Working against time - owing to the fact that I am only afforded the luxury of one week (actually four days) to visit a junior high school to team-teach - I really had to move quickly to try and get this Japanese teacher of English to come over to the dark side (to quote a Sith Lord).
Fortunately for me, my students at Nozaki Junior High School seemed fully aware of my infatuation with Kikuchi-sensei and were, much to my chagrin, working on my behalf to convince her I was an alright kindda guy - even though I was a gaijin (outsider/foreigner).
Actually... that whole foreigner-thing didn't seem to enter into things as far as the students were concerned. I liked them. They like me. They liked Kikuchi-sensei. And knew I liked her. They just needed to let her know that she should like me, too.
As seen in the LAST blog, their bombardment of her of all things Andrew must have worked, as on the Thursday - the last day I would visit that school for another month, she agreed to go out with me, and promised to call me later that night.
Riding home from school that day - well, I have no recollection. My mind was elsewhere - like in a field of flowers imaging Kikuchi-sensei and I running in slow-motion towards each other. I had been smitten with her at first sight. She, as evidenced by THIS blog - ennnnhhh, not so much.
I was nervous... so much so that I actually went home and had a shower so that I could look my best for her telephone call. Hey, I told you my mind was in a fog!
After dressing, brushing my teeth and putting on some cologne (no idea why I did any of that - except for the teeth brushing thing - I had eaten natto for lunch - click on NATTO for an article... and then click HERE for MY version of how natto was first created).
Anyhow, true to her word, Kikuchi-sensei called me that night at around 8PM, and forever became known as Nobuko to me. We talked for about five minutes... small talk about how her day had been about what we each had for dinner, and about when we should go out.
I suggested Saturday, but she thought she might have to do some things at home--she was living at her parents home in Kuroiso, 10 kilometers north of Ohtawara-shi--and instead suggested this Sunday at 10AM.
Sunday at 10AM?.. Okay... I had a date with a gorgeous Japanese lady... granted she wasn't the first Japanese lady I had been out with, as I had slept with a teacher at one of my schools (Nozaki!), PLUS, I had spent the last weekend with a gorgeous young lady--the day before seeing Nobuko. In a few days, I'll create a blog entry and reveal my date with "Ninja-girl" an 18-year-old 5-foot nothing chick with double D breasts. Got your attention, eh? I have photos, too!
Back to Nobuko and how, for the first and only time I wished for a Saturday to hurry up and pass.
Sunday arrived (finally!)... I was up at 8AM and ready and waiting anxiously by 9AM. At 10AM on the dot, there was a knock on my front door. I ran lightly to the door, peeked out through the eye-hole, saw it was her and unlocked the door.
I opened the door, she looked up at me, smiled and nervously walked in - glancing behind her in case she was followed or seen by any students, which is always a possibility in this city.
She wore a white dress, short sleeved, stockings and white bra... as I was able to glance a white strap as she walked past me to slip on the pink slippers (Finally! Someone wore the damn PINK SLIPPERS). Her hair smelled of apple blossoms. If she wore make-up it was subtle enough that I couldn't tell. She looked gorgeous - so at least, in my mind, she was treating this like a real date.
Offering her a Coke as she sat down on the couch, she accepted. I sat down beside her and smiled... she asked me why I wanted to go out with her.
My explanation of - I don't know why, but something in my head said I had to - was better than me telling her I had fallen for her based solely on looks - which was actually the case.
Smiling at my so-called honestly (It's amazing what time and experience will do for a guy's memory), she said she would drive us down to the Tochigi-ken capital city of Utsonomiya-shi - explaining that down there, we'd be safe from the prying eyes of her students and the rest of the population of Ohtawara-shi.
Having gone out with fellow-AET Ashley for over a year, I understood her penchant for wanting to keep things a secret - but like with Ashley, I knew that that would never happen--what with the rest of Ohtawara being nosy buggers, and me having a big mouth.
We drove off in her toy car (a miniature car of some Japanese make that was NOT white) down to Utsonomiya, and arrived 50 minutes later. We parked in a garage, and walked along the main covered drag where there were a host of shops and restaurants.
We stopped in a Japanese restaurant, though she did want to eat at Kentucky Fried Chicken to placate me - hey... I love the chicken, but one of those secret herbs and or spices doesn't like me, and I develop gas very quickly... the last thing I wanted on a first date with Nobuko and me being a 50-minute car drive from my bathroom. Nope... I insisted on Japanese food - so she could teach me about things Japanese people like.
That was bull-crap (and she probably knew it), but she played along. We had a great meal, with me having unagi (eel) on rice, while she had the pork kontatsu (breaded pork cutlet) - plus a beer each.
I was feeling tipsy (probably giddy from excitement), but I can only imagine what this 100-lb, 5'-2" woman was feeling. Apparently it was no pain, as she grabbed my hand as we walked out of the restaurant.
There was no way in Hell I wanted to let go.
And then it happened an hour later... after walking out of a movie theater (just checking to see what was playing, we did not see a show), we walked smack dab in the middle of four of her Nozaki students.
"An-do-ryu-sensei! Hello! Huh!! Kikuchi-sensei??!! Oh my god-do!"
My initial reaction to the students was: Hey! At least they spoke English.
But poor Nobuko, she ripped her hand out of mine and hid her hands behind her back. I watched her blush and lower her eyes as she said hello to these four girls.
Each asked the other (in Japanese) what they were doing in Utsonomiya. Nobuko later told me the students said they were shopping for clothes. She said she told them she was doing the same - as the poor foreigner (me) was having a difficult time finding clothes that might actually fit the big guy, adding that she knew of such a shop here in town.
She wasn't fooling anyone, though. I had probably let the cat out of the bag when I looked at the girls while Nobuko was speaking to them and raised my eyebrows a few times while grinning like a cat that had eaten a couple of canaries.
I'm guessing the student experience had scared her, and suggested we go home. Just as well, as apparently that eel I ate was giving my stomach ideas.
On the way back to my place, while Nobuko shifted gears, I placed my hand atop hers. She quickly removed her hand from underneath mine - 'oh crap! I've gone to far', I thought... but she quickly placed hers atop mine and squeezed.
Back at my place, she walked me back to my apartment, came inside the place, and watched as I closed the door behind her... she made no move to put on the pink slippers, so I knew this was the end of our date. That hand-thing in the car, was one bit of sign language I could understand, so I knew she wouldn't put up too much of a fight if I should move in and try to kiss her... and for about 60 seconds, she didn't mind at all.
I asked her to call me when she got back home.
Why?, she asked.
"So that I know you got back safely.
Somewhere wondering what the heck we talked about for the next six hours,
Andrew Joseph
PS: Today's title is by Blink 182 - You can hear the song HERE.
PPS: By the way... should any of you wish a peek at some of my photographs from Japan, feel FREE.
Showing posts with label slippers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label slippers. Show all posts
Fashion
Now before everyone freaks out - it's a print applied to the fabric. People aren't really showing off their derriere.
Having been (past tense, in case my wife reads this), an aficionado of the female form in Japan, I've noticed more often than not that there is a decided lack of roundness to the female buttocks. I swear, I have no knowledge of the Japanese male rear - if I had noticed, it's not part of memory files. If I did still remember, I'd tell you.
So... I can see the allure of wanting to give the appearance of having a well-rounded physique, but, and I'm no prude, this new fashion statement is rather bold.
Japan is well-known for it's kooky inventions for things you and I would never even think there would be a use for (I sense another blog topic) ... and this seems like another mis-step in Japan's thirst to become something it isn't.
Let me just come right out and say this: Japan's fashion sense--excluding the awesomeness of the kimono--is a few steps behind being chic.
I love Japan. I love the people. I love the food. I love the history. I love the culture. But darn it all, Japanese fashion leaves a little to be desired (at least by Western tastes).
One of my Japanese girlfriends (yes, plural) told me that Tokyo girls (circa 1990s) wore a lot of black coloured clothing (nothing wrong with that). Osaka girls - a few hundred kilometres to the west of Tokyo, well they wore more colourful garb. It's true - at least as far as my observances went.
She told me that while Japan's fashion industry was centered around Tokyo, Osaka took its cue from a more European influence.
Now, while the women are pretty, I can honestly state that I was rarely blown away by someone's garb--well, in Ohtawara (north of Tokyo), we had one woman--Narita-san--who dressed so against the grain that she stood out--and not in a negative way. She was loud, funny, slightly obnoxious - and was probably more western than most westerners. You can see a photo of this styling woman here to the right. Her... I miss.
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| Narita-san |
Hey - I'm not saying us guys and gals on the JET Programme were stylin' either. Though, some of us did, like me (ego-maniac!). And Japanese men - just like western men - we get a suit and a tie with colours ranging from blue, black, brown, silver and grey. It's rare to see a colour other than that, and even nowadays, if you see a man dressed in a suit not of those colours, you're going to do a double-take.
Back to the issue at hand. I've critiqued the standard Japanese fashions the average person wears. Don't believe me? School kids wear Victorian sailor uniforms and/or full track suits with a solid colour and white stripping or lettering.
They have ugly indoor slippers for the home, and uglier green slippers for the household water closet (W.C. or bathroom). Even my girlfriends - while always nicely dressed, there was never anything that made one go 'whoa'. Those kimono did, however - but they were only wheeled out for special occasions. Geisha? Rare. I'll fill you in on another blog.
Granted I lived in a farming city - but I did travel around the whole country (though I did not make it out to Hokkaido or Okinawa). And, while again I reiterate that there was little superb fashion to ogle, I can state that it is rare to find people there who are willing to buck the trend. Remember: Deru kugi wa utareru (The nail that sticks up, gets hammered down). It's a Japanese way of life.
Now I could be wrong about the Japanese not wanting to stick up - afterall, 20 years ago, the main purpose of the JET Programme was to internationalize (not to teach the kids English). That's my opinion. We wanted to show them that there was more to the world than just Japan.
Butt, hopefully we didn't go too far and make them think this is a good fashion statement. Still, the Japanese birthrate has been in freefall for a number of years as Japanese women are either delaying having a family or are forgoing it entirely... something that in the past would have been considered so un-Japanese.
Somewhere, the butt of most jokes,
Andrew Joseph
Today's title is by David Bowie, who knows something about FASHION. I was going to use The Doors 'The End' as a title, but this episode is more about fashion as a whole. Man, there are so many jokes to make here.
Gimme Some Lovin'
The following takes place on Monday, August 20, 1990. It's my third week in Japan.
The players for the next three years are Matthew Hall from New York, my girlfriend Ashley from Georgia, and Kanemaru-san, Hanazaki-san who work at the Ohtawara Board of Education (OBOE) and are my co-supervisors--it really means they are reasonsible for my well-being while I am working and living in Japan.
Today is my official welcome to Ohtawara party. Sitting in the office, at 1PM Hanazaki-san drives me to the local Ashikaga Ginkko (Bank of Ashikaga) where I get an ATM (automated teller machine) card and a quick lesson on how to with draw money. I take out 50,000 yen in five bills. Apparently that's $500. Yeesh. He drives me to my apartment at 1:30 to try out the new bicycle they have bought for me and just had delivered. It's a large blue 18-speed bicycle - much better than the tiny Zero-speed bike my predecessor, Cheryl, used last year.
I decide to ride out to Iseya and do some shopping. I purchase a cereal box that's a hologram--the entire box--and some much needed Coke. It costs the equivalent of $18 and will last me four days. Milk, cereal, and sundry items like eggs and beans that I know how to cook.
Oh yeah, before I left the office I mentioned to Hanazaki-san that I had lost some weight since arriving. I was 80-kilograms when I left Toronto on July 28, down to 78 kg on August 10 and again down to 74kg on August 17. (176 lbs-171.6lbs-162.9lb2). While I think it's great, the OBOE are aghast.
After shopping and going home, I head back to the office. I walk through the front door and notice people are still trying to take up decorations for the party. I look away - and head up to the second floor via elevator of the three floor building. It was a week later that I discovered an outside spiral staircase that leads directly into MY office area.
At 5PM, I'm led to an OBOE meeting hall for the reception. I meet Tomura-sensei for the first time - he'll be my interpreter. His English skills are superb. I go over my speech with him to make sure there aren't any surprises.
At the reception on stage, I'm introduced, and here Tomura-sensei translated for me the words sportsman, musician, always smiling and making jokes. I almost blush.
Next Masayoshi Arai, the deputy mayor of Ohtawara makes a speech - apparently it's similar to the first as Tomura sensei translates into English: "It's the same as the first speech", I laugh, but I appreciate it.
Lastly, Izumi Fukasawa, the OBOE superintendent tells me how handsome and nice I am. I guess the bottle of booze (Canadian Club!) I brought from Toronto for him worked wonders.
I receive a large bouquet of flowers from the bespectacled 40-ish Mrs. Akutsu-san (always nice and smiling, too), and then it's time for me to give my speech.
I expected Tomoura-sensei to be standing next to me, but no, they moved him well off to the side so as to give me the entire stage. Unfortunately, he was so far away that he couldn't hear me well enough to translate as well as we'd practiced. It was already a speech Jimmy Stewart would have been proud off (see Mr. Smith Goes to Washington... really... go rent it or buy it), but it was made even longer by Tomura begging me to go slower or asking me to repeat things.
It's all cool. To me it's the perfect revenge for what they made us gaijin go through during our initiation at the Keio Plaza Hotel in Tokyo when we listened to a speech by Phil A. Buster (see the Jimmy Stewart movie).
Anyhow, I thought they'd laugh when I mentioned my dramatic weight loss since arriving here, but it didn't get the laughs I expected - maybe the joke was lost in translation or they though I was sick or something. I also joked about not knowing how to cook (that's why I was losing weight!) or how to do laundry. Again, no laugh. Tough crowd. But they said they liked that I was always making jokes!
When it was over, they made an opening toast, people kept topping off my beer every time I took a sip, so I have no idea how much alcohol I actually consumed. The guests whom I talk to, are all my English teachers, and they are all very, very nice. The only lady I'd consider exceptional was newly married, so I think I may have to stick with Ashley. Besides, she's gorgeous and things are going stupidly well.
The party that began at 5:30AM on the dot, ended two hours later at 7:30AM on the dot. It was mentioned in Toronto that the Japanese were punctual, but this is ridiculous.
Because I had to talk to everyone (wanted to to talk to everyone), I didn't get to eat much, and my growling stomach tells Hanazaki-san as much. He quickly orders Mr. Iso and Akutsu-san to get me bento boxes of the banquet's leftovers to take home. Hanazaki-san he powered chugged several bottles of beer down (it's free, and I would do the same if I wasn't busy eating now).
Home stretch now.
I discover it's going to be impossible for me to carry all of the food and a few ginormous bottle of Kirin biru (Kirin beer), the huge flower bouquet while trying to ride a basketless bicycle in a three-piece suit in some humid 30C+ (40+ with the humidity and 50+ with the suit on).
Iso-san places my bike in his white car's trunk and drives me home, helps carry stuff up with me, comes in to place things in the kitchen, sucks a tonne of air between his teeth when he notices I didn't take my outdoor shoes off and replace them with the floppy indoor slippers, bows and leaves.
I call Ashely at 7:50PM, but she's not in, so I try Matthew and get some Japanese man twice. I eat a couple of tiny lobsters (crawfish) (ommigawd it's tasty) and try calling Ashley because I'm in love with the fact that I lost my virginity with her the night before.
We talk for three hours, hanging up at 11:30PM - I ask her to come by tomorrow for a spaghetti dinner.
Somewhere eating the first good meal I've had in a week - tiny lobsters!
Andrew Joseph
Today's title is by the Spencer Davis Group (and so is tomorrow's) - SO GLAD WE MADE IT.
PS - I know I wrote about this day before in an early blog, but I was going on 20-year-old memory. This time, well, let's just say I found the 1990 National Geographic calendar with jotted daily notes plus the pages of fully-scripted diary entries of July 29 - October 18 that I thought was lost.
PPS - The next couple of month's diary entries have pretty detailed descriptions of life including my sexual exploits. Innuendo will have to suffice because I may be a jerk, but I ain't no pig. Anyhow, just trust me that you'll read about cooking, Ohtawara's schools and go on a drive with me all over this beautiful city of Ohtawara.
PPPS - I'm only going to do detailed entries like this one if I think you might use it to learn more about Japan. Hey, you learned about parties (enkai) that last to the wee hours of the evening; how one never knows how much one drinks; presents are an excellent form of bribery; white cars; the fact that pretty much everyone in the audience except the deputy mayor, my superintendent and the OBOE office (less Hanazaki-san) all understood my speech without translation because they are all superb English teachers! You also learned the importance of indoor footware; the timing of jokes; that I'm in love/lust with Ashley; and my office cared enough to have a bicycle shop cobble together parts to make an 18-speed built for a giant Nihonjin (Japanese person) or one normal-sized gaijin (moi). You also learned about the weather and punctuality.
Come back tomorrow for another installment, and don't be late.
PPPS - Photo is of the City of Ohtawara office.
Be True To Your School
It’s Tuesday, September 5th and my first day of school at Ohtawara Junior High School, the largest middle school in the city.That means I spent two sleepless night worrying about my first day of teaching. To say I was nervous was a complete misunderstanding of the word. Scared spitless… yes, my mouth was dry.
Leaving my apartment, I rode my large 18-speed bicycle the ten minutes down a newly paved stretch of road with a plethora of rice fields around me. Hundreds of students walked or rode a bicycle in the same direction. Children of the Rice.
At 8AM, I arrived safely at Ohtawara Junior High School (aka Dai Chu - Big Junior - as it was the biggest junior school in the city.) and parked my bicycle in the already crowded bike rack, and locked it up. Checking out the other bikes, I notice that not one of them was locked up. Despite being in a city, the school is contained within a large area of farmland. Not exactly a hub of criminal activity.
Walking slowly to the teacher’s office, every single student (gakusei) glances at me, bows deeply and says, “ohio gozaimasu (good morning)!” Respect! Baby, I love this place!
I’m wearing a light grey suit and tie and have a green backpack with me containing the English language books for years 1-3 that I will be using to team-teach with a Japanese Teacher of English. Hence forth, these folks will always be called “teachers”. Me, I’m an Assistant English Teacher (AET), and by the time I’m done, these brilliant Japanese kids will be speaking English like a native (not like a Texan, Bawstonian or New Yawker) and know all of the idioms like the peace sign and the thumbs up. Okay... they all know the peace sign. More in another blog.
As soon as I arrive, I make sure I go over and bow first to Principal Mori (kouchou–sensei), the vice-principal (kyouto–sensei) and then to the other teachers (sensei). Everyone is smiling. Everyone is glad to see me. Everyone is speaking Japanese to me.
That’s cool. This is Japan, afterall. I should be speaking their lingo. I just can’t yet. Luckily, Shibata-sensei comes by. He’s a mid-20’s skinny, hip guy with good hair that has obviously seen some gel, and is pulled back up onto his head with a slight messy tousle. Handsome guy. I'll post some pix of him in the next blog...
After five minutes of talking with him (in English), it’s obvious that he has a fantastic sense of humour—as do the other young teachers around, as everyone is laughing and cracking funnies in English! Even some of the older teachers join in. Nani? (What?) This teaching thing is going to be friggin’ easy!
I should mention that as soon as I sat down (next to Ryuichi Shibata), I was immediately brought a small clay-fired mug by one of the pretty women there and poured a nice steaming hot cup of o-cha (green tea). Thanks to Styx, I was able to say domo arigato (thank-you very much), leaving out the Mister Roboto crap. Really, check out this video by the Polysix: HERE. Remember, click on the coloured words in my blogs!
Because of my dry mouth, I quickly drained my cup. Seconds later, another woman was pouring more tea for me. Thanks again. I drank it. More tea, from another woman. Hmmm, I think I see a trend. Let’s confirm. I threw back another and saw the first three women jan-ken-pon (rock-paper-scissors) to see who would get to serve me. Not sure if it was the winner or the loser.
So, it appears as though the women make and serve the tea to the teachers… turns out that the women are teachers, too. Young or old, experienced or inexperienced, the women get the tea for the men. It doesn't matter where you work or go, that's the reality of this male-centric country. I’m no male chauvinist, but the guy in me could see that this country was… what’s the word I’m looking for… oh yeah… AWESOME!
Look… read the intro to the blog under the title… I’m calling myself an idiot, okay?
Anyhow, I now had four cups of green tea in me, and it flowed right through me. I had to go. Unfortunately, before I could mention my predicament, Shibata-sensei also told me it was time to go. Not sure what he meant, I bit my lip and followed him.
We went outside to a large building that was obviously the gymnasium. There, all of us teachers took off our shoes and put on some stupid, floppy slippers. Luckily, my large feet were anticipated, so they had slippers for me in size 30. Japanese shoe sizes are measured in centimeters. My 10-1/2 US shoes are equivalent to 30cm Japanese, which equals one foot. How handy. Or footy.
Did I mention that the slippers were pink with green cartoony frogs on them? Why are all the slippers that fit me, pink? What's with the frogs? Do men like pink?
Following Shibata-sensei up a set of stairs I suddenly realized that I was now walking on a stage in front of the entire student body of about 700 students. Junior high school, for those unaware, consists of Grades 7, 8 and 9 aka Year 1, 2, and 3.
The students were in their dress uniforms. They looked resplendent!
Behind me on the stage (see photo above) was a large flag of Canada, Japan, and one of Ohtawara. Awesome!
The principal gets up to the podium. Someone yells out “Bey!” All of the student bow in unison. The principal gives a slight nod of acknowledgment. He then gives a speech in Japanese. Concludes. Someone yells “Bey!” again. Another bow by the students. I'm unsure of the spelling of the word bey, or even what it means, but it obviously meant something to the students.
Shibata-sensei then says it’s time for me to give a speech. Say wha-? No one told me! Or did they? Damn this language thing.
Okay. No big deal. I majored in political science, I can sling with the best of them.
I told the crowd how happy I was to be in Japan, and how much I was looking forward to meeting all of the students. I hoped that as I taught them English, they could also teach me Japanese and about Japan. It was all translated very quickly and efficiently by Shibata-sensei. If he was actually relating what I said, he was very good at English translation.
Anyhow, when I finished, the thunderous silence was deafening until someone yelled out “Bey!” and everyone bowed. I did the same, brought my head up and smiled my biggest smile. It started a murmur within the crowd of students.
I think they finally realized I wasn’t your standard teacher, despite my grey suit.
I looked to go back to my seat on stage, but Shibata-sensie held up a hand and shook his head no.
A pretty young female student (who’s kidding whom! They were all pretty!) got up on stage with a handsome young male student (this boy, wasn’t so handsome, but that just might be me) who held a large bouquet of flowers.
They bowed to the Japanese flag, bowed to principal, and then bowed to me. Dammit. I forgot to bow to the Japanese flag and to the principal! Getting to know these social customs is going to be a chore! But I’ll figure it out!
The girl said, in English: “Welcome to Japan and to our school, An-do-ryu sensei. We look forward to you teaching us English. Thank-you.” Are they all this good at speaking Japanese?
She grabbed the flowers from the boy, handed them to me, both bowed deeply while I did the same. Awwww.
The students were in their dress uniforms. They looked resplendent!
Behind me on the stage (see photo above) was a large flag of Canada, Japan, and one of Ohtawara. Awesome!
The principal gets up to the podium. Someone yells out “Bey!” All of the student bow in unison. The principal gives a slight nod of acknowledgment. He then gives a speech in Japanese. Concludes. Someone yells “Bey!” again. Another bow by the students. I'm unsure of the spelling of the word bey, or even what it means, but it obviously meant something to the students.
Shibata-sensei then says it’s time for me to give a speech. Say wha-? No one told me! Or did they? Damn this language thing.
Okay. No big deal. I majored in political science, I can sling with the best of them.
I told the crowd how happy I was to be in Japan, and how much I was looking forward to meeting all of the students. I hoped that as I taught them English, they could also teach me Japanese and about Japan. It was all translated very quickly and efficiently by Shibata-sensei. If he was actually relating what I said, he was very good at English translation.
Anyhow, when I finished, the thunderous silence was deafening until someone yelled out “Bey!” and everyone bowed. I did the same, brought my head up and smiled my biggest smile. It started a murmur within the crowd of students.
I think they finally realized I wasn’t your standard teacher, despite my grey suit.
I looked to go back to my seat on stage, but Shibata-sensie held up a hand and shook his head no.
A pretty young female student (who’s kidding whom! They were all pretty!) got up on stage with a handsome young male student (this boy, wasn’t so handsome, but that just might be me) who held a large bouquet of flowers.
They bowed to the Japanese flag, bowed to principal, and then bowed to me. Dammit. I forgot to bow to the Japanese flag and to the principal! Getting to know these social customs is going to be a chore! But I’ll figure it out!
The girl said, in English: “Welcome to Japan and to our school, An-do-ryu sensei. We look forward to you teaching us English. Thank-you.” Are they all this good at speaking Japanese?
She grabbed the flowers from the boy, handed them to me, both bowed deeply while I did the same. Awwww.
This time, I bowed to the student body, looked up smiled and winked at them (lots more murmuring!), turned, bowed to the principal and then bowed to the Japanese flag. I didn’t bow to the Canadian flag, because that’s not what we Canadians do. I’m not actually sure what we do to our flag, but I’m sure bowing isn’t on the agenda.
As I sat down, everyone else stood up. Someone yelled “Bey!” Everyone bowed and left the auditorium.
It’s 9:30AM. I’m emotionally and physically drained. Unfortunately, my kidneys are not. I still have to teach...
Somewhere bowing to pee-r pressure,
Andrew Joseph
Title by The Beach Boys
As I sat down, everyone else stood up. Someone yelled “Bey!” Everyone bowed and left the auditorium.
It’s 9:30AM. I’m emotionally and physically drained. Unfortunately, my kidneys are not. I still have to teach...
Somewhere bowing to pee-r pressure,
Andrew Joseph
Title by The Beach Boys
Magic Carpet Ride
On the third day of our (dis)orientation in Tokyo and after lunch, all the AETs (Assistant English Teachers) met again in the hotel’s meeting room before separating us by prefecture (province) for bus or plane rides to our specific destinations.
While I didn’t get to say goodbye to Kristine South who was off to live in Shiga-ken about five hours away by Shinkansen (bullet train), rest assured that she’ll be back in this BLOG.
We waited outside for the bus to take us to our prefecture – but the heat! We were all dressed to the nines in anticipation of meeting our bosses – I was wearing a then-fashionable double-breasted suit and tie – and began sweating as soon as stepped from the air-conditioned comfort of the hotel. In fact, I don’t think I was dry for my entire stay in Japan.
Ashley chatted beside me on the nondescript 1-1/2 hour ride north to Tochigi-ken’s capital city of Utsonomiya. After meeting the Prefecture's education big wigs, they called our names out one by one, and were quickly introduced to the people who would essentially be responsible for our welfare over the next year, or should we/they wish us to stay longer, a second and third year.
During our initiation back in Toronto, we had been told that the Japanese could be a tad xenophobic. So, it was with even greater fear and trepidation as a visible minority involved in the JET Programme that I stood up and walked to the front when my name was called. Let me get one thing straight with you all… I don’t see myself as a minority. I see myself as Andrew.
Mr. Hiroshi Hanazaki and Mr. Masahiro Kanemaru were my supervisors. Both of the men were about as old as I am now at the time of this Blog – 44, and seemed like very mature people.
After we all bowed to each other, I repeated a phrase I was told to say: dozo yoroshiku onegai shi masu (please take care of me). More bowing occurred as I said it. It was kind of cool.
Hanazaki-san and Kanemaru-san (the Japanese call each other by their surname, adding the word san after it, denoting Mr/Mrs/Ms) were office workers at the Ohtawara Kyoiku Iinkai (Ohtawara Board of Education) – a place that I was told I would spend each Friday. It was expected that I would teach the workers there English. Monday through Thursday I would be an assistant English teacher at one of seven junior high schools in Ohtawara City, visiting one school per week.
While the students also went to school a half day on Saturday, I was not expected to teach, as they realized that the non-Japanese were lazy buggers and needed two days off per week. It’s difficult to argue with logic.
In the hour-long drive up north from Utsonomiya to Ohtawara, my two supervisors - though not the driver - began to chat with me. Hanazaki-san spoke pretty decent English and immediately cracked me up with a dirty joke.
Kanemaru-san chained smoked and was quiet. Too quiet, it seemed, as he looked severe and often glared at me. It figured to be a long year if this guy was going to be my boss.
But then, it all turned on a ten-yen coin. Kanemaru-san pulled out a Japanese-English dictionary and sidled close to me and between puffs of his cigarette began to speak looked-up-English-word by looked-up-English-word. Five painful minutes later, it was over and Kanemaru-san had told his first ever joke in English.
Because of me.
How can you not like a guy who tries to do something like that? It beats me how they knew that I liked a good joke – or a bad joke even. Sure the jokes lost a little bit in the translation, but I sure as heck appreciated the effort.
Most of the trip was a complete blur. I occasionally glanced out the window to peer at the tiny white cars speeding by us on the Tohoku Expressway. Mile after mile (kilometre after kilometre) we passed rice field after rice field. I once again wondered what the hell I was doing here.
That feeling never did leave me throughout my wonderful stay in Japan. The blurriness, I mean. I think I needed new contact lenses.
After Kanemaru’s initial jodan (joke) that had me howling in pain thanks to his love of back-slapping, the man was a non-stop joke-machine. Maybe that’s why it was such a blur. He slapped me so hard my contacts fell out.
We finally pulled off the highway and drove by a score more rice fields and according to Hanazaki-san were approaching Ohtawara.
Oh-ta-wara (Big-rice field-field) City. The city so rural they had to call it a field twice.
Rather than bore you, click here to learn a bit more about Tochigi-ken, and click here to learn more about Ohtawara. Let me just say that when I was there in 1990 – 1993, the city barely had 50,000 people. There was no McDonald’s or KFC (back then, it was still called Kentucky Fried Chicken, ya youngins!), but there were plenty of bike shops, restaurants, something called a Mosburger and plenty of other surprises that I’ll reveal here.
“Zuiko Haitsu!” exclaimed Hanazaki-san like I knew what the heck he was talking about as the van pulled up to a parking lot in front of an apartment building. Apparently this fancy place had a name. Its nickname was Zuiko Mansion. Okaaaaay. This place had almost as many names as me.
Grabbing my seven (yes, seven) pieces of luggage – including an electric keyboard, a clarinet and at least one change of underwear (it cost my dad an extra $400 to get the stuff on the airline!), we decided not to take the elevator and dragged my stuff up the stairs to apartment 307 on the third floor of the eight-story white building.
Having never lived in anything higher than my parent’s basement in over a decade, the thin air took some getting used to.
The apartment jutted out as a wing meaning I had no neighbours beside me, just one above and one below.
Expecting to see hunchbacked mice in my new tiny apartment – according to those in the know (???), Japan is crowded and everyone has a tiny living space – I grabbed a breath while I could, as Hanazaki-san gave me a door key and bade me to open it.
Unlocking the door, they pushed me in. Taking a few steps forward, the three of them immediately began screaming at me – oh crap, I thought. They really do hate foreigners here – they’re going to kill me!
Slowly I turned and stared blankly at the ever-smiling face of Hanazaki-san, and the ever-smoking visage of Kanemaru-san, and the bespectacled face of the driver whose name I never managed to learn even though we “worked” together for three years. I know, I know. Pathetic.
Apparently upon entering any Japanese home, whether it’s guest or resident, one is expected to take off their dirty shoes and slip into something more uncomfortable – plastic slippers that are always neatly placed facing inwards to the home by the side of the door.
As you may or may not know, the Japanese as a whole are not described as being overly big people. Hanazaki-san and Kanemaru-san were both about 5’-8” (I think as tall as Gasoline!), while I was a towering 5’-11.25”). As a smaller race, they tend not to sell shoes in Japan larger than a men’s size 9 – or what they call a size 26cm. I’m a size 10-1/2 aka 30cm foot – which makes me sound a lot bigger elsewhere, if you know what I mean.
There were two sets of slippers laid out for me - one pair of baby blues and the other in cotton candy pink.
So there we were: two sets of slippers and two Japanese supervisors, a big-foot Canadian and a driver of indeterminate name and rank in the apartment.
Who would have to wear the pink slippers and who would dare go without? Believe it or not, I wore the blue slippers – jammed’em in tight - two of the Nihonjin (Japanese people) brought their own – pulled them out from the inside pocket of their jacket – while Kanemaru-san began taking off his socks after first slapping his forehead in disgust and swearing at what I assume was himself. He also lit up another cigarette – Golden Bat, I believe. At least it smelled like bat.
No one put on the pink ones. I like these guys already.
They all took turns showing me how to put on the tiny slippers – uh, there’s no real Japanese secret to that. I think that after my initial gaffe they thought I might be a tad slow. I skated (thereby affirming my tetched-in-the-head-ness) past the bathroom area immediately to my right and along a 4-metre hallway into an enormous living room/dining room/kitchen open concept area that was easily 10m deep by 5m wide.
At the end of it was a sliding door leading out to a full-sized balcony (facing north). Alongside the hallway on the left there was a 4m x 4m bedroom that had a small walk-in closet, a writing desk and chair and another balcony (facing west). A second bedroom beside it and accessed through the l/d/k was the designated bedroom, and a third larger 5m x 5m room that contained what can only be described as a turn-of-the-century German mahogany clothes drawer/liquor cabinet. At least that’s how I used it.
Even though I have no idea what a metre is, I’m pretty sure that this was a really big apartment. I wondered how the other AETs had fared?
All of the rooms were carpeted in a thin, ugly green ply, while each individual room had real doors on them save the middle room which was laid with tatami (grass floor mats) and had authentic Japanese sliding doors complete with a beautiful hand-painted landscape on it.
The kitchen area had a nice stove – but no oven, a fridge small enough to satisfy a Brit (1m high), a deep sink, lots of shelf space, and a convection oven with buttons to heat up one cup of sake (rice wine), two cups of sake, or god help us all, three cups of sake. There were also separate buttons for warming milk, and for cooking various weights of meat, including beef, veal, pork, chicken, and I kid you not, goat.
The dining room consisted of a four-seater pine table and chairs and a China hutch (actually a Japan hutch according to two-pack Kanemaru-san) that was filled with four sets of dishware and flatware, as well as various cups and mugs, spices and a tin of Twinings of London Earl Grey tea.
Hanazaki-san opened up some of the cabinets beside the fridge under the ample counter space and proudly showed me the cooking implements, including what Kanemaru-san’s dictionary said was a rice cooker – since we were men, none of us had actually ever cooked a meal, so the cookware was a bit of a mystery for us, although I was able to correctly point out a frying pan.
As an aside, Hanazaki-san promised to send an office girl or three around to show me how to use the cooking utensils. He did and they did the very next day, but he failed to send one who could speak English or one with a Japanese-English dictionary. I never did learn how to use a rice cooker. Nineteen years later, I still have no clue.
The living room contained a three-seat couch and an armchair that were both covered in a soft, luxurious but ugly, moss green fabric. Along with a 24-inch television on a small stand, a 2m-long marble-top table and a book case with a faded olive green dialer telephone, there was also something called a kotatsu (a 30-cm tall, wood table frame covered by a futon or heavy blanket, upon which a table top sits. As an added bonus, the table can be plugged in to act as a heater with the blanket capturing the heat).
The walls of the apartment were covered in white wallpaper with a light, light, light blue floral pattern that looked nice and not too feminine.
Each room had a 10-foot high ceiling - I hate the Metric system – and had more than its fair share of fluorescent lighting.
Drapes covered every floor-to-ceiling door/window in the place – except for the tatami/bedroom which had a pair of non-decorated Japanese sliding rice paper windows that covered up the 8’-wide x 1’-high window.
There. Hopefully you get a pretty good idea of how the Ohtawara Board of Education (OBOE) set me up. The OBOE (I only JUST came up with that acronym) rented out the place from their own budget, and really wanted to impress on me on how much they wanted me to enjoy my stay in Japan. If I was to compare my situation with any other AET in Tochigi-ken or even Japan, I might actually have had the largest apartment with the most Western amenities.
Oh… and much to the chagrin of one Jeff Seaman, my bathroom came with a Western-style toilet.
I also had a washer/dryer machine – an important luxury in a country with 200% humidity – as well as a shower. There was also a small gas heater that I had to turn on if I wanted hot water.
The toilet room – a 1m x 1m cubicle – also came with its own set of slippers – dark green ones with little cartoony frogs sitting on lily pads. Apparently they are only supposed to be worn in the toilet room and woe to the person that doesn’t wear them.
No offense to Hanazaki-san or Kanemaru-san or to the people of Japan, I never wore any of the slippers ever again in my place. Worse yet, I encouraged others not to as well.
By the way, my hosts had hung a banner across the living room: Welcome to Japan Mr. Andrew Joseph.
They had spelled it right and got the order of my name correct, too. Something that doesn’t happen often enough back in Canada.
Hanazaki-san then pointed to a large black and white map hung on the wall above the telephone. Strangely enough, everything was in English, so even I might be able to understand it. Showing me a small photo in his wallet, Hanazaki told me that the map was drawn by my predecessor Cheryl Menezes, an English woman of Indian descent.
I didn’t think it odd for them to have chosen another person of colour to be an AET. I thought it was pretty cool, actually.
Just then, the telephone rang. Picking it up and saying 'Moshi Moshi' (hello – for use on the telephone only), Hanazaki-san handed the phone to me.
Monkey see, monkey do, I said Moshi just once; a fact that elicited laughter from everyone in my apartment including the person on the phone but me. Moshi means insect. So, if you say it twice, shouldn’t it mean insect-insect? Or is that exactly what it’s supposed to mean: "Sorry to bug you…"
On the other end of the phone, it was Cheryl wishing me good luck in my stay in Ohtawara. She told me to have fun, because that’s what it’s all about. Life, that is. That and the Hokey-Pokey.
After taking her phone number – she was back home in the UK – I slapped my two friends on the back and said domo arigato (thank you very much). In the process I dislodged Kanemaru-san’s cigarette onto the floor.
And that’s how I got a new blue carpet.
Somewhere having to cut those slippers off my toe-jammed feet,
Joseph-san
Today's title is by Steppenwolf.
While I didn’t get to say goodbye to Kristine South who was off to live in Shiga-ken about five hours away by Shinkansen (bullet train), rest assured that she’ll be back in this BLOG.
We waited outside for the bus to take us to our prefecture – but the heat! We were all dressed to the nines in anticipation of meeting our bosses – I was wearing a then-fashionable double-breasted suit and tie – and began sweating as soon as stepped from the air-conditioned comfort of the hotel. In fact, I don’t think I was dry for my entire stay in Japan.
Ashley chatted beside me on the nondescript 1-1/2 hour ride north to Tochigi-ken’s capital city of Utsonomiya. After meeting the Prefecture's education big wigs, they called our names out one by one, and were quickly introduced to the people who would essentially be responsible for our welfare over the next year, or should we/they wish us to stay longer, a second and third year.
During our initiation back in Toronto, we had been told that the Japanese could be a tad xenophobic. So, it was with even greater fear and trepidation as a visible minority involved in the JET Programme that I stood up and walked to the front when my name was called. Let me get one thing straight with you all… I don’t see myself as a minority. I see myself as Andrew.
Mr. Hiroshi Hanazaki and Mr. Masahiro Kanemaru were my supervisors. Both of the men were about as old as I am now at the time of this Blog – 44, and seemed like very mature people.
After we all bowed to each other, I repeated a phrase I was told to say: dozo yoroshiku onegai shi masu (please take care of me). More bowing occurred as I said it. It was kind of cool.
Hanazaki-san and Kanemaru-san (the Japanese call each other by their surname, adding the word san after it, denoting Mr/Mrs/Ms) were office workers at the Ohtawara Kyoiku Iinkai (Ohtawara Board of Education) – a place that I was told I would spend each Friday. It was expected that I would teach the workers there English. Monday through Thursday I would be an assistant English teacher at one of seven junior high schools in Ohtawara City, visiting one school per week.
While the students also went to school a half day on Saturday, I was not expected to teach, as they realized that the non-Japanese were lazy buggers and needed two days off per week. It’s difficult to argue with logic.
In the hour-long drive up north from Utsonomiya to Ohtawara, my two supervisors - though not the driver - began to chat with me. Hanazaki-san spoke pretty decent English and immediately cracked me up with a dirty joke.
Kanemaru-san chained smoked and was quiet. Too quiet, it seemed, as he looked severe and often glared at me. It figured to be a long year if this guy was going to be my boss.
But then, it all turned on a ten-yen coin. Kanemaru-san pulled out a Japanese-English dictionary and sidled close to me and between puffs of his cigarette began to speak looked-up-English-word by looked-up-English-word. Five painful minutes later, it was over and Kanemaru-san had told his first ever joke in English.
Because of me.
How can you not like a guy who tries to do something like that? It beats me how they knew that I liked a good joke – or a bad joke even. Sure the jokes lost a little bit in the translation, but I sure as heck appreciated the effort.
Most of the trip was a complete blur. I occasionally glanced out the window to peer at the tiny white cars speeding by us on the Tohoku Expressway. Mile after mile (kilometre after kilometre) we passed rice field after rice field. I once again wondered what the hell I was doing here.
That feeling never did leave me throughout my wonderful stay in Japan. The blurriness, I mean. I think I needed new contact lenses.
After Kanemaru’s initial jodan (joke) that had me howling in pain thanks to his love of back-slapping, the man was a non-stop joke-machine. Maybe that’s why it was such a blur. He slapped me so hard my contacts fell out.
We finally pulled off the highway and drove by a score more rice fields and according to Hanazaki-san were approaching Ohtawara.
Oh-ta-wara (Big-rice field-field) City. The city so rural they had to call it a field twice.
Rather than bore you, click here to learn a bit more about Tochigi-ken, and click here to learn more about Ohtawara. Let me just say that when I was there in 1990 – 1993, the city barely had 50,000 people. There was no McDonald’s or KFC (back then, it was still called Kentucky Fried Chicken, ya youngins!), but there were plenty of bike shops, restaurants, something called a Mosburger and plenty of other surprises that I’ll reveal here.
“Zuiko Haitsu!” exclaimed Hanazaki-san like I knew what the heck he was talking about as the van pulled up to a parking lot in front of an apartment building. Apparently this fancy place had a name. Its nickname was Zuiko Mansion. Okaaaaay. This place had almost as many names as me.
Grabbing my seven (yes, seven) pieces of luggage – including an electric keyboard, a clarinet and at least one change of underwear (it cost my dad an extra $400 to get the stuff on the airline!), we decided not to take the elevator and dragged my stuff up the stairs to apartment 307 on the third floor of the eight-story white building.
Having never lived in anything higher than my parent’s basement in over a decade, the thin air took some getting used to.
The apartment jutted out as a wing meaning I had no neighbours beside me, just one above and one below.
Expecting to see hunchbacked mice in my new tiny apartment – according to those in the know (???), Japan is crowded and everyone has a tiny living space – I grabbed a breath while I could, as Hanazaki-san gave me a door key and bade me to open it.
Unlocking the door, they pushed me in. Taking a few steps forward, the three of them immediately began screaming at me – oh crap, I thought. They really do hate foreigners here – they’re going to kill me!
Slowly I turned and stared blankly at the ever-smiling face of Hanazaki-san, and the ever-smoking visage of Kanemaru-san, and the bespectacled face of the driver whose name I never managed to learn even though we “worked” together for three years. I know, I know. Pathetic.
Apparently upon entering any Japanese home, whether it’s guest or resident, one is expected to take off their dirty shoes and slip into something more uncomfortable – plastic slippers that are always neatly placed facing inwards to the home by the side of the door.
As you may or may not know, the Japanese as a whole are not described as being overly big people. Hanazaki-san and Kanemaru-san were both about 5’-8” (I think as tall as Gasoline!), while I was a towering 5’-11.25”). As a smaller race, they tend not to sell shoes in Japan larger than a men’s size 9 – or what they call a size 26cm. I’m a size 10-1/2 aka 30cm foot – which makes me sound a lot bigger elsewhere, if you know what I mean.
There were two sets of slippers laid out for me - one pair of baby blues and the other in cotton candy pink.
So there we were: two sets of slippers and two Japanese supervisors, a big-foot Canadian and a driver of indeterminate name and rank in the apartment.
Who would have to wear the pink slippers and who would dare go without? Believe it or not, I wore the blue slippers – jammed’em in tight - two of the Nihonjin (Japanese people) brought their own – pulled them out from the inside pocket of their jacket – while Kanemaru-san began taking off his socks after first slapping his forehead in disgust and swearing at what I assume was himself. He also lit up another cigarette – Golden Bat, I believe. At least it smelled like bat.
No one put on the pink ones. I like these guys already.
They all took turns showing me how to put on the tiny slippers – uh, there’s no real Japanese secret to that. I think that after my initial gaffe they thought I might be a tad slow. I skated (thereby affirming my tetched-in-the-head-ness) past the bathroom area immediately to my right and along a 4-metre hallway into an enormous living room/dining room/kitchen open concept area that was easily 10m deep by 5m wide.
At the end of it was a sliding door leading out to a full-sized balcony (facing north). Alongside the hallway on the left there was a 4m x 4m bedroom that had a small walk-in closet, a writing desk and chair and another balcony (facing west). A second bedroom beside it and accessed through the l/d/k was the designated bedroom, and a third larger 5m x 5m room that contained what can only be described as a turn-of-the-century German mahogany clothes drawer/liquor cabinet. At least that’s how I used it.
Even though I have no idea what a metre is, I’m pretty sure that this was a really big apartment. I wondered how the other AETs had fared?
All of the rooms were carpeted in a thin, ugly green ply, while each individual room had real doors on them save the middle room which was laid with tatami (grass floor mats) and had authentic Japanese sliding doors complete with a beautiful hand-painted landscape on it.
The kitchen area had a nice stove – but no oven, a fridge small enough to satisfy a Brit (1m high), a deep sink, lots of shelf space, and a convection oven with buttons to heat up one cup of sake (rice wine), two cups of sake, or god help us all, three cups of sake. There were also separate buttons for warming milk, and for cooking various weights of meat, including beef, veal, pork, chicken, and I kid you not, goat.
The dining room consisted of a four-seater pine table and chairs and a China hutch (actually a Japan hutch according to two-pack Kanemaru-san) that was filled with four sets of dishware and flatware, as well as various cups and mugs, spices and a tin of Twinings of London Earl Grey tea.
Hanazaki-san opened up some of the cabinets beside the fridge under the ample counter space and proudly showed me the cooking implements, including what Kanemaru-san’s dictionary said was a rice cooker – since we were men, none of us had actually ever cooked a meal, so the cookware was a bit of a mystery for us, although I was able to correctly point out a frying pan.
As an aside, Hanazaki-san promised to send an office girl or three around to show me how to use the cooking utensils. He did and they did the very next day, but he failed to send one who could speak English or one with a Japanese-English dictionary. I never did learn how to use a rice cooker. Nineteen years later, I still have no clue.
The living room contained a three-seat couch and an armchair that were both covered in a soft, luxurious but ugly, moss green fabric. Along with a 24-inch television on a small stand, a 2m-long marble-top table and a book case with a faded olive green dialer telephone, there was also something called a kotatsu (a 30-cm tall, wood table frame covered by a futon or heavy blanket, upon which a table top sits. As an added bonus, the table can be plugged in to act as a heater with the blanket capturing the heat).
The walls of the apartment were covered in white wallpaper with a light, light, light blue floral pattern that looked nice and not too feminine.
Each room had a 10-foot high ceiling - I hate the Metric system – and had more than its fair share of fluorescent lighting.
Drapes covered every floor-to-ceiling door/window in the place – except for the tatami/bedroom which had a pair of non-decorated Japanese sliding rice paper windows that covered up the 8’-wide x 1’-high window.
There. Hopefully you get a pretty good idea of how the Ohtawara Board of Education (OBOE) set me up. The OBOE (I only JUST came up with that acronym) rented out the place from their own budget, and really wanted to impress on me on how much they wanted me to enjoy my stay in Japan. If I was to compare my situation with any other AET in Tochigi-ken or even Japan, I might actually have had the largest apartment with the most Western amenities.
Oh… and much to the chagrin of one Jeff Seaman, my bathroom came with a Western-style toilet.
I also had a washer/dryer machine – an important luxury in a country with 200% humidity – as well as a shower. There was also a small gas heater that I had to turn on if I wanted hot water.
The toilet room – a 1m x 1m cubicle – also came with its own set of slippers – dark green ones with little cartoony frogs sitting on lily pads. Apparently they are only supposed to be worn in the toilet room and woe to the person that doesn’t wear them.
No offense to Hanazaki-san or Kanemaru-san or to the people of Japan, I never wore any of the slippers ever again in my place. Worse yet, I encouraged others not to as well.
By the way, my hosts had hung a banner across the living room: Welcome to Japan Mr. Andrew Joseph.
They had spelled it right and got the order of my name correct, too. Something that doesn’t happen often enough back in Canada.
Hanazaki-san then pointed to a large black and white map hung on the wall above the telephone. Strangely enough, everything was in English, so even I might be able to understand it. Showing me a small photo in his wallet, Hanazaki told me that the map was drawn by my predecessor Cheryl Menezes, an English woman of Indian descent.
I didn’t think it odd for them to have chosen another person of colour to be an AET. I thought it was pretty cool, actually.
Just then, the telephone rang. Picking it up and saying 'Moshi Moshi' (hello – for use on the telephone only), Hanazaki-san handed the phone to me.
Monkey see, monkey do, I said Moshi just once; a fact that elicited laughter from everyone in my apartment including the person on the phone but me. Moshi means insect. So, if you say it twice, shouldn’t it mean insect-insect? Or is that exactly what it’s supposed to mean: "Sorry to bug you…"
On the other end of the phone, it was Cheryl wishing me good luck in my stay in Ohtawara. She told me to have fun, because that’s what it’s all about. Life, that is. That and the Hokey-Pokey.
After taking her phone number – she was back home in the UK – I slapped my two friends on the back and said domo arigato (thank you very much). In the process I dislodged Kanemaru-san’s cigarette onto the floor.
And that’s how I got a new blue carpet.
Somewhere having to cut those slippers off my toe-jammed feet,
Joseph-san
Today's title is by Steppenwolf.
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