Map Showing Radioactivity in Japan's Farmland

On August 29, 2011, the Agriculture Ministry of Japan released a map of the country denoting radiation levels
in agricultural areas.



The image here to the left is only a partial map, lifted from a government video. Here's the VIDEO.



The map does show a that levels of radioactive element Cesium are higher
than the government-regulated standard of 5,000 bequerels per kilogram in nine areas. The Cesium was released in the weeks following the near-melt down at the Dai-ichi nuclear facility in Fukushima-ken this past March, April of 2011.





The ministry says the map is based on analysis of soil samples taken
at 580 locations in six prefectures.



Obviously, the Japanese government has banned rice planting on farmland contaminated with
radioactive cesium higher than 5,000 bequerels per kilogram.



Two of the higher radioactive farm areas are the 8,571 bequerels on a field in Date-shi (Date City) and 6,882 bequerels in Iwaki-shi (Iwaki City), both in Fukushima-ken.



That sounds like trouble... until you realize that the map also shows the town of Namie and Iitate village very close to the nuclear plant in Fukushima-ken, have cesium levels over 20,000 bequerels per kilogram.



The agriculture ministry plans to increase monitoring around the highly contaminated farmland.



Files by Andrew Joseph

Welcome To The Jungle

Hello Amanda Goodsell!

How are you enjoying your first month here in Japan in the large city of Ashikaga-shi, Tochigi-ken? You're a real pretty woman - I love your long blond wavy hair - okay, okay, I'm backing off. Yeesh.

Okay darlin', you've got the most beautiful mouth I've ever come across (that sounds dirty!), so how about you give me your first impressions of life in Japan as a 5'-8" blond from the U.S. who decided to come here in August 1991 as an Assistant English Teacher on the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme?

Thank-you...

• Big bugs
• Small people
• My kitchen sink is at knee level
• Perma-smile (boy, this hurts)
• (What am I doing here) 
• Why is there a sink in my toilet?
• I'm sorry I forgot to take my shoes off.
• How can anyone wear pantyhose in this heat?
• Praise-be for bilingual television!
• (But I never would have been excited about Knight Rider before.)
• Which way does the hanko go?
• (Are those rice fields?)
• I'm so happy my predecessor was perfect.
• Why don't they wear sunglasses?
• More packets of JET information? Why THANK you!!!
• What do you mean, "The directions are in Japanese?"
• I need more omiyage (gifts to give out) Tobu department store to the rescue!
• I come from the galaxy - not Mars, OKAY!?!
• WHAT AM I DOING HERE!!???

Somewhere wondering if I should hit on her,
Andrew Joseph
Today's title is rocked out by Guns N Roses: FUN&GAMES
PS: Amanda was quite obviously shell-shocked upon arriving here in Japan. I did not actually try to hit on her. I knew it wouldn't work, as I believe she told me so after first saying hello to me back in Tokyo when I went down to scope out the chicks - I mean welcome the JET newcomers to Japan.
PPS: Amanda recovered quickly enough and soon became a power fixture in our Tochigi-ken, taking over for me as editor of the monthly Tatami Times JET newsletter after I got tired of the politics (and was depressed over the whole girlfriend thing and quit being the Editor). I was getting regular sex from a lot of different women - but I had no girlfriend. I'm sure I'll explain more later.
PPPS: The cover image at the top was from the September 1991 issue of The Tatami Times. I'm unsure now where I got the image from, but I certainly had students who acted like The Three Stooges! This is the cover to the issue Amanda's First Impressions was first printed.

Cuts Like A Knife

For many people, there seems to be confusion over what constitutes the Japanese delicacy, sushi. The prevailing thought was that sushi means raw fish. Well, it might utilize it, but it is more than just raw fish.

Sushi involves taking some hot sticky white rice that is mixed with sugar, vinegar and salt, pressing it into a cylindrical shape, adding a dab of green wasabi mustard (a tasty but hot form of Japanese horseradish), and then having it topped with a strip of thinly sliced (freshness of the meat and the adroitness of the sushi chef with his knife is key to having good versus great sushi) fresh uncooked fish, roe, shrimp, squid or octopus. Of course, you can also use an egg in a light omelet form. You can pick it up with o-hashi (chopsticks) or your fingers and dip it into soyu (soy) sauce before eating it.  

I'm sure many of you have seen sushi with a thin strip of dark green nori (seaweed) surrounding the whole roll of rice that is wrapped around one of the toppings. This is called makizushi, and people often eat it with any of the above-mentioned ingredients tucked in the middle, or with salmon roe, eel (Conger is good) or sea urchin (yuck, says me). You may have seen something called a California sushi roll, with is the makizushi with carrots or other veggies contained within with a dab of mayonnaise. I'm guessing it was created for people too afraid to try the seafood, or those with severe allergies or pregnant.

Other types of sushi (o-zushi, if we wish to be more honourific), include: chirashizushi--thin slices of raw fish placed atop a bowl of rice (let's call it sushi rice, because it's got the other ingredients mixed in); inarizushi--envelopes of bean curd flavoured with sugar and soy sauce hold sushi rice; norimaki--sushi rice and other ingredients wrapped in nori. There are probably many other more local ways to make o-zushi, but I'm not privy to them all. Pity.

Hey... do you know when I first had my first taste of sushi? In Toronto, two days before leaving for Japan - just so I wouldn't be a complete virgin... though there was that whole never-got-laid thing I harboured until my first three weeks in Japan (yay!). 

So what about the raw fish thing? For that, you need to try (or not) sashimi, which is literally slices of raw fish. The fish must be fresh and not frozen to get the best flavour.

Thinly sliced fish is dipped into a bowl of soy flavoured with wasabi (you add the potency), and you eat it. I'm pretty sure you always had to use chopsticks, though. Typical fish you would eat as sashimi include: tuna (red meat only - the Japanese used to consider the white meat the garbage, throw away meat, until they learned to like it because Americans liked it - hell, I like it, too.); yellow-tail; bream; flounder; squid; octopus; shrimp.

I've eaten them all - and lots of other things too as sashimi - and it's all freaking fantastic! The squid and octopus... when you think of them you'd expect them to be a spineless lump when taken out of the water. However, they maintain their consistency when fresh.

Want to hear one that makes me question the sanity of the Japanese? Ikizukuri. This is when a thin slice of sashimi is cut from a still living and breathing fish... the slice is placed back onto the fish - as if to taunt it that it still has a chance to survive - and then served and eaten. That poor critter is still opening and closing its mouth, gasping for breath. Why so cruel, Japan? I was told that the fish gets a special flavour from the terror. As well, you can't argue about the freshness of the food you are eating. 

Despite my comic book fish tales (Read a story HERE and HERE), I'm not really into torturing fish - in fact, the last time I went fishing was with my friend Michael Hutchison in Nikko, Japan back in 1993? I would tell you that I feel really sad every time one of my tropical fish dies - but I wouldn't want you to think I'm a big baby.

And then there are other types of raw food to eat (or not) while in Japan. Personally, I enjoyed eating basashi (raw horse meat). I wouldn't purchase it myself, but the old grey mare, she still had a lot of tastiness left in her. To quote my old pal Rodney Dangerfield (people keep telling me I look like him - yes, I look like a dead 72-year-old, white Jewish comedian) (Not) (Do I?)--"It still has marks from where the jockey was whipping it."

Another delicacy is gyu reba (gyu means cow, and I do believe that reba is the phonetic transformation via the Katakana alphabet of 'liver'). I swear to kami (god) people of Japan - sometimes you just shouldn't tell people what they are eating until after they have swallowed it. I don't care for liver at the best of times, but will eat it if offered - I know it's good for me, but I'd rather have a lobster or some other animal - rather than parts of an animal. 

Of course, again I think that's part of the Japanese sense of humour mixed with immense pride in being Japanese. They really don't expect gaijin (foreigners) to be able to eat the same foods they eat - and when people like me show up, it really throws them for a loop. I'll eat anything.

Of course, I may not like it, but they'll never know. Just smile, swallow it, and tell them it's oishii (delicious). Chances are they'll call your bluff and order another helping for you - but it's well worth it to help break down the stereotypical walls that  cultures have about each other.    

Somewhere needing a biryu (beer) to wash the reba out of my mouth, 

Andrew "I don't get no respect" Joseph

Today's blog title was spun by Bryan Adams - CUTS LIKE A KNIFE

PS: My reason for this song? You need a very good knife to make sashimi (and sushi) et al. I would have used The Tubes Sushi Girl, but I did that a year ago.

PPS: If there are any topics you'd like to be better informed upon, let me know. I do requests. And If I don't know the music, I will hum along.

Fergaclicious

A note about yesterday's blog - I forgot to post the photo of my tako (kite). Please have a look: TAKO

This blog wasn't originally called anything, but if I had thought about it, I would have called it: Of Rice and Yen. 

As a foreigner (gaijin) from a country that's not quite the United States of America, but often mistaken for the same, I am often asked about my feelings about the Japanese/Yankee rice trade.

My initial reaction, is of course, who gives a crap? But as an ambassador of Canada on the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme, I should perhaps not speak so tersely. Perhaps irrationality is called for.

Let's see... Hmm. At every one of the seven junior high schools I visit here in Ohtawara-shi, I get to eat lunch with the students. That lunch invariably consists of cooked rice (gohan) and some other stuff. 

Every day, at every school or restaurant I visit, I am always asked if Japanese rice is oishii (delicious... it's pronounced oy-she). How the heck would I know? It's rice isn't it? It tastes like rice so how can't or can it taste anything but delicious (depending on your point of view). Doesn't rice taste like rice? Isn't it all the same flavour? 

Now... the zesty taste of chili con carne ala Andrew is oishii... but rice is like green tea (o-cha). To quote fellow AET (Assistant English Teacher) Tim Mould: "It's got no taste!" If picturing this, you should add an image of Tim jumping up and down in exasperation and then pouting.

It's a Nihonjin (Japanese people) tradition to inquire of the gaijin whether or not they like all types of Japanese food. It's like it's a test, to see if you are worthy of being "Japanese-like"... if you don't like something, it's because you are a gaijin, and may not have the tastebuds of a Nihonjin. Well, they may have something there.

All Japanese people swear that Japanese rice tastes much better than American rice. Really? How do they know? Have they ever sampled California rice? I swear, Japan's agrarian economy would collapse in a heartbeat if a Japanese person ate anything but Japanese rice--and woe be to them if they thought that gaijin rice was tasty.

For that matter, how many Americans know where their rice is from--and no, Rice-A-Roni, the San Francisco treat and Rice Krispies do not count.

Since I am almost from America (America Jr., actually) the Japanese are anxious to know of my opinion on the taste differences between rice varieties. 

Now, while I can tell the difference between New Coke, Diet Coke, Coke Classic (remember - this is 1993, not 2010!), Caffeine-free Coke, Diet Caffeine Coke, Cherry Coke, Diet Cherry Coke, Taste Free Coke (o-cha), RC Cola, Pepsi Cola, Pepsi Free, Diet Pepsi, Spam Pepsi and several species of bathtub mold (not my friend Tim), I just couldn't explain the nuances between western and eastern rices. I think it's because of my Indian heritage (dot, not the feather), and the fact my parents would usually buy Indian rice.

Then it dawned on me - hey, I never really ate rice until I got to Japan (Mom made two meals - one for her and my dad, and one for my brother Ben and I). As well, I also recalled that Indian rice is a long-grained rice that sticks together. It has to stick together or Japan would never buy rice from India - chopsticks, you know. And why does Japan buy rice from anywhere except Japan. For crying out loud, the name of my city: Ohtawara literally means 'big-rice field-field'! That's all there is in this country.

American rice, is a smaller grained ... fruit? vegetable?... whatever it is... and it doesn't stick together... though I'm told some varieties are sticky. 

Anyhow, as of now - 1993, the Japanese don't want to allow American rice into their country because apparently America sprays a preservative chemical onto the rice so that it can be safely transported.  

The Japanese say, between puffs of cigarettes and sake (rice wine... sorry... Japanese rice wine) that they are wary of what they put into their mouth, not wanting to ingest any chemicals that might be harmful.

A word to the wise, people: if Japanese rice is more tasty than American rice, it may be because of the plethora of drunken men who routinely relieve themselves in the rice paddies.

Yum. 

Somewhere eating bread, 

Andrew Joseph

 Today's title is by Fergie... mostly because she's hot. EATITUPYUM

It ain't rock and roll, but I like it. 

PS: This story was originally published in the July 1993 issue of Networking magazine in Tochihi-ken. I actually got paid to write it. I know, I know... what the hell were they thinking? 

PS: The photo above shows off a couple of bales of rice. Okay, they are really miniature bottles of sake designed to look like ancient bundles of rice. But, I don't have any Japanese rice around the house for a photo because the nuances of rice are unknown to me, so my wife buys whatever is on sale... usually from America Jr.'s cousin to the south.

Gee Whiz

One of the things I get to do living out in the country - far away from Tokyo... like about 200 kilometres away... I'm afforded the luxury of getting away from people.

Despite my reckless abandon and wild persona, I'm actually kind of shy and prefer the shadows to the limelight. It means I value my privacy.

Sounds like complete bullcrap, doesn't it? I mean, here I am baring myself to you, oh gentle reader, with nary a though for my own ego.

The way I figure it, it happened. Learn from it. Let's move on. It's also kind of funny, eh?

Ohtawara-shi is a city. There were about 50,000 people in this smallish burg, in the province of Tochigi-ken. Sounds like a lot, but the city was spread out over quite a large area.

Anyhow... I get to ride my over-sized (by Japanese standards) blue bicycle, that was cobbled together by one of the hundreds of bicycle shop owners that populate my city.

I have a lock for it, and because I'm from Canada, I actually use it - old habits die hard, I suppose. From what  I could see - Japanese folks are by and by the large part very trustworthy. Okay... that's only sort of true - at least as far as bicycles go.

In Tokyo, I did observe a lot of locked bicycles - but then again, there are a lot more gaijin (foreigners/outsiders) around. As well, at the local Nishinasuno eki (train station) that's about a 20-minute ride to the northwest - there are a lot of bicycles locked up.

But at my schools, no one locks their bikes. And, I can honestly tell you, not once did I hear about anyone having their bike stolen.

But trust and bicycles are not what this episode is about.

While riding my bicycle through the roads disguised as pathways that cut between the rice paddies here in Ohtawara, I have noticed that during every single trip, there are rice farmers--Japanese gentlemen--relieving themselves right there in the paddies.

I'm unsure if this is part of Japanese irrigation techniques, or if this actually part of Japanese farming techniques. I mean really... have you ever tasted Japanese rice? It has a very unique flavour.

Somewhere relieved this blog is over,
Andrew Joseph
Today's title was brought to you by me. But was sung by: Carla Thomas
She's Number One in my books: HERE
Pee Ess: I've sometimes found Japanese rice to have a nice warm sake (Japanese rice wine) flavour, though that could just be my warped imagination.

My White Bicycle

Originally entitled: Bicycles Built For Your Tastefully Living, I re-phrased a national Japanese ad for an automobile manufacturer to instead mention bikes. Ah, English. It's a beautiful language.

I suppose I've always (always, in this instance refers to the past nine months) had a mute fascination with the Japanese obsession with the bicycle.

While I had learnt from watching those Japanese television programs depicting 'the wonderful dreamy world' of China (and why is ANY television show in Japan using an English lead-in?!), that the Japanese are a young nation when it comes to the number of bicycles owned, and that it causes me many restless nights sweating between my bedsheets.

It was recently pointed out by my shrink (Matthew Hall, friend and fellow local Ohtawara AET - though he's the tallest shrink I've ever seen - also the only one, believe it or don't) that bicycles are not the cause of my bed sweating. Still, I suppose it's the implied meaning of the metaphor that counts.

(Y'know... it made more sense in my head when I first wrote this. In hindsight, you should forget all of that crap up above).

Over the past few months, I've noticed that in Japan there are many stages of bicycle development and usage.

The primary school kids (Grades 1 - 6) generally ride around on small, knee-high two-wheelers of assorted colours that often have ridiculous English sentences printed on them. Want an example? Okay: "... she said to her mother, "Wh". It was an incomplete sentence taken completely out of whatever context it was in that means nothing to anyone except maybe the author - kind of like my second paragraph.

The primary school bicycles all have a banana seat and Harley-Davidson-like handlebars. They also possess nice quiet handbrakes.

The junior high school student (Grades 7-9, whom I teach) has a more advanced form of locomotion, as gears are present. The bicycles now have a front-placed basket of a colour to match the bike's paint job. Black for the boys and White for the girls. There is no in-between colour. Nobody knows why. The handlebars for both bicycles are low and flat. They too have handbrakes that are nice and quiet. Rear-view mirrors are present for reasons unknown to the rider(s). The same can be said for the bicycle light that works via pedal power. (There are no lights on a primary school kid's bike as they just aren't out that late.) There is usually a broken bell on the handlebar. The bicycle seats are not comfortable, and are now hard uncomfortable and thus considered practical leather triangles. The seats remain this way or the remainder of the rider's life.

There is very little English printed on the bikes, except for three or four incomprehensible paragraphs. This, too is a continued feature. Want your example? Okay: "ere is it then? How can you expect me to set the tableware for nine people when there is only enough for eight? "Relax," said her mother, "simply go next door to Mrs. Filmore's house and ask if you can borrow a set of flatware." "I thought you wanted tableware? What the Hell is fla".

Hmmm... the dialogue seems to have continued from the primary school kid's bicycle. I wonder what will happen next?

Helmets are now required for the chu gakkusai (middle/junior high student). Failure to wear one--along with your school uniform--every day, even when not at school, can cause ridicule and humiliation for the parents.

In senior high school (Grades 10-12), the boys graduate to a different, more cool-looking bicycle in an effort to get girls and to avoid being bullied to death by tough-looking boys from technical schools who weren't smart or lucky enough to be able to cheat on their high school entrance exams. The bicycles are identical to their junior high school versions, except that the handle bars are now vertical, with grips just large enough to contain the handbrakes, which are still very quiet. Helmets are no longer required as there are none that will fit over the average student's 1950's bouffant or 2000's goth hair-do.

The senior high school girls generally have the same style of bicycle they had in junior high school. If they want to look cool they never ride their own bike, instead they stand on the bolts that hold the rear tire of a friend's or better yet a boy's bike. They too wear no helmet for reasons of coolness and hair (often synonymous with each other amongst Japanese people and certain foreign teachers writing blogs).

Writing on the bicycles is non-existent, which now has me wondering what the heck is going on with that story!

Then it all just stops. After high school no one has a bike. Nobody rides a bike. Except for the old folks. There they are: 70-, 80-, 193-years-old, and their out riding a bicycle. Sort of. Can you imagine your grand-parents riding on a bicycle? Okay, even if mine weren't dead it would boggle my mind.

The old men ride a bicycle that is wholly reminiscent of the junior high school version complete with broken bell. They ride with their skinny legs pedaling a bike - just like Kermit The Frog (FROG LEGS).

As for the old women - it's the same bike as what they used in high school, except the women have now shrunk in stature. They hunch over with their hands thrust into mitts permanently welded to the handlebars. Their bicycles also lack a functioning bell, too. Nobody wears a helmet because the extra weight could cause their heads to snap down into their torso.

There is writing on the bicycles, however! The story continues: "tware? And Mrs. Filmore died yesterday after thieves broke in and ransacked the place. "They killed her?" asked her mother. "No, but she died of a heart attack when she saw the mess - you know how anal retentive she is about keeping her place spotless." "Oh, yeah," said the mother. "Better ask her husband about borrowing the knives and forks then."

I'm unsure who the writer is on these bicycles, but I like his or her style.

Although the old folks lack a functioning bell, fear not, they have something better. Whenever they slow down or stop their bicycle, they squeeze the handbrake which emits an ear-splitting whine that can shatter a rock. You know they are coming.

All bicycles for the elderly are built in this manner. The people who build bicycles are quite aware that if an old person takes a hand away from the handlebar to attempt to ring the non-functioning bell, they will probably swerve into a rice field where farmers could accidentally urinate on them during planting season. That's why all senior citizen bikes have the safety screech warning system.

I hate the noise. everybody hates the noise. But, it does keep them out of the rice fields.

Just today (before, if you aren't reading this when I wrote this, which was a while ago, even though I am writing it now), I was watching an old lady ride her bicycle agonizingly slow on what the Japanese fondly call a sidewalk (the rest of the world calls them sewer system covers). She was riding in a straight line averaging about nine wicked serves a minute. I heard her apply her brakes as there was a primary school boy a good 100 metres in front of her. The boy jumped in fright at the cacophony and quickly ran to the side (the middle of the road) and waited the two minutes for her to pass.

Then the real fun began. The old lady noticed another old lady riding her bike towards her. Swerving.

Brakes were applied in a friendly warning to the other. The swerving continued. As they approached each other, I could see one of the women squinting around looking for a high level of ground upon which she could step down onto until the trouble passed.

But there was none.

She bravely swerved on.

It took a full four minutes and 47 seconds, but they miraculously swerved around each other while bowing deeply.

I still have nightmares (today, as of your reading this) of the old women and their double-helix bicycle paths. I dread having to ride my bicycle past an old lady or Kermit the Frog on the street (shudder).

Somewhere bicycle writing,
Andrew Joseph
Today's title from Nazareth: BICYCLE

Red Beans And Rice

This one was originally titled: Of Rice and Yen.
As a foreigner from a country not quite the United States, but often mistaken for the same, I am constantly asked about my feelings about the Japanese-Yankee rice trade. My first reaction  is, of course, who gives a rat's you-know-what, but as an ambassador for Canada (aka U.S.A Jr.), I should perhaps not speak so irrationally. Or maybe not.
Let's see.... Hmm. At every school I visit, I get a school lunch served to me that invariably consists of rice and something else. I always get asked (always!) is Japanese rice is oishii (tasty)? How the heck would I know? It's rice isn't it? It tastes like rice, so how is this rice any more delicious than any other rice?
Now, the taste of chili con carne a la Andrew is oishii, but rice is like o-cha (green tea). To quote my friend and fellow AET Tim Mould; "It's got no taste!"
However, all Japanese people swear that Japanese ri-su tastes better than American rice. How do they know? have they ever sampled California rice? I don't think that Rice-A-Roni or Rice Krispies count. For that matter, how many American's actually know where the rice they rarely eat comes from?
Since I am almost from America, the Japanese are anxious to know of opinion regarding the taste differences. Now while I can tell the difference between new Coke, Classic Coke, Diet Coke, Caffeine-free Coke, Diet Caffeine-free Coke, Cherry Coke, Diet Cherry Coke, Taste-free Coke (o-cha), RC Cola, Pepsi Cola, Pepsi Free, Diet Pepsi, Spam Pepsi and several species of bathtub mold (not Tim), I just couldn't explain the nuances between the western and eastern rices.
Then it dawned on me. Since I am of Indian heritage (dot, not the feather), the rice my folks eat must be Indian rice. I never at much rice while growing up until I got to Japan, and that was only so I wouldn't starve to death. I have observed that Indian rice is a long-grained rice that doesn't stick together, while Japanese rice is a long-grained fruit (vegetable - what the hell is it??!!) that sticks together until you pour soyu (soy) sauce on it. And what of American rice?
Is it different from the other two? A long-grained rice that sticks together? It has to stick together or else the Japanese would never buy it - chopsticks, don't you know.
Anyhow, the Japanese won't let the American rice into their country (circa 1992) because according to the Japanese, the U.S. of A. sprays a preservative chemical on its rice so that it can be safely transported abroad.
The Japanese say, between puffs of cigarettes and gulps of whiskey and sake (rice wine), that they are wary of chemicals that might be harmful to themselves.
A word to the wise, people: If Japanese rice IS more tasty than American rice, it may be because of all of the drunk men who routinely relieve themselves in the rice fields. Yum. I'll have bread, please.

Somewhere in a rice field,
Andrew Joseph       
PS: Today's title is by Booker T & The MGs  - GROOVE to their heavy sound. Awesome stuff.
PPS: While the Japanese DO love many things American, they hate it when it threatens their cultural identity... and rice is a cultural identity for the Japanese.

The Chrome Plated Megaphone Of Destiny

Because someone demanded it, presented for the first time in nearly 20 years... the awesome origin of Ralph Tochigi, the most interesting man in the world (feel free to add assorted ooh's and aah's) and the inventor of the Zippo lighter that saved a rice field and destroyed tastebuds in one fell swoop - that story is here: NATTO.
This story is his bio. Welcome, welcome to you bet your life. Say the magic word and win a hundred dollars. If you remember where this line is from you may already be dead. DUCK.
Bitten by a radioactive spider, young Ralph Tochigi... no, that's not it. How about: Rocketing to Earth from the dying planet Krypton... no, that's been done, too.
Ummmmm... ummmm... (writer's block)... ummmm... born in Florence, Italy in 1479, Ralph was the first child to be named after noted Renaissance artist Raphael. Unfortunately, his art-loving mother, April, missed the mark a bit, as the painter would not be born until four years later. Also, her spelling was atrocious as she left out an "a" and an "i" out of her son's name. (Editor's note: That should be an "a" and an "e"). Right. Sorry.
Since his father was a Japanese rice farmer and had a helluva commute every day, his family (including Ralph's brother's Mike and Don and his sister Mona Lisa) decided, once and for all, to move to Nippon (that's Japan, you gaijin, you) in the autumn of 1490.
This meant that young Ralph has missed a year and a half of school and would not be allowed to attend until next April (no, not his Mom).
Instead of pining away his day playing non-invented video-games, he decided instead to learn farming techniques from his father Ed (short for Edo), in the town of Sakuyama in Shimotsuke-ken (what is currently known as Tochigi-ken, or the Province of Tochigi).
After 12 hours of intensive studying, he had learned all there was to know. Still, it wasn't enough. He decided to try and make his dad's rice the oishi-est (tastiest) in all of Japan.
By the age of 12, Ralph had discovered that urinating on rice while it was growing made the harvested grain taste better. He then sought to determine which imbibed liquid beverage would add the right "flavour" to his urine. It turned out to be sake (Japanese rice wine), which he accidentally invented when he was 13 years old. (That's another story - maybe).
Young Ralph's fame quickly spread like manure on a rose garden as he decided--for absolutely no reason--to make his father's large square rice field into several smaller squares of rice field.
This was a major break from the conventional techniques of Prairie wheat farmers that would be invented 328-and-a-half years later.
The smaller rice fields were not any easier to work with at first. Then it suddenly dawned on him that it would now be easier to spray an allocation of sake-urine over the smaller rice fields. His discovery revolutionized the face of Japan. Click HERE for some of my awesome photos of rice fields. Makes you hungry, eh?
At the age of 21, Ralph opened up Japan's first 7-11, though it soon folded as his controversial Burrito with corn confused the locals who didn't know what corn was.
One year later he re-opened under the new name of LuLu's. It too failed as the locals could not pronounce the "L's" in the store's name without hurting their tongue--which is apparently needed when eating to avoid choking.
To solve the pronunciation problem, Ralph invented the Katakana alphabet in 1481. However, due to retrograde writing on behalf of the writer (me), the store's copy-writed name had expired.
Y'see, in 1481, Ralph would have only been two-years-old... therefore in order to explain the date, rather than admit to the writer making a mistake, he (me) has chosen to explain it via retrograde writing. Clear? Good. Now someone explain it to the Editor (me).
Later in life, as his powers of genius left him, he moved to the area of Korea now named Utsonomiya (the capital city of Shimotsuke-ken). and opened up the first Pachinko parlour, a game he had devised while asleep. This is what PACHINKO is.
Despite the success of his inventions and discoveries, he did not end up a rich man. He died yen-less after a forced Mafia take-over by the Walt Disney Gang led by hot-tempered Don Aldo.
Although Ralph's ideas are still in use today, he died a broken and bitter man after failing to invent Spam--his favourite food.
Much to his chagrin, a city and prefecture now carry his name. That is, it would have been much to his chagrin if he were still alive and hadn't choked to death on a piece of mochi (Japanese rice cake - Read about it CHOKING) on New Year's Day 1527 at 3:47PM (exactly). It was a Tuesday. This at least, is true.
Somewhere prevaricated by
Andrew Joseph of the Ralph Tochigi Institute of Agriculture and Urology, Ohtawara branch.
PS - Today's title brought to you by the letter P, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and the group: (Frank Zappa &) The Mothers of Invention. You won't like it - but I do.
PPS - I guess the writer's block went away.
PPPS - I invented Ralph Tochigi back in 1991 or '92. Check out the guy in the Dos XXs beer commercials for someone who also claims to be the most-interesting man in the world: THIRSTY.

Home Cookin'

The Origin Of Why The Japanese Eat Weird Food - Betcha didn't know!

Raw cow liver. Sea turtle phlegm. Rotting soy beans. Bee larvae. Raw horse meat. Baby octopi. Grasshopper. Chrysanthemum. Squid guts.  Konyaku (a gelatinous paste made from the root of a yam-like tuber and formed into bricks or strings and is obviously eaten for its chewy texture rather than its flavor - d'uh).
These are but a piddling few of the awful-sounding things that I have eaten in Japan that could gag a slop-eating pig with its disgustability.
I've always wondered why and how such obscene cuisine became into the diet of the average Nihonjin. Actually, I never gave it much thought until some other foreigner asked me like I was the Great and Powerful Oz, and should know everything. Thanks to the query, I have stolen her idea.
I carefully went around to all of the fluent English-speaking Japanese teachers of English I work with at my seven junior high schools in Ohtawara, and asked her (singular) the origin of certain Japanese foods.
As is the case with all cultures, we seem to know surprisingly little about our own culture and athlete's foot. However, she gamely volunteered to ask her grandmother, who was apparently around for the origin of why the Japanese eat weird food, to explain some of the origins for me.
Here is a tale of woe about natto (rotting soy beans) and inago (grasshopper) that takes place 400 years ago in Shimotsuke-shi (Shimotsuke City) in Shimosuke-ken (Shimotsuke Province)--by coincidence, the current name of Tochigi-shi and Tochigi-ken, respectively. As most people are aware, every 125 years or so, roughly 47 per cent of all the prefectures (aka provinces) in Japan change their name. In 2012, Tochigi will be called Ralph--perhaps in honour of the next blog.

The farmer's were out urinating in their rice paddies while their hunchbacked wives gamely picked weeds. Suddenly, a roar arose from the West, as a black cloud sounding like a 747 Jumbo Jet (at least that's what chronicler Nostradamus Suzuki wrote), advanced upon the startled farmers, causing quite a few of them to pee on themselves.
Grasshoppers. Gazilliions of them. eating every rice plant in their path.
The women ran back to the farmhouses as fast as their hunchbacks could carry them and grabbed brooms in an attempt to beat them into submission, but the insects moved too fast and there were too many.
One farmer (by a strange coincidence named Ralph Tochigi) pulled out his Zippo lighter (an anomaly because it hadn't been invented yet) and lit his cigarette--accidentally setting fire to a swathe of nearby rice fields.
The grasshoppers were stymied. Since they couldn't go through the flames, they became more of an easy target for the little women and their broomsticks (who, thanks to their hunchback, are incredibly adept at tying their shoelaces).
Hours later while the men were standing around alternating between having a smoke and urinating, they watched the women belt the heck out of the few remaining grasshoppers. Farmer Yaita and Farmer Ryuzu wondered what the women were going to cook for their supper--especially since the rice crop had been decimated by the ravenous hoppers.
Farmer Yaita suggested the women take up fishing.
Farmer Ryuzu felt that the soy bean crop, though damaged by the 11-month typhoon season, might be easier (and quicker) for the women to cook, rather than wait for the women to whittle a fishing rod.
Farmer Yaita thought the fish might be tastier, especially if they insisted the women only catch ayu--but added the disclaimer that Farmer Ryuzu could eat anything because of the large size of his mouth.
Farmer Ryuzu replied that although he could indeed eat anything, it wasn't because of the size of his mouth.
"Oh yeah?," said Farmer Yaita. "I bet you wouldn't eat a bug."
Five-year-old boys everywhere now know the origin of this famous dare.
Farmer Ryuzu said that if he was going to eat a bug, Farmer Yaita had to eat the wet smelly soy beans that were congealing in the town congealing hut (this was an early form of organic trash can).
Well, the challenge was accepted by them both.
The two farmers pretended that what he was eating was better tasting than what the other was eating. Both said it was good for you. Both were adept liars.

Somewhere looking at the statue of Ralph Tochigi urinating while holding a lighter,
Andrew Joseph
Today's song-inspired title is by Junior Walker And The All Stars, and while I couldn't find a video for Home Cookin', try their more famous song: Shotgun.
Photo above  - like all of the photos is by me - of the hunchbacked women.

Beat It!

I think I must do it on purpose.
By that, I mean my inability to figure out even the more rudimentary level of this ancient Corinthian language more commonly known as Japanese. And it's killing me.
There I was, asleep in my bed. DING-DONG! DING-DONG! There I was, awake in my bed. DING-DONG! I reached for my alarm clock and squint at the time. Hmmm, a blurry 9AM. DING-DONG! I didn't have my glasses or contacts on.
It was December 30th, and I was on holiday. No way was I getting up to answer that door. DING-DONG! DING-DONG! I knew it wasn't Matthew because it was 9AM. It wasn't Ashley because she was in Thailand with a few other female AETs (our planned Christmas vacation fell by the wayside in October/November after she, I mean I broke up with her - though by the time we got back together again, it was too late to book a vacation together). I didn't mind too much... I was in Japan to see Japan... good thing too or none of us Rifers would learn today's lesson.
After three more minutes of incessant DING-DONG's, I sensed that this person was not going to leave me alone.
I got up out of bed and went to peer through the peephole to see who the heck it was. By this time, the doorbell's constant ringing was making it sound kind of worn: DING-DEONG! DING-DEONG!
When I peered out, I saw a Nihonjin's (Japanese person's) eyeball pressed up against the peephole peering in at me. The eyeball stepped back and I saw the grinning visage that was my friend and supervisor, Kanemaru-san from the OBOE (Ohtawara Board of Education).
I quickly glanced to the right where I have a calendar hanging to make sure I had the date correct. Yup. It was definitely December 30. He was supposed to come over on the 31st and take me to his place at 10AM for a homestay. That's what he said on the phone last night - didn't he?
DIIIIINNNNNN-DEEEEOOOOOOONNGGG! DIIIIINNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGG-DEEEEEEEEEONNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGSPROINK!
My doorbell broke. He then began pounding on my door - THUMP-THUMP!
It turned out I was supposed to go his place for the New Year's festivities today. Letting him in and begging his forgiveness, I quickly got dressed - deigning not to shave - packed a few clothes and stuff for at least a three-day jaunt into the nearby rural town of Kurobane (where he lived) and ran downstairs to the Kanemaru white van.
We then drove 100 kph (60 mph) along a 40 kph (25 mph) zone of winding, narrow goat paths. After what seemed like hours of hell-raising-conversationally-silent minutes, we arrived at his homestead. Despite his niceness, he speaks English like I speak Japanese. It ain't swell.
We got out and immediately walked over to his backyard where we spent the next four hours watching several families make mochi, which is a Japanese (redundant) rice ball cake.
For your edification, it seems that they steam the rice for half an hour and then dump the soggy stuff into a hollowed out tree stump. The rice is then pounded with very large 20-kilogram (~44-pound) wooden mallets by the men.
Between every hammer blow, one of the women quickly dips a wet hand into the rice and folds over a section before the hammer strikes down again. I timed it - there exists a one-second interval between hammers strikes.
After about 15-minutes of hammer pounding and folding, the now paste-like rice is flattened some more by hand, left to cool and then cut into slender strips.
At this point, the mochi can be eaten soft, or it can be left to harden for a day. To use it later, pieces of rice strips are placed over a heat source which causes the mochi to puff up, and I have to tell ya, it tastes pretty good with some soyu (soy) sauce.
All well and good and interesting, but it's still not the crux of the story.
There were four families at Kanemaru's place (including his own). He had the only mochi set-up in the area apparently.
So let me backtrack a bit and take you to the initial time when the mochi-pounding began. The men all gathered in a huddle and I swear to all Japanese gods there are - they giggled hideously in low, evil tones. I glanced over at the women, and watched them wince in anticipation.
Pulling out his handy-dandy Japanese-English dictionary, Kanemaru-san pointed out the word 'revenge' - which in Japanese is urami-o-harasu. He then laughed loudly and said "Jodan!" (Joke!) But I wasn't so sure.
Twenty minutes later, the men were out of women.
Now the men became nervous, as they had to share the pounding and folding duties. However, I did notice that they were a lot slower on the pounding and yelled out warnings to each other.
I even had my turn at hefting a mallet, straining not to give myself a hernia, and almost succeeding. I only hit three hands and one noggin, which was not only pretty good for a gaijin (foreigner)--I swear I heard someone say that--but it was pretty good for a Nihonjin--I swear I heard myself say that.
Anyhow, check this OUT - especially near the end.
Later, after many a pain-absorbing beer and sake (rice wine) passed around the dinning room table (perched 20 centimeters off the floor), we ate the soft mochi.
I met one of Kanemaru-san's nephews, Masahiro, who spoke some decent English, who told me that around this time of year, many of Japan's senior citizens succumb to the icy touch of Death. Apparently a lot of the old folks die after trying to eat the soft mochi and having it get stuck in their throat. He said the only way to save the victim is to have it sucked out by a vacuum cleaner.
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-hough-cough-hack! Arigato! (thanks)".
After Masahiro left, Kanemaru-san talked to me about something while I nodded in awe of his Japanese language skills. Suddenly he said, "Ima, ikki masho!" (Let's go now!).
I didn't ask where we were going, but I knew it would be interesting. Actually, I didn't ask, because I didn't know how to. I just went.
Imagine my surprise when we pulled up to the front of my apartment building. He graciously got out of the right front door, came around and opened up my door, shook my hand and said "goodo-bai", which is exactly what it sounds like.
Apparently I must have misunderstood the date, time and duration of this homestay which was not a homestay, but just a visit. Which means I basically misunderstood everything. Oh well, live and not learn how to speak Japanese.
Didn't I have a bag filled with clothes in his car?

Somewhere eati.... HWwwaaaaacccchhhhhhhhhhh--GGGGGGGGGGLLLLlarrrrrrrrrrrrGGGGG-HHHHHWWWWWWWWAACH-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-hack! Cough! Ahemmmmm!... eating soft mochi. HwwwaaaaaccccHHHHHH!!!
Andrew Joseph
PS: Today's title by Michael Jackson. It's not rock and roll, but it's a damn fine song.
Watch the video HERE and then watch the great parody by Weird Al Yankovich - CLICK.

A Day In The Life

Contrary to one of the more popular Beatles songs, it's not so easy to just wake-up and get out of bed here - at least here in Japan.

Every morning I get up at 6AM. Not because I want to, or have to, or because my alarm goes off, but rather because yet another one of my neighbourhood dogs thinks its time for everybody to get up.

It's one of those stupid, little miniature collies that, as a species, have a cumulative brain the size of an shelled walnut. Of course, a major portion of the blame should be directed at the dog's owners who so thoughtlessly toss the poor stupid creature out at the ungodly hour of 6AM and don't let it in until 7:30AM when it's time for them (ie the man) to leave for work.

Sure there may actually be some well-behaved and intelligent miniature collies, though the only ones I've ever heard of roam the Plains of the Serengeti with their cousins the Poodles-with-Good-Haircuts, which is a dying breed. Now this particular collie is obviously not from Africa. It has papers denoting its lineage, but it's piddled on them. Repeatedly. This dog is just plain stupid. It barks at nothing. It barks at rocks. It barks at parked white cars. It barks at the cold morning air. It barks at tree bark, or at least it would if the Japanese actually had any trees in their backyards that weren't dwarfed bonsai trees (which is redundant).

Going out of my mind every morning, I have tried everything to make it stop barking: like reasoning with it - "Shut up or I'll kill you, ya stupid mutt!!!"; feeding it - "Suck on this, you bastard!" I politely scream as I toss an egg at it; bribing it - "Please shut-up and I'll buy you a nice steak."

Although the dog has a brain the size of a pecan (I have revised my opinion after seeing a feline give it a CAT scan - I even saw the Lab(rador) report), this dog knows (somehow) that I would never be able to afford a steak here in Japan. It's stupid, not crazy.

On this particular day, I get up at the aforementioned appointed hour. I stumble over to the toilet and read the newspaper that I got while you were reading this sentence. Suddenly the air around me is rend by multiple explosions: BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! It happens again. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! and again 30 seconds later, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Apparently that's the local farmers shooting some form of concussive bomb into the air to frighten away the birds that would eat their rice crop if there were any currently planted. It's the middle of bloody February, and there ain't nothing growin' nowhere, nohow. Hmmm, so maybe it's not the farmers. Maybe someone is trying to kill that damn dog. Yeah! Ha-ha! Give'em another!

BARK-BARK-BARK-BARK! Dammit... they must have missed.

A few minutes pass, and then a siren begins to blare. As it draws closer, it drowns out the dog's incessant barking. Louder! LOUDER!! BARK-Bark-Ba-Pee-Pon-Pee-Pon-Pee-PON! It sounds like an ambulance. Ha! Maybe somebody has shot the dog's owner!!

Then, as if on cue, there's a screech of tires, followed by the sound of crunching plastic(!!), as two white cars plow into each other to avoid yet another miniature collie that has wandered out into the street. The stray waddles over to the bereft-of-grass-yard where my bane lives and begins to bark at it. BARK! BARK! BARK-BARK!! They start to have an argument. BARK! BARK! BARK-BARK!!BARK! BARK! BARK-BARK!!

Brains the size of a shelled, half-peanut. Dry roasted.

The two women get out of their cars and begin bowing apologetically to each other, but still in my mind, they do it LOUDLY!!

The ambulance - PEE-PON!! PEE-PON!!! wheels around the corner and SREEEECHES!!!! to a halt as it is now unable to pass by the fresh accident where the two women continue to bow apologetically. And LOUDER!!!!!

The ambulance driver curses the two women. BAKAYARO!!!!! (stupid idiots!!!!!) And then continues his ranting at the stray miniature collie that has just relieved itself on the ambulance's front tire. Both of THEM!!!!!! The ambulance can no longer back up as a long line of white cars has appeared out of nowhere to trap it from behind - just below my apartment. The car horns begin to blare. HONK! HONK!! HONK!!! The air cannons fire up. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! A cacophony of barking continues. BARK! BARK! BARK-BARK!! BARK! BARK! BARK-BARK!! WOOF!!! A lone stray miniature collie piddles noisily on everything white. It's only 6:45AM.

Somewhere, somebody spoke and I went into a SCREAM!!!!!
Andrew Joseph   

Brought to you by The Beatles with accompanying cartoon by Gary Larson, The Far Side and one of his books I own.

Sticky Sweet

The Japanese are a very complex people--nothing like the one-dimensional stereotype we are afforded in our television and movies. While I hope to be able to show some of the complexity within my blogs, at this time, I'm going to look at their nationalistic pride.
Hey, I'm all for having pride in one's country. I wish that people living in Canada felt that way, as I've always found a lot of Canadians to be what I call "hyphen-Canadians"... describing some place their parents were born like it's the promised land. As an example, I was born in London, England and lived there for three years.  My parents were born and raised in India. I have spent the majority of my life in Canada, with the obvious detour to Japan. A lot of Indians will call themselves Anglo-Indian, or Indian or an Indian-Canadian. I am a Canadian. No hyphen for me.
The Japanese are like this, too. There is a sense of nationalistic pride that at first glance could be a tad annoying, but hey, at least they aren't trying to take over countries anymore. In a very near blog, I'll post some photos I own showing Japanese expansionism.
But what the heck does any of this have to do with that obviously sexual title. Sticky Sweet? What the heck could he mean?
I mean rice. But not just any rice, I'm here to tell you about Japanese rice. Ah so-ka (roughly, oh yeahhhh).

Japan--up until the end of WWII, was known as an agrarian society, with rice being the staple of life in Nihon (Nihon is Japanese for Japan, and translates into "rising sun").
During my first couple of weeks at school (and hence at every school I would visit), I would eat lunch with a class in their home room. In all honesty, in three years of lunches, I can not ever recall not having rice with my meal.
I was told by Hanazaki-san that it was like how we Westerners eat bread as part of our meal--but the Japanese will eat rice three times a day: breakfast, lunch and dinner. And, while it's possible that we might actually eat bread thrice a day, it's not likely. And if you are, fer gosh sakes, lay off it!
Whenever I eat, there is always someone--either a curious student who has just learned the word "what", or a teacher who will ask me this question, and I quote:
"What do you like Japanese rice?"
(Other variations include but aren't limited to, "What do you like: sports, sex, ski"?)
Yes, I like Japanese rice.
Okay... then comes the next zinger... and I have been asked it by students, parents, teachers, OBOE members, etc. Okay, it's more of a statement, but the appropriate response is awaited.
"Japanese rice is very tasty, ne?"
(That ne, is the Japanese equivalent of a Canadian "eh").
I don't know how to answer that. It's  rice. It has no taste. It's rice-flavour, which is nothing to me. And why are we talking about Japanese rice? Isn't rice rice?
I actually asked Kanemaru-san that one. After rousing him from his faint, he went and conferred with the rest of the OBOE staff members, who stood around me and provided me with an intervention.
"An-do-ryu-sensei. We like you, but your lack of knowledge is an embarrassment."
I was then taught everything I know about rice--except how to cook it.
Japanese rice when it is ready for harvest, bows deep from the weight of the grain (is a grain a vegetable?). The honourable rice bows to the farmer. How Japanese of it. I'm sure all rice plants do that, but how Japanese of the folks to notice it bows. I think it's pretty cool.
Japanese rice is a long-grained, sticky rice that clumps together after cooking.
American rice comes in both a long grain, and a short grain, and is not sticky, meaning that should you try and pick up a clump with chopsticks, it won't clump.
Indian rice is a short grain rice and is sticky, but because it's a short-grain, and because it's not Japanese, this variety is apparently not tasty.
As for the American varieties, I have been told that even despite its lack of stickiness, it is not a very tasty fruit... vegetable... what the heck is it?... Personally, I believe it's because America is not superior to Japan when it comes to the production of rice. (In our next blog, Andrew will describe the use of American English in Japanese society). The lack of stickiness is a major factor in the Japanese not wanting to import American rice into Japan--who needs non-sticky rice that is really useless when one is using chopsticks? It doesn't matter if the US might also produce a sticky rice for the Japanese market--it's just not tasty.
That is what I was told by darn near anyone with an opinion on rice in Japan (which is everyone). I just wonder where they got a chance to try the US rice? Pride in their country would not really allow them to sample it, so where are they getting their information?  
Apparently the media is to blame. Newspapers, magazine, and television. Oh, how could TV let me down so?
Anyhow, okay, you're gonna love this one... the Kanji (Chinese-derived symbols) used for rice is THIS.
When writing America, the Japanese use: Amerika (亜米利加) or for short, Beikoku (米国), which literally means "Rice Country". Rice = America = Rice.
They hate American rice--though they do respect America--but have given America the same symbol as rice. Confusing, ne?
Anyhow, I decided to see if I could find out just what it was that gave Japanese rice its wonderful Japanese... I can't call it flavour... because honestly, it tastes like rice... so let's just call it riceyness.
One morning after spending an enjoyable time at Ashley's I rode my bicycle home at around 5AM. The sun had been up for an hour--there's no day-light savings time here (really, it's the land of the rising sun. Ya can't screw with the sun!). My 22 minute journey takes me through 21-minutes of rice paddies.
Anyhow, there it was, clear as a stream. I saw Japanese farmers peeing in their rice field--several farmers, in fact. And it wasn't just golden arcs, either. Nope. The hunchbacked women who spend all day long hunched over picking weeds or planting rice plants had their dresses scrunched high as they let go jets of urine. There is no real morning mist in Japan, it's merely warm pee hitting the wet rice paddies.
So, is that what makes Japanese rice so tasty? Is there a sake-flavoured rice? There must be.
What do you like urine?
Somewhere outstanding in his field,
Andrew stream of consciousness Joseph

Pee S: The two drums are representative of how rice used to be bundled back in the samurai days. It still is, actually - for show. These two drums are actually sake containers... appropriate as sake is fermented rice wine.
PPS: Title was brought to my attention by Motley Crue.

Old Time Rock And Roll

(Here’s a story I wrote after viewing a painting of a small boy chasing after a rabbit in the mountains. I did do a bit of research, too. This is one look at the rural way of life in Japan in the 1600’s… because, like I was there. Ego, eh?).

STILL LIFE
With his axe in hand, the ragged, bare-foot boy leaped over the two-metre wide chasm in hot pursuit.
His prey was a plump grey rabbit with a wildly tufted chest. Had Saburo looked below in his instant of leaping, he would have seen the raging river over 1,000 metres below.
It was autumn in Hokkaido (northern region of eastern Japan), and the multi-coloured death suits of the trees were unable to distract him from his appointed task.
His father and two older brothers had traveled southwest to join the Osaka Wars as hired swordsmen 10 years ago. Saburo was now the man of the house… he was only 12-years-old.
His mother and twin sister, Mai, depended on him for food. Mai worked the Daiymo’s (samurai lord) rice paddies in the valley below for a pittance, while his mother took in a few coppers by doing laundry in the freezing river. Survival was a day-to-day concern.
With the cold winter nearly upon the land, Saburo knew the rabbit would be both a welcome meal and a warm garment.
A trivial matter like a leap across a gorge could not stop him. Even if he fell, and death be inevitable, it would at least be a release from the harshness of his existence. But no. He had his mother and sister to think of. No sacrifice could be too large.
With goat-like ability, Saburo kept his quarry close. He knew his axe would only have one chance to find its mark.
On seemingly tireless legs, the pursuer and his prey ran along the mountainous trails and through the brush.
Suddenly, the impossible happened.
The rabbit’s over-sized feet lost its grip on a gravely stretch of rock.
Pouncing and deftly swinging the axe in one motion, he caught his prize.
Tying its legs to a stick found nearby, Saburo ran back to his home.

Somewhere staring at a painting,
Andrew Joseph
Today's blog title is by Bob Segar & The Silver Bullet Band.