Ahead By A Century

It's been a while since I wrote one of these personal blogs.

Today is Friday, December 13, 1991.

I am an assistant English teacher (AET) selected by the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme to teach junior high school English for the city of Ohtawara-shi, Tochigi-ken, Japan under the auspices of the OBOE (Ohtawara Board of Education).

But that's usually not what these type of blogs are about.

Having been virginal until I arrived in Japan from Toronto, I have made it my business to ensure that near 26-years of futility never happens to me again.

Today, I was supposed to be at the OBOE - and I was. But it was soooo boring, that I won't bore you with how boring it was.

I will tell you that the office expected me to join them at the bonnenkai (party) tonight, but rest assured I assure them that the 20,000 was a lot of money and that I could not afford it.

I probably could afford it, but I'm heading out to Singapore in a couple of weeks for a vacation with my friend James Dalton, and I need to watch the way I throw it around.

After work, I ride my bicycle to Ashley's place in Nishinasuno-machi - about a 25 minute ride.

With me, I have a couple of condoms (why?) because I also take a bottle of sake (Japanese rice wine) to heat up (her). I also bring along three videos: A Clockwork Orange; Good Fellas; and a porno flick in case I can interest her into watching or trying out some moves.    

I also bring my contact lens case because I know I am going to spend the night - even though after 16 months here, I can count on one hand the  number of times I have spent the night at her place and still have enough digits to thumb wrestle (and cheat!).

For about one year, Ashley and I were boyfriend/girlfriend. She broke up with me claiming that I was smothering her. Apparently the fact that she came to my apartment 4x a week (or more) and was fed by myself was all my fault.

Whatever. You know what? Despite being a social animal who craves acceptance, I grew up being exceedingly shy, and as such I am used to being by myself.  I don't like it, but I can handle it. What the hell, eh? Why should I be around someone who says I cause her discomfort?

I have no idea... I like getting laid, I suppose... but if that's not happening, then all I am doing is letting her leech from me.

Since then she decided I wasn't all that bad of a guy, and that she would let us be friends-with-benefits. Wait. I get to have sex, but not have to buy her crap? Like dinner, flowers, stuff like that? And... I still get sex? I'm in.

However, I haven't been laid in months. From Ashley, that is. I don't consider being jerked off getting laid. It's more like getting jerked around - besides, I have a far better grip than Ashley. Do I need her?  Let's see what happens tonight...

At Ashley's small apartment, we talk and eat a decent spaghetti dinner with garlic bread. Eating garlic bread is perfectly accepting behavior as along as both of you eat some.

We kiss a wee bit, watch the videos and drink the sake. Hint: Never cheap out and bring a small bottle of booze if you are trying to get laid. Hell... if it doesn't work, you will still have plenty of booze to drink yourself stupid.

After watching A Clockwork Orange, she's drunk and horny and jumps me. I am unsure how that über-violent movie made her horny AND drunk, but I don't care. We're naked in a flash and she guides me inside her - and the... something happened... she remembered something... that something being, I figure, that she doesn't want to screw me...

So, she made an excuse to go to the washroom, and when she came back she said: "Let's watch another video."

She stopped touching me. Stopped drinking the sake. Stopped being interesting. I however, started drinking a lot more sake. See?

Honestly... my mind is bloody racing. I'm not dumb, but I can't understand. I have no idea what the other video was that we watched... doesn't matter anyways...

I stopped the movie half-way through and asked her to explain herself. By the way... I'm not drunk or even buzzed. Being angry... it burns the alcohol from my brain quickly. I know that doesn't make sense, but that's what it feels like. Controlled anger. My cursing is my gift.

So... Ashley talks. Finally. I hate people who can not communicate. I can communicate - and then some. It probably makes me come off like some sort of grunting animal. Feral.

Ashley talks to me in slow, halting, but measured phrases in a style that I recognize 20 years later. 
 
 She says that one of the reasons she broke up with me was because I jumped her every time  I saw her.

Yes... feral. I wanted to hump my girlfriend. I am such an animal. I had no idea that men should not want to screw their girlfriend. I'll have to file that away for future reference.

I tell her that since she never initiates sex, I had to constantly try and see if she was interested.

She was interested sometimes. She was not interested sometimes. Since she never gave any indication other than ambiguity before I tried something, I, the recently deflowered virgin, would try and jump my girlfriend to see if I could interest her in sex.

She said what I said was true.

I told her that if she and I were to have any sort of relationship, I still wanted sex. She said okay.

I did not tell her that have a sexless relationship with her kind of defeats the purpose of having a friend-with-benefit if there are no friggin' benefits. But I was thinking it. Why would I need someone - female or otherwise  - if there was nothing in it for me? Ashley was a nice person (mostly), but she couldn't entertain me. Amuse me. Not unless sex was involved... and that may have just been me mostly getting my ego fed. No idea what the truth or reality was. I still don't.

Anyhow... I told Ashley that I would try not to jump her every time I saw her.

I'm unsure why I decided to tell her this, but I did: I said I once contemplated marrying her, which completely blew her away, saying "I don't know what to say." 

But... she added: "For the first time since I met you... I understand."

That means she realized just how much I loved her... or at least just how fervent my emotions are.

Although no sex was forthcoming, we did go to bed naked beside each other... warm, comfortable... and at least for myself, at ease.

But I am never at ease. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever be at ease... taking every perceived slight or action or inaction as something that needs to be dissected and examined. I don't want to do that, but I fear I must or I will go further insane than that which I appear to be.

I had a dream....

The house I lived in was a former army barracks. My dad was there... he had a book and a map... the map showed the way to a coffin that held a special surprise inside. That's what I was told, as he pointed to the un-named book. My mother, father and younger brother Ben entered my bedroom in the basement, I sat on my bed, as my father led them past me towards the furnace. Beside the furnace, there was a wooden fence surrounding a storage area there, which they pulled away...My father looked at the map and said that the coffin was there underneath a guitar case... he moved the guitar case, and sure enough... there was a beautiful polished wooden coffin. I got off the bed and helped - probably because I was the strongest... and to see myself in this dream, that wasn't saying much. 
Grabbing the coffin, all four of us hefted it out of the furnace room and placed it down onto a second nearby bed. Prying it open, there was a mummy inside. Dad clapped his hands twice. The mummy sat up in the coffin. I jumped in shock and ran over to my mother and brother - not to protect them, but to be protected.
The mummy began to talk and offered a plethora of worldly advice, all of it pertaining to Ben: "I know you just wrote many exams and tests and are worried about them. Forget it. You did your best. You can't do anything about the past, so don't worry."
That's when I noticed my dad asleep on my bed. My brother called to him. Dad woke up saying, "I'm awake,' but then went immediately back to sleep. Ben shook him. My father sat-up in my bed and said, "I'm awake," and dropped like he fainted back down onto the bed. I then moved towards him and grabbed him and moved him onto his feet and woke him up with louts of yelling and shaking of his body. That's when I noticed the mummy faint away as my father woke up. Then as my father crumpled in my arms, the mummy resumed providing advice - this time to myself.
The mummy had some control over my dad.
Do you want to know what advice the mummy gave me? I'll tell you. He said...
"Andrew you need to listen carefully..."
He talked for what seemed like hours, but it was of course, far less time than that... 

And then I woke up.

Somewhere knowing I'll let you all know about what the mummy told me eventually,
Andrew Joseph
It seems stupid to say this, but when I slept beside Ashley, I always had colorful dreams that felt real. By myself... it was rare that anything stood out. Or perhaps I only remembered the dreams after being emotionally exhausted. To this day, I still force myself to go on very little sleep in order that I try and have a vivid dream. In 2012, since I suppose everyone dreams, I rarely remember any of them, but still wonder if I do dream. I do so badly want to live in my dreams... but what if I don't have interesting dreams anymore?
Today's blog title is by Canada's own The Tragically Hip because I had a feverish dream...

Killing Me Softly With His Song

It's Thursday... uhhh.... I think it's December.... yesterday was Aprilsss, so yeah, today is the 5th of gin in 1991 when Columbus discovered Ohio.

Oh god. The alarm goes off. Not too early or too late. It just goes off.

I...

Am...

In...

Pain...

And... I

Wishhh....

I wuzzzz...

Dead...

I have the alcohol craps. Life is as simple as that. I have nothing left in my stomach, which is good that I am sitting as I evacuate, because the other option is barfing. Hmm, but at least if I barfed, my stomach muscles would tighten up. I don't need my ass muscles to tighten up. It's already pretty buff, if I do say so myself... and I am.

I don't wan to eat breakfast in case I load my ass up for more crap. I am just really, really, really.....zzzzzzzz..... I'm up!

I dress without waking up my drinking partner Nicholas Strachan who is stretched out on some futons behind my couch.

I have to go to work today at Nozaki Junior High School, here in Ohtawara-shi, Tochigi-ken, Japan.

I grab a hot can of coffee from a nearby vending machine for ¥100. Holy crap... could I have a hangover? My first ever?

I chug the steaming can of joe and press the searing hot can against my forehead hopefully to permanently scar myself to remember to never drink this much again... on a weeknight... in December... in 1991.

I'm not naive enough to think I will just not drink again in this country.

At work I have a couple of cups of o-cha (green tea) served by the female teachers. They all knew what I was going to do last night, but it was still a pleasant surprise to see four Tylenol sitting atop my desk in the teacher's office.

I take two and after chewing back some rice crackers, I feel pretty good.

But that feeling goes away when I see that they scheduled me to teach in all five classes today.

Really? Did you not get the memo that I was going out drinking last night? Someone did, which is why I have Tylenol. Five classes? I have never taught five classes. Razazafrazzastupidsonofa...

There was some imagination used in a class where students were asked to act out a skit of buying something. Four boys staged a car theft! And then had a fence buy the car from the thieves. The English was passable, but they made the day go by quickly - pity it was in the 5th period when they performed.

After school, I sit around and chat with a few teachers - about women, men, relationships in Canada. I do my best, but they don't know I never dated until I was 22 and never slept with a woman until I was nearly 26. But, I do have good opinions on relationships to offer having watched a whole lot of television growing up... just tell them to do the opposite of everything I have done in a relationship. Hopefully, you know I'm only sort of kidding.

Mrs. Nagashima gives me a pretty sake set... (and here, I'm going to have to confess that I previously attributed this sake set above to Ashley - it was Nagashima-sensei). I was told by others that it was a very expensive set of pottery. (In 2012, I still use it, and take great care to not damage it).

Feeling chipper, I go out and play some baseball with the boy's team and some softball with the girl's team. I help them with their infield work lacing grounder after grounder to the four infield positions. (Did I mention I'm not wearing my eye-patch this week? I have depth perception!)

I'm unsure if this is Japan-wide, but here at this school, second-year students (Grade 8) get to participate in club activities, while third year students (Grade 9) are studying for high school entrance exams, and first -year students (grade 7) they actually take a 6th period - an additional class, for example - one extra English class a week.

I arrive home at 5:30PM - Nick is long gone, but has left a note thanking me for a great evening of man-time.
Good ol' Saint Nick.

Ashley shows up minutes later at my door. I don't kiss her - just proffer up a hug - and we eat some popcorn together. I hate having to share a bag, but I do. We watch a few videos, chat about nothing I can remember later, go to Mosburger for dinner (separate bills) and then ride back with her to her apartment in Nishinasuno-machi (Nishinasuno Town). When we say good-bye, I glance at my watch: It's 8:45PM.

I go home, watch a video and wonder about how strange my life is sometimes. It's wonderful strange.

I peer outside my balcony and let the cold wind blow through my hair... and spy a firetruck with its siren blaring... moving slowly... ever so slowly... for 10 minutes... is it looking for a fire? It's possible... there aren't any numbers on any of the houses... or street signs....

"Squad 51, we have a fire at ... uhhhh... farg!... uhhhh... some sort of field... and a rice paddy... uhhhh, it's in the northwest part of the city... no... not in the city... where the fields and rice paddies are... yes, I know there are rice paddies in the city - even beside the city hall....wait a moment.... if this helps.... the call came in from a... Suzuki-san... I don't know... I didn't take the call.... what's that Squad 51... you've found the fire? ... it's out? It's at an apple farm and a rice farm?... uh, roger that, Squad 51, but I think you need to keep looking for the fire... I think the.... uhhhh... yes... the one you just found was from last Monday.... is anyone still alive? ... why didn't you stop.... it doesn't matter if the fire is out... you are a member of the Ohtawara-shi volunteer fire department... can you turn around... no... I'm sorry, I know there's no room for you on these roads to turn around a fire truck... Look... just keep driving around... but please... the next time you think you see a fire or one that is recently gone out - stop and take a look around for survivors... if you don't... you know the rules of the volunteer fire department - you each get to take one item from the deceased house... unless it was the house that burned down....

But I digress...

Somewhere still drunk,
Andrew Joseph
Today's blog title is by Roberta Flack:

 

At The Hop

Today is just one confusing day of bouncing emotions. I am so confused that when I wrote this diary out I never saw the incongruity. I only just saw it today in 2012.

It's Wednesday, November 20, 1991 here in Ohtawara-shi, Tochigi-ken, Japan .
I'm at Kaneda Kita Chu Gakko (Kaneda North Junior High School) this week. Yuck. I hate these students. It's also cold outside, and that makes it really difficult to leave the warmth of my bed - but I do.
I always get out of bed to go to work.
I have three classes today of the same 'repeat after me' drivel.
Asshole students.
I eat lunch with a particular third-year class, but they completely ignore me. It's like they have zero English-language ability, and even if they do, they are all to afraid to use it. Of course, I don't really volunteer to speak any Japanese to them. I would... but they need to speak English first. God help me I've tried to talk to them in Japanese, but usually just get a grunt or a nod in response.
Get me the hell out of here!
Mr. Akazawa the young English teacher who seems like a very nice man, but is a tad wimpy in appearance really tries hard to make the students listen... but I think he is just too nice, and they take advantage of that.
He asks me if I will help the school soccer team tomorrow. He knows I was a damn fine player when I was younger and that I coached for about eight years in Toronto before arriving in Japan.
Still... I am wearing an eye-patch because of a scratched cornea. It's healing well, but not by tomorrow! I can only see in 2D!!?!! How do I play with them? Idiots!

The shogi King and my right foot.

After lunch in the teacher's office - and after being asked to help the soccer team - one of the school's bad boys drops by with a shogi board and teaches me how to play Japanese chess. Just for the record, this is the same kid I put in a headlock and attempted to choke out one day. Read that story HERE.
So... he does indeed teach me how to play. He has written out some basic instructions in English... I can tell he did it because his hand-writing is crappy - but that's not the point! He did this for me.
Hunh. I guess in order to make an impression with some students you just have to choke them with love. 
In our first game, I somehow beat him. I'm not sure how, but I think he let me. We run out of time on our second game, which lasts longer and involved both of us taking more time to make each move.
In one of the first-year classes (Grade 7 for 12 year-olds), we play a modified game of Scrabble. It's tough, but the little bastards seem to get it.
I go home thanks to a ride from nurse Gunji and hop on my bicycle to go shopping. I have no idea why, but I buy an apple pie.
Back home, Ashley stops by and gives me my birthday present (my birthday was November 8). She had forgotten. I'm pretty sure I haven't forgiven her for that, and I'm also pretty sure she knows it, too.
She gives me a sake (Japanese rice wine) pottery set of two jugs and five cups. It's spectacular (see the top photo - shhh, don't tell my wife. I still have it, and use it every once in a while).
Ash and I watch some old MacGyver videos I had been sent by my brother Ben, and when it's over, I ride my bicycle back with her in the cold and dark.
I leave her place early again even though she wants me to stay - but I can sense she is tired (repeated yawning... I mean, I'm not that boring a guy).
Back home in my Ohtawara-shi apartment I clean my aquarium, relax a bit in front of the television and read a book.
Oh yeah... a first-year student - a girl - gave me some inago (grasshopper) cooked in brown sugar and then stewed... okay... I have no idea how it is cooked. All I know is that a week a go when it was offered to me, I ate it out of being polite and to gross out people. No one was impressed or grossed out. Okay... I was grossed out and impressed that I didn't barf... still, people must have thought I liked it.
To be polite, when I got home I ate the whole plate of inago. It was very tasty and I enjoyed the perverse feeling of flicking my tongue over a hind leg of a grasshopper.

Somewhere with verbal diarrhea,
Andrew Joseph  
Today's blog title is by Danny & The Juniors:

   

Samurai Sake

Who wants to feel like a samurai without having to go through the years and years of outrageous and strenuous training?

I do, I do.

Okay... maybe this won't really turn you into a samurai, but it might make you drunk enough to believe you are one.

Fresh from Japan and available for the U.S. market comes Hiro brand premium sake (Japanese rice wine). Actually introduced to the U.S. in the spring of 2011 by three veterans of the spirits industry who loved sake. Hiro's branding was conceived as one whereby western consumers could easily ask for it by name.

Hiro - pronounced as 'hero' - is a good idea. Every sake I've ever bought both here in Toronto and in Japan is imported from the Land of the Rising Sun and has a name written in kanji (the Chinese letters). So... brand recognition and repeat business could and probably did suffer for people looking to purchased sake for Pete's sake. As well, there was no data on how best to serve the sake. 

But Hiro looks like a Japanese brand - but it is identifiable in English! What a concept! Plus, a consumer can now best determine how to serve it.

The brand name is made utilizing a style reminiscent of Japanese caligraphy (shodo) with thick black strokes. Other images on the back of it include a samurai warrior’s helmet, and the name of the brand, dotted with either a splash of blue or a splash of red denoting a hot/red variety known as Junmai Sake (or Hiro Red) or as a cold /blue variety called Junmai Ginjo Sake (or Hiro Blue cold sake). There is also a beautiful clouded over sun image... highly reminiscent of Nihon (Japan) which does translate to 'rising sun'.

Says Hiro Sake LLC co-founder, CEO, and president Carlos Arana, who has worked with brands such as Jose Cuervo, Seagrams, and Jim Beam, “From long experience in the spirits industry, my partners and I know that consumers like brands, not categories. So they don’t go and ask for a vodka; they ask for a specific brand. The same with tequila, the same with rum, the same with whiskey. So it was a little bit of an eye-opener for us to realize that with sake, consumers were not asking for a brand. That’s where we really saw an opportunity.

Images on the reverse of Hiro Sake Blue.

“Japanese restaurants and Japanese food are becoming more popular, so people are beginning to learn about and consume more sake, but they don’t know how to order it; the names are unpronounceable. So we thought, let’s go for it, let’s develop a brand.”

The Hiro sake is packaged in a 720-mL glass bottle with a frosted, translucent white surface.

The company that designed the bottle is Monday Collective, who selected Japanese designer Tatsuta Hiromi (surname first) to with the visual inspiration.

Hiro was inspired by the true story of Takeda Hiroemon (surname first), a renowned Samurai and Japanese Sake connoisseur from Murakami-shi (Murakami City) in Niigata-ken (Niigata Prefecture) some 200-plus years ago. Takeda worked with a skilled toji (master brewer) to combine the best rice grains from his own fields with artesian waters to produce a superior Japanese sake recipe.

The samurai's helmet on the bottles of Hiro brand sake are representatiove of Takeda's samurai heritage, with the design inspired by traditional family crests.  

Hiro sake is a Japanese sake imported into the U.S. You can view their website at www.hirosake.com.

Cheers!

Files by Andrew Joseph

For Goodness Sake

Sake - fermented Japanese rice wine has long been a favorite of mine. I'm actually having a glass now as I write this.

That first sip always tastes like water to me... that first and second glass do, too... and then it hits you like a ton of bricks.

Whack! That's either someone getting their butt spanked or my heading hitting the table. Just kidding about the latter. I've never met a bottle of sake I couldn't handle with aplomb and decadence... but it isn't going to make me pass out!


From my good friend Matthew Hall whom I first met in Japan back in 1990 on the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme, and still consider one of my closest confidants -- though even he doesn't know all (sorry bud!), comes this fantastic story from CNN International. It's all about sake and what you NEED to know to become better acquainted with my odd drinking habits and to also impress your friends, family and other Nihonjin (Japanese) who always seemed shocked when a gaijin (foreigner) knows more than or even as much as they do about anything Japanese.

Anyhow... here's my favorite tale involving myself and sake: YOPPORAI (DRUNKARD)

Here... read this article, and sake it to'em!: KANPAI! (CHEERS!)

Andrew Joseph
I also like the fact that the original writer of the article is named Brandi. It seems fitting.

He's Dead Jim

Andrew (left) and Jim do a little B&E.

I thought I would share with you 'some fan mail from some flounder', to quote Bullwinkle the Moose. Actually, this e-mail was written and posted on one of my blogs about a week ago by Jim Paliouras in Melbourne, Australia.

Jim was an assistant English teacher (AET) who was on the JET (Japan Exchange & Teaching) Programme with me. While I was there in Japan (living in Ohtawara-shi, Tochigi-ken) between 1990 and 1993, Jim arrived either in July of 1991 or July of 1992. I believe it was the former.

Jim was maybe 6'-3", lanky, brown eyes and hair and had an infectious smile that I believe life has found a cure for, but hopefully he is immune to its effects. Goofy-looking in a handsome way, Jim was also very intelligent, but not so intelligent that it got in the way of him enjoying life, and was very funny. Not only could he tell a great story, he could enjoy one as well.

Andrew, I love your blogs! I've been a huge fan of, 'It's a wonderful rife' from its inception and looked forward to the Tatami Times every month. Andrew, you wrote some hilarious pieces which helped keep me sane and extremely entertained. You were one of the funniest, extraordinary and craziest people I had the pleasure of meeting in Japan. In amongst all the pretentious, phoney, cultured and elitist JETS, there was you. Real, out there and yourself. One of the funniest stories I still tell all my friends was a night you and I went nuts whilst heavily intoxicated at a conference. Lets just say, I would have loved to have seen peoples faces when they developed their photos. Thank god there was no CCTV footage of our escapades that night. Do you remember what we got up to?

Deer Jim (the spelling is correct... I don't know how to spell Jim any other way, except Gym, and I'm pretty sure that's not it, despite him being a Greek from Australia)... if you read this - and you better because I'm re-telling this tale for YOU, buddy - drop me a line at the e-mail located above or on this blog, and remind me where in Japan you lived and how long you were there for and tell me what you are up to now. And don't say 6'-3".

(Actually... I found this 2004 article featuring Jim and family! That bandit bought a house from money saved while teaching in Japan??!! I walked away with $10,000 after I managed to save that doing a lot of extra English teaching - in my final three months of my three year stay!)

I'm already pretty sure Jim was a junior high school teacher like myself, because he did organize a football (soccer) match between his junior high school kids versus a bunch of overweight, out-of-shape, over-the-hill AETs.... and I'm actually just talking about myself. It was amazing how in six short years I had lost the ability to slide tackle my opponents into submission. First off, I couldn't catch them... even though I still had that fire inside me which said 'if you are going to try and get by me, I'm going to take the ball away and take you out'. Jim had played semi-pro soccer in ... I want to say Malaysia, though Indonesia is now coming to mind. Let's say Malaysia.  

But... regardless... despite having sucked a lot of wind and sucked a lot of suckiness, that was the last time I ever played soccer. I knew when I was licked and sucked. (Why does my writing turn me on?)

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for drinking in Japan. Although a relative novice to the non-professional sport of competitive drinking, having started when I was about 23 in my first year of journalism school, I found that in three short years I had developed quite the knack for drinking, getting drunk, keeping it in me, and not being an angry obnoxious jerk. I also never got hangovers. Still haven't at the age of 46.

Perhaps because I had an internationally renowned uncle (he was a famous conductor of music back in India, and has been dead for maybe 25 years - despite the booze, like for myself, it never seemed to affect him in his day-to-day activities) who liked to hit the bottle and also never suffered fools or hangovers, I also have that ability to never, ever learn my lesson about drinking too much. Although... I do want to state that I do not drink to excess any more, and pretty much stopped that after I became engaged to a very pretty lady while in Japan.

Fortunately for you, dear reader, this adventure with Jim occurred BEFORE I became domesticated.

Jim asks... do you remember what we got up to? Yes. More or less. You can correct me with any inconsistencies you find in this epic saga. I am offended by the fact you said I wrote "some hilarious pieces". Jim, you bandit! They were all hilarious. Jim taught me the term 'bandit' back then... something that Aussies everywhere seemed to use with affection.

So... what the hell is Jim talking about? What did he and Andrew do that bears repeating by himself to his friends, and by Andrew to his friends in situations not related to this blog? It's true... I do tell this story to my friends quite often, too.

Here we go:

Once upon a time in Japan, Andrew (that's me!) left his sleepy-little city of Ohtawara, Japan to go to a renewers's conference for the JET Programme. Or maybe it was just an AET conference for teachers in the northern Tohoku area of Japan.

I'm unsure. But, trust me... I remember everything else. I think. 

For some reason I was a reasonably popular guy amongst the Japanese, and amongst the non-elitist bastard AETS. Jim is correct, there were quite a few elitist bastards on the JET Programme... people who were there to teach the English language to the Japanese. It was never like that for me. It was all about internationalization. It was to share my life with the Japanese, and they with me, so each could learn that despite our differences culturally, we are still the same social animal. I'm sure when Jim reads this, he would agree. (I hope).

In Japan - when I did drink, which was only in a social gathering, I preferred Kirin beer or hot or cold sake (rice wine). I seemed to have a lot of social gatherings, however.

Perhaps because I felt like I needed to prove to the Japanese - and to the elitist JETs that I could do anything better than they, I drank. In Japan, drinking is a socially acceptable Olympic-level sport. It's okay to come to work with a hang-over... but just don't come in smelling like a vat of booze. And don't let it affect your work.

I fit in perfectly in Japan.

Back to the story: At the reception, after picking lightly at the meals being walked around to us, someone said we should have a drinking contest. There were four of us, and so help me, I only have memory of three of the participants: One was a big American guy (the guy I can't remember visually at all); one was a smallish American dude of Japanese descent; one was myself; and the last competitor was Mister Arakawa, who was, I believe, one of the Japanese bosses of the Tochigi-ken AETs who taught at the high schools (like my ex-girlfriend-slash-sleeping partner Ashley did in Ohtawara).

Our drink du jour was sake - fermented rice wine - because when in Rome...

I am pretty sure there was no wagering involved amongst ourselves - but who knows what the observers were doing.

We had about 30 six-inch tall slender glasses that were each about 2/3's full with sake.

At the count of three, we each yelled kanpai (Cheers)! and downed our drink, turning the glass over.

We looked at each other and laughed. The first drink or two is always easy, because sake tends to taste a lot like water - until it hits you, and you become drunk very quickly.



We upturned seven more drinks... and that's when I noticed the American dude of Japanese extraction being carried away... apparently he had passed out.

The remaining three of us pointed and laughed. More drinks were ordered, and we continued. At around the 25 mark apiece, we lost the American. I never saw him leave, I never saw him fall -- and I'll be honest, I only think this guy was part of our competition because, by this time, I was wasted.

I looked over at Arakawa-san, who held up his glass and saluted me before downing it. Bugger! He was red as a lobster, and probably looked as tired as I was, but he didn't seem to be tiring.

At around the 35-drink mark, Arakawa-san and I were huffing for breath, but still standing unaided... by that I mean we stood straight ??!! and didn't lean, although I seem to recall that the walls were bent at a strange obtuse angle involving elliptic Cyclopean forms.

People... we got to our 45th drink apiece, sucked it down and grinned at each other. Arakawa-san - whose English was better than mine at this point of the evening--checked his watch and said he had to stop because he had to go to a meeting... it was 9:55 PM, so who was I to doubt him? He shook my hand, and stumbled off.

That man is my hero.

Me? I could still hang out with my girlfriend Ashley - or at least someone whom I was sleeping with whenever the mood struck as as friends-with-benefits, and I'm pretty sure that hot, sexy, little Kristine was around somewhere... so I wobbled off to the local disco in the hotel to find either of them. Would you believe it? Apparently I was so inebriated that they wouldn't let me into the disco.

I'm pretty sure I swore at a lot of people, but I decided to go look around the hotel.


That's when Jim found me. We staggered around for awhile looking at girls wishing they had the guts to come and talk to us - but perhaps the waves of alcohol being emitted by our suddenly buff bodies was acting as some sort of female repellent - I have no idea. 

Since it was obvious that none of the gaijin honeys were ever going to Oz to find some courage, Jim and I decided to follow our own yellow brick road down the path of sobriety... or whatever the word is for being inebriated.

At some point in the evening, we each had to take the mother-of-all-whizzes. Me, because of 45 shots of sake and maybe a beer... and Jim because he is Australian and born inebriated or he had joined the competition from the sidelines as an unofficial participant. I'm just guessing at that. I have no idea how Jim got drunk, or if perhaps he and I went and got more booze to drink from somewhere. That seems likely. All I know is that he was still funny and could understand me. I could understand him too - which is strange because I usually have a hard time understanding the Australian accent. Beeee-ya. Apparently that's how they pronounce the word 'beer'.

In that men's room, that was spotless despite there being an AET convention with a lot of very drunk men, Jim and I found a camera. Someone had left it there, and walked off. We began taking pictures. In those days of the early 1990s, it was all film. This one had a roll of 36 in it, with about 31 remaining.... that is until we began to point and click at everything and anything.

I am pretty sure each of us took photos of our own stream of urine hitting the blue urinal cake - which, by the way, is not an actual cake.

Then, when we had finally finished peeing some 4-and-a-half minutes later, we pitched out of the doorless men's room only to espy a large taxidermy exhibit in this quiet little area of the hotel and bumped into it. Glass! Owtch!

It was a forest scene. It was maybe 60 feet wide and 20 feet deep and had a plethora of green-leafed trees, logs, rocks, bushes, underbrush... and animals. Rabbits. Wolves. A Bear. And other furry, blurry critters I can no longer ever recall being able to focus my bleary eyes on. How the heck did we miss this place before the pee break?

There was also a large glass door in the middle of the exhibit.

We tried to open it, but it was locked.

Now here I'm a little vague, but we somehow broke the lock (not the glass). I'm guessing I did it, but it might have been Jim.

Shocked by how easy it was to open, I bade Jim to enter first. He said no way, and bade me to enter first. Like Alphonse and Gaston, we continued to politely ask the other to go first. 

Eventually, Jim called me a bandit and and entered into Eden--though neither Jim or I were naked or pretending we were Adam and Eve. We were just drunk on Japanese sake and beeee-ya with two tickets to Paradise.

I recall Jim prancing around and talking to me in his usual excited voice. Jim was touching all of the animals - and I think taking pictures of me inside the exhibit, and then giving the camera to me, I took pictures of Jim inside the exhibit. We weren't doing anything gross to the animals - I can tell you that - but we were trying to ride the deer and hug the bear. The rabbit was too fast to catch... even though it was dead. What can I say... I'm getting flashbacks of little snippets of us inside the exhibit as I type this out. 

I'm also pretty sure I fell asleep under a large tree and woke moments later in shock as a deer stood over me. Where the hell am I? And then I heard Jim continuing some conversation we had apparently been having with each other while I was asleep.  

Finally having had enough - and actually running out of film, we decided to leave our deer friends behind. You'll notice I said 'deer friends behind', rather than 'deer friend's behind', because we were happily drunk... not happily drunk perverts.

We then staggered back to the main area of the hotel lobby and found our way to the elevators, got off at our respective floors and then passed out asleep.  

According to my roomie, Matthew Hall, he got up twice during the night to smack me to make me stop snoring. While I saw Jim the next morning looking like something a bear used to wipe its behind, he was still functional, didn't seem to have a hangover and didn't smell like a distillery. He, too, fit perfectly in Japan.



I was bright and cheerful that morning (no hangover) when I saw Arakawa-san and shouted out an ohio gozaimasu (good morning)! to him. He cradled his head in his hands, whispered "itai" (pain) and begged me to be quiet.

I laughed and marched off to listen to the conference's opening address.
Somewhere wishing I knew how to break a lock, as that could be a handy and profitable skill to have,
Andrew Joseph
While today's blog title is NOT a rock and roll song, it is a famous line from Star Trek, the original series, repeated nearly every single episode by Dr. Leonard (Bones) McCoy to Capatin James (Jim) Tiberius Kirk. The title and statement, in this case, is in reference to the dead animals we played with. God, I wish I had said that to Jim while we were in that taxidermy exhibit.
PS: Jim, old buddy, old pal... I have my nearly six-year-old son Hudson in soccer, and I play by myself with a soccer ball during his practice. Both of my knees have turned slightly arthritic this past year, making any sort of shot a painful experience. But I still do it, anyways. Since I don't drink much anymore, a man's gotta have some fun some time.
PPS: And Jim... maybe you should tell me what really happened that night. Despite the length of this blog, it still seems rather vague. I wrote it down that morning during the conference... but I was probably still drunk when I did so.
PPPS: I can only hope for both our sakes, that whatever photos we took weren't in focus and thus there is no physical evidence to embarrass us... unlike our penchant for telling everybody what we did.