Rocket Man

Cripes. It's Sunday, September 1, 1991 - school starts tomorrow. I live in the small city of Ohtawara in Tochigi Prefecture in Japan. I've been here for 13 months, and I have greatly enjoyed my time here in this strange but wonderful country. The only thing that screws me up is the woman situation.

It's true that I came to this country nearly 26-years-old and still more virginal than a Catholic girl's school, but quickly got over that - though I wonder if I could become a born-again virgin, y'know, just for old time's sake. I've already hit double digits, despite having an unsteady relationship with Ashley for 10 months. Every time we were off again, I was on again with some woman who would literally throw herself at me. Crap like that never happened back in Canada. Never... I could have been on fire in my Toronto-area high school cafeteria or university or college, and not one single woman would have even noticed. Sometimes Canada is a really stupid country.

Even now in 2011, how come I never get hit on? Are women that lazy here - sit back and let the men come onto them, shoot them down and choose the one guy who looks super good but knows it? Welcome to Toronto's bar scene.

In Japan, it's a rare event when I don't have some woman try and talk to me at a bar. It's even rarer that I don't have a girlfriend or regular or even semi-regular sexual partner - but that's what is going on in my life here in Ohtawara. As such... I'm moody and agitated.

Up at 10:30AM, my friend Matthew who lives five minutes away comes over to my apartment. We then walk over to his place and get a ride from his girlfriend Takako to the Asian Rural Institute in the north end of town. They are hosting a picnic at Shinoyama Koen (Shinoyama Park). The Institute is a place for farmers from India, China, Pakistan, Indonesia - heck - Asia - to learn Japanese farming techniques so that they can go back home and apply it there.

Ohtawara, despite only having 50,000 people in it, seems to have a plethora of foreigners living in its boundaries. Along with the 12 people at the Institute (I've never seen so many brown people in one area before - I'm actually from white middle-class suburbia in Etobicoke - a city within Metropolitan Toronto and as of 2011 am still pretty much the only visible minority on the block... some 37 years after I first came to the area), there are also a lot of Japanese businesses (technical types) that have a few gaijin (foreigners) working at their plant for short contracts (from Canada and the US mainly). And there's Matthew & myself who live in Ohtawara, a few New Zealand bartenders, and others scattered around... it's no wonder this burg has an Ohtawara International Friendship Association!

And yet... despite the preponderance of foreigners, most of Ohtawara still seems stunned when they see me, as I am still often the first foreigner they have ever seen. I guess I get out a lot. (Matthew, too!).

At the picnic: It's hot out today. Bloody hot. India in August hot. Hovering at around 39 Celsius.As soon as I get there, I go for a beer and relax. It's a good thing I never (ever) get hang-overs, or I'd be a dead man every day in this country!

As I sit by myself, I overhear people from the Institute talking with Business foreigners with some Japanese locals (there are a few in Ohtawara) about me. They talk in Japanese and in English. I can't speak Japanese worth a damn, but it appears as though I understand a heck of a lot more than I should. When the heck did that happen?

These people are gossiping about me with me sitting maybe 15 feet (4.6 meters) away! They are talking about the number of girlfriends I seem to have.

I don't correct them on that, but do state that I currently have no girlfriends, and don't want one.

My friend Naoko.

Naoko, a Japanese lady friend with the Friendship Association, is ever nearby and asks me 'Why?" I tell her it's because people are always spying on me or gossiping about me, and how could I do that to another woman. Naoko quickly runs off and disappears in the crowd. And it seems like there is a crowd of maybe 100 people.

Suddenly the party-goers at the park, part like the Red Sea for Moses, and I see Naoko talking with Shoko, the very pretty, shy and quiet Japanese local who likes me and me her. Shoko is one of the students in my extra-curricular night time English conversation class I teach (and get paid handsomely) for the Friendship Association.

Feeling stupid from the alcohol and the heat, I want to get away from the gossipy gossipers, so I move off and try and hide. But, Matthew, ever-concerned for my mental health, follows me to ensure I am not by myself. Apparently I yelled my responses back to the gossipers.

Then Shoko comes over and quickly asks me out on a date!? God I love this country. I had always been reluctant to go out with her because I was afraif of the language barrier. Shoko was too, or maybe she just always figured I had a girlfriend and didn't want to be part of the revolving sextrade I had going for me in my apartment building.

Cool. Next Friday she and I will go out for drinks over at the 4C, if I am not too tired from my daily routine of working three hours a day team-teaching (with a Japanese teacher of English) at one of my seven junior high schools (chu gakko).

Despite this bit of happiness injected into my bloodstream, I still act and perhaps feel quiet, shy or aloof. I don't mingle much. I guess I'm still upset about people talking about me within earshot expecting that I wouldn't hear or understand them.

Even back in 1990 and 1991, I had always threatened Ashley (and others) by stating: "Never, ever piss off a writer." Twenty years later, I guess I'm proving my point.

After the picnic, Matthew and I head back to my place and watch some Sherlock Holmes episodes I had taped on my bilingual television and VCR (video tape recorder). We then go to some place called the Orient Club to exercise for three hours. I have no idea why Matthew even knows of this place, but he knows a way more about Ohtawara than I do, as he seems to have more of an explorers spirit, and a greater Japanese language ability than I will ever have. I guess that's why he has a Japanese girlfriend, and I only have a first date with a quiet, shy and reserved cutie pie.

The Orient Club has light cycles, treadmills, stair masters and some other stuff. It's a smallish place, but very clean and well run. We go for a swim, a sauna and then an onsen (it's like a hot tub but a bit bigger). I weigh myself when w start. It's 76.45 kilograms (168.45 pounds), and when we are done, I'm down to 75.85 kilograms (167.22 pounds)! My blood pressure seems a little high at 143/80. My body is hurting, but with the weight loss (I'm not fat! Yay!) I feel good.

Matthew and when finished, go over to the fastfood restaurant Mosburger. It's my favourite comfort food, and Matthew seems to know that. Give me convenience or give me death! Of course our supper blows all of our training, but who cares?!

My mom and dad call me at 12:30AM to let me know she arrived home safely in Toronto after mom came out to visit me here in Japan. Despite the lateness of the hours, I don't care - I couldn't sleep anyway... thinking about Karen, Kristine, Ashley, Shoko and my threesome with two hot Thai women a couple of weeks ago. That's why I'm so moody!

For five days in Thailand, I was getting sex four plus times a day for five days. Now I am not. Karen wants to be boyfriend girlfriend (and I just want sex); Ashley offers sex when she wants to as a friend-with-benefits (I also want a relationship); Kristine - I want a relationship, but she lives 500 kilometres away, and I think she's probably too good for me; and Shoko who I assume wants a relationship with me (but I'm unsure what I want with her - sex, yes, but a relationship with a nice Japanese girl would be a step up for me here in Japan - I am concerned about how we are going to communicate with each other when we have a language barrier. A physical relationship is fine, but I do want more.

Hmmm. Karen is offering me that (and my mom likes her; didn't like Ashley; probably would have loved Kristine; and been luke-warm with Shoko due to communication difficulties) but something about Karen is off-putting. Probably my need to have Ashley back as a girlfriend. I am so screwed up in the head still.

Hey Matthew - I don't think there is enough Mosburger in the world to make me feel better.

Somewhere restless,
Andrew Joseph
Today's blog title is by Elton John: BLAST-OFF!
PS: I don't sleep well again - a recurring event here in Japan... either due to me thinking too much or not enough.

I'm So Tired

I'm going to combine two days today....  mostly because, well...

It's Wednesday, August 21, 1991 here in Ohtawara-shi, Tochigi-ken, Japan. Today, is the first time I've been alone in about a month or more.

I've always been a bit of a loner. Sure I enjoy company, but I also like being able to just be by myself... you know, to just be.

The past 13 months here in Japan have been hectic. I've had a girlfriend or 12 since first arriving, drunk more booze than I had ever done in my first 25-1/2 years, eaten a lot of strange, but wonderful foods, and have had the time of my life. I've had girlfriends, stalkers, uninvited visitors, visitors, strange phone calls, learned how to cook, clean, do laundry and iron.

Of course, today being the first time I've been alone in so long, I'm still sick... I picked up the runs while in Thailand. Never ever have an drink (of Coke) containing ice cubes. Sure... perhaps do so at a good hotel or restaurant, but I had mine up near the Burma border in a small podunk of a village. Mistake.

That was eight days ago. I am still sick, but just not so bad. Perhaps it's because I'm not eating.

I do a load of laundry (the medicine for my mind), do some rough drafts of It's A Wonderful Rife for the Tochigi-ken JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme monthly newsletter I am the editor for (The Tatami Times) - I haven't written in a while, and it makes me feel antsy.

Pretty cool huh? I feel antsy because I haven't written, while a mere three years ago, the thought of being a writer/journalist was the farthest thing from my mind. Japan? I never thought about that until a year and a half a go. Never knew I wanted to work or live or even visit there. Strange old world we live in, eh?

I laze around all day long hoping that Mathew or Ashley will phone. Ashley is my ex, and current friend-with-benefits. She arrived back in Japan yesterday evening (she's jet-lagged, I'm sure) (I wonder if she realizes I stocked her fridge for her so she'd have food and drink when she got back, realizing that she'd be too tired to go out shopping? Probably not.)

Matthew calls at 3PM, and we small talk. Despite being a loner, it's good to hear other people's voices - and Matthew has been a god-send for me. Considering the other people on JET who hate each other and never do anything with each other even though they live in the same town or city, I really lucked in.

I go to sleep for a few hours and ignore Kanemaru-san's frantic ringing of my doorbell at 6PM when he comes to take me to kyudo (Japanese archery) practice. I love Kanemaru-san. He's my boss at the Ohtawara Board of Education, but I really don't like kyudo. I just don't want to disappoint him by quitting.. but at least I have an excuse this evening... I'm sick.

And what is with the Japanese ability to not understand that someone is unavailable.... I mean ringing the doorbell 30 times? It's a 3-bedroom apartment... if I don't get to you after four rings, I'm either not home, having sex or dead! And the telephone... a gaijin (foreigner) will call and hang-up after seven rings or so... a Nihonjin (Japanese person) will let it ring 20 or 30 times. Granted, they are correct - I am home, but maybe I don't want to be bothered. When I do get calls I ignore, it's because I am sick or boinking a woman—two excellent reasons not to answer the door or telephone. I've never been sick of boinking a woman, though with Kristine here the last few days, I was actually to sick to boink.

Man... I had it all planned out! Right to when she left for home, I had Ashley back. Stupid ice cubes.

The dysentery is taking its toll. I feel lighter, but not skinnier. My stomach is puffing out. I could be a poster boy for starving kids.

I sit and watch videos late into the night while feeling sorry for myself.

Twenty years later, I would just say to 1991 Andrew... "You idiot! You're in Japan!  You've had more sex in 13 months than some people have in a lifetime! Plus a three-way! Plus sex with a stalker! Do you know who has sex with a stalker? A man does! Men are idiots. Now stop feeling sorry for yourself and enjoy the day! You're in Japan and the opportunity may never come your way again!"

Of course, my yelling at 1991 Andrew doesn't change the fact that he still has some growing up to do.

It's Thursday, August 22, 1991.

I get up and do some of my puzzle of The Tower of Babel... a 5000 piece one that is being more difficult to do than the one I did of the Universe (all black with little white splotches for stars).

I wish someone would call. You'll notice I don't call anyone. Idiot.

Teh pills Kristine gave me a couple of days ago are only partially working. That means they aren't. As such, I threaten myself into going into work and ask to be taken in to a doctor. But I don't. It's not just a Japanese doctor thing. I never like doctors - period.

"Well, Andrew... what seems to be wrong?
"I don't know. Isn't that your job?"

Here with a language barrier, it's worse. Not only do doctors smoke in hospitals - what is this the 1950s? - but every medicine I have ever received from a hospital comes in a waxy envelope the size of a disposable razor blade... do people in 2011 still know what a disposable razor blade is? HERE.

No one calls, and I don't call anyone. It's literally the first time since arriving in Japan that I don't talk to another human being. I did yell at the dog across the street to shut up - I even yelled it in Japanese! - but he ignored me.

And what about Ashley? Is she still jetlagged? Doesn't she want to see me? What about thanking me for the food? It's okay... Y10,000 (Cdn/US $100) of food is no big deal. That was sarcasm. How do you write sarcasm in print? Italics?

Somewhere with too much time on my hands,
Andrew Joseph
Today's blog title is by The Beatles: I told you I could do them for every mood!: NOZZZZZZZ

Earthquake Warning APP

With Japan getting hit by some 5000 earthquakes a year - and its population already a little shaky after the massive 9.0 Magnitude earthquake of March 11, 2011, many citizens are getting their own high-tech earthquake warning device - the Yure Kuru app for the mobile phone.

Yure Kuru, which means 'shaking coming' was developed by RC Solution Co., a Tokyo company that specializes in providing disaster-related information services.

While it has not yet created a Godzilla-warning app, the Yure Kuru app has proven to be quite popular, with some 1.5 million subscribers--in fact, it's more than that, as the company stopped counting... though this Blog suspects they are still counting their yen. Prior to March 11, 2011, there were only 100,000 subscribers.

How does it work? Based on technology developed by Japan's Meteorological Agency and its many railway companies, when an earthquake is imminent, an alarm on the phone is triggered (The Rife blog hopes the phones are not set to vibrate) and a window on the subscribers phone pops up telling them that in approximately 10 seconds an earthquake of a certain strength will hit. Subscribers can set the level on the app themselves at what minimum magnitude of earthquake they can be warned for.

Not only does the app give subscriber's a warning of an earthquake and its strength, but it notes where the epicenter will be located.

The app's icon is symbolized by a cartoon catfish (see image above) which is - according to Japanese legends - supposed to be the cause of earthquakes. You can read all about that HERE.

At this time, I don not believe there is a Yure Kuru app available outside of Japanese - however... there may be something similar... Check THIS out as just one example. There must be more.

Somewhere this Luddite has a catfish,
Andrew Joseph
PS: It's true... I don't have a cellphone. No one calls anyway.
PPS: Ten second warning? Is that enough time to kiss your ass goodbye?
PPPS: Rather than purchase your own earthquake warning app - you could just listen for those with the app to suddenly start screaming in panic. You may have less time to react - but keep in mind... by the time the Yure Kuru subscriber manages to get their phone out of their purse or coat pocket, you probably already know there's an earthquake.
PPPPS: Of course -  this Yure Kuru app is pretty cool. It's not just to warn you that there is an earthquake directly underneath you - it's to warn you that somewhere in the country there is an earthquake about to hit. It's fair warning to make sure you check in on your loved ones. Or your family. Hey... it's not always the same thing.

Signs

It's Monday June 24, 1991 and I'm at Wakakusa Chu Gakko (Wakakusa Junior High School) in my city of Ohtawara in Tochigi-ken (Tochigi Prefecture). I'm an assistant English teacher on the Japan Exchange & Teaching Programme, having arrived in Japan back in late July 1990.  
I am so freaking tired.
Not only has it been a whirlwind past few weeks involving the break-up of myself an my girlfriend Ashley Benning, but I've had a week-long fling with a Japanese university student named Junko who turned out to be a tad possessive and who stalked me down to Tokyo Disneyland this past weekend. I had to pretend to be bisexual - which turned her off. Women - have been causing me to drink more than a healthy dose or seven of alcohol, and I'm really quite stressed about the fairer sex. While I still have a smile on my face every day, the smile is strained, as I am not feeling as chipper as I did when I first arrived here almost a year ago.
I'm also not sleeping much. I did have a dream about Ashley last night, though - extra horny.
It felt real - like she wanted me back as much as I wanted her back. I could feel her breath, her lips, the wetness of my tongue on her cherry red ni-... well... you know what a sex dream is.
When I awoke at 6:30AM, I cracked my neck seven places to the right and two places to the left - and felt better for having done it.
At school, I played baseball with the students and learned from the teachers that the Special Education kids are setting up an aquarium.
I love fish. (Here in 2011, I've been killing fish for 42 years).
This is the only junior high school in Ohtawara-shi (of seven in total) that actually has a specific separate teaching arrangement for these mentally-challenged kids. The other schools - they tend to make then stay in the regular classes - which may be good for their self-esteem, but the school work is far above their capabilities.
Anyhow... for some reason I ask if I can buy these kids at Wakakusa the goldfish for their new aquarium.
The teachers say yes.
Looking back (in 2011)... I'm unsure WHY I did this - except to thank them for letting me hang out and eat lunch with them at lunch... but perhaps it would have been better if these kids got to pick out their own fish. It never entered my mind back in 1991.
After four classes, I go home - driven by Tomoura-sensei (teacher) - the head English teacher and good friend. Despite being mentally, physically and emotionally tired, I ride my bicycle out to Nakada's pet shop and buy seven goldfish - one for each kid, plus one for my own aquarium at home. I put all of the goldfish into my own aquarium until tomorrow morning when I will head back to Wakakusa.
At home, I talk with Mari Ann about my upcoming trip to stay with her a night before we are to go and get our work Visas and check out a party at the Canadian Embassy in Tokyo. I also talk with Ashley about a dinner date with her tomorrow. I am pretty excited about it!
I head out to my night school conversational class and try to teach them the concept of time - it proves to be rather difficult.
I go home and watch a few videos. The telephone rings - I pick it up, but there's no answer on the other end. But I do hear quiet breathing.

Somewhere not seeing the signs,
Andrew Joseph
Today's blog title is by: the Five Man Electrical Band, a 1970s rock group from the Canadian capital of Ottawa. SIGNS

Light My Fire

I was wondering when it would happen. My friends had expected it almost from the instant I moved into my apartment here in Ohtawara-shi (city of Ohtawara), Tochigi-ken (Province of Tochigi), Nihon (Japan).
I had a lot of frayed octopus cords lying about the apa-to (apartment), but still... you never think it'll happen to you. And, will wonders never cease... it didn't.
One cloudy day in Ohtawara (that's redundant, it's always cloudy in Ohtawara), after peeping through my front door's peephole weren't waiting to waylay... I mean, speak to me, I opened up the door and walked out. Out into the thickest, most acrid, foul-smelling smoke I'd ever encountered since my last officer party two days earlier.
This time, however, the black smoke was billowing out from my neighbour's apartment!
Uh-oh! A fire! Just what I needed. Everytime I step out my door to by razor blades (only then), something happens. Fortunately for me and my writing, I need razor blades quite often.
Since I'm not Japanese, I decided to get involved.
Fortunately, I had just learned the Chinese/Japanese Kanji symbol for fire - 火... let's see... that's pronounced 'Ka', right? Like in the translation for Tuesday - 火曜日?
I began pounding on my neighbour's door yelling "Ka! Ka! Ka! Ka!", but there was no answer. I tried the door - feeling it first for heat (none), I turned the doorknob figuring the Japanese rarely lock them - but this time, it was locked! I guess living next door to a foreigner (gaijin) does have its drawbacks.
Next, I ran back into my apartment, dialed 9-1-1 - which is what we in North America dial to call for the police, ambulance or fire department. But not here in Japan or other countries.
As I hung up the phone and was about to dial again, the phone rang. I screamed into the phone: "Ka! Ka! Ka! Ka!"
Pausing for a second to catch my breath, I heard a "Herro" on the other end. Nertz. It was that student of mine from Nozaki Chu Gakko (Nozaki Junior High School) who liked to call me up and not speak English. He was/is mentally-challenged - but then who isn't? - but a heck of a nice boy with absolutely no sense of timing.
Without saying a word to him, I hang-up and dial 1-1-9! A voice on the other end says: "Konichiwa. (Hello). Chotto matte kudasai. (Just a moment, please)". Strains of Greensleeves stun my already stunned senses. I've been put on hold.
Once again, I raced out of my apartment and pounded on the neighbour's door. I then ran to the units of some other neighbours and pounded on their doors.
I could hear them inside! I could hear their eyeballs scratch up against the inside of the peephole as they stood on a chair to peep out. I screamed: "Ka! Ka! Ka! Ka!", but no one opened their door.
I ran down the stairs (I'm on the third floor) - never take the elevator! - and ran into the liquor shop directly below my place. I yelled: "Ka! Ka! Ka! Ka!"  to the old man who runs the store. He looks to his 30-year-old son before handing me a large bottle of sake (Japanese rice wine).
Quickly realizing they have missed the point, I thank them for the booze, bowing deeply, grab the old man's cigarette lighter from the counter and set fire to a display of HOPE cigarettes (Hope? Hope for what? Hope I don't die from cancer?).
The father and son both yell "Bakayaro (stupid idiot)!" and put the boxes of lit cigarettes into their mouth. Old habits, I guess.
The son, between gigantic puffs, then asks why I set fire to their display (in English, by the way!) I tell him in broken English (as apparently I've forgotten how to speak it in the last couple of years) that there is a fire upstairs!
The son screams: "Ay Carumba!" (I had lent him a video of The Simpson's) and calls the fire department for me.
His end of the translated phone call went something like this: "Fire! At Zuiko Haitsu! ... Where is it?... Uh, at the corner of two nameless streets... No... not that one... the one with the strange car... yes, that's right. The blue one!"
Seconds later (I forgot I actually live quite close to the fire station), the fire engine pulls up. The chief confers with the old man, who is still puffing away on 20 or more cigarettes. next, the firemen haul out their equipment and begin shooting a jet of water into my apartment on the third floor!
Bakayaro!
After 10 minutes of translation, I'm able to convince them that it's not my apartment on fire, but rather the one with the black smoke pouring out of it next door. They cart the equipment upstairs - they took the elevator! - and see the thick acrid smoke pouring out from an apartment. In unison, they yell: "Kaji!"
Okay... so that's how you say 'fire'.
They rush to the door and ring the doorbell. My neighbour unlatches the door and peers out. The chief asks: "Kaji desu ka (Is it a fire?)".
The husband smiles and says it's only the wife's cooking.
Not understanding why my neighbours didn't open up the door for me, I got the old man's son to write a translation for me.
It turns out (more translations) that with me yelling: "Ka! Ka! Ka! Ka!", they thought I was a large crow beating its wings on the door trying to get in to eat their crying child.

Somewhere sitting on a wet couch,
Andrew Joseph
PS: Originally entitled Come On Baby Light My Kaji, this blog's title is by the Doors: LIGHTMYFIRE.

Ghostbusters Theme Song

Telephone cards.
Terehon ka-do (Tay-ray-hon Kah-doe) is how the Japanese pronounce it.
I must admit that before heading over to Japan back in 1990, I had never seen a telephone card before. Now, that may be because I had no one to call, or that I always kept change in my wallet.
But here in the Land of the Rising Sun, the humble telephone card is a major industry.
Whenever I did any sightseeing in Japan, I would usually have my camera in hand to snap off a roll of pictures. Remember that this is before digital cameras! Just in case my camera screwed up or in case I ran out of film, I would also purchase postcards.
Okay, that last excuse is bull-crap. There is a stereotype of the Japanese tourist with the camera - that's a reality... because well, what else do tourists do.... and it just so happens that the Japanese do a lot of touring. Anyhow, Japan had vending machines darn near everywhere.
Out of film?  Oh look, there's a vending machine selling every type of film made by Fuji Films... as well as disposable cameras with and without flash offering shots of 12, 18, 24 and 36. But I'll write more about vending machines in Japan in another blog shortly.
Back to the long-winded story. In case I couldn't find postcards, I could usually get my hands on a telephone card depicting the local sights, the sounds and smells. Okay, maybe just the sights.
Sure you could purchase a 100 Yen telephone card that simply acted as a telephone card... or you could collect them... which is what the telephone card industry did to really have its sales take off.
Japanese telephone cards depict beautiful photography, wonderful line art, and often the latest in printing technologies.
I'd like you to take a look at my telephone card collection - MOSHI MOSHI. (If you will recall, saying the words moshi moshi is how the Japanese say hello when on the telephone. Saying the word moshi once apparently means insect - so perhaps it means "sorry to bug you". Just kidding, of course).
Are you back? Okay, I'll wait....
Okay, some pretty wild stuff, huh? Sure there are wonderful cards showing off places I've visited. But there are also cards showing off movies, television shows, record albums, personal photographs made into cards, and other promotional items.
And then there are the lenticular telephone cards - the ones with motion; and the 3D ones, and my personal favourite: the one made of lacquered wood. Here, I'll show you that one AGAIN.
It consists of strips of very thin wood placed in an artistic pattern and then lacquered to set it in place. It's supposed to be a functional card, too.
The cards themselves, while good for 50 or 100 Yen's worth of phone calls, typically cost more than that - especially when one is purchasing a more artistic graphic... which is why it has become another item for fad collectors like myself to have to have.
Oh well, at least they are getting some use now.
Oh, and should you wonder how to use a pay phone in Japan, check out this ITEM.
So... what's the point of all of this? Nothing really. I just wanted to show you another aspect of Japan that few non-Japanese would ever think about. And now you know.

Somewhere looking for change,
Andrew Joseph
Today's title is by Ray Parker Jr. - you may see a video of it here: BUSTIN'MAKESMEFEELGOOD. Man, I used to love that song, but what a lousy video!
PS: In three years of living in Japan, I never used a telephone card. Who the heck was I gonna call? A Ghost in the Machine?
PPS: Y'know... scanning the cards, loading it to the web-site, and writing captions took me six hours... it only took 30 minutes to write the blog! It shows? Who ya gonna call?

What I Say

Hai. How y’all doing?
I learned that phrase from my southern belle girlfriend, Ashley. Actually, I learned it from Ellie Mae Clampett, but regardless, I think it amuses us both when I talk like she does. Probably. What, me worry?
(I’ve been here in Ohtawara for about three weeks now and still haven’t done what I wanted to do in the opening line of my very first blog. But rest assured that it happens, and that it was very enjoyable for us. ‘Nuff said).
Almost everyone who has had a chance to visit Japan, has probably been stymied by the dreaded language barrier. Most of the many little problems I have faced in Japan have occurred because I can’t, like, dig the lingo.
In order to make myself be understood—I don’t appear to be trying very hard to learn the language—I tend to speak in broken English.
How stupid is it that I come here to teach English, but because of my own inadequacies, I am unable to do so properly because I talk in incomplete sentences to make myself understood.
It’s reached the point where I now talk to other foreigners using broken English: “Hello. Let’s go restaurant.”
I know it drives everyone crazy, but in my defense, I know what I’m doing and I enjoy ticking people off. It also gives me an excuse not to study Japanese.
Another problem I have encountered is with my telephone. Every night since I arrived in Ohtawara, a Japanese woman calls me and says “Good morning” to me. That’s nice, right? Unfortunately, that’s all she knows how to say in English. Heck, she doesn’t even call me in the mornings. Sometimes, just for laughs, she puts her daughters/girlfriends on to say hello.
Since they only speak Japanese, I am completely at my wits end. I don’t wish to be impolite, but these agonizing “conversations” go on for about 10 minutes, until they pass out from my scintillating conversation.
In order to be amusing, I screwed up. I purchased a small Japanese/English phrase book, of which I would slowly ready a few colloquial lines to my new friend. Even with my horrible enunciation, my attempts at speaking Japanese garnered extensive retorts, so much so that I now made each call last about 30 minutes, now.
Two of the phrases I’ve repeated include: “Boy, am I absolutely knackered” (I guess the book was written by a Brit!), and “Are you single? I am”. Needless to say, after I say these things in Japanese, I get a long, drawn out response, during which all I can do is sit with my phone in my hand, nod my head and say “hai” (yes) a lot.
For the purposes of this blog, it’s a good thing I have always considered myself to be a “weirdness-magnet”. People like to talk to me, for some reason. Here in Japan, it seems more pronounced. If I’m by myself or with a gaggle of other foreigners (I think the correct term is a JET of AETS), I’m the only one who gets spoken to.
It’s great when it’s beautiful Japanese women (though that hasn’t happened yet), but usually it’s just locals who are curious about the stranger within their midst. A short history note will follow in the next blog, okay? It will help explain a bit about why foreigners are actually refereed to as gaijin, a term that actually means “outsider”
Anyhow, after being talked to, becaue I don’t understand anything yet, I just nod my head and say hai a lot it appears that they may have asked me a question. That’s when I tilt my head to the side and repeat the last word they said as if I am confused. Which I am.
It doesn’t matter that the last word in every Japanese question is the word “ka”, which is used to designate that the sentence is now a question.
I smile hopelessly and say one of three words/phrases I have learned to say: wakirimasen (which means, “I don’t know”). The question-maker person always smile at his own stupidity for believing he was talking to someone smart and says “okay” in English. Smiles, says Hello and walks off. Ahhh, isn’t cultural exchange wonderful?
By the way, the other two phrases I have learned are: “Ohio” (‘morning!’, which I learned from WKRP In Cincinnati); and “Tasukete kudasai. Michi ni mayotte shimaimashita.” (Help. I am lost.)

Somewhere still too lazy to learn Japanese,
Andrew Joseph
Title is by Ray Charles.