Sept. 27-28

Though I didn’t really type much yesterday, some new things happened. I finally got to teach at #3 of my four elementary schools, which means…a crapload of introductions…again. The elementary schools are always very easy, though. You just…pretty much figure out ways to waste time while speaking super simple English and making the kids laugh. But, man…one of my intros was kinda weird. I wish I had recorded it with my camera, because…it just…. The kids normally sing a song from a CD Trust School gives us, but…the school didn’t have the CD, so…the kids sang a special song for me. But they had this dance that went with it that was both cute and creepy at the same time. It felt like I was watching Oompah Loompahs. For me, watching anyone do anything with a HUGE smile on their face is almost frightening. It reaches back to my old dreams as a kid. …Y’all do me a favor and search for “Little Superstar” on YouTube. Excellent example. When you find the dancing Indian midget, you’re golden. That’s what it felt like.

After the Loompah dance, I had a few other classes, a really good lunch, and then…class with Mrs. Sick Teacher’s husband! That’s right. They’s both teachers, and I now work with both of them. They…don’t really seem to match, though…marriage works far differently here than it does in the states. Pretty much, all marriage says is “We’s gonna make some more Japanese people.” After that’s done, the man can go satisfy himself elsewhere, and the woman just kinda…fades away. But I digress, as always.

Mr. Sick Teacher had the inside scoop on me over all the other teachers, since his wife knows all the dirt on me, so…he planned ahead. Had a projector ready, a dry erase board, maps, basketballs…and he even moved his class to the freakin’ gym just so I could show off. But…even worse, he had a microphone ready, so I could sing the American National Anthem to the kids. Don’t worry. I know the words, and what they mean. Three (perhaps four) long, drawn out sentences…and the song ends on a dern question. Allow me to paraphrase:

1. “Dang, it’s almost sunrise. Yo…can you see our flag? It’s pretty easy to pick out with those stars and stripes.”
2. “Heh. Dude, did you see that last night? It was so dark that the only thing that let us see the flag was, like…explosions! That was awesome.”
3. “Oh-hooo, yeah. But, uh…you never answered my question. Is it still there?”

So, I sang the song, rather nervously, but well. Then I dunked a few basketballs (the goals were lower, so, total walk in the dern park) and made the kids laugh. The principal watched on and seemed quite pleased with my presence. And the kids always flip out when they see me walking the halls. It’s a lot of fun.

But then, one of the teachers saw me studying kanji, and pulled me aside. “You come learn writing with me?” I just nodded uncertainly. Next thing I know, I’m in a room with a bunch of 11 year olds, trying to write the kanji for “big” with a frickin’ brush! For the record…I SUUUUUCK at painting, so whenever someone puts a brush in my hand, I’m really shaky. Oh, and the whole class was watching my every move. Greeeat. But I learned some pointers, and a teacher gave me this free brush-pen thing. The Japanese love givin’ gifts.

That…was a fun day. But today, I woke up all crazy late, and had to rush to school. Still showed up early. Ha! But…I was late by my own standards. Today was pretty normal, except I had three classes focusing on something that’s been bothering me since I got here. They’ve got me teaching the word “often” to be pronounced “offen”. I understand that sometimes we all pronounce it like that, unless you were theatrically trained, and it’s been burned into your brain, but…that is NOT how you should teach people how to say it. Say it’s dialect thing…tell them that “offen” is on another level of politeness, but geez, don’t just tell them that “Oh…we just ignore that T.” Gonna make a bunch of amateurs, man…

Anyway, after that, The Secretary shows me the version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” they want me to sing. It’s in the key of G. Do I know if I can sing it? No. Do I have perfect pitch? No. I think the world of singing works differently in the American South than over here. I mean, in most (black) churches, you got the choir. Everyone sings in the choir. I had some solos in other instances as well. It was fun. So, black folks will say “Yeah, I like singing,” because we do. But, that apparently doesn’t translate well, you know, over an ocean. We’ll see what they want of me. I can only do what I can do. Hate to disappoint, but…meh. (Edit: Key of G is totally for girls and eunuchs. …And Prince. We gotta drop it two octaves or something.)

And guess what? You're all caught up to present! I haven't written anything else yet, so...later!

D

Sept. 25^th

Yeah…that mattress made a HUGE difference. I actually woke up refreshed! ..Somewhat. I’ve never had a good night’s sleep. Ever. I mean really…I think back on my days and…I always wake up feeling worse than when I went to sleep, and then have to work toward feeling better throughout the day, only to have it destroyed by another round of sleep. The only time this doesn’t happen is when I’m sick or injured. Drug induced sleep, or healing sleep always makes things better, but that’s nothing to be proud of. This is why I hate sleep, avoid naps, and…wish they’d invent some pill that lets your body rest without actually shutting down. I’d sit still for 8 hours rather than have to pull myself from that pit of slumber every morning.

Anyway, I woke up feeling not as bad as usual, but totally forgot to buy milk, so breakfast was kinda…not what it should’ve been. And I was later than usual to work. Still early, but…later than usual. And…CRAP, I just realized I forgot to turn on the dryer in my shower to dry out the clothes I hung up in there. Arg. That’s just annoying, man…. Yeah, today’s startin’ off great. I’m a lot slower in my classes, too. I’m sure it’s getting on Mrs. Sick Teacher’s nerves, but she seems to laugh at it.

I think it’s time I found something to add to my life here. Right now, all I do is work, eat, sleep, and go hang with friends. …Wait, that’s exactly what I did in America. For half the year, I was working out/getting dreadlocks started. Then, I had the Japan goal to fill in the emptiness. I think my mind has gotten too used to filling the day, and now, I’m totally unable to enjoy the slow passage of time. Not good. Not good at all. I think it’s time for me to start reading and writing again. Yep…that’s what I must do. And no, this journal doesn’t count.

D

Sept 22-24

Well, I figure it’s silly to keep writing daily journals, because, honestly…it’s gonna get repetitive. But I will try my best to write everyday. As Matt told me, it helps you recognize trends…good or bad. Thus far, my trends seem to be…waiting for something horrible to happen, wondering when culture shock will smack me upside the head, and…wondering why I feel just as isolated here as I did at home.

Whatever. On Friday, I went to my elementary schools, not hungover, and got to be really silly, but cool with the kids. I forgot how many voices I could make up on the spot, and the kids seemed to enjoy me counting in strange voices. Dunno if they learned anything, though. Dah well! Late that night, Will and Scott dropped by my apartment randomly, and checked if I wanted to hang out. Ya know, I’m starting to like these guys on a normal human level, instead of disliking the fact that I’m not the only gaijin anymore. They’re good people, and we all joke around a lot. This time, we went to a little coffee shop near Shimodate station (or Shimo, as Will calls it) where I had one of the best cheese omelets I’ve ever eaten. Go, frickin’, fig. The cook put some…boulaise sauce on it. I think that’s what it was called. Either way, that was some good stuff. Can’t go back and get more, though, which sucks…because…well, it wasn’t on the menu anymore, technically, but he was nice and let me have one. So, I proudly said to Will and Scott, “I got the last cheese omelet this place will ever serve. I…win.” Everyone laughed.

Afterward, we went to a bar called “Fifties”, where they played only hip hop music. The server, Ami, was dumb as a rock, it seemed, but she was conventionally attractive, so it’s allowed, I guess. Yes, attractive people can get away with a lot more. That’s why ugly folk gotta work super hard and round themselves. I guess the song was right…”pick an ugly girl to marry you.”

We taught Ami some English, and I met a real racecar driver. Dude was really cool, even though he didn’t speak English very well. And the cars he owns….yeesh. How many men can say they raced a Lamborghini…oh, I know that’s spelled wrong…but who can say they raced one of those…in an illegal street race?

Anyway, the weekend was another hang with Matt weekend, where I scored so much free stuff, it was scary. See, Matt lucked out and got himself some free, awesome housing with a crazy Japanese woman who insists he call her mom…kaa-san, or the honorific of mom, o-kaa-san. So, Matt now pays no rent, and is moving all his stuff. But, he doesn’t need most of it. Therefore…I got dibs! I got myself a mattress, a rice cooker, another pot…I would’ve taken more if I was driving back, but…carrying a mattress on a train was hellish enough.

Before that fun return trip, however, Matt decided we should run around Tokyo again, but this time, in the Shinjuku and Harajuku areas. There we ventured into some of the coolest video game and model shops ever, and ate totally unhealthy food (mayonnaise dogs?!).

We left that shop with a spring in our step and pity in our hearts, and met up with Canadian Dave, yet another of my many namesakes, who was kind enough to escort us through Tokyo. What I noticed in those parts was a strange phenomenon that made me wonder—can Japanese women gauge attractiveness in foreign males? Because…really, all the foreign men in Japan are scrawny, pasty dudes who probably weren’t gonna get any girls in their native countries, or…rather tubby dudes who are balding a bit. And most of them had some good lookin’ Japanese women in their arms. And…I mean, I’m not exactly the best lookin’ guy out there, but Matt and I both felt a confidence boost by this fact. Though…I didn’t trust it. Something’s not right. It’s gotta be the passport. Gotta be. Or I’m still very guarded.

After we had our fill of that area, we took a looooooong train ride to Dave’s place, where he allowed us lodging for the night. The train ride back the next day was chock full conversations about friends, family, pets, and Matt’s failed relationships. I crashed for a few more hours at Matt’s place, then grabbed the mattress, rice cooker, and whatever else I could comfortably carry into a bag and marched rather unceremoniously to the train station. So ended the weekend.

But, let’s end this with a Fun Fact to Piss Off American Women. Since Japanese women, by nature, have smaller hips and fewer curves than their American counterparts, the expansion of their forms caused by childbirth actually improves their figures. That’s right. They actually look better after having kids. Without even trying. Unfortunately for men who like curves…this means every Asian woman you’re attracted to will most likely have kidbits. Enjoy.

D

Sept. 21

I figured it’d be a better idea to wait until AFTER the drunken hilarity had come and gone to write this journal entry. But first…a bit of backstory.

The PTA in Japan is like the mafia. They control the schools, the principals. They give bribes, oust teachers. They will have your kid frickin’ deported if he or she dares to mess with one of their own offspring. Yes, the PTA is all powerful, and they know it.

So, it should come as no surprise that when it turned out that there was to be a PTA meeting on the night of my welcoming party, the entire staff at my junior high school freaked…out. Immediately, the party was moved to Thursday night…last night. Which meant that I was gonna have to teach the next morning. …In fact, I’m sitting here right now at one of my elementary schools, writing this to make sure I stay awake. But all was well, don’t worry.

The day started off normally, though…with me expecting something to go horribly wrong, and slowly becoming more and more relieved as the day moves on. I was…pretty much relieved of all duties today, when Mr. Unreadable said, “David…please skip my class. Students right story today, so…you are free.” But he was smilin’ in a way that almost said, “Stay out mah classroom, dirty gaijin!” I hate trying to read that guy.

So, all I could do was putz around for hours on end. What’s worse, Mrs. Nice Teacher was gone because he son broke his ankle and she had to run him to the hospital. And Caffeine Dealer was strangely busy today. Sat back, studied some Kanji, helped Mrs. Sick Teacher make some colorful flyers, and…goofed off with Caffeine Dealer whenever he had a moment.

Then, finally, I had a class. But this was no normal class. This was the class of the mentally challenged kids. Now…when I think mentally challenged kids, I think…children that I don’t have the qualifications or qualities to teach…or even supervise. But the mentally challenged kids here…they just seemed like kids who were just a little bit slower than your average kid. They were kind, funny, and completely endearing. There are only three of them at my junior high school, though.

I remembered Matt telling me that if you were handicapped in this country, you were pretty much screwed. The city planners and what not don’t exactly go out of their way to make sure things are totally accessible to all beings. …Except for the blind. This country must have a LOT of blind people with the precautions they take. But I wondered if this was because they’ve never really experienced handicapped people. I mean…I…never hear of other countries having too many retarded people, though…I guess even America manages to keep theirs rather well hidden…

Teaching these kids was great, though. Particularly when we started saying our ages in English, and we got to Mrs. Sick Teacher, and she pulled the whole “secret” deal. I laughed…then she told me to guess. I absolutely refused, but one of the kids said “46!” in English. …Mrs. Sick Teacher, being the nice woman she is, allowed him to say it in Japanese, for confirmation of his…blunder. And…”Yonjuu roku sai!” Yep…that’s 46, alright.

I’ve always found “fight preparation” to be hilarious. In America, we have several different methods of preparing to punch someone. Some people crack their knuckles, other people kiss them. Some people push up their glasses, others wind up for a pitch. Apparently, in Japan, you breathe on your fist as if you’re about to shine it. …In fact, you DO shine it with the other hand. And seeing my teacher do this made me laugh even harder. She never punched the kid, don’t worry. She just mussed his hair, but I know that woman’s got some force behind her. I’ve seen her explode on classes. Angry Japanese women = scariest thing in the world, even over angry black women. Angry Japanese women remind you of the years of repression they’ve experienced, and no one, and I mean no one can predict the results of that stuff. Besides, when she told me to say “Mrs. Sick Teacher is twenty five years old,” as a practice sentence, and I laughed again, she punched me…jokingly. But there was some power there. Yep…not messin’ with her.

From there, it was preparations for the great welcoming party. I went home right after work instead of hanging with the kids, and made sure to eat a bunch of bread, water, and a few extra things before the party. I did NOT need to get super drunk, not when I had an elementary school to teach the next day.

My carriage arrived promptly, and here, they really do ask you to sit in the back seat when they drive you places. I can only call my driver “The Lisp”, because he has a slight one, though I think it’s the dialect. Besides, lisps in Japanese seem to work entirely differently. Nevertheless, he tried speaking to me in broken English, which…always impresses me. These people really do seem to like talking to me. Must…resist…cynical natures…

We got to the restaurant, and when I walked into the place, who did I see? But the principal of the elementary where I had to teach the next day! Ha! Now, most of y’all woulda been scared to find that. Me? I was thrilled. That meant this dude knew EXACTLY why I was gonna be a little out of it the next day, AND he’d know it was my other principal who made it happen. Even better, he was chillin’, drinkin’ sake with that very principal!

‘Oh, I totally win,’ I thought as I took off my shoes and stepped up into the eating area.

There were a lot more seats than I was expecting. I didn’t realize I worked with 19 other people. But…after a time, everyone showed up. Beforehand, though…Booze Master, The Principal and I were sampling ales.

“Kampai practice!” they called it, and we all laughed.

Then…the food came out. Fish, chicken, pork, octopus, shrimp…man, I think we covered all the major meat groups, and a few minor ones. Because of all the horror stories I’ve heard, I had to ask if they wanted me to eat a shrimp whole, or would they let me take off the head and tail. And, though that was an excellent opportunity for them to say, “Sure, eat it all…heh,” they instead exclaimed, “NO! That would be disgusting.” …So, I think Japanese people just like messing with my friends.

It was a good time, though. I sipped sake in proper form with Mr. Unreadable, who seemed forever concerned that I might be sick. But lemme tell ya, sake’s for punks. Scotch is rough to me. This was like Scotch without that painful kick at the end. If I wasn’t teaching the next day, Mr. Unreadable would have challenging me to a sake-off.

They kept sending me mixed signals regarding drinking, though. “David, remember. Tomorrow’s not a holiday, so be careful how much you drink. Oh, by the way, here’s another truck full of sake! Drink up!” I was absolutely fine, though. Sake tipsy is like…really really chill. Not spewingly stupid like Scotch-drunk is.

That night, I spoke with Matt regarding culture shock. He tells me I’m exactly where he was, but eventually, I’ll hit that freakout point. Since I’ve been here, I’ve felt like this peace can only be temporary. But that could be because of my own cynicism. And the things that eventually made Matt freak out aren’t anywhere on my list of…”what’s wrong with Japan”. Maybe I’ll freak out, maybe I won’t. But if I do, I’m quite positive of what the cause will be. Let’s hope I can stop that problem before it happens again…

D

Sept 20^th

Well, today was a lot of fun, I must say. Even though it was actually announced to me that, uh…they want me to sing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” in some jazzy form, I’m okay! I…can actually do that. I realized that I’ve never had enough faith in my own voice. It’s not the best, but, I think I’ll be good.

In other news, the kids seem to love the fact that I know anything about Bleach and Naruto. All I get is “David! David! Do rasengan!!!” That’s…adorable in my mind.

In other news, the Music Teacher has totally stopped being shy around me. I didn’t realize it, though…the girl’s got major skills. I was watching the music class again, and she was playing flute up front. Suddenly, the piano player was having issues, and she jumped in and started playing piano…and then the drummer couldn’t get a part, and she just stepped in, and started rocking out on drums. …Okay, so, Japanese women are actually extremely talented but aren’t allowed to show it. Huh…that sucks.

But, uh…anyway, before all that happened, one of the students really wanted me to come and see the kendo club—something I’d been meaning to do for a long while. Man, was that ever what I needed to see. Those kids are awesome, and somehow, watching that is going to help me on other levels. Their reflexes were frightening, and though you could hear voices cracking with pubescent rage, it was simply…astounding. I even got to smack some stuff with the kendo sword!

So, needless to say, today was great.

Sept. 19th

Man, today was just one of those days where the newness just wasn’t there. The kids now know who I am, so now…my personality has to shine through. …Great. I forgot about THAT thing. Hoped I could lock it away for a while and get by on being all weird. My mother said that at some point, maybe my goofier, childish side would shine through, and it’d let me relax and be young again, and…she’s right. I’m just…getting used to it. Had to remember that I can screw up, and look like an idiot here. What better way to do that than at sports and music!

First, I tried playing against the table tennis club. Man…those girls are awesome. I mean, I genuinely suck at ping pong now, but…they’re really good. The stereotype isn’t because of bloodlines or anything, but because these kids play ping pong every frickin’ day for, like…YEARS. You’d be awesome enough to pass some ping pong gene down to your kids too if you played that much.

Next was music. I’d “played” trumpet for a year when I was a kid, but I had braces at the time, which meant…I had a different mouth back then. When I picked up a trumpet today, oh…oh, that was just horrible. The Shy Music Teacher laughed, as did I. I tried to explain braces, and I think they understood why I couldn’t even begin to play anymore.

Shoot, I was even goofing up in class, messing up Japanese terms and everything. Mrs. Sick Teacher seemed to enjoy the fact that my Japanese was far from perfect, as is her English. I suppose my introduction was a bit overwhelming…maybe I seemed too cool and perfect. …HA! Really, though, I think it was best that I totally wiped that illusion away. That’s the kind of crap that sets me up for a huge fall.

Oh, speaking of spectacular set ups for fantastical falls, I made the mistake of putting this fact on my application: “Some people say I have a nice singing voice.” Totally true. Some people have gone as far as to say my voice is beautiful. That’s really stretching it. I mean…I can sing within a certain range, and sound okay, but I’m nothing special or solo-worthy. But then Shy Music Teacher, who…we might as well just call Music Teacher at this point, asks me, “Do you like to sing?”

“Yeah…it’s…fun?”

“Well, we would like…you sing…at festival…with me and The Secretary.”

Wait…wait, what?

“We hear you like singing. Is…okay?”

Wh…b…j… “Iiiiiiiiii’m….maybe?”

“Idea. If…okay with….you. Yo kereba…”

“Yo kereba… Ano…ano…tabun. Maybe. Maaaybe. Tabun.”

She smiles and we end the conversation like every other awkward multilingual conversation. Awkwardly, with uncommunicated ideas dangling like…misused prepositions?

…Oh, yeah…I’m in trouble. Watch…knowing my luck, these people think I’m classically trained. Or…trained at all, geez.

D

Sept. 18^th

“Yep. Good ol’ recovery day. Time to chill out, and relax, and drink more water because of my slight headache. All will be well later, though, I’m sure.” That’s what I wrote for Sunday. Wasn’t even worth putting in it’s own entry.

So, today was another relaxing day. But…I had to something I’d been fearing for quite a while…wash my dreadlocks…in Japan. You see, Japan doesn’t really have the hair care products I need, and every time I do any kind of lock maintenance, it means I’m one step closer to the point of “roll with it, man…you really don’t have a choice”. So, I tend to delay as much as I can…space things out a bit. But after all that basketballin’ and hangin’ with smokers…my hair really needed washing. So…I bit the bullet.

A few nights ago, I went out and got myself a hairdryer. Normally, I sun dry my dreads, but a few days in Japan told me something – Sunlight ain’t all that frequent. It’s normally overcast and a bit muggy. That’s right, Japan looks mostly like a ghetto mixed with rice-fields, Las Vegas, and…a strip mall, and it’s almost always overcast. Really makes you wanna come visit, don’t it? Come on over! I like it for some reason. So, I got the hairdryer, thinking I’d need it. And lo and behold, the day I wash my dreads? Sunny. Thank you, Japan. Oh, but it didn’t stay that way. Somehow, during the time when I stepped into the shower, and the moment I stepped out, cloud rushed in and began droppin’ rain, Florida-style. Or, in other words, relentlessly. So I sat inside, and tried just lettin’ the dreads air dry for a while…even though I had the dryer.

Durin’ this time, began to wonder when my novelty would wear out here. I’m only a superhero because I’m new. When would my “new American smell” disappear, and when would they consider me just another part of the landscape? It was bound to happen eventually. Would that be when I stopped feeling like this place was normal? I tend to get weirded out by places once they actually accept me as one of their own…. Trust issues.

Apparently I thought for a while, because when I looked out the window again, the sky was clear, and the earth dry. But it was almost sundown. So, my dreads still a little damp, I went for a walk. This time, instead of going east, as that was all I knew…I went west. Little did I know, there’s a completely different world to the west. The stores and stuff just…stop, and suddenly, there’s a huge river (compared to what I’ve seen) and trees, and this really interesting path that leads out into unknown greenness… I really gotta walk down there sometime. And there’s a bridge! I love bridges over rivers. Used to hate ‘em, and now…it’s grand.

The wind was blowing gently, the sun was setting softly, and the sky was in beautiful layers of purple, orange and yellow, accented with blue clouds. I was wearing blue jacket #3, Baby Blue, and was very, very…solitary. I passed by families and friends who seemed to be enjoying walks as well. Again, that feeling of being the foreigner washed over me, but it didn’t sting like it does in America. Again, I began to wonder if this is simply how my life will always feel. I mean, apparently, I’d missed “home” as long as I’d been alive, but…I could never remember where home was. Most people would begin to feel depressed in this kind of situation and want to go home, but this was all I knew, and moving back to the US would actually make it feel worse. I still don’t understand how I can miss something I’ve never had. I don’t ever remember feeling like I was “home”, but…maybe I did, and my mind just can’t put the pieces together to remind me of when and where that was. Nope…this isn’t depression, this is simply David Williams as he’s always been. Which means I gotta be thinking way too hard. I’m overlooking something, and part of me had hoped that moving to Japan would help me remember what it was. But, I’ve only been here for two weeks. Lots more time to go, so maybe it’ll come to me then. If not…I’ll have to try something else.

And with that thought, I looked out over the purplish, swirling Kinu River one last time before heading back home. I took the long way back, past a public pool/bath house, and even swung by a liquor shop, but not for liquor. I was taking Matt’s advice again, thinking, “If the Japanese like liquor, they’re more likely to trust a man they see BUYING liquor.” So, I picked up a bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream…because that stuff is simply tasty. The clerks seemed delighted by my presence. I think I’ll buy a bottle of Bailey’s from there every once in a while, so they’ll see me as a “regular” and know that I have a “usual”. Yes…my plans are falling into place. Wait…then I’ll just have, like, 8 million bottles of Bailey’s layin’ around. …Yep, genius.

D

Saturday, Sept. 16^th

I didn’t realize it, but I’d started to take pride in my solitude in this city. I was the only gaijin I’d seen…ever, in a whole two weeks. Awesome, huh? Well, all this was destroyed on Wednesday, when Atsuko e-mails me, saying that there was an ALT in town who was having a very hard time, and that she wanted the other Trust School ALTs in Chikusei to meet him, and show some form of camaraderie.

Oh, great…now I gotta meet up with the other ALTs who have a huge chance of being Japanophiles or…otakus, or…old dudes who just couldn’t get dates in America. The illusion of me being the only gaijin for miles was being undone, and I didn’t like it.

Most people that move to Japan are apparently extroverts, who thrive on socialization, and start to feel drained when they move here and cannot communicate with the majority of the population. They go through very rough times, and are forced to face themselves more often than they’d like in a grueling state of introspection. Most people come out of this stronger, and wiser, and suddenly know that it is not the place that makes their lives, it is themselves.

Been there…done that.

I was always separated even in America, to the point that introspection is normal for me. The lack of human interaction in Japan has been like a fulfillment of all my training in America; finally, I don’t have to wonder why I feel distant from everyone else. I actually AM distant from everyone else! It’s been a huge burden off my shoulders, not having to fake as if I belong somewhere. I was alone, it made sense, and I enjoyed it. Sure, people looked at me funny, but now, for the most part, it was out of genuine curiosity rather than out of possible disdain. I had no history with these people that we had to see past, there were no walls to break through. Our relationship is what it is, was what it was. I’m a black man in Japan, and they ain’t used to it. The whole situation was extremely calming.

So now I gotta go talk to a bunch of folks who do nothing but damage my calm? …Yeah, that’s fun.

We met at Shimodate Station, where I, for once, was the first one there. It was there I met Andrew, the guy from NY who was having such a horrible time. At first, I was a bit skeptical, thinking he was whining about not having enough clubs to go to, but when I heard his story…I couldn’t help but feel for the dude.

Andrew had apparently been in Asia for a while, and even got married to some Filipino girl. Eventually, he found out that this girl was using him for his passport and divorced her. Shortly afterward, he applied for Trust School, and was accepted. But, during a stay at a hotel during his trip to Japan, 500 dollars was stolen from him, totally ruining his savings, which are crucial to the world of ALTs for the first six weeks or so. But, he still made it to Japan, and stumbled into the Trust School office, weary, but ready. It was then that he was informed of some bad news. You see, before he left for Japan, he was told he’d be in a major city. Being from NY, that appealed to him, but…later on, they decided to bump him over to Nasu, a ski resort kind of place. Andrew loved skiing, so he was willing to bend a bit. This was the information with which he flew to Japan. Little did he know that when he arrived, the Trust School had decided to relocate him yet again, to a place in the rice fields just east of my Boondocks School. There, there were no people, no internet cafes, and lo and behold, they didn’t even grant him a car, when his schools were just as far away as mine. According to Andrew, the workers of Trust School seemed to snicker when they gave him the news.

“Atsuko’s hot, though…so I couldn’t be too mad when she told me the news,” said Andrew. I was starting to understand why they had hired her.

Soon after, Scott and Will showed up. Scott was half Chinese, half Filipino, which only meant one big ol’ bowl of hate from the Japanese. He was of “lesser Asian decent”, and man…they never outright said they hated him or even eyed him strangely, but you could feel it. Or at least I could—I’ve been trained in sniffing out those emotions. Will was from Florida too, and the two of us bonded over stories of how crappy the orange juice was here, how northerners really needed to stop whining about the humidity and hot weather, and how no one understood that Japanese cockroaches really didn’t have the brains and frightening wit of a Floridian cockroach, or palmetto bug.

Scott and Will had been in Japan since March, and were the ones who escorted Andrew and I around Chikusei, showing us a few things, and providing Andrew with food options other than peanut butter and jelly…and buttered rice. Eventually, we met up with a bunch of other ALTs from other countries…England, Canada, and New Zealand. It was here that I almost killed some people.

Again, I do not feel American here. But, oh, were these kids quick to lump me in with Americans. It was like they were waiting to bring up politics just to rub it in our faces. I don’t even believe in politics…seriously…and I was getting genuinely pissed off at these folks. Everyone there was apparently a smoker, of various substances and—it just…I had hoped that meeting people from other countries would show me that pettiness was just a result of the American situation. And even though half of me knew better, it still hurt to find out I was wrong. People are merely people. And because of that, I could not hold this against them.

I shut off all anger—or maybe it was drinking a few beers without eating much that day—and decided to be silly. Barbs of sarcasm seemed to slip out, though, from time to time. Scott and I were cool, though. We’d joke around about our own stereotypes, and I’d show him how I was pretty much a superhero in this country. Kids ran up to me, women smiled at me, men shook my hand.

We all went to dinner, and I randomly made friends with another table, and I taught a bunch of kids about daps, and…well, I had my own brand of fun. After all was said and done, I drove home and collapsed in my bed.

Do I feel better now that I’m not the only gaijin in Chikusei? No. Do I wish I’d never met these folks? Ehhhh…Will, Andrew and Scott were cool, and can help me later in life.

I still don’t like my introversion being invaded. That…may never change.

D

Sept 15

The Japanese apparently have a few customs when it comes to new teachers. The first is a welcoming ceremony, which I had the joy of experiencing today. They walked me into the gym through a archway of flowers (which the students had to hold extra high for me), and then guided me to the stage, where the principal gave a speech regarding my arrival. Then, students spoke in English. They’re good, man…I gotta hand it to them. But then came the part I was the most concerned about…my speech. I started in English, and then eventually slipped over to Japanese. But…the most awkward thing about speaking in front of Japanese folks is that…well…they never applaud. So it’s really tough to tell when what you’ve said has landed flat. But hey, after the speech was done, Mrs. Sick Teacher tells me I did an excellent job, so…I guess I’m in the clear.

The second custom is the Welcoming Party. If you didn’t know, the Japanese aren’t really hard workers, merely masters of looking busy. They always seem to be moving, which explains how they stay so small and wiry. But…if you study them they’re rarely actually doing anything of any real importance. But for the sake of this paragraph, we’ll say they work very hard. Oh, man…thems some hard workers. Yup. I mean…they make my American work ethic look like total garbage. Sho nuff. So, to balance how hard they work, these people have to play hard as well, meaning, they will go out drinking together and get WRECKED, and then all come in the next day and understand each other’s hangover. It’s okay to go out and drink as long as everyone else is there with you, so that you can suffer together the next day. I mean, come on, when part of Japanese lessons includes conversations regarding hangovers…you KNOW that country loves some liquor. As always, I digress.

The Welcoming Party is an example of such hard playing. Today, The Secretary asked me, “David…do you have any plans for Friday the 22^nd?”

“Umm…no.” She asked so softly that it was hard to respond without sounding like a total brute.

“We would like to have your welcoming party that night. Can you make it?”

At the time, I didn’t know what a welcoming party was. “Party? For…me?”

She smiled. “Yes.”

“Oooooo…kay?”

“Good.”

“I’ll pick you up at 6:30,” said Booze Master with a huge grin on his face. And then I realized the spectacular set up here. It’s a Friday, so there’s no work the next day. They’re picking me up so I don’t have to drive myself home. …These people want me to get HAMMERED. Considering that I don’t really drink, I will either love this evening, or regret it forever…

But today, we had FIRE TRAINING. Originally, they told me it was earthquake training, and my look of worry got a few chuckles from the staff. Later on in the day, they told me it was actually a fire drill. Oh…and by the way, even in fire drills, they worry about their shoes. I’m thinking that the best way to take over this country is to steal everyone’s outdoor shoes. They’d be too scared to walk outside.

But this was more than just a fire drill. A bunch of firemen came along in a big (for Japan) truck, and showed off their costumes and stuff. I swear…Japanese firemen are ghostbusters. Orange ghostbusters. They even have an Ecto-1, I kid you not.

All the kids came running out during this Japanese Fire Drill—someone please make a joke for that—and squatted down in neat little rows according to grade. I had never understood how they could be comfortable sitting like that, until Matt revealed something very important to me:

“People are most comfortable in the position in which they poop.”

The boy’s a genius.

As the kids squatted, the firemen had speeches, which were apparently funny, because the principal was laughing pretty hard. But, once all those were done, the students cleared an area in the center, and the firemen began to teach how to use the fire extinguishers. These were just water ones, though. Every sensei did it, but suddenly…I saw the teachers eyeing me devilishly. Next thing I knew, the kids were chanting, “Deibido-sensei! Deibido-sensei!” With a reluctant hanging of my head, I marched out with the other sensei, and grabbed hold of a fire extinguisher.

“I didn’t understand the instructions!” I said to Mrs. Sick Teacher.

“It’s okay,” she said. “Just pull the pin, lift the nozzle, yell ‘Kaji da!’ and fire.”

“Right…”

So, that’s what I did. On three, I yelled “Kaji da!!!”, pulled the pin, lifted the nozzle and sprayed. …But apparently Japanese fire extinguishers ain’t made for big black men, because I totally ripped the chain that held the pin right off the extinguisher. The firemen laughed, but said it was okay. The students were overjoyed, and laughed and cheered. Then some of the teachers got to fight real fire. Now that was entertaining. I got a really nice shot of Caffeine Dealer battling a huge flame. He seemed very happy with the picture.

In other news, today, the Shy Music Teacher got up the gumption to actually say “Good morning” to me as she handed me a cup of coffee. I just smiled and said “Good morning!” back, and she totally shyed away. It made me laugh…on the inside, of course.

Later on in the day, however, as I made my way to the basketball court, The Secretary walks up to me and says, “David, I hear you like to play music instruments.”

“Whoa…” I said. “I like to learn them. I’m not good at any of them, really.”

“Ah,” she said. “Well, we have the brass music club after school. You should come see us.”

I just nodded. I knew I really wanted to be there, but…the basketball team had laid claim on my time for the day. But halfway through practice, after letting the basketball coach win back his honor in a freethrow contest, I decided, “Hey, why not?”

I wandered up the stairs toward the music I heard, and peeked in the door. It seems I can’t go anywhere secretly, because the moment I looked in, one kid gasped and pointed, and thus the domino effect began. Row by row, the students turned around to look at me and wave. Eventually…Shy Music Teacher noticed that half the instruments weren’t playing and turned around to see what the problem was, only to find me frantically making any hand gestures I could to tell the kids to keep playing. But, I was stuck.

“Umm…hi?” I said, and the class laughed. Shy Music Teacher could only nod and smile. Then she nervously gestured for me to please step into the classroom. I complied, ducking to enter, drawing more laughter, and stood next to a girl who was playing the xylophone. She completely froze in giggles.

“Teach me, please,” I said, in Japanese, and the whole class giggled. The girl gave me the mallets for the xylophone, and after asking which “key” was C, I graced them with a moving rendition of Chopsticks…which…until now, I didn’t realize just how hilarious and appropriate that was. Then for fun, I broke into Carol of the Bells.

“Joozu!” yelled the kids, meaning “Skilled!” which…is proof that they say this no matter what you do.

I continued to goof around, and the Shy Music Teacher walked up. “Do…you…like music?”

“Very much!” I said with a goofy smile. She seemed very happy to have found that common ground with me. I think I’ll swing by more often. It’s fun! And the kids even let me goof off with tympany! Ya’ll don’t even know how much I love tympanis. If I had a blue room, where I could watch thunderstorms, play tympanis, enjoy plates of grilled cheese, scrambled eggs, toast, pancakes, biscuits and southern gravy, sip orange juice, and listen to music involving ascending scales…that would be my room of total perfection. I doubt I’d ever leave. Crap, now I miss grilled cheese.

Afterwards, as I stepped out of the music room with the Music Teacher, a little girl’s voice rang in my ears.

“Deibido-sensei!”

I turned around to see a girl with a large beetle on her index finger, of a variety that only comes in plastic or rubber form in the States.

“Ooooooh…” I said, and started to move my finger toward it, but another girl promptly stopped me, and pantomimed a pinching motion, and a face of anguish. Well, I must say, I understood that. I found it funny, though, that I’d even move toward a bug. In Florida, most bugs are of the stinging/killing/evidence of infestation variety. I really think something burned fear out of me, though. Not sure when exactly, but…I’m far braver than I was.

After that, I was happy, homeward bound and—noticed a call from Matt on my cellphone.

“Yo, I talked to the teachers. You’re totally in the clear. They actually might want to invite you back, because they feel bad for turning you away.”

The kid can’t lose. Really.

D

Sept. 14

Yeah, working at a junior high school is amazingly fun, and a huge ego boost to someone who wasn’t popular at all in junior high.

Today was yet another day chock full of introductions. Mrs. Nice Teacher and Mrs. Sick Teacher were as helpful as always. But, man…I had to work with Mr. Unreadable today. I could never tell if I was upsetting him, or what. He said “Introduce yourself for three minutes, and we’ll move on with the class.” No other teacher put a limit on my intro. And, when he opened the class, it seemed more ritualistic than anything. Imagine the following conversation between the teacher and the class, in monotone, and bad Japanese accents. Don’t pause for breath…seriously.

“Good morning everyone, how are you.”

“I am fine thank you how are you.”

“I’m fine thank you what is the day today.”

“It is Wednesday.”

“Yes, and what day is it.”

“It is September 14^th.”

“Yes and how is weather outside.”

“It is rainy.”

Rainy was only half of it. It was COLD and rainy. I hate that. Because, I love rain, but hate the cold, so my body just spins between bliss and discomfort, and ya know what you get with that? …The perfect feeling to complement the next weird moment.

The students listen to an English song everyday, and try to fill in the blanks. Today’s song? Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On”. I kid you not. I laughed, because…I hadn’t even heard the song all the way through before, since it was associated with something associated with Leonardo DiCaprio. That’s good reason to shoot your radio every time the song comes on. But, man…my brain almost exploded from the idea of this song actually being educational material.

Eventually, Mr. Unreadable’s class was over, and I went straight to Nice Teacher’s class. She’s great. She makes mistakes, I make mistakes, we all laugh…the class has a blast. But this time, I dodged the girlfriend question! Ha! …Man, they love that question. Even the guys! But…the girls have fallen for me. They giggle when I’m around. They walk up to me, and then run away bashfully. They huddle in groups, walk past the class in which I’m teaching and yell,

“David-san!”

“Yes?”

“WE LUB YOO!”

And run away in shrieks and giggles. It takes ALL of my power to remember that they’re just silly girls. This is because…really, man, I was FAR from popular in junior high, high school…pretty much all my life, and to be the object of even crushes is so unfamiliar, so foreign, so…it just takes a lot to remember that it’s nothing. I’m still just the goofy dork I’ve always been, and no matter what I do, I can’t rewrite my rather unsatisfactory past. I’ll admit that it’s almost like vindication or…something.

In the teacher’s room, the teacher who sits across from me…we’ll call him…the Caffeine Dealer…because he’s always giving me power drinks with caffeine in them. Caffeine dealer saw me studying kanji. I asked him if there were many left handed people in Japan. Nope. And guess what that means? Kanji, like EVERY OTHER LANGUAGE is designed to be written with your right hand. Really. I hate you people. I don’t care if you are 88% of the population. I challenge you all to battle.

Upon hearing I am left handed, Mrs. Nice Teacher exclaims, “Me too! But…in Japan…in older times…we thought…south paws? Yes, South paws, we thought they were bad. So, everyday, my mother would hit my left hand very hard…so…I just learned to write with my right hand.” See? I knew this woman was cool. She’s been teaching as long as I’ve been alive, but really, man…she’s great. I explained a similar situation that resulted in me becoming ambidextrous…ya know…without getting beaten for being left handed. And thus, we bonded.

Lunch was the norm. Rice, some stuff in a bowl, and---oh, this is great. Today was a “select a lunch” day. The choices? Salmon or chicken. BUT, for me…the lunch coordinator chose in advance. And what did she pick? Chicken. One more time, people. Chicken. In fact, everyone at work said, “Yes, we expected you to go for the chicken.”

Time out. Just how far does this stereotype go? Do…do they telegraph these things? I just traveled over 12000 miles, and chicken still runs me down? Guh…but then I remembered. I’m American. And many, many Americans hate the taste of fish. And…my co-workers were just lookin’ out for me. But, shoot, ain’t gonna lie, I stuck with the chicken. I mean…I can get seafood here all the dern time. Chicken…good chicken…is rare. Stereotype…enforced.

Then, the teachers announced that they wanted a welcoming party for me on Sept. 22^nd. Oh, dear lord, here we go. I’m gonna have to get drunk with my teacher friends… And it’s on a Friday. AND they want to pick me up. They…want me to get completely wasted. And for the sake of community, I might have to comply. …Mother, Father, Sister…forgive me. But I know what I must do.

I helped with Mrs. Sick Teacher’s class, and…that was about it. Until three girls cornered me and asked, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Crap.

Lesson one. Do not lie. Ever. EVER. “No…” I said reluctantly.

“Really?!” “Honto ni?!?”

“Iie…”

“Yeah? You have one?”

“No. Iie. No…I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Giggles and sudden disappearances. These are the hallmarks of the Japanese preteen female. After school time didn’t help either. The coaches asked me to come out and watch the girls basketball team. Even play with them. So, there I was, honestly helping the girls, but…further ensnaring their poor little hearts. But, shoot, those girls got some dribbling skills. I taught a few of them some things, but they were actually really good. Problem was…no self confidence. These girls could take on ANY of the guys, but…any time they’re faced with an opponent, they crumble. And I can’t change that. That’s Japanese women. Frighteningly submissive. Darn me and my love of stubborn women.

But hey, I was still having fun…until I got a little announcement.

“David, we would like you to say a few words at assembly tomorrow,” said Mrs. Sick Teacher. …Then she asked me to teach her how to say “Please Slam Dunk” in English. …They’re gonna ask me to dunk tomorrow. Punks. PUNKS.

…Well, here we go.

D

Sept. 13^th

So, today was my first day at my junior high, the place where I’ll spending most of my time. I was a freakin’ celebrity the moment I walked in, but…the fun part is the plethora of new Cast Members.

Mrs. Nice Teacher – She’s the English teacher who’s silly, but very kind. She’s always saying her English is horrible and apologizing, but seriously, she’s really good.

Mrs. Sick Teacher – The second English teacher. Okay, so she’s not always sick, but the first day, she was ill, and had to leave in the middle of the day, so…the name stuck.

Mr. Unreadable – This dude…He’s the third English teacher, actually he’s the head English teacher, but I can never tell if he’s annoyed with me, joking with me, looking down at me…just that same stare, all the time. It’s…really, really scary.

The Secretary – This girl speaks awesome English, mostly because her husband is British. She’s my Rosetta Stone.

The Principal – Nuff Said.

Vice Principal – Same.

Coach – The coach of the boys’ basketball team who is ALWAYS sizing me up…and challenging me to free throw contests.

Mini-Coach – Coaches the girls’ basketball team, and likes challenging me to…everything. He’s shorter than Coach.

Volley-Coach – Coaches girls’ volleyball.

Caffeine Dealer – This dude is always giving me power drinks, and asking me about America. He’s really cool, though.

Mrs. Dytha – DYTHA stands for Dresses Younger Than Her Age. Oh, don’t worry, she’s not all…nasty lookin’, wearing mini skirts and tube tops or something. Her clothes just betray her maturity. Particularly the leg warmers. …What?

Booze Master – This dude is absolutely obsessed with what alcohol I’ll drink.

Shy Music Teacher – Oh, this girl is downright adorable. She’s over the after-school brass music club. She’s just very nervous about talking to me. …Which of course means I gotta mess with her, right?

There are more, but these are the ones who interact with me the most. Remember this post. Because I know you’ll need to refer back to this list from time to time.

I was greeted by Mrs. Sick Teacher, and introduced to the whole staff in one big ol’ meeting. They, once again, were impressed by my Japanese. Mrs. Sick Teacher told me that I’d be doing nothing but self introductions today, and maybe a little quiz work with the kids. No problem at all. So, between Mrs. Sick Teacher and Mrs. Nice Teacher, I taught three classes, who basically just wanted to know who I am. Same questions, same answers. No one knows I’m single though. Not yet. Mwahahahaaaa… Oh, but I’m sticking with the “I hate natto thing,” since Natto-sensei thought it was hilarious.

D

Sept 12

The thing about four-day weekends is that…they’re only cool when you’ve actually got things to do. This being the last day of my four day weekend, I was struck with the truth: I don’t have anything to do in this dern city. Not yet at least.

I checked my e-mail and saw that Atsuko had sent me a message.

Hey, David,

Have you taken care of your Alien Registration Card yet? If not, could you go to the Chikusei City Hall and register?

Thank you.

Atsuko”

Oh, right…that whole being a legal worker thing. Ha! Forgot about that. So, I hopped in my car and—wait, no. That’s not how it started.

I wanted to drive to my Junior High school today, so that I won’t get totally lost tomorrow. Then, I figured, I’d stop by the City Hall as well, and take care of stuff. Out came the maps. Five different people had given me maps, and on each map was marked a different special location. Genius, huh? But, eventually, I got it all figured out.

The drive to the school was simple enough. Only one wrong turn, but I found myself one awesome bridge and river that way. I gotta go back there sometime. But the fun began when trying to find City Hall. Oh, yes, in America, right turns are your friend. You can easily bypass traffic that way. In Japan, right turns are your worst enemy. It’s like a left turn in the States, but…with…a larger blindspot, and no guarantee that the cars going in the opposite direction will even slow down a bit to help you across. And guess what? To get to the City Hall from my school it was all right turns. JOY.

But, with a little gaijin power, I made it safely and walked into the City Hall. Even the workers there seemed amazed by my presence, even though they HAD to see foreigners all the time. Fortunately, when a big black dude walks into a Japanese city office, everyone knows what he’s there for, and is happy to point him in the right direction.

When I sat down to begin my application, people started trying to figure out ways to have to walk by me to get a better look. The woman at the desk was very friendly, and found my broken Japanese cute.

“Ah! Trust School! You know Atsuko!” she said, seeing the business card I’d somehow put in my passport.

“Atsuko? Yes…I know her.”

“Very nice girl.”

Apparently, knowing Atsuko got me some bonus points with this lady. I’m not complaining. But…I forgot to bring my pictures with me. Here’s a hint to anyone else moving to Japan. Bring, like, 80 copies of your passport picture. You can get ‘em cheap if you do it at Kinkos and cut them yourself. Make a few that are 2”x2” and others that are 3.5 cm x 4.5 cm. You’ll be golden. I however, had to find a picture booth…which happened to be aaaaaaall the way over at Shimodate Station. Grand. And when I got there, I discovered that it didn’t take bills as large as the one I had…punks. So, off I went to buy something small to break a 5,000 yen note. That’s 50 bucks in layman’s terms.

Blah blah blah…made it back, gave the lady my pictures, and she referred me to someone else. This guy we’ll call…Garbage Master. He’s been given the task of explaining the garbage process to foreigners, because, really…you need it explained. In Japan, you have to separate your trash. Oh, not just into recyclable and non-recyclable. We got burnable, non-burnable, recyclable, to big to pick up and too stank to pick up. Yes. Stank. It’s necessary. Each of these has its own bag. And each bag has its own day. If you don’t separate your garbage, it won’t be picked up. If you use the wrong kind of bags it won’t be picked up. If you put the wrong thing out on the wrong day, no pickin’ up. It’s actually not TOO different from the efforts of the Florida Recycling program, but man, you try thinking in terms of burnable and non-burnable instead of recyclable and non-recyclable for a little bit. It breaks your brain. I’ll get it down, though. Fortunately, Garbage Master found my broken Japanese to be cute as well, so he gave me some bags to help me out on my first try.

And with that, I left and went home. The rest of the day I spent taking a walk down the major highway right next to my house. Only traveling east, I found that I live next to…two banks, two huge grocery stores, a 100 Yen shop, three book stores, two huge electronics stores, a comic shop, some cool restaurants, a post office and two decent train stations. On my way, I took some pictures of my brightly lit avenue and smiled at just how fortunate I was in this world.

Still no culture shock, though…but I’m waitin’ for it. Oh, am I ever…

D

Sept 11

So, today I left Matt’s place. I was supposed to hang out as his school today, and learn from him, but, uh…he kinda brought me in as a surprise, and it freaked the bejeezus out of the teachers. Matt…had broken his own rule.

“No surprises, Dave. Don’t rock the boat.”

Oh, maaaan, was he right. I’m just hoping none of this comes back to bite either of us in the butt. Whatever. I just left, trying to smile, though my mind certainly wasn’t letting me.

I still suck at trains. Managed to screw it up one last time. On the plus side it gave me a better understanding of the rail system, and how the map of the rail system is not geographically correct. That’s an important realization, people, in case you didn’t know.

But, on the train, I glanced at my watch, and noticed,

“Huh…it’s 9/11.”

Yep. It was the fateful day that…still didn’t mean much to me. Sounds cold, doesn’t it? But it really isn’t. Since I lost no one in 9/11, I felt no connection to the horrible events of that day, and since I don’t really see New York as the greatest place in the world, the lost of the towers themselves held no weight in my existence. And for me to try and fake a connection makes me feel like I’m disrespecting those who actually DID lose people, so…I tend to shrug this day off as something that, though sad, is not in my jurisdiction to exalt, or degrade.

I was happy to see that life went on as usual in Japan. No “9/11 – Five Years Later” garbage. Honestly, the news stations should be ashamed of themselves for milking an event like that. But, back home, people were eating it up. As if to confirm their own patriotism, people joined together to remember a wound many of them never felt. I’m not even going to touch the political ramifications of 9/11…I’m just not one to go traipsing on feelings that aren’t mine. Maybe the people who lost folks in 9/11 didn’t feel like getting bombarded with a national ”We feel your pain.”

But then a more controversial thought went through my mind. The one I really, really don’t tell people when they mention 9/11. It was because a friend of mine was talking to me online and seemed a bit upset by my being irked by 9/11 coverage. She said, “People died…a lot of people.” My mind started to race, thinking, “People die all the time, and in far worse ways. There are people suffering right now, who don’t have the pleasure of having their lives wiped out in the blink of an eye…no, they have to watch and wait as death slowly takes them. Live in fear as death waits around the corner. I don’t see memorials for them. All I see is a news station trying to get rating with the ‘flavor of the month death story’.” Instead I just said, “Eventually, we have to let things go and stop dwelling on the past. Yes, people died, and it’s sad…but let’s be kind to the families that lost someone and allow THEM to decide when the memorials occur…”

She responded with a good point. “Let me know if they commemorate the day the bomb dropped in Japan.”

“They probably will…and my feelings will be the same.”

She didn’t like that…

I don’t think any thoughts on this issue would be received well. Shoot, I didn’t even record mine very well. I just tire of false attempts at looking like you care… Regardless…this will happen every year, and every year, I’ll manage to piss someone else off.

Oh hey…look at that. Japan did remember 9/11…by interviewing the Japanese family that lost someone in the carnage. …I guess sometimes people just need to be reminded that they are still alive. Even if it takes sorrow.

Eh…whatever. I’m done.

D

Sept. 9-10

Whoo-hooo!!! Four day weekend! And what better way to spend it than, uh…goofin’ off with my buddy Seamus!

That’s right, yours truly braved the Japanese rail system…and failed horribly at first, but…I made it. Spent a little cash I didn’t need to, but…I made it. The people on the train did their absolute best not to look at me but man…they couldn’t handle it.

Matt met me at the train station in Iwatsuki, where we both ran around his city for a while, grabbed some gyoza and pretty much goofed around. He took me to some video arcades, and two model shops that…man, if there was a toy from your childhood that you never got, it’s there, I promise. And all my model-building friends would go bankrupt in these places. But the 9^th was brief. Mostly chock full of me getting lost.

The next day, we ate a breakfast of muffins, chocolate milk and…yeah, that’s it. Then, we ran to Iwatsuki station, and caught a train to Shinjuku. The funny thing about Shinjuku is that…it’s all over the Pimsleur lessons I’d been taking for the last three months, so on the train, all that played through my mind was “Shinjuku wa doko desu ka?” Made me laugh.

On the train, though, two high school girls were eyeing my arms, and then looking at the ceiling. I smirked—message received. I simply reached up and touched the ceiling of the train with no strain. They gasped and clapped, and thus the conversation began. Matt seemed to feed of the energy I was apparently generating on the train, as his Japanese got better as well. I’d fill in blanks for him, we’d ask the girls questions, and they’d ask us things. It was mostly just everyone practicing their non-native languages, but…hey…it were fun.

When we got to Shinjuku, we walked through the huge, multi-story department stores. Matt noticed that no one ever looked at him when he was on his own, but when I was around, eyes were locked on me, or my feet. I got myself a cookbook, and a few other things. Matt got some pens. …So we’re not the most exciting shoppers, geez.

After a meal at the local McDonald’s (…yes, we ate…at McDonalds…shut up), we decided to go to Tokyo. It was a Sunday, so Tokyo was pretty chill, but this was the perfect chance for me to get a prepaid keitai (cell phone).

The keitai culture in Japan is amazing. If you don’t have one, you’re a chump who is cut off from the rest of the world. Those things are your connection to train schedules, movie times, bus stops, gps, all sorts of crazy crap. In America, you can feel like you’re part of some awesome movement by not having a cell phone. In Japan…you might die without one. Seriously. Some of them even have debit capabilities, and anti-Mothra beams.

But, with Matt’s help, I got myself a prepaid keitai…not a great one, but great for the fact that most foreigners don’t have a keitai until their 8^th week or so. While we waited for the keitai to be activated, Matt and I walked to the Imperial Gardens and took some pictures.

“Good lord, Dave…it’s like they prepared this place for you…”

“Whatdya mean?”

“Last time I was here? Covered in algae…and the sky is actually clear. You have reverse luck in Japan.”

“…I seem to remember having good luck until you stole it from me freshman year.”

“Oh, right…heh…well…uh…hey lookit that dude!”

Well played, sir, because I most certainly did look. Nothing special, just a bunch of Americans walking around…but it triggered something in me. Anger. Seriously. All I could think was, ‘I worked this hard to get AWAY from you people! Stop following me! Oh, you’re here for the culture, right? Leeches…all of ya!’ I apparently didn’t want to deal with any more Americans. I glanced around and started to notice just how many Asian women wee on the arms of American guys. How many Americans were laughing loudly and clicking pictures of the imperial guards. How many Americans were lounging on the grass where you clearly weren’t supposed to be walking. I was told that I’d feel more American when I left the country, but I’d been feeling less and less American since I’d gotten here. I wanted nothing to do with these people, because they were members of the group I’d hated so very much in America: cultural leeches. People using other countries to spice up their lives. Not out of respect, but out of boredom. Not out of a desire for education, but out of a desire to be able to go back and use their travels as something to make themselves sound more appealing… My cynicism was returning, and I didn’t like it at all…

“Oh, hey…your phone’s ready, Dave.

Good. We needed to leave.

We grabbed my phone, and hopped a train back to Omiya, where we tried to find some athletic clothing that could fit us. Turns out? I CAN buy clothes in Japan! I’m just slender enough where I can buy unhemmed pants, and shirts…no problem at all! Just no shoes. Blast. After gettin’ our clothing, we hopped on a train back to Iwatsuki and thought we were gonna call it a night, but then…Matt’s buddy, Kenji, calls.

Kenji owns the gaijin bar near Matt’s place, and was happy to pay for our meals and drinks. Plus, some girl that wanted to meet Matt was there, so I couldn’t be all “naw man.” I’m not sure if the girl we met WAS that girl, but…ehhhh, I didn’t like her too much. Too Americanized.

That night I managed to gain the reputation of a good guy to hang with, AND I got my cellphone. I win.

“Man, my place sucks,” said Matt, a little buzzed on shochu. We were trying to find our way back to his place. “I’m burning Trust School to the ground.

“That’s cool…just don’t burn my supervisor, okay? She’s good folks.”

“I can’t make any exceptions, Dave. They gotta die.”

“Oh, come on…she never hurt anyone. I don’t think…”

“Nope…no exep—where in the world are we?”

“We’re lost aren’t we?”

“Naw…naw, I got this. Watch. You’ll think we’re nowhere near my place, and then magically…bam, we’ll be there.”

“Then why I feel like we’re gettin’ further and further away?”

“Watch…”

The punk was right. Ten minutes later, we somehow just stumbled onto his place. Literally.

“Oh, dang, there it is…”

“Toldya, Dave…I’m the master…”

Okay, fine…Matt wins too.

D