Originally titled: Moldy Cheese And Fine Wine
This one takes place during my third-year of rife in Japan. There will be a few things similar to one blog episode written previously - just know that it's actually a different event - with many predictable results.
The day before I was to debark for yet another Assistant English Teacher (AET) Mid-Year orgy, I mean conference, I celebrated my birthday. I was 28-years-old. Like most of my 28th birthdays, I spent it at the
Utsunomiya International Festival... an event celebrating all things
gaijin (foreigner) in Tochigi-ken's capital city, Utsunomiya.
There in typical 28-year-old fashion, I dragged screaming little kids up onto a stage to perform Simon Sez and the Hokey Pokey with me, though not at the same time. Just as we were about to begin, a blast of feedback was emitted through the speakers. Now that I was more mature, I writhed in fake pain on the ground. It got a laugh, so what the hey,
ne (eh)?
I guess starting my new-found non-youth in this fashion was a good indicator of how I was going to act at the orgy... damn, that keeps slipping out. I meant the conference. Turns out, it wasn't really that good an indicator after all. Sort of.
So... even though I no longer remember where the heck the conference was, I have the rest of the trip written down, as apparently I was a bad boy. Sort of.
My first night at the conference was spent with my friend Colin McKay (a great guy from Calgary, who was a couple years older than me, though just starting his second-year here... he was a senior high school AET in Kuroiso, a town about a 20-minute car ride north of Ohtawara-shi. He and I were hanging out, having a few drinks when we came across this guy from another province, who had apparently never heard the name Colin before. here, for your amusement is that conversation Mr. Kansas had with Colin.
"So... where does the name Colin come from?"
Colin answers: "From Scotland."
"Oh, what part of Ireland is that in?"
"It's in Scotland."
"Is that in Ireland?"
Colin is already getting steamed: "No, it's in Scotland."
"How do you spell Colin?
"See-Oh-El-Eye-En."
"Isn't that Coleen?"
"Huh?!" answers Colin, screwing up his face. We looked at each other and then back at this dumb American (I know, not all American's are dumb - but this guy was!). Colin and I politely excused ourselves to go and get drunk.
Now... somehow, the two of us ended up in the room of these two women. Colin is drunk, but you'd never know it except from a redness in his face. Me? You could tell.
Me: "So, you're Jewish?"
Woman: "Yes."
Me: "So... you know my grandmother was a Jew."
Colin: "That's your best line??!!"
Apparently I tried to pick this woman up by bragging about my dead grandmother's religion. Oy vey! Worst pick-up line ever!
Colin ushered a dejected Andrew out of their room, and back down to the bar.
It was a good thing that he did, because I needed to get some practice in.
The next night, I got into yet another classic blitzkrieg sake drinking challenge with Mr. Arakawa, a bigshot at the
Kensho (the educational office) for I think Tochigi - or perhaps he was
THE liaison between the Ministry of Education and the
JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme. Whatever his position, the boy could drink. Last time we had 47 drinks apiece - but since we had each started earlier by ourselves, we gave up at 36 shots of sake, called it a draw and went our merry ways. Last time we had nearly 50 shots apiece.
How the two of us could walk, let alone breathe is one of life's many mysteries... He went to yet another meeting, while I went dancing, threatened a bouncer, insulted another AET, hurt my knee dancing, strained my neck while tossing my very long hair about to the beat of the music... ouch. At least I felt old, even if I didn't my age.
the next morning, though, I was chipper, and Arakawa-san had a headache. Old man.
The next night, Colin and I were up to our gills swimming in alcohol again. I want to make sure you know that Colin isn't normally a drinker to such excess - and neither am I - this was a special event. And I had just turned 28. I think that was what Colin was doing for me - he was helping me celebrate.
So... after the dinner, and the beers and toasting
et al, Colin and I were still on the prowl for more beer - I mean, this stuff was free, so why go out anywhere else when you'll only have to pay for it?
So, we began taking half-empty beer bottles from other tables, but when we determined that searching other tables for beer was cutting into our drinking time, we began to find un-drunk glasses of beer - and poured those into our own glasses. Yeech.
And then there was a young lady I had a crush on - the beautiful redhead Trish (more on her later!) (I had a crush on a lot of women, didn't I?). Because she liked me as a wacky friend - and perhaps because I was more toast than bread, I delivered an insulting, blurry note (I couldn't read it!) from her to some guy from another prefecture who had been trying to pick her up these past few days...
Naturally, everyone seemed to think that the note was from me - perhaps because the lovely Trish signed my name to it.
By the way... Trish, who was also Jewish later told me she wouldn't have fallen for my pick-up line, either. Good to know. Click
HERE to read some more bad pick-up lines).
Anyhow, early the next morning, I was forced to visit the hotel's lost and found and get my watch, coat, gold pen, a few drunken notes I had scrawled (this blog), my liver and my self-respect. Needless to say...
Somewhere still looking,
Andrew Joseph
Today's title is brought to you by ZZ Top.
TRESHOMBRES PS: You might think that now, nearly 20 years later that I would be some sort of full-blown alcoholic. Sadly... I mean, hurrah! I've had less than 30 drinks over the past 10 years... which wasn't even a night's work back in Japan on those special occasions, of course.
PPS: What's with my original title? Obviously, those are things that get better with age.
PPPS: Worst pick-up line ever!
