2 Brothers - 1 Dream: To Make Love to a White Woman

From the first life altering moment when the Yoshida twins saw the movie poster of Raquelle Welch in “One Million Years B.C.”, their vision has been clear: to someday do it with a white girl. Yes, ladies, it could even be you.

Even though they may live in a tiny little town in the northern outskirts of Hokkaido that is rarely if ever visited by a foreigner, these two aging men have yet to let go of their dream and still hold hope against hope with an iron will. They truly believe that the fateful day will come when their fantasy is made a reality and they can feel the passion of slipping between the sheets with a natural blonde.

Though age has finally caught up to them, and they may not possess the striking looks of the past, these boys still have a romantic trick or two up their sleeves. Tetchi (right) is a master of the karaoke, luring in many a damsel with his magic vocal chords and few versus of The Carpenters’ “Close to You.” Koitchi (left), owner of a perfectly formed perm, is also a part-time sushi roller extraordinaire, impressing any lady in the kitchen with his exceptional culinary skill.

So, ladies, if you would also like a bit of exotic bedroom escapades and are open to new things, such as an erotic night with a couple brothers pushing 50, with hearts of gold and hair of silver, then come to Nakatonbetsu. It won’t be long before these two Japanese Cassanova’s find their way into your heart. I guarantee it.

Amon and His Mighty Bowl Haircut

Since the early days of his young life, Amon’s signature look became ensconced upon his head in proud fashion. Yes, folks, he love’s the bowl, and the bowl loves him. After getting to know this raspy little fourth grader, I soon could not imagine him any other way. Basically, when I think of the “bowl,” I think of Amon; and, when I think of Amon, I naturally think of the bowl.

However, the “bowl” is not just a fashion statement, but has also proven to possess many practical uses as well in the rough and tumble world of fourth grade. For example, when playing outdoor sports, it’s exaggerated frontal hang acts as a sun shield of sorts, allowing Amon to play a game hat-free. It also has the unique capability as a weapon of distraction in dodgeball through wildly waving it back and forth in a wave like motion, causing opponents to lose that all crucial split second moment of concentration.

So, in sum, the bowl is here to stay, and when asked if he has any plans in the future for a sudden style shift, Amon’s answer is always an emphatic “No way, man.”

Well, It's Final. I'm Running Away and Joining a Japanese Shinto Cult. Or, On Second Thought, Maybe Not.

As a final act of - we gotta get this damn foreigner involved with something cultural before he leaves - I was asked to be one of two salt-throwing-guys in Nakaton’s Omikoshi festival. Or, as I like to call it, the “let’s carry this old wooden Shinto shrine around town, hope it gives us good luck, and get really wasted at the same time,” festival.

Now being a salt-tosser might seem quite low and menial to the typical outsider, but OH...you couldn’t be more wrong! I was informed on repeated occasions that my ranking within the procession was a position never before bestowed upon a foreigner. Maybe they were just trying to make me feel better, secretly mocking me, or whatever, but regardless, I performed my duties with pride and sincerity, unlike my cross-eyed drunk Japanese counterpart.

So, I got to be a salt tosser in a parade, experience a real honest to goodness traditional Japanese festival, and see what it would be like to wear a crispy wafer on my head. Basically, it was the apex and swan song of a roller coaster ride of an AET career in Nakatonbetsu, Hokkaido. And, as the old saying goes: the best always go out on top. But, also, as in my case, even the struggling mediocre.

Buy My Shit...Please!

As I will be moving out of my apartment in a just over a week's time, I have some really good shit to sell at unbeatable rock bottom prices.

1 North Korean Intercontinental Ballistic Missle
Price: 30,000 yen
Description - used once, have English manual and warranty card, plus leather carrying case.
Color - white w/DPRK emblem on tip.

1 4-year old Burmese Elephant
Pice: 22,000 yen
Description: Bought in Thailand while on vacation. Barely used. Comes with collar, scratching post, and flea dip.
Color - grey.

1 Russian Soviet Era Hovercraft
Price: 120,000 yen
Description: 4 speed manual shift, chrome package, CD player, Fuel efficient (20 kilo per hour in heavy city traffic) Shakken paid through next April. Extremely rare.
Color - fire engine red.

1 Flesh Eating Zombie
Price: Free to good home
Description: Created while bored during office downtime. Good with children. Comes with cage and 2 months supply of food.
Color - patterned grey.

The Nakaton Heartbreaker Squad - Males Beware!

Carousing the back alleys of Nakaton, these little aces of love are at it once again – breaking hearts and takin’ no prisoners. Armed with 10-point smiles, striking figures, and even kimonos, few if any can resist their superpowers of attraction. Where they go the boys go, plain and simple. So, boys of Hokkaido beware; you just might be the next victim in a long list of casualties. Hey, there’s one in the picture right now.

I happened upon this little gang of cupids by chance in the midst of celebrating one of Nakaton’s many summer festivities. What was otherwise another uninspiring meeting of the locals was suddenly transformed, as if by magic, into a superfest when this little pack arrived locked, loaded and ready for fun. The sight of my camera was all it took to send them scurrying in haste for yet another photo opportunity in hopes of spreading their fame. Well, girls, here it is. And get this: you’re now on the World Wide Web. How’s it feel?

Profile of a Hokkaido Mama-san

Today, I would like to introduce everyone to Mama-san Makiko, the proprietor of the local Shichi Fuku izakaya, or slosh house. Shichi Fuku is the Japanese equivalent to the American backwoods watering hole, sporting a menu of the greasiest of meaty dishes and the cheapest of low- quality alcoholic beverages. All in all, making this little humble establishment a regular pit stop towards my new total-cardial-destruction-plan.

From an early age, Mama-san Makiko knew where her skills lied – serving copious amounts of alcohol to more than willing recipients. She has henceforth seen her destiny fulfilled as manager and owner of this little Japanese saloon.

But what separates the Hokkaido countryside mama-san from the rest of the same in other parts of Japan? I believe it is hardiness. The hard winter and even harder edge customers make this lot tough as nails, equally surpassed by none. They can drink with the best of them, and that’s saying a lot. Whiskey straight is often the elixir of choice for these pioneering women, with Mama-san Makiko being no exception. To them, drinking is not just a favored activity, but a fundamental part of the mama-san code, akin to Sumo and binge eating. A mama-san who can’t throw down with the best of them won’t last long in this demanding field. This insistent lifestyle will hence often make the rode weary mama-san well aged before her time, giving them a worn, grizzled look, but Mama-san Makiko is one of the exceptions. Pushing 60, she still doesn’t look a day over 55.

However, with regards to their alcohol guzzling tendencies, the only thing that equals their appetite for liquor is the size of their heart. A mama-san will often be the quickest in a small backwater Hokkaido community to embrace and befriend the foreigner in their midst. While others are still scattering in fear at the sight of Mr. White-face futzing around their little nowhere town, the mama-san is pouring another one on the house, for the new exotic wonder.
Thanks Hokkaido mama-sans for being a great friend indeed, in our difficult times of incredible alcoholic need. You’re the best!

An Odd Meditation on the Japanese Attention to Detail

If one has ever planned a picnic, been forced to complete government paper work, or for that matter – tried to do just about anything in Japan – it’s easy to see that, things are done, well, a bit differently here. In particular, the attention to detail can often be considered, let’s say, crippling in its magnitude, but of course this is compared to my American obsession with finding the quickest way from point A to point B, and not really giving a shit how I get there, just as long as I do, with little details taking a back seat to the "big picture." To complete something in the Japanese way can often stretch into infinity in terms of preparation and completion. Apparently, the Japanese have a bit more time on their hands, from their point of view to get things done exactly, and I do mean exactly, correct – that is, in a Japanese definition of correct.

In America, we have a word for this hyper-attention to detail. We call it: obsessive-compulsive disorder. To give you a brief example, I’ve seen people stressed out over the relative color of post-it-notes for hours on end, leaving them in a fit of anxiety feared by any modern cardiologist. This is apparently not considered irrational behavior in Japan, or maybe I just work with a bunch of psychopaths, and don’t know it.

Now, I must stress that I am by no means implying that attention to detail is not a good thing when doing something, like, well, building an airplane, a bridge, or any other structure that my fragile life will be dependent upon, but when bagging groceries? Hmmm? In Japan’s defense, this cultural trait pushes them to create really wonderful electronic gadgets, carpentry, artwork, gardens, very nice looking fruits and vegetables, and did I mention the 4-cylinder engines? But, it can be argued, from a westerner’s point of view, that it often causes them to uselessly spin their wheels to no end over minor points while the post-it-note color has yet to be decided.

This leads us to the way. There’s a way to do everything in Japan I have found - even a way for pulling into a gas station properly. Defy the way, and panic ensues. I have had many Japanese people confess to me that this is one of the sources of foreigner anxiety disorder. Tension develops to various degrees when encountering a foreigner because the typical Japanese person will just assume, not only will this person have no idea how to correctly “do” something, but will probably just fuck everything up in the process. After two years of living here, I have just given up getting involved in anything, even as menial as sweeping a floor, for fear I may break routine, cause severe stress, and eventually induce fainting. Therefore, even if we consider something to be pointless and trivial, if it is part of the way, it will be done, and it will be done properly.

So sit back, watch, and just stay the hell out of the way until called upon, is my philosophy for the newcomer to Japan. Or, screw it, because they’re the ones that thought hiring a bunch of crazy foreigners to come to Japan and teach English was a good idea in the first place, weren’t they? Cultural exchange is a two way street, so introducing them to a little “foreign style”, while at the same time acknowledging that we are in their neighborhood, can be a good thing. Just make sure your heart is in the right place, or, well, remember the fainting thing?

Ryuji - Dodgeball Extraordinaire

If dodgeball were an internationally recognized sport, little 9-year-old Ryuji would no doubt be an Olympic hopeful. His mastery of the game has slowly become the stuff of legends amongst the villagers of Shotonbetsu. His specialty – the side arm super toss – as he likes to call it. If you can imagine an arching soft rubber ball hurtling through space at a terrific 80 kilometers per hour, then you can visualize this devastating weapon of attack. Coupled with a sleek figure and cheetah like dexterity, getting a clean hit on Ryuji is about as easy as tagging a bumblebee with a baseball, no easy feat indeed. With his combination of crippling offense and mesmerizing defense, he is arguably one of the best all around players in the nation.

As his fellow classmates will confidently state, Ryuji is known in the school as the boy who broke all the rules of dodgeball and invented some new ones. The game has never been the same in this small Hokkaido school since Ryuji arrived at the tender age of 5. From the moment he first stepped onto the dodgeball court it was obvious to all that this little boy had a gift. In his first game ever, he recorded a clean hit on Mr. Tamura, a move that even the 14 year olds had rarely accomplished. Since that moment, Ryuji’s skills have only gotten sharper.

As Ryuji will openly admit, formal academic study is not his true love in life; instead, furthering the game of dodgeball to all new heights of intensity are where his passions lie. One can often find Ryuji religiously mapping out new defense and attack strategies, such as his own “super soaker,” during various school lectures. Though the teachers are all in agreement that Ryuji’s lack of academic focus is not ideal, they are also aware of where his amazing talents lie – within the 4 corners of a dodgeball court.

Ryuji – Dodgeball Extraorinaire

Haruko - 1st Grader Extraordinaire

A self-proclaimed lover of study as well as an expert in all things Pokemon, Haruko is truly a 1st Grader on top of her game. From the social sciences to pre-pre-pre-calculus, this 2-foot wonder ingests every ounce of knowledge thrown her way with an ardency akin only to the greatest of minds, thus often leaving her equally enthusiastic teachers of Shotonbetsu, baffled and amazed at her relentless appetite for learning. Planning a session with little Haruko is no easy task indeed!

But this leads us to her true passion in life – producing cutting edge, 1 dimensional magnet creations that speak from the depths of her young soul. What we see in the above photo is an example of her latest piece that I like to call “Spirit cow walks with stars,” or, better yet, as aptly named by the artist, “Cowy go moo.”

Her incredible magnet pieces have not only caught the eye of fellow students and teachers alike, but have also slowly grown to serve as an inspiration. An example being, “Foxy eat book,” in which the deeper meaning of the repeated power and conquest of nature over man’s accumulated knowledge and ego served us all as a humble reminder of our fleeting existence on earth, forcing us to realize that we still have so much to learn in our short lives. Haruko, however, had no comment as usual on the intended secondary meaning of her piece, opting instead to partake in a quickly developing game of dodgeball.

Nonetheless, for all the praises thrown her way, Haruko remains quite level headed about her success within the school. “I love study,” was the only response from this young, well-grounded prodigy. Thus, I am sure we will all have many more wonderful years in which to enjoy Haruko’s special form of artistic expression. Thank you, Haruko – 1st grader extraordinaire.

An Interview with Fred: the stuffed Hokkaido bear of Nakatonbetsu

A figure I see on a daily basis within the halls of Nakatonbetsu’s town community center, it had never occurred to me until today, to actually sit down and chat with this quietly stoic figure of a former bear. Although fascinating at times, I must warn you that Fred’s story is a disturbing and painful one that speaks of a life stopped short in its prime.

Forrest: Hello, Fred.

Fred: Hello, Forrest. I appreciate you wanting to sit down and finally talk with me. Not many people do. Even after my death, it’s like I still frighten these people. Some things never change, hey?

Forrest: No, I suppose they don’t, do they? If I may be frank, how old were you when you were killed? I am assuming you were killed, right? And not the victim of natural causes?

Fred: Yes. I was killed, shot by an angry farmer in supposed revenge for some cow, but I swear to you that it wasn’t me who did it. I never even ate meat when I was alive. Well, maybe a little when growing up, but that was it. I was a berry, roots, and nuts type of bear. Of course I had a little fish here and there in season, but that goes without saying. You see, not all of us bears develop the blood lust. You humans don’t seem to understand this. Bears that turn into crazed red meat eaters get violent and too brave, and then sooner or later some farmer blows their brains out because that bear just had to go slaughter some livestock.

But, even worse then meat, is if a bear gets hooked on the human food. Then it’s all over. Yep, only a matter of time before that bear’s nothing more than a trophy on some fat man’s wall. I lost a lot of good friends because they got hooked on human food. Poison. Nothing but pure poison.

But to get back to my death, my misfortune was just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. If I could go back and change anything, I never would have went across that field to get to that berry patch at dusk. Stupid.

Forrest: We all have regrets in life, don’t we? Don’t beat yourself up, Fred. How old were you when you died?

Fred: Ten. The prime of my life. I had the whole world in front of me. I can really say that I was a happy and content Hokkaido bear then. I had a nice little cave in a tiny canyon by a river, way far away from any humans. I had already mated four times. Life was good. Life was really good.

Forrest: How do feel now about being a stuffed bear on display in the town community center?

Fred: Well, honestly, because I’m dead, I don’t feel much. (Laughs) But, to answer your question, I guess I would have to say, used. I feel used. I went from roaming the wild green hills of my forefathers one day, to sitting in an ugly, smoke filled leisure hall for everyone to stare and gloat over me as a representation of man’s triumph over nature, the next. It’s tough. I just dream that they would take my stuffed carcass out back and burn me, so I can finally rest in peace. Until then, I’m trapped in this stuffed form. Locked between life and the happy bear hunting grounds.

Forrest: On a final note, is there anything you would like to say to the man who shot you before we end this interview?

Fred: Yes. Actually there is. You had no right to kill me. I only wanted some stinking berries that grew in a field that my ancestors had been foraging for centuries. Way before you and the other humans came, if I might add. I had nothing personal with you. No bear does. We have to stop this senseless cycle of killing. There is room in the hills of Hokkaido for everyone and everything, bears and humans alike. (Beginning to cry) Sorry…you brought back a lot painful memories for me that I hadn’t thought about it in a long tome.

Forrest: No. Don’t be sorry, Fred. Thank you for telling me your story. It was a pleasure and an honor speaking with you.

Fred: Your welcome, Forrest. I appreciate you wanting to speak to me, too.

Introducing Mr. Sato – Janitor Extraordinaire

Today, I would like to introduce you to the kind and elder Mr. Sato: the Janitor of the quaint little village school of Shontonbetsu, Hokkaido. Mr. Sato is a simple man with an iron dedication to his custodial duties. A man with a perpetual smile and a heart of gold, he is truly one of the unsung heroes of the Hokkaido public educational system.

Though his broom might look a bit out-dated, and in need of an upgrade, what appears to be a mere chaotic assortment of twig and straw, is actually a keen extension of this man’s hand: the tool by which he performs his custodial magic, a wand of cleanliness. A veteran of his profession, Mr. Sato handles his broom with a Zen like precision, keeping all corners of his school skillfully purged of unwanted filth. With a hawk’s gaze, not a speck of dirt escapes his discerning eye, nor a faulty toilet, or a wobbly table. Yes, Mr. Sato is the unheralded glue that keeps the Hokkaido village school of Shotonbetsu intact. Allowing this educational institution to press on, day to day, training the youth of the community to be the leaders of tomorrow.

However, Mr. Sato is not just a man of the broom, if I may, but a jack-of-all-trades in the field of public school maintenance. From boilers to book bindings, he can fix it all. He can just as soon straighten an askew paperclip as install a fresh piston in an ageing weed eater. There is no task to low nor too daunting for this dedicated individual.

Mr. Sato also serves as a fountain of information for the younger generation of up and coming public school custodians. Due to his near encyclopedic knowledge of all things material within the 4 corners of a school ground, the befuddled young pups of his field always know to whom they can turn for answers to their most difficult of janitorial queries. It is because of this that Mr. Sato has become a bit of a modern day legend within his professional circle, with stories of his superhuman fix-it skills spoken far and wide.

And, no, if you were wondering, Mr. Sato as of present has no plans for retirement. His inner joy comes from one thing, and one thing only – keeping his little village school alive day to day, not only for its faculty, but most importantly, for all the little children that grace its halls. Yes, men of Mr. Sato’s ilk are a dying breed indeed, and should be revered for their skills with due respect. Thank you, Mr. Sato – Janitor extraordinaire.

Foreigner in a Japanese Onsen – Life as a Turd in a Punch Bowl

Japan has many things of which a foreigner can grow passionately fond: one of them is the public hot spring, or onsen. An institutionalized form of relief through the act of immersing oneself in a hot pool of natural volcanic spring water, soaking in an onsen can often grow to be a foreigner’s favorite pastime within this country. The therapeutic affects are amazing indeed after a hard nights drinking in true traditional Japanese fashion. But, oh! You ought to see the look on some of the guy’s faces when all the sudden a strange white boy walks naked into their little communal haven. Things can get awful quite.

But mild uneasiness at your presence is not enough to deter the onsen lover from the sanctity of its hot pools, so you venture on unheeded, follow proper Japanese etiquette of pre-washing before entering the water with a small white courtesy towel covering up the privates, and begin to take in the bath’s healing essence. Then, all the Japanese men soaking in the same pool just sort of leave. “Hmmm? Was that my doing, or were they just planning on going anyway? Hmmm? I seem to suddenly have the entire place to myself. That’s strange.”

As God as my witness, I vow to eat every last shred of food in this apartment before I move!

As I will be moving out of my apartment in less than a month’s time, I am faced with a daunting task – eating all the food in my cupboards that I have been stubbornly avoiding for ages.

Now, I could easily just throw it all away and be done with it. That would be fine for a normal person, but…apparently I am not one of those. I am a cheap bastard (as well as a flaming psychopath according to some). So, on the grounds of weirdness, the food will be eaten. There is no further discussion.

However, the problem lies in the fact that having bought most of the stuff at a Japanese grocery store upon arrival, I still have no freaking clue what half of it is. What appeared to be salad dressing turned out to be starting fluid for weed eaters (obviously won’t be eating that), and what appeared to be starting fluid for weed eaters turned out to be, well, salad dressing.

Also, I have 7 different kinds of seaweed on the top shelf? What in the hell am I going to do with 7 different kinds of seaweed? Coupled with bottle upon bottle of various black sauces, I’m looking at some kind of odd seaweedy soy sauce gumbo.

So, if anyone out there has any suggestions for what to do with the above items plus 3 bags of extremely bitter green tea, some Thai rice noodles, 7 unknown substances, 2 onions, and an aging bottle of ketchup – please let me know! I’m open for suggestions.

And by the way, I never would of thunk it, but soba noodles and ketchup ain’t half bad.

Some odd thoughts I had today

Couldn’t help but wonder if it were government policy, would I be selected for compulsory sterilization? This caused mild discomfort for a period of 2 to 3 hours that was only eliminated by 4 beers and 7 rounds of minesweeper.

Actually, speaking of human heredity qualities and other fun stuff, did you hear what an independent investigator for the United Nations Human Rights commission said about Japan this week? During his recent 9-day visit to Japan, Japanese “officials often failed to understand or recognize the seriousness of racism and discrimination here, especially against the ancestors of Japan’s ethnic Koreans.” Ouch! Now for the record, many of my Japanese friends, including myself, are big fans of kimchi. I bet Mr. UN smarty-pants didn’t take that into account.

He also said that he was “concerned by the use of racist or nationalist themes by politicians seeking to whip up popular emotions.” He wouldn’t be referring to my old friend, Tokyo Governor Shintaro Ishihara – staunch supporter of all foreigners in Japan -- would he…? I wonder how many JET Programme participants have been invited to Mr. Ishihara’s place for dinner lately? For that matter, is Mr. Ishihara also a big fan of kimchi? And, has anyone ever seen Ishihara’s musical adaptation of Treasure Island? How could a man create such a thing and not have a sensitive side, or at least be a gimp-like closet homosexual?

Sorry. I must admit that what sparked this crazy talk today, was the fact that I finally got to see my first real Nationalist Oyuko black campaign van this weekend. Totally awesome! I know. Been here two years now and finally seen one? I obviously don’t get out much. But when there are Ultra-Nationalist Oyuko campaign vans freely roaming the Hokkaido countryside, probably best that I don’t.

The Worst JET of All Time

What would the worst JET of all time be like? In attempting to answer this most difficult of questions, please explore the most private recesses of your mind to try and find that which is most vile. Now here are some ideas to get you started.

Would the worst JET of all time:

• Masturbate regularly while sitting at his or her desk, explaining to their coworkers that they were merely stretching.

• Attack their supervisor with the nearest available fire extinguisher on being reprimanded about their action of regularly masturbating under the desk.

• Shoplift beer from the neighborhood convenience store to the full knowledge of the terrified, on looking employees.

• Ask his or her high school students out on dates only to be turned down out of terror on each inquiry.

• If male, have penis length contest with his male students during lunch hour. If female, have penis length contest between her male students during lunch hour.

• Steal the surplus alcohol and food from office parties even though his or her generous Japanese co-workers would gladly give it to them.

• Give dog feces as omiyage, because he or she thought it would be “funny.”

• Repeatedly preach to his or her co-workers about the hidden beauties of North Korea.

• Give presentations to his or her students about the hidden beauties of North Korea.

• Occasionally get drunk and streak through the town while screaming, “Villagers, rise like fire ants upon the carcass of this town!”

• Download Internet porn while at his or her Board of Education desk, but selfishly never share it with fellow coworkers.

• Be like me… hmmm?

Foreigner Anxiety Disorder, as Suffered by the Japanese

Foreigner Anxiety Disorder (FAD) is a mild to severe disorder suffered by the majority of Japanese when in the presence of a non-ethnic Japanese person. FAD mainly causes sufferers to have difficulty undergoing basic interpersonal communication with non-Japanese, especially non-Asian, but can also hinder any type of interaction as well. When in the presence of “foreigners” the sufferer will generally experience physical affects ranging from ‘butterflies’ or minor uneasiness to overwhelming fear - which in extreme cases can cause the sufferer to be housebound for long periods of time.

Foreigner Panic Disorder (FPD) is a rare but violent disorder experienced by a very small percentage of Japanese. Sufferers of FPD believe that their panic after encountering a non-Japanese foreigner is the result of some dire physical cause, and often rush to hospital or call for immediate medical attention during or after their attacks. As of present, FPD has no known cure, thus leaving its sufferers unable to interact with non-Japanese in any matter. Though strides in understanding FPD have been made in recent years, victims of this fatal affliction will perpetually remain socially handicapped outside of Japan.

Experts often distinguish between generalized and specific foreigner induced anxiety disorders. Japanese with generalized foreigner anxiety will have great difficulty with all foreigner interactions. Even the presence of a foreigner on television may cause mild uneasiness. Those with more specific-type foreigner disorders may only experience anxiety in a handful of situations. The most common specific anxiety is eigophobia, the fear of conversing in English with an English native speaker for fear of failure and or public humiliation. Other examples of specific foreigner disorders include fear of encountering a foreigner in a Japanese onsen (or public bath), fear of meeting a foreigner at a 4-way stop or parking lot while driving, and fear of encountering a foreigner in a public restroom.

Today, many sufferers of FAD have learned to overcome their fear through various self-treatment techniques all generally focused on prolonged contact with non-Japanese, whether abroad or within Japan. Popular therapeutic procedures include intensive English instruction through a non-Japanese instructor, regular visitations to Japanese Foreigner Bars, and of course international travel.

Formal medical treatments for the most severally afflicted often center on a combination of various cognitive foreigner behavior therapies, as well as foreigner group therapies in which a foreigner is physically present for forced, but controlled interactions. Though still in their testing phase, Anti-Foreigner-Anxiety medications hold hope for sufferers of the worst cases, such as severe Foreigner Panic Disorder.

WARNING! Riding this bike to American schools may cause you to get your ass kicked.

Prolonged contact with this bike on American school grounds may result in the following side-effects:

wedgies (regular, frontal, propeller, rippers, sky-highs, hangers, and atomic variations), Flying Dutchmens, miscellaneous beatings, head toilet flushes - swirlies or smelly hurricanes, wet willies, Texas Chili Bowls, shoe heel attacks - or flat tires, eye gouges, rubber band snappers, swifty scrotum kicks, noogies, pink bellies, nipple cripples - also known as the titty twister or purple nurple, various verbal abuses ranging from the mild to "your momma's a &%$^%" levels, 5-star hand slaps, hot foots, dastardly hair pulls, Indian burns, non-consensual enemas, shin-crackers, good old fashioned ass-kickings, and of course - diarrhea.

Dating in Hokkaido -- A tale of bad teeth

If there were a magic tooth fairy that did certain things beyond menial tooth collection, such as complementary cosmetic reconstruction, she has obviously never graced the dentally challenged land of Hokkaido. Not only are many an individuals pearly whites far from the above, but also the entire set seems to have just given up on pointing in any type of uniform direction, such as up and down for starters.

A funny thing is, mention the quality of a girl’s teeth to a local Japanese man as being a worthy component for physical critique, and they will often act as if you had just been going on about the importance of toenail symmetry. They can't believe you would even consider such a trifle thing. So, once again we are shown that beauty truly lies in the eye of the beholder. But, God, you really have to see some of the teeth here before you take sides. Holy shit!

I remember meeting a snack bar mama-san one time whose only major physical flaw was the fact that her teeth pointed straight out as if trying to escape from her oral cavity. Her front incisors were the first thing to greet customers upon entering her establishment because, due to their augmented forward projection, appeared to be waving at you. Even when attempting to seal her lips, the tips would still poke out like two trapped figures under a garage door. This often made focused conversation with her impossible.

This leads us to dating. Over and over again, one finds oneself meeting, what at first glance appears to be a pretty girl. Then she smiles, and -- Ughh! It's as if the evil hurricane of dental death rose up to destroy something you had just found sexually stimulating. Poor girl. (But even poorer you) The cruel effect of this ends up being that if one wants to finally snuggle up next to something at night other than another "Naught School Girls" DVD, one has to make a concession -- tooth quality can no longer be a factor in finding a dating partner.A sharp lowering of various personal standards is often a central part of the difficult process of Hokkaido countryside acclimation.It is actually amazing what one can learn to tolerate even after only one year here. (And, now, after two, I could probably fuck an alien and enjoy it.) So, your tale of dating becomes a tale of bad teeth, and if you happen to have the good fortune of grabbing hold of a girl with a civilized set of choppers, hold onto to her like gold. You have now just hooked a keeper, my boy. Well done!

10 Reasons Why I'm a Bad Elementary Teacher in Japan

• Permanently damaged a second grader while playing dodgeball
• Used the Japanese word for masturbate (senzuri) in class accidentally instead of the word for cheat (zurui)
  
• Can't really speak Japanese or English properly
• Don't really care that I can't speak Japanese or English properly
• View scheduled start times for classes merely as suggestions
• Pushed a first grader down for violently grabbing my balls
• Laughed at same first grader after pushing him down
• Above first and second grader have now sought violent revenge against me
• Think that shaming Japanese teachers in front of their students by showing everyone that they can't speak English is fun
• Encouraged a food fight once and lost
  

But My Tests Go to 11

Do you ever find yourself falling into these odd, quirky moods, in which your goal is to completely confuse the hell out of the closest person next to you by, from their prospective, speaking absolutely indecipherable jiberish? No? Well...hmm, must be just me.

You see, I am one of those odd lone wolf characters whose personal philosophy dictates that humoring oneself over others is the ultimate priority, since I'm the one who has to look at my ugly ass in the mirror everyday. (I have a very low mirror) My quirky humor gets satisfied before everyone else's.

To explain, I have on repeated occasions done personal pranks, jokes, and innuendos that were only funny to myself. Leaving everyone else starring at me in a mildly frightened manner, plus leaving me generally friendless for a period of 3 to 4 weeks. But, I cracked myself up, and that's all that matters to freaks like me.

The Japanese English teachers that are forced to work with me on a regular basis are my new hapless victims to the above. What I do to them is basically start referring to an obscure American pop-cultural reference that I absolutely know they will have no chance in hell of knowing, but for some unexplainable reason, find amazingly funny to myself. I also usually do this in a class in front of 20 to 25 even more confused onlooking students. Possibly for increased shock-value. I also must explain that these Japanese English teachers are people that struggle just borrowing a pen in English and whose American entertainment industry knowledge rarely stretches beyond The Carpenters, and little Snow White and her Seven Dwarfs. So, to be fair, I really don't have to reach that far to throw them off.

Today, I was administering an oral English interview test to some students. And, the Japanese teacher kindly showed me her assessment sheet for grading and explained that she would like me to evaluate each selected speech component (such as pronunciation) on a point scale from 1 to 10. I then told her, "But my tests go to 11." She froze. And started blinking her eyes in small furry animal like fashion. (This is what the Japanese teachers tend to do when they understand absolutely zilch of what I just said.) After sputtering a few odd, random sounds, she finally spit out, "what?" (I get this a lot, too.) "My tests go to 11," I repeated. "My tests are better." I'm totally messing with her for no reason whatsoever at this point. "eeleeven...," she said very slowly with rapidly increasing confusion. Now, I had completely fucked her brain. It was at this point that I knew the personal joke had gone far enough, and like a dog finally bored of playing with a garden mole, it was time to let go. "Oh, nothing," I said softly and went back to reality.

Now, if you aren't familiar with Spinal Tap, you also had no fucking idea what I was just talking about, either. Did you?

It's Nice To Know That White People in Hokkaido Port Towns Aren't The Most Discriminated Against In Japan.

Thanks to the amiable ways of your average Russian Sailor, many a JET stationed in an international Hokkaido port city can find life to be a bit challenging at times. That is, if you find regularly being refused entry into local business establishments on account of the color of your skin because you might be another trouble-making Russian, well, challenging. (Don't worry, fellow white people. Someday we will rise up together and have a country of our own to discriminate in. Until then, be strong.)

But, don't fret. There is yet a more discriminated group within Japan - the Eta, or Burakumin, as they are often referred. These were the people in Japan who historically were delegated to do the fun stuff, like dig graves, slaughter animals, make tasty leather products, and even work in some forms of entertainment. I'm guessing assistant English instruction being one.

Although, such official status was technically abolished long ago, bad reputations are hard to shake. Hence the stigma still exists: Burakumin = Bad. Nobody wants their precious little daughter marrying a decedent of a Burakumin. Who knows, maybe she'll become a grave digger or something. How embarrassing would that be at parties when the guests ask what kind of work the daughter does?

But this is where it gets especially heart warming for me. It is not unknown in Japan for families to hire private detectives to look into the background of potential suitors for traces of Burakumin heritage.

Now, what if we had something similar in America for, let's say, descendents of former Walmart employees? It is arguably one the more undesirable jobs in the US. And, we all know from the news that discrimination is still going strong against these downtrodden people. I mean, really, would you want your precious little daughter marrying Bill in hardware? Didn't think so.

Genki Condoms

Due to the increase in AIDs infections over the past year coupled with lackluster condom sales, Japan's largest prophylactic producer, Okamoto, will begin a campaign to crush the myth that condoms are about as fun on a date as say, a large bag of dirt.

With respect to the Japanese people's love of goofy animal characters that look like they were drawn by my 4 year old nephew. (Hello Kitty being one that comes to mind.) I believe that's the answer right there, Japan. Genki condoms. With hyper-adorable cartoon characters meticulously applied to the tip.

I mean, how could even the most demure Japanese girl resist the sight of a Hello Kitty or Miffy figure perched on the end of some grubby, adulterating salaryman's love bone? It's a sure thing.

The Okamoto companies one suggestion of marketing glow-in-the-dark ones might come in handy for location purposes, due to the local male population's lack of, well, let's say, girth. But, "Hello, Love Hotel, Kitty," come on. That's a winner.

I'm woonwe, so woonwe - JET Finds Friend Making Standard At An All Time Low

Oh, I remember my Japan honeymoon-period just like it was yesterday -- eyes brimming with expectation of meaningful, rewarding cultural exchange upon arrival. And when it came to the people of my new home, It was as if the entire town was fighting for my attention, and everybody wanted to be my friend. This lasted about a week, then I was quickly shut-off from my pseudo celebrity status.

Next, followed the enduring period of "shun-the-whitey." This was when reality finally caught up, and I was forced to realize that I was, in fact, veeery different here. I was the only non-Japanese face for miles. And, apparently, this made some quite uneasy in my presence.

For many, I was a breath of fresh air. Something new in an otherwise violently homogeneous community. An outsider who could help clue them in to the world beyond their own. Unfortunately, they were only about 10 in number. The other 2,490 couldn't give a shit less. At least, that has been my conclusion.

I had two basic choices: remain completely as I was and wallow in a frigid ostracized state for my remaining period in town; Or, pretend to be Japanese, a bit like a puppy who likes to sit in the driver side of an automobile, place his paws upon the steering wheel, and cause everybody to exclaim, "How cute. He's trying to drive like a person." I chose the puppy route. I would attempt to endear the other 2,490 to me. I would win their hearts. I would do things like relentlessly attempt to learn the language, observe their interactions and try to mimic the same. Be culturally sensitive. Become Japanese.

This didn't really work, either. But it was worth a shot, and I recommend the same to everyone. Because, really, what alternative do you have?

In the end, I still found the majority of folks would only interact with me if either physically forced to do so (like if I cornered them in the convenience store blocking any obvious escape routes, leaving them no choice but having to say "excuse me" in Japanese to get out), or if they were completely shit-faced drunk. Since physically cornering people in public places isn't the most tactful habit, I figured drinking with the locals would be the more prudent of the two. And, it's a lot more fun, as well.

Thus, began the dribbling alcoholic stage.

During this stage, interaction would shoot through the roof while drunk, then oddly fizzle back to its usual town-freak status when encountering the same people when sober. I was halfway there. If I could win their sober hearts as well, as opposed to only their intoxicated ones, I was in. Still haven't quite got there.

So, now, it's come down to one simple requirement for me to consider a new face for friend-promotion: you just have to talk to me. I really never envisioned it coming to this. But it has. Hell, you try living in the middle of nowhere in a foreign country and see how sane you stay after not having a shred of real interaction with another human being for months on end. Your friend making standard just might get as low, too. Actually, now that I think about it, it couldn't get any lower, could it? Unless, you decided mere eye contact was sufficient. But that's just crazy.

JET Now Finds All Prior Expectations of Small Time Life In Japan Embarrassingly Ridiculous

When a brash, young, fresh-off-the-boat JET, named Dick, stepped into his new role as the Assistant English Teacher of the cold northern outpost of Aho-cho, his sights were set high. They would soon plummet.

"I expected so much when I arrived," confessed a disheartened Dick. "I was young and naive. What did I know? Nothing. That's what. Nothing."

Of those expectations, the ones that Dick finds himself most shaking his head in embarrassment about include such innocent things as frequent exotic romantic escapades with local ladies, truly becoming part of the town, and through everyone's effort and support - becoming fluent in Japanese. Dick came to find none of these materialize.

On attempting to tackle the Japanese language, Dick had this to say. "Not only did nobody really help me to learn Japanese," said a frustrated Dick. "Many still find it strange why I would even want to do so. I mean, hello! Look around! I'm in Japan here, and your English sucks ass. You think that might just be a reason."

Dick would soon discover that he would have to be the one to pull himself up by the bootstraps and learn the language himself. Unfortunately, his motivation would eventually dwindle. "I finally came to the point where I realized that I wasn't going to live here beyond the 2 years I had formally committed myself to, and figured, screw it. I'll just get drunk and eat takoyaki instead." Dick hasn't looked back since.

Dreams of hot Eastern Romance in this small exotic community where quickly dashed by one chilling fact - there were no single women with which to do the above. "That was a real tough one to swallow. You see, all the girls head to the city after high school because, well, this place is boring and there's nothing to do. The ones that do stay usually get married the first month they're out of school. So unless you can somehow weasel yourself into that 1 month window period you might have a chance, but much easier said then done. And the risks remain high. If you value your testicles, that is."

When it came to being a real part of the community, Dick could also sum up his failure in a concise manner. "People are still scarred of me. I've been here for 2 years now, and there are still people here that jump at the sight of me. That's just sad."

Better luck in your next adventure, Dick. We'll be pulling for you.

Japanese Porn Voted Worst Porn of All Time by "Experts On Shitty Porn Committee"

One must see it to believe it, but the fact remains the same - Japanese porn is just plain awful. My poor deceased dirtbag grandfather wouldn't even enjoy it, it's so bad.

It can be a hard pill to swallow for the lonely, shy foreigner coming to Japan, after embarrassingly purchasing that first "Naughty School Girls" DVD, to soon discover that the performances are not only less than inspired, but, on top of that, some evil force has universally placed censor blocks on where the "action happens," if you know what I mean. Another 2000 yen down the tubes.

But, at least for myself, some solace came out of this monumentally disappointing porn purchase, and thats is - for all the evil that the US seems to be spreading throughout the world today, us Americans still have something for which to hold our heads high: we make the best fucking porn in the world, hands down.

God bless America!

Shame on you, Japan, and your bad porn making ways.