Back In The Saddle

Airports... I hate'em.

I've been in Thailand and Tokyo without my sunglasses for an entire week now. People who know me realize that's not something I am happy with. It was probably because when I left Japan it was raining.

Thailand while drizzling rain, was quite bright.

I've worn sunglasses atop my face since I switched from photo-grey sunglasses (that get darker when the sun gets brighter) to wearing contact lenses when I was 17.

But, even without sunglasses, I met and 'dated' two Thai women with looks that would make anyone's head spin in amazement. Amazement that they were with me, I suppose. Hey.... I have a very large... what's that "p-word"? Oh yeah... personality. Plus I'm hung like a donkey. I'm kidding. I'm such an ass.

Mom and I get a chauffeur-driven limo ride from our Bangkok hotel to the airport.

I should mention that there were quite a few young ladies there at the hotel to see me off. Waving and giggling. Boon-mee and Tookta were there too. It was quite the nice send-off. I didn't know the other women, but I did recognize most as being staff from the hotel.

I'm just going to assume they didn't provide a send-off like this to everyone. It even made my mom wonder aloud to me if I had actually slept with all of those women. I wish... but I didn't have enough time or condoms or fluid in the five days here.

Despite me meeting my mom here in Bangkok, it did not get in my way at all, sexually. I should point out that I was supposed to go to Thailand in December with Ashley... but after she broke up with me, our plans went down the toilet. After we got back together again six days later, all of the flights were miraculously booked up... so WE were out of luck.

Ashley, however, had made arrangements to go to Thailand with some of the other female assistant English teachers from the Tochigi-ken (Tochigi Prefecture) JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme. It's probably why I hate quite a few of them. They got Ashley a ticket.

On the negative side... I didn't get to go anywhere last winter...

On the plus side... I stayed and experienced Christmas and New Year's Eve and Day in Japan! Awesome! HERE have a read. I spent it with Matthew - my most excellent friend from Binghamton, who lives in my hometown of Ohtawra-shi in Japan. Plus his boss, Suzuki-sensei (Suzuki teacher) and my friend Kanemaru-san (Mr. Kanemaru) and his family. Kanemaru-san is one of my bosses with the Ohtawara Board of Education (OBOE).

On the plus + plus side... I went to Thailand and hung out with two sexually-charged young women who showed me and themselves the time of their lives! I sure as heck would not have experienced that if I was with Ashley... at least I don't think so. Hmmm.

On the plane, we experience some wicked turbulence. The food is still plane food - crap. And the movie? It's the same one I saw coming to Thailand! L.A. Story (?!) At least I see the title this time!

At Japan's Narita Airport, it's now 7PM. At Japan Customs, they confiscatemy Thai sword. It's not like it's sharp! Why confiscate it? I can buy a longer and more dangerous Japanese sword here! Jerks. No one can speak English.

Apparently I can pick it up within six months when I leave the country... but I'm not leaving! No one understands that! Oh well... the police have it now. Forget about the fact that I actually carried it with me on my carry-on luggage on theplane! Man.. things were different then, eh?

Customs searches my Mom's stuff and confiscate my passport for an hour, beforefinally giving it back and letting us go on our way. Who knew a sword was a dangerous weapon? I'm such an idiot sometimes.

We grab a Skyliner back to Ueno-eki (Ueno train station) in downtown Tokyo. It's now pouring rain.

We catch the second-last Shinkansen (bullet train) up to Nasushiobara-eki (Nasushiobara train station). Unfortunately, we have to go two stopssouth on the local train line to get to Nishiansuno-machi (NishinasunoTown)... before catching a bus to my city of Ohtawara.

Unfortunately, at Nasushiobara, there are no more local trains going that evening, so we take a long and expensive taxi ride back to my apartment. We arrive at 11:30PM.

My mom cooks up a few eggs for us, but unfortunately... I now have dysentery, courtesy of a few ice cubes in my Coke in Thailand. I guess it could have been worse... it could have been hepatitis!

Somewhere, the King of Ohtawara is back on his throne,
Andrew Joseph
Today's blog title is by Aerosmith: I'M BAAACCCCK!!

Drunk Enough To Dance

It's Tuesday, July 30, 1991. I have been in Japan for one-year, living in Ohtawara-shi (City of Ohtawara), Tochigi-ken (Tochigi Prefecture) as an assistant English teacher (AET) on the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme.

I'm in Tokyo with my friend John who is visiting from my hometown of Toronto, and friend and fellow AET and Ohtawara dweller, Matthew Hall, originally from Binghamton, NY. Matthew & I are here to welcome the newcomers on the JET Programme to Japan. To help them out and lead them astray...

Tonight, it's the Tochigi-ken Party Night.

John is up early and is purposely making a lot of noise to make me wake up. Bastard. I'm not budging, though, but he does wake up Matthew. Apparently John has to meet a tour bus at 8AM in front of the Keio Plaza Hotel (across the street from our hotel).

John leaves and then comes back 10 minutes later and wakes Matthew up again to ask where the Keio is.

Really? How can this guy get lost in the middle of Tokyo last night, find his way to the red light district in Shinjuku and then find his way back to our hotel but not know where the Keio is?!  Holy smokes!

John isn't stupid... proof of that is that he asked Matthew for directions and not the perpetually lost Andrew (the guy writing this blog!).

Matthew & I crawl out of our hotel at 10AM and then head out to the Ginza district to do some clothes shopping. I'm 5'-11"+ and Matthew's 6'-3"... so we have to go to a big and tall shop as we are definitely larger than the average Japanese, despite being in good shape.

I don't find anything, and I'm pretty sure Matthew didn't either, so we head back to our hotel at 4PM—John's back. We dress and then go and wait at the Keio for John's friend Barbara who shows up 40 minutes late, barely says hello to Matthew or myself and offers no apology for her tardiness. Twit.

(Do I sound like I'm in a bad mood?)

The Tochigi-ken enkai (party) is in the cafeteria of some non-descript nearby building that offers crappy food, but at least has good beer... but for Y4000 (Cdn/ US $40) a head? Our perhaps soon-to-be-ex JET Tochigi leader Susan must be crazy.

After the party, when I'm already lubricated with booze, Susan wants to talk with me about the monthly newsletter I put out. Apparently the national JET people want me to add 16 pages to my newsletter (The Tatami Times), that is full of dry material such as Wolber's Warbles and stuff from Silke Gaterman.

Why the heck would I want to have to photocopy this crap and then mail it out as part of my magazine (and I do think of it as MY magazine)? I don't see why I have to print stuff that is for the northern block of prefectures... if it's about Tochigi-ken, I'll print it, but for other prefectures? Dame! (No way!) I also tell Susan that I'm keeping to my own publishing schedule (set up by my predecessor, Catherine "Gasoline" Komlodi), so too bad.

Susan gives in and says she'll only give me the material that is relative to our gang in Tochigi.

(I do sound angry, don't I?)

She then asks Matthew and I to lead a large throng of newcomers to the infamous Java Jive. Infamous because this is where I first met and made out with Ashley who helped me keep and lose my sanity over this past year as my on-again/off-again girlfriend and now current friend-with-benefits. Ashley is from Augusta, Georgia and is now back home on a short vacation to re-charge her batteries after our emotionally-draining relationship.

Matthew and I are completely hammered, but we somehow lead 19 people to the place—and this year no one got lost (I believe David Rosett was the unlucky one last year).

John's friend Barb splits before we get there, for some reason. Twit.

At this club, men are only allowed to enter if escorted by a woman. Last year, I was going to hook up with the gorgeous Catherine, when I was scooped up by Ashley. I didn't mind that at all... she was/is cute, has a bit of a southern drawl and is an excellent kisser... but we're not a couple anymore, per her wishes.

As such, I'm about to lock arms with Karen Irwin, a sexy, freckly, bubbly redhead from North Bay, Ontario--when a skinny, pretty blond named Laurie Tiffenbach grabs my arm and marches me inside.

I, figuring I'm going to get a new girlfriend out of this, pay for both of us. Idiot.

Once inside, Laurie and I have a drink, but when she gets it, she heads over to the Ladies washroom. That's when Karen comes over.

We hook up immediately... she's all over me. Again... I just want to state that I did not make a move on anyone. We danced all night... and I'm unsure if I ever talked with Laurie again.
  
On the dance floor, I have the moves down, as there are a lot of people watching me/us... with a few Japanese people coming up to me to say they liked my dancing! I had never danced before I came to this country, and probably only danced four or five times since then.

Anyhow... after a lot of heavy flirting, Karen tells me we have to slow down because she's not ready yet. 'Not ready yet - for what?', is what I am thinking, but since she's hammered, I'll leave that for another day.

She tells me a sad tale of her fiance dying in a place crash in the Peruvian jungle two years ago. She's nice, but she is very similar to Ashley in that both are F.I.N.E. (fudged up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional). What is wrong with me that woman like this are drawn to me? Am I drawn to them?

Next, Chris Rathbone, a CIR and friend from the past year comes over and bawls his head off (damn this booze!). He says he never told his dying father he loved him. Wow. That's rough. I tell him to relax, sober up and to call his dad tomorrow.

At 3AM, John, Matthew and I leave the Java Jive with a clingy Karen all over me (which I don't mind at all).

John stupidly takes charge when we are in a taxi and tells the cabbie to take us to the Keio Hotel, instead of the Washington Hotel where Karen is staying. What the hell... maybe my lips were locked with Karen, and Matthew's eyes were rolling around in the back of his head, so only John had the wherewithal to talk to the cab driver. Still, we did tell John where we needed to take Karen.

While I roll Karen back to her hotel and get a wicked kiss and grope from her, John has taken Matthew back to our hotel to throw up.

Now about 4AM, I walk back alone to our hotel only to find it locked up tighter than a nun's butt, with no way in, and no sign of Matthew or John. I guess they made it in on time.

With nothing better to do, I walk slowly over (I'm still pretty buzzed) to the Keio Hotel and sit near the all-night JET desk.

A young woman comes in at around 4:30AM and talks to me about how scared she is to be in Japan, and how she wants to go home. She's very good-looking, and really, she should be scared of the drunk Canadian who is eye-humping her. That's me!

Still, the enigma that I am, I try to calm her down and talk to her about all of the wonderful experiences I've had here, and how friendly everyone is, and how she'll have memories to last several lifetimes if she lets herself relax! The JET counselor comes over at 4:45AM and escorts the girl away from me. I have no idea what her name was, or even if she stayed, but I sure hope so. Why should Matthew, Karen and I have all the fun?

At 6AM, I walk out of the Keio and back to my hotel across the street. The glass front sliding doors are now open, so I go back up to our hotel room and sleep on the floor, waking up when John does at 9AM.

Somewhere tired,
Andrew Joseph
Today's blog title is by Bowling For Soup: STRIKE!
PS: Another blog - on Japan's nuclear facility crisis will appear in 8 hours, from the time of this publication, with another blog appearing four hours after that.
PPS: Who says you don't get your money's worth at Japan - It's A Wonderful Rife? Nobody! Because it's free... except for my time and effort to compile information - and your time and effort to read it! Thanks! 

When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again

It's Sunday, July 28, 1991... and I'm leaving Ohtawara-shi, Tochigi-ken, Japan to go and meet my friend John from Toronto who is coming here for a visist.

I guess I'm a bit excited. He's a part of home. My old home, to be suree, but I went to high school with him and he was always great. Very funny, charming and somewhat witty.

I leave Ohtawara at 12 Noon and arrive at Narita airport at 3PM. Narita is the Tokyo area airport, but it's not in Tokyo... it's in Chiba-ken.. much the same way Toronto's airport is in the city of Mississauga... except that instead of Narita being in a different city, it's actually in a different prefecture/state/province.

His plane arrives 1-1/2 hours late at 4:30PM. Obviously it's not a Japanese airplane.
When I see him, I give him a big hug. The bastard has two suitcases and a large carry-on. The biggest suitcase is close to 70-pounds! What the hell is he carrying here for a short vacation?!

"Hey, AJ (my nickname)... that's from your mom."

oh.

We head down to Ueno station in Tokyo, with me dragging the heavy suitcase and then wait a half hour for Matthew who arrived the day before. Bastard's late.

He leads us to a hotel he has booked for the three of us.  The hotel is a dump, but it's right in front of the Keo Plaza Hotel where all of the new JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme folks will be staying for orientation before heading out to their respective prefectures. So at least it's handy... and besides... we're there on the cheap... and will only be using the place to sleep off a drunken binge or two, I expect.

We each grab a shower - it's stinking hot!

We then go out and show him the red-light district of Tokyo in the Shinjuku-area. Personally, I've not been there, and I expect Matthew has only been around to see the sights--not top partake of them, because that's not his (or mine) style... why buy the cow when you get the milk for free... so to speak.

We then head back to our hotel after polishing off a few wobbly pops (beer) and some food.

There's only two beds and three guys. Personally, I don't give a crap because I'm sure of my heterosexuality. Matthew gets one bed because he's... well, Matthew, and because John is my friend sleeping in our hotel room.

John and I take the mattresses apart and each sleep on one.It's ridiculous, but if it removes any doubt of who is homophobic, I'm all for that.

Oh yeah... I look in the suitacse from my mom... she sent Inuit carvings made of soapstone? These suckers are like 10 pounds each! And there's three of them! Who will be the lucky Japanese people who get one?

D'uh... my bosses, Kanemaru-san, Hanazaki-san and their boss the Superintendent of the Ohtawara Board of Education (OBOE) of course!

John gave me a 12-pack of Molson Dry beer. Now that's awesome! No wonder the fricking suitcase was so heavy!

Somewhere having a beer in a dive of a hotel with my friends,
Andrew Joseph
Today's blog title is by the US Military Band: MARCHING
PS: Hey Mom! How come you didn't send me any comic books?! Where's my Hitchiker's Guide To The Galaxy books?! Didn't anyone send me any t-shirts!? I'm not huge, but they don't make my size! I'm only 5'-11" and 180 lbs!!!
PPS: Photo is of the redlight district called Kabuchiko in the area where we took John.

Vacation

This was originally entitled: The Sights, The Sounds, The Smells

This story takes place during my third year in Japan. Ashley had already left Japan to go back to Georgia, and I'm afraid we didn't depart as friends, which sucks in an immature way. Sorry, kiddo.

Now is the winter of my discontent. I had just spent the past several months getting back into physical shape - I'll tell you how in the next blog! I was essentially girlfriend-less for the first time since arriving, though I was still able to sleep with anything that moved. At least that's what I'm telling you all right now.

While Matthew was still indeed in Japan, he was very much involved with Takako - the beautiful local Ohtawara girl who would become his wife in a year or so. Matthew is not in this adventure.

As a young, hip guy with hair longer than his memory, I planned a winter vacation to Singapore with two other AETs - Tim Mould, and James (Jimmy Jive) Dalton. While Tim was deviously quiet and funny, Jimmy Jive was outrageously funny. He's a fellow Canuck - from Stoney Creek, Ontario - and if anyone knows of his current whereabouts, please drop me a line.

We left Japan's Narita Airport in the early evening, and arrived at Changi Airport in Singapore at 1AM local time. Because we're stupid guys, we didn't plan ahead and book a hotel. We were going to run and gun it the entire time.

We found a flop house that cost us each Y700 ($7). We got what we paid for.

It was a single room with a large king-sized bed and a shared bathroom.

After the flight, none of us had time to go to the washroom, so our priorities really had to go. Opening the bathroom door, we saw a cockroach the size of a beagle sitting on the toilet reading a newspaper. It looked over at us, wiggled its antennae, and hissed something incomprehensible - either "Occupado" or "Hsssssssss". We slammed the door shut, bolted it and placed all the furniture against it. For good measure, we put a couple of towels and sheets by the door should it try to sneak under the door frame looking for toilet paper.

Along with Tim and Jim, we also picked up a fellow traveler named John. Yes, these are their real names. John was a nice guy. We met him on the plane, and when he mentioned that he and his friend Zeke (probably an alias) needed a place to stay the night, we invited them along.

The problem, however, was not with John... it was his shoes. They stunk. Blech!

Try to imagine a ton of rotting, fermented natto that has gone bad (I know, its an oxymoron). Now combine that with two litres of four-month-old milk. Huwwwaaaaggh!

We quickly pulled away the furniture and towels, unbolted the door, opened it, tossed the shoes into the bathroom, and then re-secured the area. The cries from within were truly horrific.

Oh, the guys in the other room who shared our washroom - they were from Pakistan, and both were coughing up a lung reminiscent of the plague. We never really got close enough to them to say hello.

We five then settled down for the night: James and I had a chair each, John slept on our knapsacks, Zeke may have been under the bed, and Tim, the bastard, slept on the bed after winning a round of jun-kin-po (rock-scissors-paper).  We were lulled to sleep by the rhythmic sounds of snoring resembling a jet plane with asthma - though I didn't hear it as I was fast asleep.

The next day was spent in head-turning, eye-popping appreciation of Singapore's natural beauty - it's women!
I wish I could show them to you - but someone had a stupid house fire and lost one or two photo albums.

Tim left us to catch a plane to Thailand, leaving just Jimmy Jive and myself - we left John and Zeke so they could find their own hotel rooms for themselves and John's shoes. Blech!  

We spent the day walking the entire length of the City/State of Singapore - it took us 35 minutes - and did some shopping. I went to a clothing shop to have some shirts, jacket and pants made for me - for about $100 - and had it delivered to my hotel the next morning. It was a pair of raw silk black pants, a blue with purple thread silk shirt, a green with red thread silk shirt and a red silk jacket that I only realized weeks later made me look like a parking valet. The best part, beside the price? I got to design all of the stuff myself.

Later that evening, we took a junk boat cruise where we ruined a date and stole a girl. Now that's internationalization! I'd tell you how that happened, but I think we were all pretty drunk. Probably.

We spent Christmas eve in a bar where we counted down the holy night a la Dick Clark's New Year's Rocking Eve. Party hats, noise makers, the whole magilla - and this was Christmas Eve - not New Year's Eve.

Upon entering the bar, Jim and I were immediately set upon by a pair of very forward and un-pretty 'women'. Shunning them, I was immediately surrounded by six very pretty 'women' with scarves around their throats, who wanted to dance with me. I lost sight of Jimmy Jive, but assumed he was having the same luck as me.

Anyhow, we quickly made our exit from this transvestite bar after 56 minutes of 'getting down'. Truthfully, they were all very nice and knew we had wandered in by mistake. They made us feel welcome - I swear that's all we felt! - though we all drew the line at them attempting to give us a make-over.

Malaysia was next. We traveled eight hours by local train to its capital, Kuala Lumpur. Almost immediately after leaving the ultra-modern, capitalist Singapore, the air outside the train became stagnant, old, fetid and decayed. There was a smell of incense that permeated everything. We passed by shanty towns that were sunk into fields of red mud, and saw chickens plod relentlessly through the garbage thrown from the moving trains by its conductors.

Third-world mentality was clearly evident when our train was delayed for 20 minutes by goats that refused to vacate the tracks. The conductor explained to me that they only had a cow-catcher on the train, and to use it on a goat could be punishable by five years in prison, sodomy, and then death by sodomy. I thought that the prison term was too severe.

We checked into the only Holiday Inn in the country and ate at McDonalds (where, incidentally, we ate all our meals - so much for an adventurous spirit, but who the heck needs dysentery?).

We spent the next day touring the city by a hair-raising motorcycle taxi ride carting a two-seat carriage. We visited beautiful mosques, played with some chickens, and listened to an old woman play La Bamba with an Arabic beat on a Casio keyboard. Breathtaking.

To relieve the excitement, we visited the local Hard Rock Cafe. People, the place must be experienced to be believed. The women - Wa-hoo! Photo evidence did exist at one time - I swear! Stupid fire!

The next day, we spent nine hours in a bus to go to Georgetown, Malaysia to see an old battle fort that was pretty cool. (The photos of the fort were actually quite boring, but there was a guy there who looked like Santa Claus on vacation; plus there was a shot of a woman being kicked by a wild donkey; plus there were some graphic cartoon images on a sign at a US navy base - warning that trespassers would be shot - the image showed a person in mid-fall with someone in army drag pointing an M-16 at the victim - ahhh memories - that's all I have).

Anyhow, the bus was delayed for about an hour after we were stopped for speeding. The driver was shot by the police to hasten the justice process.

By the time we got a replacement driver (we really did get a new driver, and while I never saw him get shot, we did hear a gunshot), and wheeled into a smokey bus terminal from Hell, we could only find a room in the sleaziest place in Southeast Asia. To avoid a lawsuit, I won't give its name. It's the Central Hotel. We walked in with our newest friend Glenn, whom we met on the bus (By the way, it's NOT cool to sit at the back of the bus where the washroom is), and screamed in three-part harmony.

Glenn, I should add, is not a weak girly AET-type like Jimmy Jive and myself. He was an alternate member of the New Zealand weightlifting team at the 1990 Commonwealth Games. Anyhow, what made us all scream, was the moving carpet. Have you ever seen Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom? You should... that scene in the movie was based on this room. So... let's just say there were thousands of insects crawling all over the place. Why they were there, I have no idea, but that scared me even more.

While we waited for our room to be fumigated, we went to the local karaoke bar in the hotel to get a few drinks to settle our collective nerves. Apparently all of the bugs left as soon as the fumigation began, as we saw them march out of the room and move to the bar where they changed in a reverse Frank Kafka-esque way to look somewhat human, becoming our waiter and barkeeper.

After having to pay extra for the fumigation (roaches are apparently very bad at math), we were followed by the barkeep and waiter to our room where they transformed back into the icky bugs and alighted to the safety of the walls, while the poison gas still sworled around the floor. There was no carpet in that room, by the way.

The three of us wrapped ourselves up in separate cocoons and staked out a portion of the bed - which we pulled into the centre of the room - and made muffled plans to get the Hell out of Malaysia as soon as possible.

The rest of our winter vacation was spent on an all-night train, another bus from Hell with mechanical difficulties, a stop at the Singapore Hard Rock Cafe where we spent New Year's Eve with four very sexy women - we have photographic proof! We had lost Glenn before that... perhaps he was taken by the roaches. We then had a 5AM ride to the airport with zero sleep because we didn't get a hotel room.

It was good that we left Singapore when we did. As of 12:01AM New Year's Day, Singapore enacted a law forbidding chewing gum. Those caught with it could be punished by caning. Yes, caning. Perhaps sodomy, too. I don't chew gum, so I'm unsure of the details.

At the Singapore airport, the X-ray machine accused me of concealing an uzi in my backpack. Yeah, I'm a stupid gun-toting smuggler who hides weapons in a backpack. Arrest me, beat me, hurt me, treat me like I'm you're boyfriend (Hmm, I still have issues, it seems).

Upon arrival at Japan's Narita Airport, I was accosted by Japanese immigration officials who wanted to know if I was from Iraq and whether I had any marijuana, as apparently they were all out. Yeah, I'm a stupid drug smuggler and I've got seven keys of Mary Jane hidden under the uzi in my backpack.

Still, it was good to be back home in Ohtawara,

Somewhere pining for the Hard Rock fjords of Singapore,
Andrew Joseph
PS: It did not rain at all during this trip. Drought-plagued countries are worried.
PPS: I took a couple hundred photos during this trip - all lost in the house fire a few years back. Sorry. But at least with the photo up above, you can see the lovely shirt and pants I had made there in Singapore.
PPPS: My pony-tail is just starting to come in - here, it's about 10 inches long.
PPPPS: Today's title is by the Go-Go's: It's not hard rock, but it's got girls. LISTEN

Eye Of The Tiger

The tale you are about to read is true, though some scenes have been changed to make it more interesting.

This... is the City. The City of Ohtawara. Me? My name is Joe Seph. I'm a gaijin.

Our tale - which is supposed to sound like the introduction to the radio/tv show Dragnet - begins on a warm sunny day, wholly unlike the day this tale was originally written, as it's August and very, very humid and cloudy.

While it is true that I only recently wrote about sumo wrestling, the following tale did take place that same day - what? You didn't think sumo wrestlers would come to my home town and I wouldn't have an adventure, did you? Truth be told, when I wanted to write about sumo, I had forgotten I had written this story. Probably too giddy from planning my new blog: You Know What I Hate? which was, of course a spur of the moment thing.

Unabashed self-promoting plug over, let me tell you about the day when Ohtawara got heavy. A day when my favourite sumo wrestler o-sumo-san Sekiwake (Sumo's third-highest rank) Musashimaru came to town with his heya (stable) to perform a sumo demonstration.

Arriving at 11AM, he was a sight to behold, standing1.92 meters (6'-3.5") tall and 235 kilograms (520 lbs). In typical Musashimaru fashion, he scowled and bit his bottom lip for the phalanx of photographers. He had his long black hair up in a chonmage (top knot), and was wearing a yukata (Spring robe) over his sumo gear.

After his low-level stable mates made lunch (chanko - a stew that all sumo-saurs eat every day to help keep their girlish figure ('Girlish', as I'm sure you all know, is Slovakian for 'bigger than a breadbox but smaller than a zoo'), Musashimaru put on a sumo demonstration by tossing around sumo-in-training sho-gakusai (primary school kids) on to their heads.

After 10 or 15 seconds of this, the sweaty, breath-sucking Sekiwake (at that time), decided that instead of throwing the kids around, he would traumatize them for life by unfastening their sumo diapers for all the world (IE Ohtawara and this blog) to see. Ugh. Can you imagine if he did this to another professional sumo wrestler? I may never watch the sport again. Or have eyes that work, as I'd probably be forced to stab my own orbs out.

After the demonstration on how to de-pants your opponent for fun and cash, Mushashimaru disappeared into the local hotel - there's only one in Ohtawara as of 1990. I followed a few minutes later - not because I was a sumo fanboy, but rather because all of the free beer and food that all foreigners are privy to when you live in a rural area had reached my kidneys.

I really had to go. Really, really, really. I figured a hotel would be a great place to find a restroom, and did the pee-pee dance over.

Because I'm an idiot and no amount of time spent in Japan would have allowed me to speak the language like a native, I gesticulated and danced in front of the clerk at the front desk. I was pointed to a large vending machine that sold disposable cameras. I did promise myself that if I made it to the restroom in time I would begin studying the language.

Not wanting to confuse anyone else with my stupid game of charades, I set off in a limp (I really, really, really, really had to go!) and finally found a washroom 15 minutes later when I broke into a hotel suite. They really should get stronger locks. Did you know that in this hotel's Royal Deluxe rooms one still has to sleep on a futon?).

I was quickly thrown out of the room by the cleaning staff who were working inside - landing on my muscular butt right in front of a men's room.

Seizing the opportunity, I ran and tried to push the door open, but it was obvious to me that it was being held closed from within. I don't know what came over me, but with a girlish push I forced my way in.

I then saw why I had had difficulty entering - one of Musashimaru's sumo handlers was blocking the door while three others were helping him remove his sumo gear so he could go to the washroom!

There was my hero - butt naked in front of me. My therapist says I'll be find after a few more visits.

Anyhow, Musahshimaru and I chatted with each other separated by the wall of a stall - chatted about women, beer, sumo and women again (he thought Ashley and I should break up), and when I finished that pee (and other), we said Aloha to each other because I thought he was Hawaiian, not realizing he's Samoan.
 
So... you think that one brush with greatness would have been it for me, right? Well, one week later, Japan's royal Prince and his bride (see HERE) came up to a nearby town. Although I didn't get to see either of them naked, it is a decent enough segue into the next story - I sat on Japan Emperor Hirohito's throne!

This is not a misprint. This is not a dream, a hoax or an imaginary story. About some years and nine months prior to whenever you are reading this, I went fishing with my friend Michael Hutchison at Nikko's Chuzenji-ko (that's a lake). After getting many bites from mosquitoes, Michael offered to show me where he works - a fish farm where they are doing research on salmon and trout.

While there, I had to go to the bathroom, so he showed me to a little wooden outhouse - apparently when the Emperor used to go fishing in the area, this is where he would visit when he had to use the toilet. I sat down on his throne, read the royal graffiti--everything said 'Hirohito wuz here', and realized that no matter how successful I might become in life, I was always going to be number two to an Emperor.

Somewhere wondering what the Emperor did about splinters in his tushie,
Andrew Joseph
Today's title is a rocky little number by Survivor - BODY BLOW though I prefer this outtake by Jensen Ackles from one of my favourite tv shows SUPERNATURAL.
PS - I had at least 10 more toilet jokes I wanted to use, but I decided not to use them. I just wanted you to know how lucky you are.
PPS - in the photo at the top, a lower level sumo wrestler helps re-tie Mushashimaru's (right) sumo gear aka mawashi at the Ohtawara sumo event.

YYZ

Today is the 20th anniversary of me setting foot in Japan for the very first time. Yay for me.
Lucky you, I just discovered the notepad I used to document the first couple of weeks - okay, maybe that's just lucky for me. But since I have it, let me tell you more about that first day. It starts the day before.

At the Toronto airport, I was just about to pass through US Immigration and Customs when I suddenly realize I have left all of my Japanese money (Yen) back home. Luckily my dad is still around so we drive back to my home 15 minutes away for me to retrieve it. An omen of things to come? Perhaps - but at least I remembered early enough to go and get it - I still had three hours before the flight. My dad and I did the short good-bye. I hope it was for the best. It was for me at any rate.
I flew NW-283 to Detroit and apparently we landed so far from the terminal it took 20 minutes for us to hit our gate. That left myself and 100 other Torontonians going to Japan exactly 10 minutes to make our connection to Japan aboard the 747 NW-011. On that flight I sat next to a girl named Stephanie. After introductions we both mentioned that we had gone out with someone of the same name, and that it didn't work out very well (actually for me, it worked out well enough - she was the reason I applied for this JET (Japane Exchange & Teaching) Programme - so she changed seats opting to sit in the smoker's section. You can tell how long ago this story took place - smoking on the airplane? Anyhow, enough about that.

So... my first day in Tokyo. We arrive at Narita Airport at 4PM on Sunday. Deplaning, my first impression was quite literally: "Ommigawd it's friggin' hot!" Actually, it wasn't the heat, but the stupidity.
After a 10-minute wait at immigration I spend 20 minutes waiting for my luggage to appear at the carousel. I realized I would need two dollies to carry my baggage, but they were like gold at this airport. I managed to find another one and with the help of someone from CLAIR (Japan's Council of Local Authorities For International Relations) we found where I was supposed to go next and separated the baggage I would need for the next few days in Tokyo from the rest of the baggage that would be sent ahead to our host institution - in my case, Ohtawara.
It was pretty obvious to all, that I had the most luggage - and I was still sure I had forgotten something. I had three suitcases, two small hand-bags, one suit holder, and two cartons carrying my clarinet and a new set of Casio keyboards. I also had a couple of bottles of booze that I was going to give to my bosses in Ohtawara - it's something we were told we should do.
I grabbed a suitcase, suit-holder, a carry-on bag and my booze and began a 1-1/2 hour bus ride to the Keio Plaza Hotel in Tokyo. Why so long? Narita airport is located in another province (Chiba-ken) - not in Tokyo.
The bus was neat, air-conditioned but had no toilet, and held 30 people - and there were maybe 15 or more of these buses there.

After catching a 30-minute snore, I notice that the roads of Tokyo look a lot like Toronto, as does the city itself - except that there are more billboards about and neon is everywhere. In fact, there are billboards everywhere, all over the skyscrappers - it looks a lot like that city in the movie Bladerunner.
There are also tonnes of Japanese cars - with 90% of them white... though I did see a Chevy Lumina!
Checking in at the hotel, the staff there are very polite, bowing and scrapping and saying "Welcome" in English. It was great.
I get to my room at 6:45PM and stay holed up there watching the English-language CNN (Operation Desert Storm was just starting to shock and awe the world) and then sleeping until 6AM the next morning.
My roomie was a fellow Torontonian named Tom Granger who would be living somewhere in a place called Akita-ken. While I sat in shock and awe at the war on television, Tom decided he wanted to see Tokyo and took off. If he came back, I didn't see him at 5:30AM when the alarm clock set by the room's previous inhabitants went off - in fact, I never saw him again.
If any of you know the whereabouts of Tom... ah, forget it.
So... that's my first day in Japan. I was too afraid to actually go out and see the place. Fortunately for me, I made up for that with a grand adventure and got to meet a couple of beautiful American  ladies - Kristine South, and Melissa Scott - to read about that adventure (and some of today's), Click LOST. Just so you know, I thought I had a shot at Melissa (whom I never saw again) and true to form didn't see Kristine until she saved my life when I attempted to cross the street and looked the wrong way. In Japan, they drive on the opposite side of the road from the U.S and Canada. Kristine certainly had my attention after that. Poor crippled Kristine with her broken foot (I think) and crutches.   

And that's the way it was, Sunday, July 29, 1990.

Somewhere older,
Andrew Joseph
Today's title, YYZ is by Toronto's own Rush. In the song, the power trio actually play out the Morse code of Y-Y-Z. My friend from Illinois, Steve Guzelis told me that one. Damn Americans knowing more about Canadian rockers. What is this world coming to? Listen to them here: GEDDYNEILALEX
PS - Want to know what YYZ means? YYZ is the three-letter designation for the officially named Toronto Lester B. Pearson International Airport (named after former Canadian Prime Minister Lester B. Pearson who brought about Universal Health Care, Student Loans, the Canada Pension Plan and the current Canadian Flag - if you want to know more, click HERE - he's a pretty interesting fellow).
PPS - Because you need to know, NRT is the three-letter designation that is globally known for the Narita airport.
PPPS - that image at the top - that's what I wrote in my notepad that first night in Japan... wasn't even sure of the date at first.
PPPPS - With the celebrations over, next is a story of salt, slapping and men in diapers.

Lola

So… it’s late July 1990… just in case you wanted a reference date.

Let’s just assume I left my house in Toronto, made it to the airport and got on the plane.

You could also assume that I became great friends with a lot of people on the plane thanks to my winning personality and incredible snoring ability, and that those plane folks became an important part of my life in Japan. You’d be wrong about that last sentence, however.

Several hours into the plane ride - in a 747 filled with Assistant English Teachers (AETs) from Ontario heading to Japan on a one-year contract to teach junior or senior high school English on the Japan Exchange Teaching (JET) Programme – I realized that in whatever town I was moving to, that I’d never see them again.

Besides, why on Earth would I want to hang out with English-speakers here in Japan? I wanted to become internationalized. That thought would come back to bite me on the bum many a time over the next three years.

Arriving at Narita Airport in the outskirts of Tokyo in Chiba-ken (ken is the Japanese word for province), the first thing that hit me was the heat. It was about 4PM and it was 34º Celsius (93.2F). And here’s the weird thing – it was getting hotter as the day progressed.

Wanting to smell Japan, I inhaled. Forgetting that I was at an airport, all I smelled was jet fuel. Funny. It smells just like the Toronto airport.

All of us first-timers on the JET Programme were to spend the first three days in Japan at the Keio Plaza Hotel in Tokyo before traveling to our new homes – I believe it was a way of allowing us to get over our jet-lag (there’s a 15-hour+ time difference between Toronto and Tokyo) as well us allowing us all to get used to being in a foreign country. Apparently they thought that three days would be enough.

Let me just say this… that hotel was crawling with foreigners. Not Japanese people, but rather Americans, Canadians, English, Scots, Irish, Aussies and Kiwis – the fruit, bird and the people.

Exhausted and forced to share a room with a fellow Torontonian whose name I couldn’t remember after hearing it, I decided to sit in my room and watch Operation Desert Storm unfold. My nerdy roomy decided to see if he could find a nice Japanese girl to marry him for an hour or less – I hope he’s okay, as I never actually saw him again over my three-day stay at the hotel. Hmmm… I suppose I should have told someone.

After spending my first night in Japan watching CNN on television – quite the departure from how I would have spent an evening back in Toronto as I would never watch CNN - I spent the next day hovering around the hotel – not actually straying outside for fear of getting lost.

For those who don’t know me very well, I once got lost while portaging with a canoe on my head and wandered aimlessly about for five hours before finally lifting the craft up to actually look for a road sign. Turns out I was on a main highway I knew and therefore not actually lost.

I believe I slept through the next day, but I can’t be sure, as I was asleep.

On my second night at the hotel, I decided to venture down to the lobby to see if I could work up enough courage to walk a few feet outside the front door. As I walked through the lobby, a very pretty young lady stopped me and struck up a conversation.

Okay… what the hell is going on? This type of stuff NEVER happens in Toronto.

Dear Penthouse,

You won’t believe what happened to me while I was in Japan…

Kristine South, a Japanese-American from Washington DC, invited me to join her and some other people that she made friends with on her plane ride over (Hmmm, maybe I need to be friendlier) to go on a walk in the city. Horn dog that I was/am, I quickly got over my rational fear of getting lost and said yes.

Kristine had recently broken her right foot and was using crutches, but was more adept at hobbling than I was at walking.

Whether it was minutes later or hours, our group became awestruck by the flood of neon light and drunken Japanese businessmen in navy blue suits, a fact that contributed to us not actually knowing where we were walking/hobbling.

After yet another right turn, it became fairly evident that we were lost. How did we know? Simple. There was no more neon around us. Take it from me, folks – finding a part of Tokyo that is not lit up by neon signage is not an easy thing to accomplish.

Looking about for the mellow neon glow of the city, I thought I saw an English-language sign advertising something called a soapland across the street from us and decided to see if I could buy some scented soap. It turns out that a soapland is a massage parlor where the male customer is bathed during the activity – and no, I have never been in a soapland, but I do like scented soap.

I looked to the left and then to the right and seeing no cars, I stepped out into the street.

Why she did it, Kristine still doesn’t know, but noticing I was about to become a hood ornament for a white car, she pulled me back to reality.

Did you know that in Japan they drive on the opposite side of the road from us in North America? None of my pre-flight orientation mentioned that – or perhaps it did. I never actually read the orientation package. I think I still have it, though. I’ll look at it later.

Part of my soapland tunnel vision was also taken up by the very obvious okama (transvestite) standing in the doorway suggestively licking his/her lips and shaking his/her hips at my general direction. While not my cup of green tea, I wondered if the plethora of businessmen running in realized this soapland was a sausage factory. I didn't see anyone running out, though.

So… what is Tokyo like? It’s: noisy; constantly moving; neon bright; full of packed Japanese restaurants; hot and humid; got white cars and only white cars on the road, and; every street corner is crammed with vending machines that sell darn near everything a person could possibly ever want. Future BLOGs will examine most of these elements.

Hopelessly lost and hopelessly sweaty, Kristine and I – now the de facto leaders (IE the ones with the biggest mouth) – nominated one of our group to ask a person on the street if they knew where our hotel was.

A bigger problem arose as no one could remember on what line of this BLOG that I had actually mentioned the hotel’s name. Luckily I had a box of hotel matches with me, so it was easy for our erstwhile volunteer to point to the matchbox and shrug emphatically. Even if you don’t smoke, a box of matches is not only an excellent souvenir but can also be a road map to home sweet home.

Our first victim – a navy blue-suited Japanese businessman looked at the matchbox and said in perfect English: “I don’t speak Lark” and ran away from us into the soapland. Speak Lark? What the heck did that mean?

The next two men we asked also answered similarly in English and ran to enter the soapland. The fourth gent – although unable to speak English, bade us to follow him.

Forty-five minutes later we stood in front of our hotel. We thanked him profusely, he bowed, muttered something about a soapland and left.

No one knew what his name was. But, if the rest of Japan could match his sweaty kindness, my stay in Japan would be smooth one.

Somewhere wondering where I could buy lilac-scented soap,

Andrew Joseph
Today's cross-dressing title is by The Kinks - SOHO