyes at the Festival were on the gaijin. Beats me why. It not only looked like water, but on such a humid night, it tasted enough like water to truly hit the spot.
The vendor knowing an opportunity when he saw one, raised his eyebrow (it was a unibrow) at Kanemaru-san who merely nodded back. He poured another glass, held it out to me and said dozo (please).
What the heck. It’s just tasty rice water. I sucked it back in seconds.
Shouts of hora! (look!) and “hebby du-rinkah” (heavy drinker - yes, it seems to be an English phrase they are familiar with) littered the air as the kiosk area began to get crowded. Other Japanese began to order sake, too.
The vendor’s eyes lit up with little yen signs as he quickly poured me another large drink.
Let me tell ya… this sake stuff is pretty weak. Glorified water, is what it is. It sure was getting warmer, though. Probably just all of the people pressing up against me trying to shake my hand. That's why my hand is shaking.
I downed the drink in one gulp. Either the cup was getting smaller or my throat was getting wider, but the sake was going down easier.
The crowd began to applaud.
Perhaps fearing for my life—the crowd of on-lookers was huge now—Kanemaru-san tried to drag me away. But before he could, the vendor plunked another drink down. And one for Kanemaru-san.
Clinking our glasses together and with the other 300 people around me, the crowd began to chant “iki-ik-iki” (go-go-go) (You'll notice the spelling is quite close to squid - ika. You don't want to get the two Japanese words mixed up or it could be quite non-sensical).
I love a good chant. What the Hell, eh? Since the gates are open and it's Obon and when in Japan, do what the Romans do, or something like that… I sucked down my second glass… or whatever number it was.
The vendor set’em up again and we all downed them again. And again. And again.
Looking expectantly at the vendor for more of his fine flavoured water, he looked at me with sad eyes and said “end-o”. I don’t know what that means, but man there was no more sake forthcoming. That sucks, I only had two drinks… Man was this place freakin’ hot and also the … … what was I saying? Oh yeah! This sake-stuff is like having sex in a canoe—it's fornicating close to water… what? And another thing… I’m hungry.
Man, I’m tired … I’ll have to finish this Oblong blog, I mean… Obon blog later… when it cools down or something or another. Man! When did it get so… uh, hazy?

Somewhere … uh… what was I saying?
Hebby Du-rinkah
Title by AC/DC