45° North -- Tales of a Hokkaido JET

My Pal: Crazy Ishi

2005-08-13T16:17:00.000+09:00

Today, I would like to introduce you all to a Nakaton friend of mine, Ishi, or as he is better known in Hokkaido snack-bar circles, “Crazy Ishi.”

The above photo was taken one night after Crazy Ishi had just finished consuming his 32 bottle of shouchu. As you can clearly see, all faculties are still intact, or, maybe I should say, as intact as they could be within the mind of a raving alcoholic. When it comes to drinking, Crazy Ishi has no equal.

I happened upon this rebellious young lad one evening whilst overindulging in Japanese shouchu at the local pub. Being the friendly type, as well as the exceptionally daring, Crazy Ishi had no fear in approaching the intimidating white man within their midst, and quickly challenged me to a twofold contest of drinking and arm wrestling. As fate would have it, I won the later, but failed miserably at the former. I had truly met my match when it came to slinging back the spirits. Crazy Ishi had defeated me fair and square.

As Crazy Ishi puts it, he began his alcoholic career as a simple remedy for killing the pain of living in a dull and lifeless rural community. However, soon after taking up his new activity, it was clear to all that this boy had a talent. Even the legendary Hokkaido drunk, “Fat Ito,” couldn’t challenge him. So, in a town with little to be proud of after the potato powder factory closure and all but a handful of the youth had begun their exodus to Sapporo, they had “Crazy Ishi,” and they were proud.

Now Crazy Ishi feels a deep obligation to his community, and believes his duty is to remain here to challenge wayfaring drifters to drinking battles, so as to spread Nakaton’s fame throughout the region. In addition, Crazy Ishi makes regular out-of-town excursions to other areas to take on local hopefuls. So, Crazy Ishi’s life, although not filled with the urban excitement he had hoped for in his youth, has found a purpose and satisfaction within his sport. And, when asking him if he has any further goals for the future, he confessed, “to be the first man to break the 100 bottle mark for shouchu in a single evening. Everyone says it can’t be done. Impossible, they tell me. I want to be the one to prove them all wrong.” Well, good luck, Crazy Ishi, we’ll be routing for you.

Nakaton Pimp

2005-08-08T17:45:00.000+09:00

If you had asked me before “Are there any Yakuza in Nakaton?” I would have laughed in your face. Yakuza! In a town of only 2,500 in the middle of freaking nowhere, a place where trees actually outnumber the citizens! You have got to be kidding me. Idiot….

But, OH, was I shocked to discover the evil truth after innocently wandering into the only worthwhile watering hole in town to spot these two ruffians menacingly perched in the corner. Actually, shocked is not the word for it; defecatingly frightened is more appropriate.

The one in the foreground is Bandai, a mistakenly mild-mannered fellow who fronts as an office worker for the local Board of Education. But, don’t be fooled by his seemingly benign appearance. This man is a tiger just looking to bite. He’d just as soon slap you as look at you, and wouldn’t even think twice about it. He basically acts as the strong-arm of the group.

The one in the background is Hiroki. He’s the brains of the operation whereas Bandai is the brawn. He masterminds all the jobs such as small time candy smuggling, illegal house cleaning operations, and dog pimping. Hey, they only live in a town of 2,500. It’s not like real criminal opportunities are shooting through the roof here.

Hershey's Hair Make

2005-08-08T17:36:00.000+09:00

And you silly guys thought they only made chocolate. Jeesh…

Apparently the Hershey’s corporation has been doing a bit of experimenting under the radar outside of America lately. They now also make hair. Also, looks like Rogaine’s finally going to get one hell of a run for its money if this pans out. Because, whenever I think of Hershey’s, I think of chocolately goodness. And, whenever I think of Rogaine, well, I think of all those dicks on TV who promote it. So in my soon to come time of follicle need, you’ll know which one I’ll be choosing. Hersheys! I wonder if any chocolate by-products are used in the process? And, is a foil wrapper somehow involved?

Nishi-san & His Steaming Brew of Love

2005-08-08T17:30:00.000+09:00

Women Beware! Getting within five steps of Nishi-sans infamous, steaming “Love Brew” may impair all sexual resistance skills.

Yes, folks, the word is out. Nishi-san has concocted the mother of all love brews, and his list of victims also continues to grow on a daily basis as if propelled by some mystical force, well, some mystical “love” force, that is.

Nishi-san claims he came up with the secret formula for his knock ‘em randy elixir, late one night in his mother’s basement. A formula he had been clandestinely developing since the 7th grade when the hormones started to tingle and girls became more than mere easy wedgy targets. It was at this point that a shattered Nishi-san soon discovered that female interest in him was lamentably low. Therefore, from that day forward, he was driven to develop a super formula that would cause, or force, any women who ingested it to instantly fall into a state of mad lust - directed at him, naturally.

Now he claims, after uncountable, and equally uncomfortable failures, to have finally found the perfect herbal combination, and by the looks of the women he’s been sharing company with as of late, it’s freaking true!

Oh, and by the way, his formula is not for sale. Why not? Well, duh, if everybody had it, than Nishi-san wouldn’t be special anymore, now would he?

Damn you, Nishi-san!

The Good Luck Poker House

2005-08-08T17:22:00.000+09:00

You don’t think they might be being a bit sarcastic with the title, could they? Like, “Ya! Good Luck! HA HA HA HA!”

I wonder what a similar name for a brothel might be? “Hope You Don’t Get AIDs! Sex House.” Or for that matter, how about the “Knock ‘em Dead” shooting range, or the “We’ll Be Praying For, Ya” medical clinic, and finally the “Watch Your Cornhole” gay bar.

Well, they were funny to me at least.

We Are the 4 Banditos!

2005-08-08T17:17:00.000+09:00

As money and entertainment were equally running short during the cruel north Hokkaido winter, a few of us decided to give banditry a try – just for kicks, really. And, I have to say, it was the most fulfilling 5 hours of my life. OK, a bit short-lived, but OH, the excitement of blasting off outdated machine guns at random strangers. You have got to try it. Damn, can those suckers run. Fucking hilarious.

Unfortunately, our outlaw careers were cut short due to scheduling conflicts in our early morning classes the next day. Big time disappointment, I know. But, what are going to do? Personally, I constantly dream of what could have been.

OK, OK, I’m kidding. We weren’t actually real life bandits, or even the cheesy fake kind like they have Knot’s Berry Farm, we were extras in a Japanese Docu-Drama they were filming up around Wakkanai. But, I totally had you there for a minute, didn’t I?

But, on that note, you have got to try being a German POW in a Siberian concentration camp at least once in your life. The cabbage soup… OH, absolutely fabulous. And, not to mention the clothes. Don’t even get me started on the clothes. Awesome! Totally Awesome! And the hardened Russian guards with a penchant for sodomy, totally cool! Nicest guys you will ever meet. Really!

Mrs Hira: Winner of the 2005 "Atsui Awards"

2005-08-08T17:08:00.000+09:00

Well, folks, the ballots are in, and as expected, it was one hell of a race. But, in the end, Mrs. Hira of Nakatonbetsu Junior High School prevailed, and was officially declared the winner of the first ever “Atsui” Awards in the Hokkaido prefecture division.

So, you may just be asking yourself how this 29-year old small town schoolteacher pulled it off. Well, as one judge simply put it, “when you say the word “Atsui” (hot) a record number 2,342 times in a single school day, it doesn’t exactly hurt your chances. An amazing single day feat indeed, and one that will arguably remain unbroken for quite some time.”

When asked about the secret behind her success and talent for insistently complaining about the weather, she cited being a native of Wakkanai city (Japan’s northernmost settlement and universally considered colder-than-fuck city), as well as a hyperbolic hatred for all things warm, even soup, as reasons. After questioning her about the prospects of breaking her own record, Hira was quick to reply, “Atsui ne.” (It’s fucking hot in here, isn’t it?)

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

2005-07-30T11:56:00.000+09:00

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

2005-07-30T10:56:00.000+09:00

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.

2005-07-26T13:57:00.000+09:00

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!

2005-07-25T10:58:00.000+09:00

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!

2005-07-24T15:20:00.000+09:00

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

2005-07-22T16:08:00.000+09:00

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

2005-07-21T22:44:00.000+09:00

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

2005-07-20T18:29:00.000+09:00

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

2005-07-19T21:28:00.000+09:00

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

2005-07-18T20:40:00.000+09:00

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

2005-07-15T11:35:00.000+09:00

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

2005-07-14T23:42:00.000+09:00

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!

2005-07-13T14:52:00.000+09:00

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

2005-07-12T12:23:00.000+09:00

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

2005-07-11T21:34:00.000+09:00

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

2005-07-11T16:57:00.000+09:00

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.

2005-07-10T23:43:00.000+09:00

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

2005-07-10T22:51:00.000+09:00

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

2005-07-08T08:20:00.000+09:00

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

2005-07-07T16:53:00.000+09:00

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.

2005-07-06T11:13:00.000+09:00

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

2005-07-05T14:53:00.000+09:00

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

2005-07-04T08:45:00.000+09:00

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

2005-07-01T15:40:00.000+09:00

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"

2005-07-01T10:50:00.000+09:00

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.

JET Leads Intoxicated Japanese in Chorus of "Different Strokes" Theme Song

2005-06-28T22:51:00.000+09:00

"It was the greatest moment of my life," proclaimed, Dick Gozinya, 30, of Aho-Cho, Hokkaido. On a lonely Hokkaido Saturday night the young Gozinya found himself drinking in the local snack-bar of his small economically depressed town. As is always the case, the local drunk rednecks were urging Dick to sing them something on the karaoke machine. Despite Dick's reluctance, he eventually acquiesced, and agreed to one song.

Upon flipping through the dog-eared karaoke book, Dick just happened upon on old ditty he had almost all but forgotten: the theme song for the 80's hit TV show "Different Strokes." "Wow! I thought," said Dick. "These Japanese karaoke books really do have some random selections." Dick couldn't resist the temptation. He had witnessed on repeated occasions the shocking applause that the "Ghost Busters" theme tune had gotten. Why not give this one a try, he thought.

"So I shouted out the song i.d. number to the bar master," said Dick, "and, well, the rest is Aho-cho history." What Dick had unexpectedly stumbled upon, was the most positively received song in town history. "It brought down the house," said Dick with obvious pride. "They loved it! We had a true intercultural bonding. It was magical. When I hit the chorus, the bar went absolutely nuts!"

The reason behind the Japanese love of western show tunes might just be found in their own native breed of pop music. The simplistic chord structures and melodic arrangements of J-pop, as it is often referred, hold striking similarities to the advertising and TV show jingles of the west.

"My only advise," said Dick, with a genuine look, "is when in doubt, break out a show tune. The response will amaze you. Trust me. It will be a winner."

Exotic Automobile Destruction: A How-To-Guide for Beginners

2005-06-27T21:14:00.000+09:00

This simple tutorial is designed for anyone who desires to spice up their life through the process of basic automobile destruction with an exotic twist. This tutorial assumes no prior experience with automobile destruction. Nonetheless, to get the most out of this guide, one should naturally have some knowledge of basic driving skills.

1. Initial Preparation

To get the most out of random, exotic automobile destruction, first get yourself into a low-medium to heavy post-intoxication haze. For example, this can be done by drinking copious amounts of low-grade potato liquor until 5 or 6 in the morning. After a brief nap, possibly on a miniature golf course, or the grounds of some other public facility. Begin to drive your vehicle.

2. Additional Preparation (optional)

Instead of returning immediately to one's home, spend the rest of the day driving aimlessly. No pre-determined destination is necessary. The purpose of this step is to develop the feeling of almost complete exhaustion. Important: complete exhaustion is undesired because capacity to further operate the vehicle will be necessary to complete the task.

3. Find an Isolated Backcountry Road And Drive At A Terrific Rate of Speed

This step is crucial, and can be difficult for the beginner. It is at this point that one might want to reference a reliable driving atlas or even consult with a knowledgeable local about where the most isolated country roads are located. It is also critical that this step be performed after sunset -- the darker the better. The use of a low-beam headlight setting is also advised.

4. Wait For A Large Exotic Animal To Race Onto the Road

This is where luck will play the biggest factor in the process. Some have the fortune of completing this step on their first try, others attempt repeated times and are still unsuccessful. Thus, initial failure should not dishearten the beginner from persevering. Also, the type of animal will of course vary across regions. In Hokkaido, deer are sufficient, however, if one is in the middle east, a camel might be desirable.

5. Assuming You Have Completed Step 4, Hit the Exotic Animal With Automobile At Full Speed

A direct strike is preferred, but side-strikes, rear clips, even backing up over the creature in desperate situations can suffice if necessary. Remember - the greater the speed, the greater the effect. The reasoning for the rummy post-intoxication haze will now become known. This will increase the "shock" value of hitting the animal. It will also, through the use of deadening the reflexes, hinder the uncertain driver from avoiding collision at the last moment.

6. Step Out of The Vehicle and Admire Your Handiwork. Congratulations! You Have Just Completed This Guide!

If you are unsure of whether or not you completed the tutorial properly, feel free to use the above graphic as a gauge. But, really, almost any type of automobile destruction is sufficient, and should be considered an accomplishment.

Good luck! And happy exotic automobile destroying!

Foreigner Bars in Japan: a haven for the homely

2005-06-27T13:27:00.000+09:00

As my Grandmother once said, "There is a place for all God's creatures on earth." Well, Grandma, you were right again. Even the homely have a place in Japan: the foreigner bar.

In todays vain world of exclusive night clubs, high-society hangouts, and underground for-hot-people-only-sex-clubs, where are the homely to go? Well, perpetually ostracized westerners of the world, fret no more. There is now reason to rejoice. All you need do is come to Japan. There's an entire industry waiting for you. The foreigner bar.

When entering the foreigner bar for the first time, all seems typical. But, upon closer review, one thing stands out -- everybody is really homely. What at first seemed like a room full of out-of-your-league Japanese ladies, is actually a group of mediocre, highly-desperate-looking-for-foreigner-love-J-girls. And the men, well, anyone can obviously tell from the beginning they are extremely homely. That's why they're there.

Foreigner bars are a god-send for the attractively challenged in Japan, often serving as the impetus for the homeliest of foreign men to remain in the country. So next time you are stuck in your own western homeland, eating a TV dinner alone on another Friday night, get off that couch and start packing them bags. There's even a place for you on this earth: the Japanese foreigner bar. See you there.

Natto Officially Declared Worst Food of All Time by "Experts on Shitty Foods Committee"

2005-06-23T21:16:00.000+09:00

In what was dubbed a landslide victory, the Japanese fermented soybean based dish, natto, was officially declared the "Worst Food of All Time," at the first ever meeting of the "Experts on Shitty Foods committee (ESFC)."

Natto is a traditional Japanese dish produced by the process of fermenting soybeans with the hay bacterium Bacillus natto. This process leaves natto with a strong odor, akin to diarrhea. Stirring the natto also results in the formation of spider-like strands leaving most to think someone accidently blew phlegm into the cup of beans.

Natto's health benefits have always been highly touted by the Japanese, as well as its use as an excellent source of protein. Nonetheless, the ESFC was quick to point out that none of these aspects, even if true, override the fact that natto just "sucks ass," as one chairman put it.

The chairman of the ESFC also noted the little known historical fact that the ancient Ainu peoples of Japan actually considered natto as a representation of the wrath of God. And, that the Japanese peoples love of the dish merely reinforced this belief.

In Act of Unprecedented Defiance, JET Wears Outdoor Shoes Inside.

2005-06-23T15:20:00.000+09:00

At one time, a man by the name of Abraham Lincoln once said, "To sin by silence when they should protest, makes cowards of men." It is words like these that have inspired a young social dissident, Dick Gozinya, 25, of Aho-cho, Hokkaido, to launch his single man campaign against what he deems as discrimination in the work place within his JET Programme Contracting Organization.

"They think they can just cast me aside like a pawn in their little racist game of chess," said Gozinya. "Not give me any work. Talk to me like I'm a retard. Always giggle in my presence. But, I will not sit in silence another day. I will continue to wear outdoor shoes inside until they begin to agree to my demands."

Just exactly what those demands are, however, Gozinya apparently has no idea. "Demands? Well...um...give me a minute. Oh, I know, to stop treating me like such an outcast and a foreigner! And..., well, I guess that's it for right now. But believe me, I'll think of a few more later on."

While conducting our interview, we had the chance to witness just what kind of work environment Gozinya had to deal with on a daily basis. To our surprise, his office not only did not appear to treat him in a discriminatory manner, but instead coddled him in surprising fashion. There were multiple instances in which we witnessed the secretary bring him refreshments as well as his superiors appearing to treat Gozinya with more respect than he gave to them.

Upon questioning Gozinya about whether or not his anxiety stemmed not from discrimination in the work place, but instead from the typical after affects of "culture shock," his reaction was quite hostile. "Oh, I get it! It's all a big conspiracy against me. Just because I am the foreigner, I am in the wrong. Well you guys can just f*** off, too, for all I care!"

We also couldn't help but suggest that his method of protest was perhaps not only a bit childish, but also, for lack of a better word, gay. Gozinya's reaction to this was just as antagonistic as before. "Gay! Gay! You're a journalist. You can't use words like gay. But if I must explain, wearing outdoor shoes inside is the perfect way to strike the Japanese people right where it hurts. You see how anal they are about the whole shoe thing, don't you? It's almost a psychotic obsession. But this is nothing compared to my next plan. Yes. If this doesn't create the desired results, I'll stop separating my garbage properly. And, on purpose, too! We'll just see how they like that one."

JET Wonders What Next Pseudo-Job Will Be.

2005-06-21T15:10:00.000+09:00

Upon realizing that his JET tenure would soon be coming to a close, Nakatonbetsu AET, Forrest Akers, 30, has begun to wonder exactly what his next pseudo-job will be. "It's actually quite intimidating," Forrest said. "I mean, I've been doing this pseudo-type-job for so long now, there's no way I could actually do real work. Gimme a break."

Although, Forrest admits he occasionally considers the prospect of getting a "real job," so to speak, the idea is quickly abandoned after recalling what "real" work actually was like prior to entering the JET Programme. "I remember my past job," says Forrest. "It really sucked. There's no way I want to do that again, at least if I can help it. People actually expecting something from you. Having to risk getting fired for screwing up. Getting yelled at for being late. Jeesh! Crazy, I tell you. Inhumane."

Nonetheless, regardless of the odds stacked against him, Forrest is confident that he can somehow find a new pseudo-job working alongside real, actual professionals. "I'll just keep looking and won't give up," vows Forrest. "There's another empty, useless position out there waiting to be filled by a highly un-motivated individual such as myself. You'll see. I've just got to beat the odds and find it. Or, squander the last of my JET savings on booze trying, that is."

All we have to say is good luck, Forrest. Good luck.

Why learning Japanese is stupid.

2005-06-21T15:09:00.000+09:00

Japanese people can be really boring to talk with.
No matter how fluent you become, most Japanese will still be terrified at the thought of speaking with you. Period.
Kanji.
Kanji.
People will cock their heads in confusion and repeatedly not understand a single word you just said.
The only person who will have a shred of patience to help you with Japanese will be your boyfriend or girlfriend. (Albeit a lonely grandma-san has been known to show enthusiasm.) Japanese wives and husbands just learn English, because, well, your Japanese sucks, and they love you too much to just tell you.
Long vowel versus short vowel distinctions are just wrong. And should be quickly purged from the earth.
How many other countries speak Japanese?
Kanji.
You really only need to learn a handful of words anyway: "let's go," "let's drink," "let's eat," "let's eat and drink some more," and "penis."

OK, for decency's sake, here are some reasons to learn Japanese while in Japan.

So Japanese people will stop trying to speak English with you.
Because an extra bag at a convenience store can really come in handy sometimes.
You just have this burning urge to know "why" the locals do some of the silly things they do.

What's with all the gay stuff, anyway?

2005-06-20T11:37:00.000+09:00

Is it just me, or is there a lot of homophobically disturbing boy on boy cuddling occurring in Japanese schools? For a culture that seems so obsessive about "maleness", if you will, male teenagers here can sure act like a bunch of sissies.

I remember walking naively into one of my first Junior High classes to oddly discover a few of the boys in the back straddling and hugging each other in definite sissy fashion. "Wow," I remember saying to myself. "What a bunch of fags!" Later that day one of these same boys would unexpectedly fondle my butt in an odd ploy for attention. I later think the purpose of this action was somehow twofold -- raise his status within the school "sissy-circle," as well as try to recruit me into the "sissy-fold." Instead, all he really succeeded in doing was making me feel very unclean, as well as debate walking in a crab-like defensive posture for my remainder in Japan.

After witnessing all this odd and insidious dood on dood action, it begs the question: is man on man spooning also considered appropriate sleeping protocol for non-homosexual Japanese males? To this day, I have had the fortune of not finding out, but imagine how shockingly disturbed the recent arrival might be to accidentally stumble upon Takahashi and Suzuki-san, the local "tough-guy" Judo senseis, gently spooning each other on a tatami mat?

Cross-cultural gender lines truly are much more complex than one could have ever imagined.

Enough with the penis questions, already!

2005-06-17T09:52:00.000+09:00

For some reason, it has now become commonplace at social gatherings with Japanese people for my penis to consistently be the subject of conversation for at least 15-20 minutes. This has lead me to believe that the Japanese universally suffer from "foreigner-penis-fixation-disorder." A disorder which causes the inflicted to become infatuated with foreigner penis -- specifically dimensions and other various spacial aspects of the appendage. This condition thus causes its sufferers to fixate on the foreign penis once within its midst. As I stated above, a typical outbreak seems to only last for 15-20 minutes, although cases lasting anywhere from 12 hours to as long as several days have been reported.

I kid you not when I say that on numerous occasions the first thing a new acquaintance has asked me was related to my personal genital dimensions. Now I am by no means shy with regards to the above topic, but even I have found myself a bit taken aback at the forwardness of such an inquiry. And they do it so shamelessly! This is a people famous for their demure behavoir. It just reinforces the irony of the Japanese that once they get a bit of liquor in them, watch out! Tiger on the loose. Your penis is in their sites.

I've even had the occasional honor of a couple fellows decideding to just have a feel for themselves upon introduction. "Wow! Nice to meet you, too, Shinji-kun. That's one hell of a handshake you've got there. " The crazy thing is, is that I often find myself second guessing whether or not I should return the favor, or risk breaking some delicate cultural faux pas. It is then at this point when my rationale self takes over and concludes that cultural sensitivity can take a flying fuck. I then immediatly break into defensive position so as to ward off any succeeding penis attacks.

Is it just me, or does the special e.d. teacher think I'm retarded?

2005-06-15T16:13:00.000+09:00

Often, I can't help but wonder if the special education teacher at the local junior high also suspects me of being retarded. I know my Japanese ability is far from spectacular, but I imagine it's slightly better than...hmm... let's say, a potted plant. Nonetheless, everytime he greets me, it's with this huge grin, saucery eyes, proceded by a salutation in Japanese at turtle speed. He then rubs my shoulder with disturbing enthusiasm after answering him in an appropriate manner. Basically, this has been going on almost everyday for the last 2 years.

I know it must sound awful, but I can't help but feel a bit like "Little Johnny" dying of lukemia at this point, any moment expecting him to give me the little league hair rub at accomplishing the most mundane task. Also, he's such a nice fellow, not even my ultra-cranky self can muster up a shred of anger in his direction. My only consolation is to try and shock him with a dab of "high-level" Japanese. At which point, he claps his hands in surprise, throws me a chocolate, and tells me what a "Goooooooood Job," I did. Well, at least I got something.

Where do you lie on the freak scale?

2005-06-14T13:31:00.000+09:00

When one lives in another country inhabited by an ethnic majority other than one's own, he or she will possess some degree of "freakiness" that cannot be avoided. This is an example of the adverse circumstances one must naturally face if they are to live amongst a different people. Merely, par for the course. Now being "freaky" is not necessarily a bad thing, mind you. It can often pay to stand out. You get noticed for one. Oh...do you get noticed.

As in Japan's case, having a high degree of homogeneity in the local population also affects the "freak scale" -- sometimes quite drastically. Those who have ever visited an onsen in the outer reaches of rural Hokkaido can attest to the above. Doesn't take long for me and my rag-tag group of foreigners to clear the locals out of the hot pool.

So where do foreigners lie on the "freak scale" in Japan? Well, my guess would be somewhere between man with penis growing from cheek to Ronald McDonald the spastic man-clown levels. Basically, pretty high. But that's just me talking.

Some foreigners have even taken this bequeathed "freakiness" and exploited it for monetary gain. This could not only be considered a rational move, but bordering on brilliant. Just check out late night Japanese television to get a taste of what some of these "hyper-freaks" are doing for fame and fortune (Funny how their activities usually gravitate around teaching English). I mean, if it doesn't make any difference, why hang on to that last pointless, shred of dignity? Go on Japanese TV and make a gozillion yen. You won't be the first. And if I can finally muster up the motivation, you won't be the last.

CAUTION: Office time may cause drowsiness. Plus make you an idiot.

2005-06-14T10:08:00.000+09:00

Ah...another fulfilling day in the office. At times like these, the most difficult part of the day is figuring out how best to pass the time.

One has so many options from which to choose. Naturally there are the expected courses -- lesson planning (get serious), studying Japanese (boring), or planning an extracurricular/after school activity (Now you're killing me).

It usually takes me 2 hours of intense computer screen starring just to decide. This period of "deep thought" is supplemented with drinking 3 cups of throat-shredding instant coffee leaving me with a satisfied, caffeiny feeling. After this morning ritual, I am ready to begin. The plan is...er...more internet surfing. Followed by raiding the omiyage snack basket in short, guerilla type raids. By days end, I will have eaten half a box of Miffy bean puffs, as well as completely surfed myself into an idiotic haze.

Time to go home and watch some TV!

Greetings -Japanese girl style.

2005-06-13T09:57:00.000+09:00

As many of you already know, the focus of my blog seems to be making fun of and mocking my gracious hosts in Japan. This is because I am by nature a cranky and unpleasant person. In spite of this, I was accepted enthusiastically into the JET Programme. No one knows why. But, I digress!

Last weekend a friend and I were futzing around the Sapporo Yosokoi festival observing (for once) traditional Japanese culture on display in the form of dancing, donning exotic costums, and in general whopping it up. Suddenly, our keen fascination was interupted by a series of deafening high-pitched screams being emmitted by a group of 20 something Japanese girls behind us jumping up and down. It appeared they had just won a lifetime supply of Hello Kitty mobile phone ornaments. But in reality, they just hadn't seen each other for a while and were really excited. Apparently this is considered appropriate behavior for female greetings beyond kindergarten in Japan.

Upon witnessing this hyperbolic how-do-you-do, my friend innocently commented that perhaps we should begin greeting each other in a similar manner. I of course said, "You're fucking joking, right?" At which point, she rolled her eyes and walked away in mild disgust. I guess she was.

Oops...I shit my pants. Now what am I going to do? Good thing Japan has underwear vending machines. Well, sort of....

2005-06-12T20:59:00.000+09:00

Yes. Japan. The vortex of oddities that never cease to shock me. As of recently I had been under the false presumption that I was officially Japan weirdness acclimated. But this one got my ribs especially tickled last night when I, for a reason I prefer left untold, discovered something new. Japan has underwear vending machines located in bowling alleys. Hmmm.... "Very interesting," says the writer as he strokes his greasy goatee in essence of the great observer. Now every inch of the market has indeed been saturated in this bizarre land. I think I remember reading somewhere, Harper's weekly perhaps, where it is common marketing knowledge that once underwear vending machines show up in bowling alleys, then every capatilistic gap has in fact been filled in a society. The only thing left to do is export the idea to the less fortunate underwear deficient countries throughout Asia. I was referring to India in particular. A place where donning a table cloth is still considered formal wear.

But before I get too carried away with all of this, I should include that the variety offered within the underwear vending machine sphere is in fact disappointingly limited. Actually, it seems to have been completely restricted to dark blue women's thongs. "Now hold on one cotton pickin' minute!", some might say at this point. "Men shit themselves randomly in public at a much higher rate than women." So if accidental public number 2s are the circumtances the business behind the scheme are trying to exploit, then they need to get their shit together a little better than this. But now I must accept the possibility that my belief behind the reasoning for deciding to make a high level decision of placing a thong vending machine in every bowling alley in Japan as being addressing the needs of the undisciplined bowel purjer as, well, wrong . So if the realistic objective of having an underwear vending machine in a bowling alley is not to help out little Shingo-kun after he accidently dribbles a little out the wrong end in celebration for that 200 plus game he rolled. Then why? My only conclusion, and one that I perpetually fall back on again and again remains the same: Beats the fuck out of me!

Living in Asia is great! Nobody even knows what a loser I am back home.

2005-06-10T08:53:00.000+09:00

Ah..., the great identity shift that comes when a male relocates himself to Asia. One day we have a sloth like chronic masturbater with the confidence of a street orphan, suddenly transformed into an egotistical juggernaut, swallowing all in its path. Its prey of course being naive below-average-looking Japanese girls that like to hang out in greasy foreigner bars. Oh, the rewards of being advantageously different are great indeed.

But, I must smash the myth, however painful that might be for some. Being white in Japan does not automatically guarantee instant super stud statis for all who come here. I have seen many a cocksure man come to Japan and find that one has to work for it here just like back home. Now, I am not saying by any means that the western foreigner doesn't hold the better hand in the game of sexual chance in Japan, but the women will not instantly be beating down your door looking for more at every opportunity. This false belief is probably circulated by returning expatriots who upon returning to their respective countries, and of course being immediately asked by their friends about their sexual conquest, will naturally give the most exaggerated response possible. This is just a predictable result of the fact that everyman wishes to be the great philanderer. Even if they have to flat out lie to their friends to create such an illusion, which most guys are guilty of in various degrees. But, not me of course. Never.

Oh Shit! It's light out. I've overslept. No...wait, it's 4 am.

2005-06-08T08:05:00.000+09:00

Ah.... Life on 45 degrees North in wonderful Japan. Seeming how summer weather is such a rarity in this place, it would make sense that the locals would want to savour every bit of sunshine possible, wouldn't it? No. Not exactly.

A brief explanation is in order. For some reason in Japan, the time has been set so that daylight ceases much earlier in the day than in America. If one is in the lower latitudes of the country this isn't such a big deal, but if one finds themselves in Hokkaido then the sun will set around 7:00 pm in the summer but will have risen at a ghastly hour. If one happens to find themselves at the 45 degree north line, such as myself, one finds that the sun is up and shining vexedly and in all its glory on your face by 4:00 am. This can be exponentially painful when one has been up until 3:00 am the night before pounding cheap Japanese white liquor. But never me of course. In short, it can be painful and cause one to shake their head in disbelief. The people of Hokkaido sleep through some of the best sunlight hours of the day and hence get to enjoy little if none of it after work.

Let us go back to when I first arrived in this little town. After a warm greeting by my new coworkers and being treated to a lovely dinner of yakiniku followed by some homegrown Hokkaido brew, I bid them all adieu and went back to my new apartment for a long rest. Hell, I needed it, after that quagmire of intensity known as the Tokyo arrival orientation had zapped my soul of its life energy. I went back to what would be my new abode for the next two years, fell asleep on a bed of worn cotton linens, and dreamt of my exciting life to come in this new and exotic land. Then, I was of course shortly greeted by the penatrating rays of the sun followed by the squaking of crows at 4:oo am. I haven't had a good nights sleep since.

Once again, I would eventually realize, the northern outpost of this great land must suffer due to the Japanese obsession with sameness. The idea of creating different timezones within Japan must seem like treasonist thought to the government. "All Japan is the same. If we are not all the same, then we are not Japan. Further discussions about Hokkaido having its own timezone are treason, and further perpetraitors of such thoughts will be executed without trial."
Well, maybe not quite that extreme, but Dear Lord, 4:00 am. (The writer slowly shakes his head in disbelief as he stares at the early morning rays of the sun with baggy eyes.)

Now that I know I'm going to leave, I'm already starting to miss this shithole.

2005-06-07T13:51:00.000+09:00

Yes, what a paradox it is. It may seem to be a hideous contradiction, but how is it that one can start to develop a nostaligic feeling for a place before one has even left, and then on top of that, for a place one has done nothing but bitch about like a little girl the entire time they have been there? Oh, the irony of it all. I suppose it comes down to a matter of focus. I basically focus on what is bad about something while I am within its midst, and in turn, focus on what is good about something when it is gone. Is this healthy? Ah, who gives a fuck anyway.

But, really, what will I miss most about my life here? I suppose the immediate answer would be people. Friends, to be more specific. As much as my inate cynicism hates to admit it, there are some pretty nice people around here, and then there are also some complete terds. But, I will try a new tactic today and only focus on the nice ones. At least at first.

An example of one of the nice ones has to be the Sharaku snack-bar mama-san. Wonderful lady. Can't say enough about her. Always pleasant. Has greeted me with a friendly smile from the first time I had the honor of gracing her and her husbands local watering hole. But, what do I really like about her? First, she always gives me a discount, and more importantly she never greets me with a retard-esque "haa-ro" followed by a dorky giggle everytime I see her. For those who don't know, "haa-ro" represents a weak Japanese attempt at the English "hello" layered with a disturbingly thick accent, and then of course mandatorily followed by the dorky giggle. I will not miss the "haa-ro" greeting after I leave. Also, she acknowledges my presence in no different manner when I see her outside of her bar as when I see her inside of it. The Japanese have this socially disturbing habit of being your best friend within certain enclosed places and then acting like you are Patrick Swaze in "Ghost" when they see you outside. I can't even begin to count the number of times I spent an evening drinking and thus, what I thought was bonding with and getting to know some new fellow in the town, and then upon seeing the person the next day having them treat me like I'm some member of the gulag and they are a social dissident on the run. Basically, fleeing from my presence in a cold run for the hills, leaving me standing in the local grocery store with a box of mayonnaise doughnuts feeling all but a little confused at the cultural undercurrents at work. "Oh, so you only like me when you're drunk, huh?"

Maybe the Japanese have something of a "beer goggles" equivalent for foreigners? A translated conversation between two Japanese guys about the above topic might go something like this:

Japanese redneck #1: "Ya man. I must have been really drunk last night to have been talking to that foreigner. You know I would never do that if I was sober right? Right?"

Japanese redneck #2: "Whatever. How many times have you got wasted, Itchi, and then next thing you know you're all over some foreigner dood, talking with'em, and then even trying to get them back to your place to talk some more. You can't fool me."

Japanese redneck #1: "Well, today, man, I saw that guy in the store, and I was like, 'oh fuck! I hope he doesn't remember all the talking we did last night.' But, I think he did 'cause it looked like he wanted to say haa-ro or something, but I just took off when I saw him, and got out of there."

Japanese redneck #2: "Well, at least you didn't give him your phone number and ask him if he would like to get together some time and go fishing or something."

Japanese redneck #1: "Well, ummm..." (getting a little red in the face)

Japanese redneck #2: "No! Tell me you didn't. You idiot! You did give him your phone number. Well, maybe you'll get lucky and he'll never call."

Japanese redneck #1: "Fuck. I hope not."

Am I back in detention?

2005-06-06T11:01:00.000+09:00

When one finds oneself as a priviledged member of the elitist organization known as the "JET Programme," there are of course certain adversities one must endure. This should come as no surprise. We are part of an elite unit here in Japan. The creme de la creme as they told us at our pre-departure orientation in a prestigous Portland, Oregon hotel. Adversities are part of the price of being a member of something superlative. Thus, begins my rant for today on the aspect of severe amounts of "office time" that one is never informed about prior to arrival to ones respective locations.

Many JETs, such as myself, find that they have, well, for want of a better phrase, not much to fucking do most of the time. I am referring to a lack of scheduled classes throughout the work week. This might immediately strike the casual reader as an asinine complaint. "What? You want more work? Are you a retard?" No I don't necessarily want more work. What I want is something to freaking do!

A common office policy within contracting organizations of the JET Programme is that in circumstances of JETs not having scheduled classes, they must be present in the office (generally in the Board of Education) for their contractually agreed upon weekly work hours. This generaly translates as 10 hours per week of classes followed by 25 hours per week of thumb inserted tightly in anus. I should note that the general mandatory weekly work hours for a JET are 35 per week, not including lunch breaks. Some offices don't really give much of a shit about keeping the JET on "lock down" in the office for the complete 35 hours and some are more anal than an Oregon redneck about the size of his 4x4 tires. So, when one is not at class one is often sitting at his or her desk with a dulled look from surfing crappy websites all day for entertainment. Some get so good at keeping themselves entertained they might even get a bit chafed when asked to do something pertaining to their expected duties outside of their consitent schedule. "But I was planning on looking at the website about the history of navel fuzz this Monday, and now you want me to translate this recipe for mayonnaise doughnuts into English? Shit! Now I'm all flustered. "

Really, the condition of JETs having to be present within the office when not befuddling and bombarding some poor Japanese child's mind with perplexing English grammar, can be a tedious exercise indeed. Why? Because I have seen CIA sensory deprevation chambers more entertaining than a Japanese government office. As I noted above, some offices see the futileness in "office time." These offices sort of casually, without making a stir, send the JET on their way, hopefully to do something meaningful and productive. Maybe even something within the community at large. Like organizing a beach clean-up day. (The beaches here sure need it.) Or, start a kite flying organization to benefit local midgets. In reality however, the JET just generally returns to his or her apartment to watch TV, and possibly, if feeling especially frisky, sit around and make fun of Japanese people with a neighboring foreigner.

Coming at this from a buisness perspective, I often ponder on the fact that I get paid way too much money for what I do. Shit, I'm being paid right now. I am writing a blog and surfing the net, looking at ridiculous websites on company time. Should I feel guitly for this? Maybe I should request more work? Well, guess what, I have. And, guess what happened? They said, "No." So do I feel guilty anymore? No.

Some JETs even go into deep contract negotiations so they can get paid the same amount for doing even less work. I refer to this modern phenomenon of laziness as "slacker entitlement." Due to my genetic and geographical "luck out" that was my random birth in an affluent English speaking majority country, I am therefore entitled to special privledges that escape the majority of human beings on this planet. Basically, at every opportunity, most of us try to get more time off. The reasoning behind this is quite logical to the disillusioned JET. "We aren't doing or accomplishing anything during the school vacation periods of no classes, so we might as well be doing nothing on a tropical island in South East Asia. So, Mister Supervisor, how does that strike you as a reasonable request?" The insane thing is that sometimes the contracting organizations go for it. The reasons for this continue to escape my feeble mind. But it happens. In this case, I compare the JET to an underworked, overpaid relief pitcher who goes on the DL right after signing a 10 year contract for 5 bizzillion bucks a day, then makes a request that instead of futzing around the bullpen eating all the sunflower seeds and unable to play, can instead just go home and play celebrity golf on their Sony Playstation, whilst simultaneously receiving an inflated paycheck. Ok, that was a clear example of hyperbole to get a cheap laugh, but it does make its point.

I should end this meandering rant by ackowledging that there exists the hyper-motivated JET that impressively utilizes this downtime in an efficient manner such as creating a website, studying for and then passing one of the higher level Japanese proficiency exams, even getting an online masters degree. These few are truly shooting stars in a JET clouded sky. Unfortunately, I am not one of these people. I prefer the history of navel fuzz myself, thank you.

Insert white face here

2005-06-01T17:54:00.000+09:00

Insert white face here. The feeling one gets in Asia after being flogged with attention, and then finding out that the same would be given to any foreigner who happened to find themselves in similar circumstances. Of course, initially upon being showered with UUUs and Ahhs, we would all like to believe that we are the worthy recipients of long over due praise. "It's about time I started getting my true deserve!", might even float a top the most egotistical individual's head. But of course, never mine, naturally!

But get fucking serious now! Worthy! Are you freaking kidding me? Worthy of what? Of being white? And if one is truly blessed: towheaded. It becomes a vicious circle of racist thought: Person gets praise by merely being Caucasian, followed by said person feeling worthy of praise because of merely being Caucasian. If one's souce of confidence is derived only from something as uncontrollable as their genetic make-up, well, fuck! I'm jealous. Woe is me for wanting to be worthy of just a little more than being thrust into this world the same color as an intenstine. Kind of a gross thought actually. Sorry. But, please. People of Japan. Must you be so shallow? We are complex human beings here living amongst you. Shit, some of us are fucking insane! And I don't mean the cool, college guy that can drink a shit load of beer and stay up all night insane. I mean mental hospital levels. You all should be worried. Take the time to really get to know a foreigner before you make a judgement. This goes for all citizens of the world. Sorry if it seems as if I am only singling out my current host society, the Japanese. Which I guess, well,...I am.

To further this rant, remember when you saw your first karate films, and thus started to ponder on the idea that all Asian people must be able to do a triple barrel roundhouse kick? Or was that just me...? But, really, this kind of thinking is ridiculous. If you really have to break billions of people in the world into simple catagories, then how about, the good versus the bad, or the stinky versus the less stinky. Let the judgement be made upon witnessing the observed person's actions. Is this really that hard, people? I mean come on? I've broken it down to only two freaking catagories for you. Even my retard trailer trash uncle can process that much in his drug riddled brain.

Sometimes when I'm lonely, I dream of tandoori chicken.

2005-05-23T10:30:00.000+09:00

Have you ever eaten something so good that you find yourself thinking about it at random times? A bit odd, isn't it, but I'm sure we all have. At least I hope it's not just me.

When I was in Penang, Malaysia, I had this tandoori chicken at a little whole in the wall Indian restaurant that was so good, I actually find myself dreaming of it when I am in a melancholy mood and need something to lift my spirits. It was hands down, some of the best food I have ever eaten. Mindboggling is the only way I see fit to describe it. I can still see it vividly before me. Its fiery red skin, perfect glaze, and of course the taste. OH..., the taste! Mindboggling. Simply mindboggling.

Dishes such as these merely become another memory that one longs to bring to fruition once again. Something that tortures you because it is now so far away, and you can't have it. It racks your soul and scrathes at your insides knowing that the tandoori will always evade you. But, as a wise man once said, it is better to have eaten great tandoori chicken once, and forever long for its essence again, then to never have eaten great tandoori chicken at all.

Where would I be in Japan without excessive arm hair?

2005-05-16T10:35:00.000+09:00

This is a delicate question upon which to ponder. However, a bit of initial explanation with respect to the meaning of the title is in order.

The Japanese have an obsession with foreign arm hair. Particularly, mine. Yes, it is true. Mine seems to be of great fascination to them. This is the result of two distinct genetic blessings: the first being overall mass, the second being their felicitous blond color. Apparently I have hit the jackpot in the later category. Now, I must add, that with respect to other Western Caucasians as myself, my arm hair is by no means in the astronomically shocking Robin Williams type levels. But, instead, perhaps just slightly above average in quantity. Leaving me with nothing grotesquely permanent attached to my forearms. Therefore to get back to the discussion at hand, I have had several unknown, and quite tasty Japanese ladies approach me and begin softly caressing my fascinating fur, to the definite delight of yours truly. Thus, it has served itself surprising well in acting as an "ice breaker", if I may, towards advancing social opportunities. Now I am not saying that a typical night on the town goes something like: arm hair rub by foxy stranger followed by foot race to nearest love hotel with said foxy stranger. But, sometimes a random arm hair rub by a bright eyed ostensibly innocent young girl can be all it takes to lift the spirits of a melancholy soul such as myself.

The other surprise benefit of my fascinating frizzies has been its use as a bridge towards interaction with my commonly shy students. A gentle stroke of my golden bough by an otherwise bashful young learner has often served as the first moment of contact between us, thus beginning a friendship of international exchange beholden to arm hair. Who would have ever thought so much was possible merely through a few innocent strands protruding from my limbs.

Here's lookin' at you arm hair.

Thanks.

My home in Japan.

2005-05-02T11:15:00.000+09:00

My home in Japan is very small. I live in a little town called "Nakatonbetsu" in Northern Hokkaido. I have lived here for nearly 2 years now. Nakatonbetsu is nestled in a green valley blanketed in wildflowers and surrounded by rolling green hills that are capped in pearly white snow from October to May. And in summer, the land is so green one would think that forest spirits themselves might leap and frolic amongst the trees and pastures, such as in Miyazaki's film, "Princes Mononoke." From this, one might think that Nakatonbetsu is the greatest town in the world. But after almost 2 years of living here, I am almost crazy. Nakatonbetsu is very small: only about 2,000 people on a sunny day. The people in Nakatonbetsu are also very small. The average Nakatonian stands only 2 feet tall. Actually, they are all midgets. But this is okay because I love midgets. They are very cute with their squeaky little voices, and you can toss them into the air very high. But, midgets are also very shy. Unfortunately, most of the people in Nakaton are too frightened to talk with me. Many are too frightened to even look at me. This can make Nakatonbetsu a very lonely place sometimes for a non-midget foreigner living amongst a clan of shy little people. Because of this, I spend a lot of my free time in my little apartment watching television and eating chocolate, the whole while wishing that the little people of Nakatonbetsu weren't so frightened of me. If they weren't so frightened of me, Nakatonbetsu might be a wonderful place to live. Magical even! Oh, only if I weren't so lonely and such an outcast amongst these little people. I might stay in Nakatonbetsu forever. I might even marry a little midget girl and we could live in a quite little cottage surrounded by orchids and wild bamboo, spending the evenings frolicing nude in the garden like forest nymphs. It would be magical!

My stinking hobbies that no self respecting websurfer should give a shit about.

2005-05-01T22:10:00.000+09:00

Buying intelligent looking books that I will never read, but my guests don't know that. Buying expensive looking guitars that I can't play, but my guests don't know that either. Eating too much. Thus, farting too much. Writing sentence fragments. And finally, diligently perfecting the art of being shut down by low quaility women in local drinking establishments. (Not to come off like an ego-freak here, but I really am the best at what I do. Even if it is only with respect to the above activities.)

Greetings, fellow bored out of their heads blog readers.

2005-05-01T21:18:00.000+09:00

My name is Forrest. I know. Not the most common name scribed upon the little sheet of paper that forever acknowledges and legitimizes our existence: the birth certificate. But, it's mine. And albeit an easy target for playground bullies to manipulate for their malevolent needs, what the fuck. It's mine. Besides, sleazy hippie chicks always dug it. And, anything to get in the front door, as my poor old deceased dirt bag Grandfather would say.