Interlude

It's Monday, June 17 - a day I taught at Ohtawara Chu Gakko (Ohtawara Junior High School) in Ohtawara-shi, Tochigi-ken in Japan (Ohtawara City in Tochigi Prefecture) - and stuff begins to happen. Yesterday, I began plans to sleep with my ex-girlfriend Ashley again.   
Today? Well, it's another day, right? 
It's a hot day - kind of sticky. School is boring so I teach some of the teachers (and students) a few naughty words in English - uh, just the guys, of course. The women are too demure. There are several university students/would-be teachers at school - observing classes (and me). A really good-looking lady, with an almost bronze complexion  keeps trying to talk to me all the time. Her name is Junko (no idea what her family name is!). She's about 21, 5'-4" and slender, but has curves in all the right places. And, more importantly, she's paying attention to me plus her English is superb!
Regular readers may have noticed that I often don't appear to be trying very hard to get laid. It's true, because here in Disneyland, I mean Japan, I have found that the women will hit on me. I think it's because I'm taller than the average Japanese man by about four inches, am decent enough-looking (I've never thought I was good looking), have longish, but neatly styled hair, am Western (always popular with the Japanese ladies), but don't look like your typical American or Canadian - I'm a bit of a rarity... exotic to the Japanese if you will. While it's true I almost always have a smile on my face, I can't say that my sense of humour or personality stands out (actually my two best features after my butt) because with the language barrier, few Japanese truly get to see what I'm really like. But Junko's English seems to be good enough to almost pass as a native Canadian speaker. It's probably why I was able to relax and just be my usual shy self around her.  
Junko is forever talking to me about my relationship status (very single - as is she), about how much she wants to live in Canada, or find a boyfriend (and when she said that, I swear she looked me straight in the eyes, squeezed my thigh, and batted her eyelashes at me).
I'm not stupid. I wrote out my home phone number and address on my business card and told her to come over to my apartment later this evening after 9:30PM.
Why so late? Did I have to clean my place?
Nope... I had a night school English conversation class I had to teach.
That class is okay.... people now know how to make real conversational introductions. Sort of.
"Mayonnaise is Narita-san".
... mayonnaise is how many beginner Japanese pronounce the phrase: 'my name is'. It's cute, actually. I can only get them to try and repeat the proper pronunciation after I say it, but we are talking years of actually saying it incorrectly. My favourite mispronunciation is the name Catherine (Komlodi), who's forever known in my mind as "Gasoreen", which is a lot like Gasoline...which is perfect, because she has the octane to make me go-go-go!
I get paid Y12,500 for the evening = $125. Yahoo!
I race home, pull out a bottle of wine, then put it away knowing I won't need it.
Ten minutes after arriving home, there is a gentle rapping on my apartment door. It's 9:31PM. Exactly. A very shy Junko walks in, takes off her shoes and looks about for my apartment slippers (for guests).
She asks where they are. I say she won't need it, and move in for a long kiss and am not rebuffed.
The next morning after she left my apartment, it appears as though I was correct. We did not need the wine, and Junko did not need the apartment slippers.

Somewhere needing to buy orange juice,

Andrew Joseph
Today's blog title is crooned by Morrissey & Siouxsie: SHHHH 
PS - Another article will be published eight hours from this - this is from the Wall Street Journal and is about the Honda car factory in Tochigi-ken. It is presented in its entirety though, I have added my own notes and comments as a forward and backward to the article.

One Way Or Another

It'sSunday, June 16, 1991. Here begins a manic part of my time inOhtawara-shi (city of Ohtawara), Tochigi-ken (Tochigi Prefecture),Japan. I'm an assistant English teacher (AET) with the JET (JapanExchange & Teaching) Programme working and teaching at seven junior high schools in this city of about 100,000 people.

I am currently without a girlfriend for two weeks - and I'm gettingsquirrely - nuts, that is. I am having a good time - mostly amusingmyself and hanging out with a few friends - in person and over thephone. Remember - this is before PDAs, cellphones and the Internet.

I'm up at 10:30AM. I finish cleaning up. Finally.
Ashley (my ex-girlfriend from Augusta, Georgia... I know, who goes toJapan to get an American girlfriend? Me. That's who!) calls me up andasks if she can drop by.
When she does (she's apparently just around the corner and uses a pay phone - assuming I'll say yes (which I do).
She drops off some News Of The Weird  - articles I copy and place intoa JET magazine called The Tatami Times, which I am the editor of -having replaced Catherine Komlodi  (aka Gasoline) - a women I secretly had a crush onthese past 10 months. We then sit around and watch a movie and eatpopcorn.
When it's over, she decides to accompany me to the video store... and just before we exit my apartment, I ask her  a question.
I ask her if she knows what I will miss most about our relationship?
"What?"
"The sex," I say.
She offers up some really nervous laughter.
I then tell her that if she ever needs to have sex to call me... of course, it should also be vice-versa.
I say it as a joke. Sort of.
But she didn't laugh at my suggestion. In fact, she didn't sayanything. Why? Because like it or not - even if I smothered her bytrying to get closer to her, I knew what I was doing sexually. Thankyou Xavier Hollander!
We ride out to drop off some videos, go shopping at Kanseki department store and thenride with her to her place. We chat for an hour and have a good timewithout arguing.
I make more suggestive comments - which I no longer remember - and leave her place at around 6PM.
Riding home, I run into my buddy, Matthew (originally from New YorkState). The two of us then run into Father Bernardo - he of the Catholic Church next door to my apartment.
I go home and clean up again. I guess Ashley and I make a mess of thepopcorn... I can only guess (in 2011) why the heck I'm constantlycleaning up my apartment!
I really do want to have sex with Ashley again. It was always verygood. I know my stained furniture and sheets imply she enjoyed it.
I think she still will.
I'm going to have to get her drunk one night at the 4C (a local bar) and then take her back to my place.
Hmmm - a plan!
So... I call her up and invite her to a Tuesday night party with somepeople from Nishinasuno-machi (the nearby town of Nishinasuno whereAshley lives).
I call up my dad to wish him a Happy Father's Day! Then I call up afemale friend back in Toronto - Juanita, whom I adore in many waysbesides friendship. I then get a call from another Toronto friend -Pat, a guy I've know for the past 10 years.
It's been a strange day.
The weather was just beautiful - about 75F with a nice cool breeze.
I'm in bed by 1AM with visions of Ashley rampaging through my head.

Somewhere, the game's afoot,
Andrew Joseph  
Today's title is by Blondie - I love this SONG! 
PS - another blog appears 8 hours after the publication of this one. It's more or less a good news one!

Several Species of Small Furry Animals Gathered Together in a Cave and Grooving with a Pict

Here in 2010, I rediscovered my old Tatami Times issues that I put together featuring a lot of writing by myself and other AETs (Assistant English Teachers) on the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme. The newsletter was a prefectural/provincial monthly magazine for everyone who was a dues-paying member of JET.

I took over the business of running the Tatami Times from the gorgeous blonde Catherine Komlodi back in April of 1991 - at least that was when I published (IE photocopied and mailed out) the book. To thank Catherine - whose name was near-impossible for the Japanese to say clearly... they called her Ga-so-rin (Gasoline) - I wrote a too-long biography on her. I really did have a huge crush on her - but except for 20 years later, I've not mentioned it. I know Catherine was originally from Calgary in Canada, but now in 2010, wherever she is, I'm sure she is excelling at it.

Here we go - Andrew's writing from 20 years ago!:

Umma Gumma you know
Oh, waydago Catherine! Now you've gone and done it. You're walking away from the editorship of the Tatami Times - and for what? Fun and travel? Geez.
The worst part is I am now the editor (henceforth to be known as the Supreme Commander Of Our Lives - SCOOL).
I felt that my first job as the editor should be an introspective retrospective look into the life of Catherine (Cathy, cat, Miss. Kitty) Komlodi. This is a nice way for me to get back at her say thank-you for all her help.
Catherine was born at an early age. So early that she doesn't remember more than a handful of images. When asked what the highlight of her career as a baby was, she replied: "A-goo-goo-goo, A-ga-ga-ga that's all I want to say to you." Ahhh. Stimulating.
Apparently there was a mix-up at the hospital, with the stork supposed to be bringing a feline to the Komlodi family, not a female. Deciding to make the best of a trying situation, her parents chose an appropriate name: Cat-herine.
Her parents were extremely proud of their brown-haired beauty. They were ecstatic when she scratched her first couch and when she could use the 'box' by herself.
Catherine was clearly a gifted child. Deciding at an early age to become an astronomer, she marched through highschool and university with honours.
However, she soon have up her life's ambition when she discovered she would have to work nights.
She then applied to the JET Programme.
"I always liked flying," she remarked during her interview.
Undaunted, they hired her anyway.
Her first year as the Kanuma Chu Gakko (Kanuma Junior High School) AET was memorable. She caught her lovely flowing white dress in the spokes of her bicycle causing a heinous accident. (SCOOL note: bicycle accidents are apparently a must for all Canadians applying for the job as Tatami Times editor.)
"Also, that was the year my water pipes froze and burst," lamented Cat.
But it was all sugar and spice from then as she quickly rose through the Tochigi-ken AET ranks to become not only the Central Representative, but the Northern one, too.
Then, after Stefanie Housman was incarcerated for ink inhalation, Catherine was volunteered for the job as Tatami Times editor.
She accepted saying, "You don't have to work nights, do you?"
Taking an immense pride in her new-found responsibilities, she begged encouraged her fellow AETs and CIRs (Coordinator for International Relations) on JET to submit to her (my... how... dominating).
Realizing there were a few egos she could manipulate, the Tatami Times became a cherished item in our mailbox.
"Hey, I had fun," recalled Catherine. "Do you realize the power I felt knowing I could tell you puny gnats anything and you would believe it?" (SCOOL note: Hmm, it sounds like someone has been reading too many comic books).
She said she would miss being editor.
"I will miss being editor," explained Catherine in further detail.
When asked to expound, she realized she and the interviewer didn't know the meaning of the word.
"My one complaint, though is that they don't give you any money to do this job," wailed Catherine. (SCOOL note: Huh? No money?!!)
Well Catherine, I'm sure we'd all like to thank-you for your time and effort on our behalf. Good luck.

Somewhere thinking I should have made a play,
Andrew Joseph
Today's blog title is by Pink Floyd. I chose this long titled "song" because it's the wackiest piece on the Ummagumma album... which is what I originally used as the title for Catherine's fake bio. PICT and Catherine was wacky - and hot.
PS: In the photo above, submitted by Marina Izatt (AET) with Catherine (on the right) and Marina's son Douglas Izatt on the left. It was originally entitled by me: Gorilla My Dreams for obvious reasons. The photo was long since returned to Marina - unfortunately, black and white is all you get.

I'm Your Captain

In April of 1991, I took over as the Editor-in-Chief (don't call me chief!) of the Tatami Times, the monthly newsletter for AETs (Assistant English Teachers) on the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme in Tochigi-ken (Province/Prefecture of Tochigi). Mary Mueller was the Prefectural Representative for us, and Catherine Komlodi (Gasoline) was the editor. They were leaving after this summer, and I was re-upping for a second year.

Blond and beautiful, I had huge crushes on both. I may have had huge crushes on all of the women I ever saw, but that is open to discussion. Discuss amongst yourselves.

Although I haven't mentioned Mary very much, she was a strong, smart and gorgeous broad. In my first ever issue, ye old blogger did an interview for her in my sub-section Tatemai Times.

Here, for your edification is that interview:

Mary Mueller Mulls Macaroni

Recently, ye editor caught up with former Tochigi-ken PR, Mary Mueller. We (The Tatemai Times) wanted to ask her to describer her time in office.

TT: Hi Mary. How are you enjoying life at PR?

MM: Oh, it's just great!!! I now get to relax and sleep a lot more at school!!!

TT: Are you suffering any withdrawal symptoms from losing all of that power?

MM: Well, my office knows I'm not in charge now!!! So I can't spend all of my time on the phone!!! Darn it!!!! No longer can I call up people long-distance and tell my office it's PR business!!! Now I have to use my own phone!!! Do you have any idea how expensive my phone bill will be?!!!

TT: Uh, yeah... so can you tell us an interesting story about your time as exalted leader?

MM: Of course!!! I like talking about myself almost as much as that An-do-ryu guy!!!

TT: Only louder.

MM: What??!! I can't hear you!!!
TT: Nothing. You were going to tell us a story?

MM: Huh?!!! Oh yeah!!! (squeal!!!)

*Interlude* The next six hours are a blur as ye editor slipped in and out of consciousness...

MM: ... and then he fell to his death!!! Bwa-ha-ha-ha!!! And then there was the time...

*Interlude* Two hours later...

MM: Now this is my favourite part!!! Oh come on you guys... wake up!!! I can't believe this!!! Now shut up and listen!!! I'm going to tell the readers all about your snoring on the Nasu hiking trip!!!

TT: Thank-you very much Mary for your time...

MM: Quit talking while I'm interrupting!!!

TT: I hope the rest of your life is as adventurous.

MM: You haven't even let me speak!!! How can this interview be over?!!! Huh?!!! Answer me that Mister Smartypants!!!

TT: Sorry. It just is.

MM: (Expletives deleted!!!)

TT: Th-th-th-that's all folks.

Somewhere there was something about Mary,
Andrew Joseph

Today's blog title is brought to you by ye Grand Funk Railroad: POWERTRIO
PS: Mary was always giving me the gears - but she was so cool to always call me at just the right moment with a birthday wish or a call to check in me or just to get the latest gossip while secretly ensuring I wasn't becoming suicidal.
PPS: Tomorrow's entry is a biography on one Catherine Komlodi - the former Tatami Times editor, but secretly my dream girl.
PPPS: Tatemai means 'white lies'. The photo above is the cover to that first issue of the Tatami Times. Tatami means grass floor mats. I didn't come up with the magazine name, but it's cool. I altered the artwork - one of the brilliant Thirty-six Views of Mt. Fuji by famed ukiyo-e artist Hokusai Katsushika (surname first). If you don't get my joke, it's a running Bugs Bunny cartoon gag. ALBUQUERQUE

I'm Down

I'm well into my second year here in Japan - and as one of the more "well-known" AETs (Assistant English Teachers) here in Tochigi-ken, I have a reputation.

Actually, I have several reputations. I'm that funny guy. I'm that guy who could out-drink darn near everyone except a raging alcoholic. And I'm that guy who never seems to chase women, but seems to have one around all the time. I'm sure I could count on one hand the number of weeks I didn't have a 'girlfriend'.

It's not quite ego. I'm stating a fact. (For reference, I only actually asked one woman out while I was in Japan - Read about it HERE). So far, I've been lucky enough to be asked out by women.  

I had always thought I looked decent enough, but I guess with being a more exotic variety of gaijin (foreigner), I did pretty well. Look... I was a bit darker than the Japanese and was taller and bigger (if you know what I mean), but I had brown eyes and black hair like them. But my sense of humour was pretty good - and I always seemed to have a smile on my face.... for public consumption, of course. I was a moody bastard alone in my apartment. For the other gaijin women, I was Canadian - but not your typical-looking Canadian, what with my Indian background. Though, truth to tell, I'm unsure what is typical of anything anymore.

And, when I began growing my hair down past my shoulders, I was In Like Flint.

Anyhow, as mentioned above, I was 'well-known' for my reputation and/or appetite. You'll notice I didn't say I was necessarily 'well-liked', though I hope that is the case. 

I'm unsure of the count other AETs may have had, but to me, it's pretty obvious that I have slept with a lot of women on the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme here in Tochigi-ken. I must have done alright for myself, as now in my second year, I continue to get phone calls from women--some of whom I have slept with, and others who have heard that I am a nice guy and single this week.

Subconsciously, I must have played on the fact that a lot of the gaijin women didn't necessarily want a boyfriend or a husband, but just wanted to feel... well, feel. And that's where I came in. I say subconsciously, because I don't think I am devious enough to actually concoct a plan of any sort.

To say that my ego was now as large as my prowess, is an understatement. But the only thing that actually stopped my ego from growing too out of control was this one nagging failure of mine... Ashley. 

We had broken up pretty much early into my second year (for the 14th of 15th time)... and while I was not good enough for her to date or be with on a regular basis, I was good enough for so-called booty calls, should she be in the mood. I think I had sex more often with her when we were 'broken up' than together. 

But it irked me. Sure I had slept with some 20 women over the past 15 months - pretty slick and sleazy for a guy who not only had never slept with a woman prior to arriving here, but also had a girlfriend through most of that time.  

Not that it matters, but I do want you to know that I only slept around when Ashley broke up with me. I did not cheat on her. Despite the number of break-ups, and the frustrations associated with it, I was always pissed off that I couldn't have what I wanted. 

Let's just call it a childish insecurity, and leave it at that. After having absolutely zero confidence back in Canada regarding women, and how to date them... I have confidence in spades here in Japan. Or do I? 

To say that I could have slept with any woman I wanted, is misleading. I have never slept with Kristine or Catherine (Gasoline) - two women I would have killed yak for their supper if they had wished. 

I wonder if it's because they don't throw themselves at me. Catherine, who probably has to fend off admirers with a kendo stick probably has absolutely no idea that I even like her. And Kristine... I know she likes me... but I always think of her as someone ultra-special... and how could I ever make a play for her when it was obvious I wasn't over Ashley. How did I know that? Kristine was kind enough to tell me one night over the telephone (denwa).

It's stupid, isn't it? My ego wouldn't let me enjoy possible relationships... just sex. Cripes, I hope that doesn't continue far into my future. Stranger still, I waited 25 years to finally have sex, and here I am complaining about it. What a rife, huh?

So... what's the point of all this? Beats me. I guess I just wanted you to know that despite having a lot of sex, it still wasn't enough. I wanted a partner. 

Japan can be a lonely place sometimes. I wasn't homesick. Nope. I still love this country. But being a stranger in a strange land... well, people rarely take the time to get to know the real you. Friends like Matthew, he did a pretty good job of it - though I'm not going to sleep with him. He has found a wonderful woman in Takako - her birthday is November 14 - so wish her a happy one!

Me? My birthday's on the 8th of November. And while I know I'll get lots of well-wishes from the OBOE (Ohtawara Board of Education) and from friends like Matthew and Kristine et al... I just wish I could escape this damn feeling of failure.

Somewhere moody,

Andrew Joseph

Today's title is by The Beatles. JOINME.

Did you listen to the song? If you just listen to the music, it'll get your feet a-tapping. Just don't listen too closely to the words in case they hit home. 

PS: Today's entry is just a filler to let you know that while things are often all fun and games, they aren't always fun and games. 

Chain Of Fools

It all seemed to start quite innocently enough. It was March of 1991 on the day I was to leave for a conference for people staying another year on the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme, the so-called Renewers Conference, held this spring of 191 in Kobe, a major port city near Osaka on the west side of the main Japanese island of Honshu.

Gasoline (the Japanese can't pronounce the name Catherine very well) - the head of the Tochigi-ken AETs (Assistant English Teachers) - had sent me something in the mail - and with breathless anticipation brought about by the fact that I had the major hots for this beautiful woman, I raced back up the stairs to my apartment so that I could open it in private.

I'm not sure what I really expected it to be, but I could swear I smelled her perfume on the envelope, as I carefully tore it open and pulled out two sheets of paper - one in the blond bombshell's own handwriting - a treasure!

To reiterate, I may have been in lust with nearly all of the female AETs in JET, but a few, like Gasoline and Kristine out in Shiga-ken, and Ashley whom I was still with caused the blood flow to get all mixed up.

Not that it mattered, neither Gasoline or Kristine would ever sleep with me. Although, Kristine did recently tell me that if I hadn't been so screwed up over Ashley she would have slept with me. Why am I only hearing about stuff like this now?

Anyhow, I read Gasoline's 'letter'... although hand-written, it was obvious she had sent me a chain letter.

I am a fairly superstitious person, and I had been getting my fair share of good luck while here in Japan (except for finding out about Kristine 20 years too late!), but for some reason, I decided that rather than fulfill the terms of the chain letter (send copies to five of your friends - Gasoline considers me a friend??!! Kewl),  I figured I would instead share the wealth and allow someone else to have a bit of my good luck. Y'see, I've always believed that there is only a certain amount of good luck in the world, and if one person has too much good luck, someone else could have bad luck. Okay... I sort of believe it. Sorta.

Now, if I had paid attention and done as Gasoline had asked, within four days I would have received good luck (or in my case, more good luck). The people on the "having forwarded the chain letter" list included politicians like US President Ronald Reagan and his US Secretary of Defense Caspar Weinberger.

But I didn't forward the chain letter. More the fool am I.

Four days after, I was on my way to my girlfriend's house (yes, at this point in time I am still going out with Ashley) to travel to the Renewer's Conference. On the way, I was almost hit by a car (it would have been my third), dropped my luggage containing the video camera I had borrowed from a teacher, and forgot most of the ingredients for a sandwich I was going to make for the six-hour trip.

However, since I was not hit, did not damage the camera, and had a decent enough sandwich anyway, I didn't think much about the curse of the chain letter.

Then it happened. Almost as soon as I got on the shinkansen (bullet train), I became moody and depressed. During the conference, after a seminar that gave us a psychological exam, I was classified as being a tad suicidal. Hmmmm.

After the conference finished, my girlfriend dumped me (again)... no wait, I dumped her! Yeah, that's right. I dumped her. Loser. Of course it still doesn't explain why I began having difficulty in sleeping, staying awake and getting maybe 14 hours sleep over a two-week period.

I think I knew during the conference that the break-up was coming... oh well, at least the shackles were off... but hell, if Ashley had only told me BEFORE the conference, Kristine and I could have... oh yeah... that was part of the plan, I'm sure.

Back home, lucky old me got to visit my school from hell: Kaneda Kita Junior High School. I hate this place. The students here all must be part of the Hitler Youth. I watched with heavily veined eyes as they goose-stepped past me into the concentration camp (classroom). I'm writing metaphorically.

Since there was a blood-letting festival (kendo - Japanese bamboo sword dueling) going on at the school this week, and the English teacher just so happened to be the kendo coach, I was asked if I wouldn't mind teaching a few classes by myself. Delirious from self abuse and insomnia, I said: "Unh."

The next thing I knew, I was thrust into a classroom where a student walked up to me, dropped his trousers and wanted to compare penis sizes with me.*

I can't help but wonder if any of this could have been avoided if I'd only sent out five copies of that darn chain letter. But where in the heck was I to find five friends I hated, anyways?

Somewhere looking through the garbage,
Andrew Joseph
Today's title is brought to us by the awesome Aretha Franklin - LISTEN
*PS: Mine was bigger. I suppose luck had nothing to do with it.
PPS - the image above is of a block of special stamps issued on the Year of the Dragon in 1964... my birth year. If I'm writing about being born under a bad sign (bad luck), what better image than stamps from my birth year - as one needs stamps to mail a chain letter. At least you did back in 1991. Notice that it was only 5 yen to post a letter back then - that's like $0.00058 Canadian.

Unbelievable

Thursday, November 15, 1990

I'm up at 6:30AM. It seems like it's going to be one of those days. At 7:15, I notice one of my goldfish swimming outside my tank. He's lucky and I toss him back in. Stupid suicidal fish. I've had fish since I was 4, and don't ever recall a goldfish jumping out of the aquarium.

Next, after having a shower, I'm unable to turn off the hot water heater. After struggling for 10 minutes, it turns off.

Tomura-sensei of Wakakusa Junior High School comes by at 7:30 after I shovel in two spoonfuls of corn flakes. I go to school hungry.

Perhaps I should have just stayed in bed. I'm still grouchy over last night. I keep mulling over my question to Ashley two nights ago: "Do you trust me?" "Yes," she said. I'm not so sure, though. Last night I said to her that I was in love with her. She never said it back. It hurt. A lot. I'm pretty sure I don't want a relationship with someone incapable of loving me. Something to dwell on, to be sure.

Classes at Wakakusa go smoothly with Mrs. Onuma - what a cutie! The last class of the day is a team-teaching demonstration between us in front of eight teachers - all from Wakakusa but from different class subjects. It goes well.

At 4:30, I'm driven home by Tomura-sensei - he tells me the students aren't allowed to leave school while there is still some light out. We discussed the major differences between Western and Japanese schools - maybe I should make a document (Or at least tell you in this blog what those differences are!)

I go home and read a letter from Kristine. I like her innuendos, which is too obvious a joke for me to do about breasts. Anyhow, unless I'm reading the letter wrong, she's more or less suggesting I visit her because she's 10 minutes from Kyoto, a city famous for its 400 year old temples. I'm pretty sure that the temples aren't going to be my primary reason to visit. Something to really think about. The innuendo! The innuendo!

I go to Iseya department/grocery store (after first seeing if Matthew is home - he's not), and purchase food. Again. I also pick up a copy of a picture and some dry cleaning. The clothes smell good.

I sit in my messy apartment listening to the metal-rap take my brother Ben sent me. Red Hot Chili Peppers and EMF. Me like. It's all new to me.

As I'm eating, Matthew comes over. we watch the TV video tapes Ben sent over - there's a lot of Tiny Toons, which is sugary but watchable. There's also Cheers, Simpsons, In Living Color, Kids In The Hall (I didn't realize it at the time, but Dave Foley and I were in Grade 9 together, and were friends).

Matthew leaves at 8:30, I do a serious clean-up of the place and do some laundry. I talk to Tim Mould. Like myself, Tim has been asked to speak at an AET conference in Saitama prefecture (essentially next door to Tochigi-ken). Because I tend to get lost when I travel in this stupid country, I ask if I can travel with him as we leave a day earlier than the non-speaking AETs (Assistant English Teachers) like Matthew and Ashley.

I'm supposed to speak about Team-Teaching at this Nov. 27-30 conference. I don't team-teach. I either give self-introductions or pretend I'm a tape recorder and have students repeat after me. This speech is going to be a killer. I only did it because Catherine (Gasoline) called me up and asked me to.

You know what's even more weird? On the evening that Catherine called me to ask if I'd do her ... a huge favor, the next morning my OBOE (Ohtawara Board of Education) office apparently knew all about it.
My apartment is finally clean. My mind... it's confused and very tired, and I hit the hay early at 11:30.

Despite the crappy beginning, the day was good. Actually... things seem to have worked out... now can I keep it going? Can I go and visit Kristine while keeping Ashley ignorant of that fact? Maybe I need to break up with her for a weekend or more. Again. It worked once before. (Okay... the next blog will reveal woman #2 and a trip to Osaka).

Somewhere, it seems unbelievable that my apartment is cleaner than my thoughts,
Andrew Joseph

Today's title from EMF

Fight For Your Right (To Party)

Monday, November 5, 1990

I’m up at 7:15AM. It’s an office day at the OBOE (Ohtawara Board of Education) offices. I’ve been here for three months and I’ve got a routine going. I don’t have to do any real work at the OBOE, so I prepare all of my writing for the Tatami Times—the monthly newsletter for the Tochigi-ken AETs (Assisitant English Teachers). Hey, where do you think I first got the idea for a It’s A Wonderful Rife column. It was reasonably popular and I know I had it published in three OTHER prefectures (provinces) besides Tochigi-ken—plus in another English-language magazine in Tochigi-ken’s capital city of Utsonomiya. But that’s later.
Back to the now that is then.
At 5PM, I leave work. Did you know that in Japan the average Japanese worker NEVER leaves his place of work until his boss does? To do so shows a lack of commitment and means a loss of face—two no-no’s in Japanese society.
Me, not being Japanese, I leave at 4PM (an hour early), though I usually wait until 5PM or when Hanazaki-san says it’s okay for me to leave. I am in their country… I don’t want to spit on social customs too much.
Leaving the OBOE, I post my Tatami Times stuff to current editor Gasoline (Catherine Komlodi), and then head over to the bank and its ATM machine. Walking past, I notice Mayor Sembo waving at me and I reciprocate. No hangover for us!
At home, there’s a letter for me from Ashley’s sister, Kerry. How special. She sounds like a nice girl. She’s asked me to write back. Do I? How did she get my address?
Am I supposed to go to an enkai (party) tonight. Is Ashley coming over top my place? In my mind, it's "No", to both. I’m going shopping.
I’m home at 5:15PM. Kanemaru-san phones. He wants me at the OBOE enkai. Where is it? Kanemaru-san isn’t able to articulate it in English, so he says good-bye. Five minutes later, Matthew phones to say hi. Five minutes after that, my Nozaki Chu Gakko (Nozaki Jujnior High School) pain calls, drops the phone and accidentally hangs-up. Five minutes later, Hanazaki-san calls and says he’ll be over shortly to take me to the enkai. Five minutes later he’s at my apartment – and we walk over to a small restaurant where we have a large room all to our office-selves.
I’m exhausted. I tell him on the walk over (For the sake of comedy, it’s a five minute walk) about the Nozaki boy’s phone calls and ask him to make it stop. I haven’t even been to Nozaki yet, and I’m dreading it. Hanazaki-san promises to look into it. Unlike a lot of Westerners, when the Japanese say they will do something, they do it. If they say maybe or suck air through their teeth, it means it probably won’t happen. They don’t say no to a request… just a maybe or a yes.
The party is for the 20^th work anniversary of Mrs. Ookubo and Mr. Hashimoto – the car driver (Ookubo-san is to the far right, and Hashimoto-san is to my immediate left). Look at that! It took me three months plus, but I finally know the name of the poor bugger who’s been driving me (and Hanazaki-san and Kanemaru-san) all over the place on work-related business.
Hashimoto-san says he will give me a bonsai tree (bonsai involves tree bondage to shape a full-sized tree into a dwarf version that fits in a pot). He’s drunk, so I don’t hold much stock in his kind offer. Mr. Mori dances with me, which isn’t as gay as you might think. We’re all drunk and having fun!
I sing karaoke – the Beatles Yesterday, which reminds me that I’m homesick a bit. However, I’m very drunk and manage to blurt out that I am ‘thinking’ of staying a second year in Ohtawara. In case you all forgot, we are offered three one-year contracts… though we don’t have to be offered anything, nor do we have to accept it. I've only been here for three months and I'm thinking about a second year?! Am I nuts or drunk?
Anyhow… I get a standing ovation. Not my idea to upstage the two folks who’s party it is.
I’m really tired and drunk, but it doesn’t stop our party from joining the enkai in the restaurant room next door. Apparently the elementary school I visited one afternoon (can’t remember the school) is having a party for the upcoming retirement of its principal Mr. Fukishima (ko-cho sensei or principal). He speaks English and is a real nice guy, so I agree to come and visit him at his school again on December 14.
Party over, Hashimoto-san, Kanemaru-san and Hanzaki-san and I head over to a sushi place near the middle of town that’s about a five-minute walk from our restaurant.
On the way there, the three of them kept staggering out from the sidewalk onto the road, and I had to keep herding them away from the traffic.
The guys order a butt-load of sake, while I try to stick with beer—as I have vague memories of my last encounter with sake back in August. See BLAARRGH for that story.
Kanemaru-san in his infinite wisdom and drunken state confides with Hanazaki-san that Ashley isn’t as smart as me. He says that while he has an arm around me to prop himself up at the table where we are sitting. Apparently he’s noticed that when we’re at kyudo (Japanese archery) and he’s speaking Japanese, I translate what he is saying into English for her. Hunh. I wonder when I started to understand the lingo? Of course, I do spend an inordinate amount of time talking with anyone and everyone. I guess it was bound to rub off.
Still at the restauranr/bar, Hanzaki-san keeps wanting to fall asleep with sushi in his mouth.
Hashimmoto’s wife arrives, bows at us, slaps her husband on the back of the head and drags his staggering form out to their car.
Kanemaru-san’s wife comes to pick up her husband, bows and slaps the back of his head, hands him a cigarette and helps him to their car. She drove from some function about 40 minutes away to pick him up.
Hanazaki-san and I stagger home. I offer to walk with him to his house first, but he insists he escort me back to my place. I pull him out of the way of an oncoming car and reluctantly agree.
I’m home by 10:30PM and in bed spinning by 11:30PM. I am dead tired, but I enjoyed myself thoroughly tonight. The OBOE are pretty cool people – all of them.
Somewhere holding onto the sides of my futon,
Andrew Joseph

Ain't No Mountain High Enough

Every once in awhile, I learn something new about myself. On Saturday, October 20, 1990, I was up at 8AM to go on a trek with Ashley and some other AETs (Assistant English Teachers) from around Tochigi-ken to climb Mt. Nasu.
Ashley has spent the night, and is all packed and ready for the mountain. We make some sandwiches, I grab a shirt, sweater, jeans, runners, gloves and my wind-breaker jacket—that’s it. Ashley decides to wear three or four layers of clothing and takes a towel. I don’t know why, the onsen (Japanese spa at the hotel we’ll be staying at on Mt. Nasu) will provide one.
We bicycle over to Nishinasuno station—which is a 10 minute ride from Ashley’s place, but a 30-minute ride from mine, so in hindsight, I have to give her props.  We take a local train up a stop to Kurosio eki (station) arriving at 11:45AM and along with the other AETs, we leave there at Noon. At 1PM at Mt. Nasu, we take a ropeway partially up before disembarking for a climb. Not sure why, but my right leg hurts—probably residual from the bicycle accidents—this is 1990, I’m not out of shape yet.
Half-way up chatting with my girl-crush Gasoline (Catherine Komlodi), I discover that the onsen doesn’t provide towels. Figures. The weather is cool but comfortable, with hardly any trace of a wind. The leaves along the trail are just beginning to turn red, orange and yellow—it looks beautiful. I wish I had my camera, but perhaps I can convince Ashley to make copies of the shots she’s taking (I did).
After a couple of hours, we arrive at the top of Mt. Nasu. Check out the photo above. It’s freezing cold with a wind wafting down at us at about a 1000-miles-per-hour. My legs (yes, both of them, as apparently I’m not in as good shape as I thought I was) hurt like heck. While we stop for a photo break, I wander off by myself to sit on a rock and glare out at the valley below. Around me, steam vents from the mountain at various spots---yes, Mt. Nasu is an active volcano. There’s a slight smell of sulphur in the air, but the terrific winds push it away quickly.
So. This is nature. Wow. I almost feel like I’m a part of it... but only for a few seconds as the voices of the other AETs slowly drown out that feeling of oneness. It was a good feeling. A sense of majesty and power. Top of the world, ma!
We all then hike down the other side of the mountain. The grade is somewhat flatter—like the Canadian woods. Or so I assume, if I had ever actually been in the woods back home. There are scores of birch and maple.
One of the folks traveling traveling alongside me is one Douglas Izzaks. He’s 4-years-old, and is the son of Marina, who has joined her husband and Robert the AET here in Japan. Very cool people, and I envy their happy little family.
Click HERE for pix of the climb.
We arrive at the onsen at around 5PM—18 of us will squeeze onto a room containing 12 tatami (grass mats), that are about 3-feet wide and 6-feet long. I already have a bad feeling about this.
We grab dinner – it sucks. The women finish up first and head over to the onsen. Us five guys—Peter, Robert, Gavin, Tim Mould and myself) sit around and suck on our beers.  Notice there’s no Matthew. I did. Best friend I have in Japan, and he couldn’t make the trip up a mountain that was essentially in our backyard. Probably out chasing women. In hindsight (again), it obviously worked out well for Matthew. After an hour, the guys head over to the onsen. Since I had to go to the washroom, I get ditched.
After the pee that wouldn’t end, I struggle through my shyness and bad Japanese to ask where the spa is. No one knows. Stumbling about for 15 minutes, and ready to go and find the bar, I accidentally stumble across it. Just the guys are there. No women. Great. Five naked gaijin in a hot water mini pool. After a half hour, two of the women bravely join us (Mary Ann Hironaka and Mary Mueller). It’s dark, and my night blindness renders the good stuff invisible. They leave after a couple of minutes and come back with six more female AETs. Hey! I’ve heard of this type of party. Unfortunately, it doesn’t become one. Gasoline is there, too. Damn! This! Night! Blindness! So is Ashley – and we all have a good time.
Let me just say that if you have never seen five naked guys in a hot tub doing synchronized swimming, you ain’t never been around me.
After two-and-a-half hours, the onsen turns the lights out on us in an attempt to stop our drunken revelry and various renditions of Christmas carols. After that length of time in the water, even my wrinkles were wrinkled.
We crawl back to our rooms – I’m last because I have to towel off with a shirt. Looking around for a space, I discover a solitary piece of tatami that is 5-feet long by 14-inches wide. I measured it.
Anyhow, I quickly fall asleep, and get hit in the ribs by Mary for snoring. I’d kill her if I could move my legs. In all, I get hit about 21 times. After that initial hit, I don’t fall asleep. I keep telling them I’m awake. I’m not snoring. I can hear Tim and Peter snoring, but no one is hitting them in their still tender from a pair of bicycle accident ribs.
At 5:30AM, Tim and I have a whisper argument about how neither of could sleep thanks to the his/mine snoring. That’s when we hear it. The gentle roar of a buzzsaw at a lumber mill. It’s Susan St. Cyr whom I then dubbed Susan St. Snore.
Of course, despite Tim (and Ashley) believing me, Mary doesn’t. I’m wide awake but very tired. Anyhow, here’s what I have learned about sleeping around a lot of people. I do snore. Like a jet plane with asthma. In later years, I developed horrible, horrible sleep apnea that made me stop breathing every 44 seconds before I’d breath/snore and catch my breath. I spent eight years only getting about 64% oxygen to my brain when I slept ensuring I was killing brain cells. This blog is a direct result of that.

Somewhere, 20 years later, I learned that Mary was right.
Andrew Zzzzz Joseph
Today's title was first sung by  Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell - and you can listen to it HERE.PS: Susan will remain Susan St. Snore, however.

PPS: Sleep apnea can kill you. If you snore, stop breathing or are always tired - even after just waking up, or wake up choking in the night, you may have sleep apnea. Get checked out at a sleep clinic. Get a C-PAP machine and get back to living a 'normal' life. Don't be like me and wuss out for 8 years before getting the machine! I finally relented and life is so much easier to live now.   

Lost

(It’s still late August, I have not started teaching yet even though school has been on for nearly two weeks-—probably trying to acclimatize me rather than traumatize me. I spend my weekdays at the Ohtawara kyoiku inkai (literally the educational authority, but I prefer Ohtawara Board of Education, or OBOE) offices, where I study some Japanese and write letters—speaking of which, as part of a rather innocuous gesture, I decided to write a letter to a cab driver I met a month ago in Toronto who drove me around the entire day while I was on assignment for the Toronto Star newspaper. Little did I know that I would get a life-long friend because of writing. Say hello to Doug McIntosh. If you need a cab in Toronto, he’s your man! I wish I had him for this next adventure…)

“I never get lost because people always tell me where to go.”
And so begins yet another epic journey for Andrew in Wonderland.

This time, I was journeying to Ibaraki-ken (prefecture/province immediately to the east of Tochigi-ken—ken means province) for some fun-filled times of some beach-blanket bingo with some other AETs (assistant English teachers) from my prefecture.
Gasoline would be there. On a beach. With a bikini (I hoped). And that was all the incentive I truly needed. Gasoline, if you will recall, is the northern representative of the AETs in Tochigi-ken. Her real name is Catherine Komlodi, but because of the Japanese alphabets, Catherine is notoriously difficult to say, making it sound very similar to the word gasoline.
Click HERE to see a poorly taken photo of her. It does NOT do her justice, and I apologize for how crappy it is. I was sooo shy around her that I felt I had to take the photo clandestinely.
Gasoline had phoned me up with some directions to the beach. It seemed easy enough: Take the JR (Japanese Railways) train south from Nishinasuno eki (station) to Oyama eki, east to Mito eki and then to Kiwagire eki, followed by a short taxi ride to the Senna Minshiku Hotel. Yup. No problem. How wonderful the innocence of youth can be.
None of the local AETS were going (I’m free!), so I’d have to go it alone. Despite the opportunity to see my crush, Gasoline, the prospect of traveling by myself scared me.
Following a confusing night involving girlfriend problems, my day began death, as one of my goldfish decided to give up the ghost. (I had purchased a 10-gallon tank and a pair of large lionhead goldfish that would have cost me $100 back home, but only cost the equivalent of $5 here). Arguments and death. Nope, definitely not a good omen.
After disposing of the fish, I walked to the shower. Just before turning on the gas heater, I noticed a strange tube dangling from it. That’s the thing about Japan. Every place with running water has a gas heater that must be turned on to heat it.
So, what to do about the dangling tube? I never even noticed a tube before. Was it a present from an angry girlfriend? Could my apartment blow up if I turned it on? Wanting to smell nice for Gasoline, I figured a hot shower was worth the risk. Life over fantasy. It’s amazing how little one value’s life when there is even the teensiest chance of getting a handshake from a beautiful woman.
As soon as I finished—it was probably the first time I’d ever sweated in a shower—I began to pack my beachwear, promptly forgetting my towel and trunks, and headed out for my 20-minute bicycle ride to Nishinasuno eki. Rain clouds gathered in the sky awaiting my departure so that it could relieve itself on me as I began my trek.
Surprise, surprise. I made it to the station, and managed to purchase a train ticket to Oyama. I got on the train feeling pretty smug, settled in and began to read a book on Japanese history—almost oblivious to the stares of a multitude of teenaged girls in Victorian sailor outfits (which is what all female junior and high school students wear. Boys wear the male equivalent. Click HERE to see) who must have to travel by rail to get to school.
Arriving in Oyama, I disembarked and asked a woman (in Japanese, yet!) how much a ticket to Mito would cost. After telling me in English, she leaves before I can thank her, but more distressingly, she leaves before I can ask her which train I should catch as Oyama is a big city and has 12 active train platforms.
Swallowing my fear, I walked up to the JR ticket puncher (whose hands clicked a hole punch continuously regardless if a ticket was in reach) to ask in English (I don’t know the Japanese equivalent, okay!): “How do I get to Mito?” He says, and I quote: “Gay-toh 15.” And holds up five fingers. I bow deeply and rush off to find Gate 15.
There isn’t one. There is a Gate 5, however—and he did hold up five fingers. I hop on the train that is waiting there.
Since I have never been on this JR line before, I check every single station for my stop even though I know by the price of my ticket that it’s not for another 45 minutes or so (Here in Japan, your ticket price increases the farther you travel).
After about 30 minutes, the usual fear in my stomach traveled up into my throat and turned to dread. I know I got on the train at the right platform, but still… I’m passing Tochigi-shi and Ashikaga (aren’t those in the west?!) and mountains… near the beach? Uh oh!
I decided to take the ultimate risk and get off the train at a place called Kiryu. This small Podunk of a place shouldn’t even have a train stop, as everything around it looks like a snapshot of the 1600s.
I hand my ticket into the JR ticket man (he too seems to have a strange palsy in his hand). He glances at the ticket as I tell him I am looking for Mito. He looks more confused than even I normally do, so I show him my directions while slowly reading out the train stations for him in case he can’t read English (a good decision, it turns out).
The man looks mortified, as he draws a new map for me. This is what it looks like. Click HERE.
Now I get it. That first ticket puncher in Oyama gave me a bum steer. I’ll kill him if I ever recognize him again.
Feeling immensely deflated, I decide to head for home. Gasoline in a bikini! Aargh!
Passing by Ashikaga-eki a couple of stops east of Kiryu, I notice a train station called—are you ready for this—“Tomita”. Now it all makes sense. The JR guy thought I had asked: “How to I get Tomita?” not “to Mita”. An honest mistake.
I stopped off at Utsunomiya (Tochigi-ken’s capital a few stops north of Oyama) so that I could go shopping. I met a couple of Australian businessmen who asked me to show them around (in Japan, foreigners tend to congregate whenever they see another foreigner just so that they can feel non-foreign for awhile).
“Okay… I’m not sure where we are now, but I recognize it as a place I once was lost in.”
They soon got tired of my hapless tour and got lost somewhere else.
While this episode was not as physically draining as my three-hour tour around Ohtawara, it was more expensive. On the trains alone, my ride aboard the disoriented express cost me about ￥4,000 which is about $40 US or $700 Cdn. Of course nowadays, the US and Canadian bucks are inching very close to par…
And, when you factor in the costs for food, drinks and sanity, I’ve come to realize that traveling in Japan is a very costly proposition.
By the way… there was a Gate 15 in Oyama eki… it was very well hidden, and usually only found by people who need to find it—like this woman. Click HERE.
And, just so you know I wasn't lying... here's a few pics of my time in Kiryu and the Aussies--click HERE.
Somewhere chasing rabbits,
Andrew Joseph
PS: Title is byColdplay

The Name Game

I suppose I’ve always been a bit of a chowderhead. I have lacked initiative, but have fortunately had it thrust upon me by my parents. To wit, they forced me into soccer and into music – and while I may not have appreciated what I had, I was able to teach piano and clarinet and play and also coach soccer.
Thank goodness they also forced me into fulfilling my obligation of going to Japan as part of the JET (Japan Exchange and Teaching) Programme as an AET (Assistant English Teacher). If it were up to me, I’d be sitting in my parent’s basement watching re-runs of Star Trek while trying not to get the Playmate of the Month pregnant.
My third night in Tokyo was another foreign affair – this time organized by the Tochigi-ken (Tochigi province, where I surmised I might be living) AETs.
We were led to our first Japanese Japanese restaurant by the stunning Gasoline – an AET returning for her third and final year in Japan. Gasoline is a tall, beautiful blonde Canadian girl given that unfortunate nickname thanks to the inability of the Japanese to pronounce her real name of Catherine (Komlodi from Calgary, Alberta).
Matthew Hall of Binghamton, New York and Jeff Seaman from Yuba City, California sat around me as we all delicately tried to figure out which end of the chopsticks to use. After copious amounts of beer, Jeff broke first and had to use the washroom. Excusing himself, he plodded off in a general direction – seconds later we heard a splash and a scream. Not wanting to stop drinking, we ignored it and waited for Jeff to return.
Featuring the soaker to end all soakers, Jeff explained that he had stepped into the toilet. Wow. How drunk do you have to be to do that?
Apparently three beers are not enough as Jeff explained that the toilet in this place did not have a crapper like what we Westerners sit upon everyday. No… this was a two-foot long by eight-inch wide porcelain bowl embedded in the ground that one is supposed to squat over. We found out later that in order to use said toilet, you need to remove your pants and develop great leg muscles.
Jeff said that in his first attempt to find the washroom he accidentally stumbled into the kitchen and was chased out and into the bathroom – it had no door or lights. Fumbling for a light switch, Jeff Seaman performed a naval maneuver to live up to his surname.
None of us laughed at Jeff – we all knew that any one of us could be the next victim of cultural indifference. Still, it was funny enough to take notes.
We quickly became suitably inebriated – so much so that none of us three noticed that there was a young lady sitting opposite me who had been keeping up with us in the booze department. Wow. How drunk does a virgin have to be to not notice that?
Apparently seven beers plus will do it.
Next Gasoline showed us the sights and sounds of Roppongi – Tokyo’s dance club area.
In Toronto, our dance club zone consists of maybe 30+ places and is spread out over the downtown core. But here! Oh my! Roppongi is a clubber’s paradise with quite literally 100’s of bright neon lit clubs from which to choose from with heavy-bass sounds thumping out from each.
Gasoline took us to the Java-Jive where we were told that you could only enter the place as a couple. While I attempted to make my move up to enter with Gasoline, a hand grabbed mine and dragged me happily into the place. At this point in time I had no idea who this pretty brunette with the squinty eyes and a southern drawl to drool for was, but I did learn that she was from Augusta, Georgia.
Quickly going through the coupons for free alcohol that we were given, she earned my fealty by buying me a couple of drinks.
Finally able to peel our eyes from each other, we noticed that we were the only two foreigners left in the place and – after decoding the Japanese numbering system – that it was 2:30AM. Actually, their clocks look just like ours.
Since I still had that box of matches with me – road map, remember – we knew how to get back to our hotel. Flagging down a cab, I handed the driver my matches and fell back into my fugue state with my new girlfriend… what the hell was her name? Seriously, I had no clue. She knew mine and was using it in ever sentence she spoke.
In my pathetic defense, if y’all will recall, at the restaurant I was talking/drinking with Matthew and Jeff, and prior to entering the Java-Jive, I was going to make a failed play for Gasoline. My new companion had never actually introduced herself to me… and while I am sure I queried her at the club, Groove Is In The Heart drowned her response out – probably the only non-Caribbean song they played that night.
The taxi driver got us back to the hotel in 30 minutes. Glimpsing the meter, I tossed him five ¥10,000 (yen) bills and told him to keep the change. Both he and she nearly had heart attacks at my generosity, as ¥50,000 is about $630 Cdn or US$500. I had thought that the ¥10,000 bills were ¥1,000’s – okay, I really had no idea what the exchange rate was – damn that orientation package that I should have read.
Even if ole whatshername hadn’t been there to correct me, the taxi driver would have. Unlike anything else I had ever seen in my limited travels around the world, the people of Japan are excessively honest.
This man said, “No, no, no!” and handed back my money. He then began pointing at my pants and saying dozo (please). Several embarrassing moments later, I figured out that he wanted my wallet and handed it to him. He opened it up and took the appropriate amount out and gave me back some change. When I tried to tip him, he would have none of it, came around and opened up the back door of his car with his white-gloved hands and said “hello”.
I knew what he meant, though. Hello new life.
The next day, all of us AETs were forced to go to an orientation meeting. I looked about for that girl I was with the night previous – saving her a seat next to me – not that anyone else wanted to sit near a guy sweating profuse amounts of beer and rum & coke. Matthew and Jeff wisely sat upwind of me and handed me a list of AETs in our prefecture. I looked at the list for a name that sounded somewhat familiar and southern, but aside from Rhett and Scarlett, I had no idea what a southern name was.
All of us AETs were wearing stickers on our shirts with our name on it… it’s probably why I was able to figure out who was Jeff and who was Matthew that morning. My mystery girl finally popped by my side at the end of the orientation – of course she wasn’t wearing her name tag and I was quick to point that out to her.
She smiled and drawled, “At least ya'll know what it is – and that’s all that matters. And besides, (breath) for everyone else I just tell them to think of Gone With The Wind.”
Oh man. Now I can’t even ask her. It’s not Rhett, is it? That’s a boy’s name, I think. I’ve never seen the movie – but if I wanted this relationship to work out I was going to have to rent the movie as soon as I got a chance!
I walked with her around the hotel – little Miss Social Butterfly seemed to know everyone, and everyone seemed to know her. They seemed to know me too, because I was getting the cold shoulder of indifference. Or maybe it was paranoia.
You might think that I now knew here name, but unfortunately, all of the women were saying: “Hey, girlfriend!” Or the guys: “Darling! Make sure you call me.” I was too confused to be jealous.
Hungry for answers and for lunch, we went to the hotel restaurant. When my unknown companion excused herself to go to the washroom, she left her purse on the table beside me. I’ve never seen a woman do that before. Of course, with my limited dating experience, I hadn’t seen a woman do much of anything before.
Quick as a bunny, I grabbed her purse, opened it up and began looking for some ID. There it was – a driver’s license issued to Ashley Benning.
Weeks later, she told me that Jeff had told her my conundrum so she’d let me off the hook by purposely leaving her purse on the table.
Oh well. At least I didn’t have to watch Gone With The Wind.

Somewhere where the surname is spoken first,
Joseph Andrew
The title for today's blog is by Shirley Ellis - BANANA SONG