Shout At The Devil

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

Let's read about another party day in Japan:  

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

I have zero sense of direction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You Light Up My Rife: Obon III

Okay, it’s August 15, and the third day of Obon, the Festival of the Dead. Because I’m still hung-over from actually being there 19 years ago, I’m going to keep this blog entry brief—for me.
I’m still unsure how I got there, but it was 24 hours after Hanazaki-san’s Ghostbuster episode, and 48 hours after I helped make a sake seller rich.
I may traveled with Kanemaru-san that evening—I don’t know—but when I awoke from haze, I found myself beside the Ohtawara River (it may have been a reflection).
I want you all to know that after stumbling across this river that wove through the downtown area of Ohtawara a scant two weeks after arriving in town, I never noticed it again.
But that evening, I saw hundreds of paper lanterns—each holding a lit candle—float down the river. Floating paper lanterns are called toro nagashi.
The utilization of lanterns are an important part of Obon, as one of the functions is to place one at the entrance of a home to guide the spirits of ancestors there (remember, in the Japanese version of Hell, the dead are blind, and the flame’s heat helps act as an attractor. This may be the origin of the phrase ‘keeping the home fires burning’, which coincidentally or not, is called mukaebi.
As for the floating lantern, it is a way to send the spirits off—back to Hell, as it were. Personally, I don’t buy that, as the spirits aren’t actually sent away until the 16th. It’s my guess/belief that the living utilize the lanterns to offer a remembrance prayer for the dearly departed in anticipation of their return trip the next day.
All I can tell you is that it was a beautiful sight and if I was anything but an idiot, I’d have photos to share with you. To be honest, I wasn’t that good at night photography even with a flash.
After viewing this beautiful ceremony, I stumbled around the nearby park, and watched some Japanese folk dancing (bon odori) that is quite similar to Morris dancing (click on the word). Essentially, the dancers wear a light summer kimono (yukata) and dance in a circle with taiko drums helping to keep the beat.
Being a semi-legend after only two weeks in the town, I was of course instantly recognized and forced to join in the dancing. I’ll spare you the gory details, but there is a reason disco is dead. I watched the other dancers and tried to mimic the simple dance steps, but like a Hawaiian dance, while the feet shuffle, the hands tell a story.
I failed miserably at dancing, but wonder of wonders, no one cared and everyone seemed to accept me as part of their extended family simply because I was there.
I have many memories of Japan: most of them good, some sad, and a few are in a drunken haze. And, there are still others like this one which still give me a warm feeling all over when I recall it.
Having been a nerd all my life, never quite fitting in anywhere, and not being very happy, it was illuminating to travel halfway around the world to discover the kindness of strangers here in Ohtawara. They made me feel… happy.
Somewhere on Clouds 1 through 9,
Andrew Joseph
PS: Back to the comedy in the next installment. I guess all of this death stuff has made me a tad melodramatic.
PPS: Title sung by Debbie Boone.

Break On Through: Obon II

(He’s ba-ack! Here in 2009, the family has moved out of our house into my dad’s empty home. Empty in the sense that no one has lived there since we moved out two years ago after our house fire. The Chicago comic con was fun and Steve Guzelis and I got a chance to see Tom Wachowski: friend, artist and a main cog of Strange Fun Comics who was hospitalized. When we saw him two weeks ago, he was alert, talkative and witty. Unfortunately he passed away a week later from pancreatic and diabetes-related illness. He was 42 and leaves a nine-year-old son behind. This episode is dedicated to Tom).

Back to 1990: I think I like sake (Japanese rice wine, and is pronounced sah-kay). Let’s just say that as far as liquids go, it’s my new best friend (except for Coke, of course). After quickly getting drunk and being too stupid to know I was drunk, I have a vague recollection of moving. Moving… must be some sort of kismet thing 19 years from now.
When next I opened my eyes, I was home and fully-dressed lying on my bed. The doorbell rang.
Slowly but surely, I got to the door, opened it and removed the finger of Hanazaki-san from the doorbell. Not a real hangover but an incredible simulation.
He asked if I was ready to go. I glanced at my watch (incidentally, as I write this blog 19 years later, I’m wearing the same watch. My own time machine), it was August 14, and the sun was starting to get low in the sky.
Not wanting to sound ignorant because I had no idea of what he meant, I tried to tell him that I wasn’t ready yet and needed a few moments to get re-dressed. Instead, I think I said: “Nrrrrrrr”, which roughly translates into: “I slept for 20 hours?”.
I was wearing clean everything and was out the door in one Canadian minute, or 20 minutes Japanese time. Remember, time is only relative to the observer,
Now, the following is, I swear, 100 per cent true.
Apparently I was invited by Hanazaki-san to have dinner with his family, but because I wasn’t hip to the intricacies of Obon, I had no idea that the family dinner entailed multiple, multiple generations of Hanazaki’s.
Sitting down cross-legged on some pillows on a tatami (grass) mat, Hanazaki-san’s wife started bringing out the food and drinks. There were six place settings at the table but only four of us sitting at the table. The missus began piling food (no idea what it was, but it was tasty!) onto the two empty settings to her left before passing it to myself, her husband and 20-something son.
She then lifted up a large carafe of warm sake and began pouring some into Hanazaki-san’s glass, then mine, her son’s and then her own. She then poured sake into glasses for the two empty place settings.
Then it got odd.
Mrs. Hanazaki then turned to the empty space top her right and began clapping her hands and chanting “Iki. Iki. Iki” (ic-key.ic-key.ic-key), which roughly translates into “go-go-go.”
Five seconds later, she began applauding and saying what I assume was the Japanese equivalent of “yay!” It sounded like “Yay!”.
Now maybe it was because I was watching her intently or maybe it was the new sake melding with yesterday’s sake, but when I glanced back at the glasses in front of the empty place settings, they were empty. I suppose her son could have drunk them, but I didn’t see it.
Mrs. Hanazaki filled up everyone’s glasses again—including Casper and Spooky—and began her drinking chant and clapping again.
I sucked my drink back like it was water… because I must have been dehydrated from last night’s festivities… but mostly because I was a tad weirded out by what I had just seen.
On the ride home—driven by the missus who, aside from myself was the only one not drunk—Hanazaki-san explained what Obon was about. Now I understood. The two empty plates were for the family ancestors.
Despite the bizarreness of the evening, I am humbled that I was invited to partake in the family dinner with the entire Hanazaki family. And I do mean entire family.
So far, this is two nights in a row with real food. Mooching meals… this could be a way I survive this place, for goodness sake. You can read that last word any way you wish.

Somewhere old friends are not forgot,
Andrew Joseph
PS - Title is by The Doors.

Have A Drink On Me: Obon I

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

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