Fat Men Should Not Climb Mountains

And so my story continues...

The next day I went to Miyajima Island to see my second of the three most beautiful sights in Japan. It was indeed beautiful, and took approximately 5 minutes to see. Not knowing what else to do on the island, I took the suggestion of the guidebook and decided to go up the local mountain. The guidebook said it was an easy climb. I hate that guidebook with all my soul.

As you know, I am fat. While I am smaller than I once was, I am still fat, and I need to make something abundantly clear: FAT MEN SHOULD NOT CLIMB MOUNTAINS! God himself should have decreed this in the form of an 11th Commandment or something. I don't know. But it should not happen. Yet still, I tried, I struggled, and I kept hauling my sweaty ass up that damn mountain. During the ascent, probably about 3/4ths of the way up, I was just too damn tired to carry on. I needed a rest, so I sat down on a stone step on the walkway.

At that moment, a group of four old women, once again probably 60+, rounded the bend with walking sticks in hand. They were quite alarmed at seeing me sitting there. Trying to reassure them, I smiled and said in Japanese I'm just taking a short rest because I'm out of shape and the climb is difficult for a fat man. They laughed at my joke, and told me I should get up and keep moving and try my best, or as the Japanese say, ganbarre. I told them I would in a moment, I just needed to rest a bit. That's when they turned serious.

The one in front gave me a bit of a lecture, and I didn't understand all of it, but from what I could make out, she was saying a young man like me should be able to beat some old women like them to the top of the mountain. I laughed, a little embarrassed, and said I will in one minute. Then she poked me with her walking stick. I was surprised, and so did nothing. She began to walk past me, and as she did, she kept poking me. The second walked past, face serious, and kept with the poking. Same with the third. The fourth, though, undoubtedly the oldest of the group, was not content with that.

She stood there, rapping me on my thigh. So, irritated by this, I stood up, ready to walk up the mountain. That's when she held her stick like a baseball bat, and with all of her might, cracked me in the ass with it, shouting the only English word I heard any of them say: "RUN!"

With no better ideas, and wanting her to stop hitting me, I started walking. Crack. She hit me again. "RUN!" Crack. While the blows were not painful (she was quite old), the combination of a small amount of shame and a whole lot of fear of this crazy old woman led me to start moving as fast as I could up the mountain, past the first three, who resumed the poking, and all the way to the top. The view was beautiful, but I was too bewildered by what just happened to appreciate it.

I did some other tourist stuff that day, nothing too exciting, ate some good food, and as night came I once again found myself bored. It is, I suppose, the main problem with traveling alone. So, I naturally decided to hit up the nightlife. In Hiroshima, there's an area not far from my hotel that is well renowned for its drinking establishments. That's where I had gone the previous night, but on this night, I took a different route, not wanting to accidentally run into the people I had met the night before (different story). This decision will doom me for the rest of my life.

As I was walking, I passed a building that caused me to pause and look closer. Upon inspection, I realized that this was exactly the same kind of strip club as the one I had visited on my last trip. I stopped for a little bit and thought it over. The last Japanese strip club I went to was quite bizarre, but it provided me with stories and Polaroid's that will last me the rest of my life. Realizing I really had nothing better to do, and as this could possibly be my only chance to enter this establishment, I decided to dare the gods and enter. After all, after the weird blindfold tree branch girl, how could this possibly be more bizarre? Dear god, I was wrong...

What I was presented with upon entering that club, I will not put into writing. I CANNOT put it into writing, because that will somehow make it more true. If you're reading this, you probably know me, and thus will probably speak to me at some point. Ask me about it. I will then tell you how horrible and cruel this world truly can be. I will only say this: that place has ruined me for all eternity.

After 15 minutes of a hell that was impossible for me to escape, other girls did rather tasteful and interesting numbers, but I was too damaged from the initial...... disturbance to enjoy or remember it clearly. I do recall one girl in a samurai like uniform giving sake to the handful of us watching, and then cutting melons in half with her sword. I also remember a drunk old man throwing a giant hollow basket onto the stage for reasons only known to him.

Afterwards, I found myself in the lobby, talking to the dancers after all the other customers have gone home. It was really interesting. Apparently, at these kinds of clubs, there are no regular workers. They tour the country, changing cities every 10 days. I learned a lot about their work, about how much time they put into their routines, and about how the buildings are getting few and the audiences getting smaller. There was a lot about what they did that reminded me somewhat of burlesque in the old days.

A professor in grad school, who I can't remember, once said that when doing resarch, you need to find a story that needs to be told, and then to tell that story. I think this form of theater, and I would say about 65% of it is performance art, the other 35% erotica, is a story that desperately needs to have it's history recorded and told, before it's lost. Unfortunately, I'm neither smart enough nor skilled enough at Japanese to do so. But goddamn I think it would make a fascinating book. I'm actually kind of sad that this story will probably never be told...

But then again, considering the fact that the first 15 minutes has rendered me unable to look at a woman again, maybe that's not such a bad thing.

Mental Scars

I think that one of the things I will regret as I look back on my time in Japan is not having taken more solo trips. It's not so much that I like traveling by myself, but odd, interesting, and occasionally frightening things seem to happen to me when I do.

The past few days I went to Hiroshima. There, I saw images that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I went to the Peace Memorial Museum, and its images of what happened after the bombing were truly haunting. I highly recommend anyone to go there, as it was informative and impactful... but that's not what disturbed me during this trip.

I got there on Wednesday, and promptly went to the Peace Park. It was, like I said, informative, and I enjoyed it in the sense that I enjoy history stuff. But of course, you really can't enjoy such a thing in the normal sense of the word. After that I checked into my hotel, had dinner, and then went to the theater.

If you're reading this blog, you know me, and thus, you know I like the theater. Not as much as I once did, but still, I enjoy it. Not knowing what to do by myself in the evening in the city, I had checked the Internet and found a theater not far from my hotel. I couldn't tell exactly what kind of shows they had, but it looked Japanese-esque, so I thought I'd give it a shot. The fun begins upon finding the building.

It wasn't so big of a building, three floors and not overly wide. I check the map to make sure I'm at the right place. OK. I walk into the lobby and there are pictures of folks in traditional Japanese clothes on a stage. This is the right place, I find myself thinking. I walk a little further in, and notice the pictures had changed. Now, it was pictures of topless women who seemed to be in various states of distress. Ok, this is a little bit strange. I look around, hoping to find someone who works there, and find that I'm all alone. So, I start heading to what looks to be the doors to the main theater.

I never should have opened those doors. Why not? Because the warning was there. The pictures had changed again, now showing scantily clad men tied up by ropes. That should have been enough to keep me out. But I'd seen some weird things in Japan, figured it was just some random pictures (this is Japan, after all), and opened the door. The next 10 seconds will be etched in my brain for the rest of my life. All I saw was a giant movie screen, and on that screen were two men. One was tied up in a very complex rope web, and the other was... doing things to him. Painful things. Things that scarred me for life.

Naturally I hastily exited, shaken, and determined to find some way to scrub the image from my mind. Thankfully, I had no time to dwell on the matter, as I was immediately confronted by a man who seemed to be the owner/operator of this establishment. He looked quite irate, asking me what I was doing. I explained I was looking for the theater, the dramatic kind. He told me to go to the third floor, as this floor was a theater for gay bondage porn.

I should have gone home then, but I didn't want him to think I was trying to get a free look at some gay bondage porn, so I promptly went upstairs to the third floor. I do not know what was on the second floor. I do not want to know, and may god have mercy on whoever finds out.

I got off the elevator, and was confronted by a room of about 30 or so 65+ year-old women. All conversation in the room stopped as they began to stare at me. I bought my ticket. They stared. I went to the smoking corner. They stared. I went into the theater and took my seat. I assume they continued to stare, but I can't be certain as I tried to slink as far down into my chair as possible. This proved impossible, though, since I found that these seats were meant for use by old women, not for large, fat foreigners. I could not fit in, and I think there are still indentations on the sides of my legs from the seat. The old women filed in, and we sat there waiting for the show to start.

I have since learned that this particular brand of theater is known as Taishuu Engeki. What that means, I do not know. But it was a bit odd. The curtain went up, and on the stage were five men and two women dressed in feudal Japanese costumes. I say women, but I really couldn't tell. The Japanese theater convention of men filling women's roles may have extended here, but if it did, those two were the most convincing female impersonators I have ever seen.

While I expected a dramatic performance, I did not get one, at least not at first. What I did get was these seven people jumping around and dancing on the stage. I don't know what kind of dance, except that occasionally the lights would go out and the spotlight would focus on one of the performers' faces, and the old women would begin cheering wildly. This continued for about 30 minutes, non-stop dancing, spot light focusing, and old women cheering like crazy. At one point, there was only one guy on stage dancing, and as he neared the edge of the stage, a handful of old women ran up and began shoving what looked to be money into his clothes. I worried that somehow I had found myself in an old Japanese woman's version of a strip club, and found no comfort in the handful of old men that had filed in.

The dancing abruptly stopped, the house lights came up, and an announcement was made that there would be a short intermission. Thankful for the chance to get out of that godforsaken chair, I went back to the lobby and noticed the entrance of two young attractive ladies. They went into the theater, and lacking all common sense, I decided to sit behind them. Bored and curious, and since they looked about the same age as me, I tried to strike up conversation. They turned, looked at me with utmost revulsion and disgust, and moved to the opposite end of the theater.

What followed was a two hour play about samurai honor that in any language and circumstance would have been incredibly boring, but I was the only one that found it so, as evidenced by the constant wild cheering at odd times. This was followed by another short dance routine. During this second dance sequence, there was a point when the youngest member of the male cast was dancing solo. For reasons I cannot fathom, towards the end of his routine, a man in what looked to be his early forties ran down to the stage and gave the young dancer a case of canned coffee. He gave him a case of canned coffee. Not flowers, or money, or something else... Canned coffee. The dancer thanked the man and left, I hope as bewildered as I was. Not long after, I too left, having had my fill of whatever this was. I decided to go for a drink, and the places I went and the people I met are a story for another time. Afterward, I went to bed, believing the strangest of my experience for this trip were behind me. I was wrong.

TO be continued, possibly tomorrow.

And it continues.

Let us continue where we left off, leaving the porno-theatrical performance and venture forth to a different brand of craziness.

We head out to Ken's girlfriend's bar. She's the owner/operater/mama-san of a hostess bar that only employs the most beautiful women or L's mistresses. Often they're one and the same. Though, this apparently causes scheduling problems, and any two of them can't work there at the same time.

Ken's girlfriend is Aya. She doesn't speak much English, but Ken's been teaching her little by little. The first thing she ever learned was "Fuck you, Asshole," which she pronounces quite well. Her vocabulary expanded from there. Really fun person. So, at the table is L, Cut, Aya, two hostesses named Chika and Rei, and myself. We learn at this point that Ken cannot come due to work.

At this point let me tell you a little about Ken. ken is half american, half japanese, lived all his life in Japan. He's built like a goddamn brick house. He is a massive human being, 115 kilos of pure
muscle. He claims that his job involves collecting electronics and selling them to China. Yeah... that in and of itself is pretty damn shady, but doing this until 1 in the morning? Hmmm...

Regardless, really fun guy, real nice guy, and he has a new passion for mixed martial arts. Apparently, about six months ago, he decided he was going to try to take it up. He's been training for six months. During that training, he has competed in 6 amateur fights and one... I dunno... semi-professional? Anyway, Aya has all his bouts on DVD. She put them on the TV, and we watched them. Every single one was won by knock out. None lasted longer then 30 seconds. I have never seen someone destroy a human being like Ken can. I honestly believe that one of his opponents is now dead. Or crippled. but probably dead. I decided then and there that, though Aya may be one of the hottest women I've met in recent memory, I will under no circumstances even make it appear like I'm hitting on her.

The rest of the night continues as usual when I hang out with the unsavory sort that was present. Lots of dick and sex jokes, more inquires over my masturbation habits then I care to say (or answer), and L shouting pussy about once every two minutes. Somehow I found myself standing on the table singing Eminem's "Lose Yourself" to a wildly cheering crowd. The one girl, Rei, it was discovered loves origami. I thought this was a little weird, and asked if she regularly folds origami. She says every day. I ask her if she could make something for me. Out comes a giant stack of origami papers. For the next 2 hours, Rei says nothing, looks at no one, does nothing but crank out origami after origami. There were mounds of god only knows what strewn all over the table. It was impressive. It was also a little creepy.

As the night starts coming to a close, about 2 am, my two new "brothers" as they insist I call them decide to leave. Since they were my ride, I make to call a taxi, when Aya demands that I allow her to take me home. I see Ken killing people. I decline. She insists. I see flashes of blood on Ken's fist. I decline. She refuses to take no for an answer, takes my hand, takes Rei's hand, and out the bar and into a van we go. I have no idea who this old guy driving the van was. The entire van was outfitted with that shag carpetting. there were no seats in the back. I could tell that this van had gotten a lot of usage, if you know what I mean, and I think you do, you sick bastard. Thankfully/unfortuantely, we arrived at my hotel without incident except for me getting Rei's phone number. Aya informs the driver that this is my stop. The van starts to slow. Aya says to me "get ready." Get ready for what? "You have to jump out." The van slows, does not stop, Aya opens the door, and yells "Go." Fearing the alternative, I leap out of the van and into the relative safety of the front of the hotel.

Rei and Aya wave goodbye from the open door as they speed away.

I tried to call Rei's number the next day. The number is not in service.

I then had various other adventures at this point, involving a toothless convenience store clerk, being tackled by a random college student I don't know, and having three beautiful women threaten to call the police on me. I wish I could completely relate that part of the story but, in all honesty, the drink has made that memory way too hazy...

I go up to my hotel room, intent on calling it a night. I get ready for bed, lie down, about to drift off to sleep. Suddenly, there's a knock on my door. I look at the clock. it's three in the morning.
Confused and a little disturbed, I open the door. Before me is a rather gorgeous girl, probably in her early twenties. She informs me that L sent her.

Now, this could have gone a variety of ways. She makes it known that L sent her over to... you get the idea. I was sleep deprived, very drunk, and very inclined to lay the pipe, as they say, at that particular moment. This girl was indeed beautiful, and really, let's face it, guys like me don't get to have sex with beautiful people unless there's money involved. This was a wonderful opportunity....

I really want to say that I did the right thing, that I brought this girl into my hotel room and rocked her world. I really want to say that I did that. Because I kind of wish I did. But, alas, I was an idiot. I politely informed the girl that I have a girlfriend, and that while I'm not sure about the current state of my relationship, I must decline her offer. She said she understands and left. I went to bed alone. For not fulfilling her duty, that girl is probably dead by now.

The next day, I woke up with the worst hangover of my life and a large amount of bewilderment.

An Adventure into the Underworld

Warning, this post is both exceedingly long and... um... sexually explicit. Parts of this post are definitely a little... well... yeah, you probably shouldn't read this. Adults only, and may god have mercy on your soul.

So, I realize I haven't updated my blog in a long, long time. And, honestly, I had no plans to ever update it again. Just fell by the wayside. But this just seemed too sureal to not put into writing.

I recently went to visit my friend Ken in Ishikawa Prefecture. Ishikawa is a good ways away from Kyoto, so I don't get to hang out with Ken very often. But every time I do, it's good times. This time was something else.

I got to Ishikawa, checked into my hotel, and gave Ken a call. He said he's working, but he and his friends will meet me at the local convenience store at 8:30. I say ok, and spend the day wandering around a local mountain and getting attacked by all manner of wild
critters and almost falling to my death from some old tower. 8:15 comes along, and I head on over to the conbini. About that time, Ken calls me, telling me there's a problem at work, and he can't make it until later, maybe not at all. But his friend L and L's buddy will meet me and take me to "a place of interest."

Let me briefly tell you about L. L is a Japanese yakuza, and if you don't know what that means, well, wikipedia is a wonderful thing. Regardless, he's absolutely insane, rich, drinks like a fish, married and has an uncountable number of mistresses, and doesn't speak a word of English. Well, that's a lie. He actually knows the word "pussy." Which he yells. Constantly. Neverendingly. Out car windows. at random passersby, at police. Apparently, he likes the English word pussy. L's friend is a surprisingly normal person, except for his name. He told me to call him "Cut." Thinking I misheard, I asked him to repeat, and he once again says "Cut, like scissors cut!" I never asked why, and not sure I want to know.

The two of them pick me up, and we head over to a place that has no name. Honestly, the place has no name, so I was, at this point, still marginally confused as to where we were going. I happened to notice the pictures of beautiful women on the walls, so I figured it was your
standard hostess bar. I couldn't have been more wrong.

We enter, and there is a stage, built not unlike a runway at a fashion show. Surrounding the stage are about a hundred folding chairs. There are two of the dirtiest looking human being occupying two of them, and that's it. The toothless owner/operator and his friend who... well... I don't think does anything... told us to take a seat. I turned to L and asked in Japanese what this place was. His response was unintelligible. I told him I didn't understand. He said pussy. I said ok.

We sit down, and I learn very soon that this is a strip club. However, it is unlike any strip club I have ever been to. While I'm sure that somewhere in Japan there are what I would consider to be "normal" strip clubs, this definitely was not it. The bulk of this story is now attempting to describe what happened on stage...

The first dance comes out. She's attractive, long dark hair, maybe in her late 20s, and dressed in something like a robe. None of this surprised me. What did surprise me was that she was blindfolded and carried a........ tree branch in her mouth. I don't know. She has a tree branch. and she was biting it. And I don't know why. The music starts and it's something like traditional Japanese music: taiko drums, koto, woman wailing, that sort of thing. The dancer does the most intricate dance routine I've ever seen for a strip club. I was impressed. It was well choreographed. It was pretty much art. But through it all, I was confused, why was she still wearing the robe? And why did she still have the tree branch? As she moved closer to where the five of us were sitting, she threw off her robe, and she was naked, except I noticed something strapped to her left leg. I couldn't make out what it was, despite being only five feet in front
of me. I would soon find out.

As she gets in front of us, she drops down to her knees and does what I can only describe as interpretive dance. Then, she removes the black thing from her leg. I realize it was a dildo strapped to her. Not that I've seen many dildos, I don't think I've ever seen something like this. The sheer size of it made my outie become an innie out of intimidation. I will not get tooo graphic, but let's just say things were done on stage that I couldn't believe anatomically possible.
But, while with one hand, she's going to work like crazy with that.... bludgeoning device, her other hand is still doing interpretive dance moves. I can't think of how to describe it... it was like part pornographer, part art, and all ridiculous.

The song starts winding down, apparently she finishes what she came here to do, and stands up. But wait, I find myself thinking. where did that giant dildo go? I look, it's not in her hands. It's not strapped to her leg. It's not on the floor. I notice it's still half way in, and then, she does a little pirouet, and it's gone. Disappeared. I don't know, sucked in? What the fuck was that? How? It's not possible..... the woman is a magician.

There is scattered applause from the five of us, she takes a bow, and goes backstage. I figure that's the last of it. But then, the house lights come up, and she walks back out. And she comes up to us and starts jabbering away. I have no idea what she's saying. I turn to L, and he's gesturing madly at me. I turn to Cut. He's laughing hysterically. I realize they are no help. I turn back to the stage, and in one hand, the woman has a polaroid camera. The other is making
a "thumbs up/thumbs down" gesture. I learn that for a very small fee (about $5 U.S.) you can get a polaroid of you and the dance and you can choose the pose. Before I knew it, L was forcing me onstage and giving commands as to how she should pose, while Cut was readying the
camera.

I have never wished that I had a scanner so much as I do now. It is really and truly hilarious.

So, there is then a 15 minute intermission. Why that long, I don't know, but there you have it. It was at this time that the Old Men enter. Now I've seen dirty old men before. I will probably become a dirty old man myself. But I wasn't prepared for this. There were five of them, at an average age of early 70s. They were dressed in yukata's from the same hotel I'm staying at, and they were accompanied by an old woman, similarly dressed. During the next two shows (which
will be described, don't worry, cause they get weird... er.) the men have what can only be said to be the happiest faces on the face of the planet. I've never seen anyone look so happy as these men. Except when the Old Woman of Doom did her thing. She sat behind them, and periodically, for no discernable reason, would hit one of them at random on the back of the head, usually making his glasses fall off. She moved from seat to seat hitting these happy men and interrupting what seemed to be the happiest moment of their lives.

The next dancer came out on stage. She was dressed in a full kimono. I've seen traditional Japanese dances before. This was EXACTLY that. I feel like I've seen this exact dance before. She's moving in slow measured movements, and I was struck by just how out of place it seemed. It was a sad dance. The music... well... think of a movie, and think of, in that movie, the saddest part, where the hero's lover dies, or the little boy's dog slowly passes away. That heavy violin,
cello, depressing stuff. It didn't seem to fit anything about this place.

After about five minutes of this excrutiatingly boring (though impressive) performance, she disappears offstage. In what has to be the quickest costume change in the history of the world, she jumps back on stage in a completely different outfit. This was... i don't know what you'd call it. It was like a yukata, but really, really, really small and short. and the music starts blaring, this godawful super energy J-Pop crap. and she's bouncing around the stage like a Japanese idol singer... At this point, I didn't know what the hell was going on, and was about to turn to my companions to voice my confusion, when the music just suddenly stops. One second, bouncing happy idol with J-Pop music, next moment she's crawling around on the floor in front of us, naked, with the depressing dirge back. It kind of made me want to cry. The music, her sudden awkward movements and failed attempts to do anything even remotely sexy... it just... I
don't know... man, I was depressed.

Her performance was blissfully short, and I stepped outside for a smoke. Why is this place the only place where I can't smoke inside? Meh. Regardless, my guides joined me, and we chatted up the doorman for a few minutes. I have no idea of what was said, my Japanese is just not good enough to follow this conversation. I know there was a lot of laughing and facial expressions that made me decidedly uncomfortable.

I headed back inside, only to be faced with a truly, truly ridiculous performance that will haunt me for the rest of my life. A third girl was on the stage, and she was dressed in some sort of frilly outfit and she's jumping around, dancing to American golden oldies. I really wish I could remember what they were, but we're talking stuff like "Leader of the Pack" and "It's My party and I'll cry if I want to." It fit the uniform and the dance. What came next did not fit anything that humanity should accept. She jumps offstage for another magical total costume change in record time (how do they do that...) and comes back out in this multi layered robe. There's silence. She poses. Then, "Stand by Me" starts playing. And she starts doing this strange, interpretive dance, slowly moving down the runway. It was odd, that choice of song, I thought. I was feeling a little surprised and put off. As the song winds down, she's standing in front of us,
in an elegant pose. The song ends. Silence.

She drops to the ground, tosses off her robe, and gets to work like a DJ. By this point, I didn't find this odd. What I did find odd was that "Day Dream Believer" began playing. Followed by Presley's "I can't help falling in love with you." Followed by Madness "Our House." You haven't seen odd until you've seen a Japanese woman masturbating like crazy to that trio of songs. I felt... well... I just laughed. I laughed and probably offended everyone but y'know, this just wasn't right. Her routine ends, and I get another picture. We realize that there are only three dancers there that night, and not wanting to risk seeing the same routine twice, L decides it's time to go to part 2.

To possibly be continued

Posts Galore

Wow, three posts in two days! What is going on here!

Despite the ferocity of anger in the previous post (and I doubt I was able to convey just how truly pissed off I am at the current situation) something did successfully calm me down from my fury. In case you don’t remember from the last time I was at this school (way back in November), here they have the “Top Top Top Top Secret” room.

The smoking room of immeasurable happiness.

Today I felt like having a smoke, so I asked the Vice Principal for the key to the room. He couldn’t find the normal key hanging on the wall, so instead he let me borrow his personal key. I walked into the room in complete bliss, relaxing in a lounge chair and praising the ability to smoke in a school.

Nothing has changed about the room. The table was sill covered with about 5 ashtrays, 7 packs of cigarettes, and no less than 30 lighters. I’m not even kidding about that. There are only five smokers at this school, including me, yet this is their supply. I respect their dedication. It also is now equipped with a rotating space heater to help combat the lack of normal heating in the room. So incredibly wonderful.

When I returned from my relaxation, I gave the VP his key back. He then presented me with something that, well, fuck, words can’t express the amount of joy it gave me.

He gave me my own personal key to the room for use while I’m at the school. Now, anytime I want, I can enter the room and enjoy the wonderful smell of stale tobacco and comfort of lounge chairs and an endless supply of cigarettes. All in school.

Some things in Japan sure are great.

While I’m talking about the few good things in this school right now (fuck the goddamn stupid ass schedule) I might as well mention the return of my own personal “favorite” student, CPG. Yes, he’s still crazy, and yes, he still wants to grab my penis.

While sitting at my desk doing nothing, he came into the teacher’s room because he said he wasn’t feeling well. Usually, the nurse at junior high schools here only shows up about twice a week or so. Thus, it is the teachers’ duty to take care of sick kids, and really, they don’t seem overly concerned with it. CPG was placed into a seat two desks down from me, given a thermometer, and promptly left alone. All the teachers at this moment decided to vacate the room.

So, CPG and I attempted to strike up conversation in the small amount of English/Japanese combination we are capable of. There were the standard bits of “Long time no see” and “how are you.” Then, in a brief break in talking, I decided to irritate him, which would turn out to be a mistake.

CPG’s real name sounds almost exactly like “reishuu” which is the Japanese word for “next week.” For whatever reason, I thus call him “next week,” and it seems to drive him absolutely crazy. I stood up to get another cup of coffee and said “I hope you are feeling better, Reishuu!” I should have said this while I was still sitting down, as I soon realized he was, in all likelihood, faking his apparent sickness.

He moved with blinding ridiculous speed as he took a stab at my dick. This was no grab attempt, nor was it even a jab. This was a full on attack to injure my most valuable areas. Relying on pure instincts, I moved to defend myself, and let me tell you, the fat man, when trying to protect his crotch, can move quickly. Instead of taking a shot to the groin, I was treated to a rather vicious Charlie horse.

Thankfully, that brief burst of speed was the extent of his capabilities at the moment as he sat back down laughing.

Kid, you are so lucky this is the last time we’ll see each other, because believe me, if I had more time here, war would begin, and it’s not one you can win.

I’m really going to miss these third years, penis grabbing not withstanding.

Why Am I Here?

I apologize in advance, but I need to write an angry post. I’m talking pissed off, want to beat the shit out of things post. This has to do with my job.

Now, my job description is, essentially, to assist students in learning English and to enhance international awareness. Or something like that, I’m not so sure. Regardless, to be able to do either of those things, I have to actually interact with the students. That seems fairly easy, right? I mean, I’m in a school, I’m on the job, you’d think I’d be working with the students.

Oh, no, that’s not how it works here.

I am currently back at the very first school I went to this year (the one up the giant hill). This is the third and last time I’ll be here for this year (their school year ends in March). This school has, by far, my favorite students, who just happen to be third years. Third years means they graduate in March. Which means I’ll never see them again after this visit. When I got to school, you should have seen the excitement of the students, especially the third years. They were so happy to see me again because, I must admit, I am dynamic in the classroom and the students enjoy my teaching, for the most part.

I don’t have a single third year class. Not one. I will not see these kids in class. Why? I’ll be goddamned if I know.

Over the next two weeks that I’m at this school, I have a total of… 12 classes. Discounting the first day because that’s usually reserved for planning, I have a total of 48 possible class periods in which I can teach. I have 12. That’s 25% of the time I’m here.

Now, I know what you’re probably thinking. You’re thinking: “wow, Steve, you have the easiest job in the world! 75% of the time you don’t have to work! How can things get much better?”

This is true, my job is easy, and I should be happy. However, I did not travel to the other side of the fuckin’ world so I can sit at a desk and stare at a computer screen doing nothing. I did not become a teacher because it was easy. For the first time in my life, I love my job, but no matter how much I want to work, I can’t work! How often does that fucking happen?

I don’t know the exact reasons for this. I don’t know if it’s because the teachers just can’t speak enough English and therefore don’t want to make an attempt to try and cooperate with me. I don’t know if it’s because they’re too busy to try and incorporate me. I don’t know if it’s just because they think I’m too inept to help out. I don’t know if it’s because they feel having an AET in class must be some sort of fun time “event” and so my presence in class is taking away learning time. I just don’t know, and I don’t care.

And here’s something else. As I’m sitting here in the teacher’s room, I happen to notice one of the English teachers returning from a class he did not take me to. In his hand was a CD player. Which means, for class today, he was playing the shitty recorded come with the book English phrases. Why? Why in the name of all hell would you do that? You have a real live English speaking person who is more than willing to assist in class! Why use a fucking recorded voice that sounds like shit and is guaranteed to bore the students into not giving a fuck.

This is completely fucked up, and the bitch of it is that I can’t do a damn thing to help the situation. I have less power than the students when it comes to what happens in schools. I’m going to a meeting on Wednesday with some English teachers to try and persuade them to make changes… it won’t make a damn bit of difference.

I don’t want to generalize an entire culture, but I will make a generalization right now, based entirely on my brief stay so far in one section of Japan (which makes me a bit of an ignorant asshole, I know, but I’m angry enough to do it). If the Japanese have a major fuckin’ flaw it’s their complete unwillingness to accept change of any kind. They just want to keep things the same as it always has been rather than take the risk of accidentally upsetting one person by making a change. Even if a change is to be made, it has to go through about 15 levels of bureaucracy before anyone will even be willing to discuss it.

I recontracted for next year. I’ll be here another full year. I’m wondering if that’s now a mistake, simply because of the fact that I have the single most useless job in the world.

I don’t think that would be such a problem if I didn’t see the immense potential of my position, only to watch it get pissed away by incompetence and fear.

A Regular Sunday Night

On Sunday, I went up to Guy’s Bar for some sort of “event.” The event was a few DJs and a… dance off. We’ll get to that in due time.

On my way to Guy’s, I stopped to pick up a pack of cigarettes. After opening my wallet, I realized that after buying smokes, I would only have 1400 yen. The cover for the event was 1000 (which thankfully included one drink) and so I went in search of an ATM. However, despite being an entirely cashed based society, Japanese ATMs, I discovered, are not open on Sundays after 7:00pm. It was 8:00pm. Why do the ATMS close? I have no idea, it makes no sense, and it pisses me off, but such is the logic of the country I have come to.

Armed with very little money, I went to Guy’s anyway. Upon entering the bar, I was immediately greeted by about 10 dudes yelling “Steve! Steve! Steve!” Nine of them I do not remember ever meeting, but I guess that’s what happens when you get trashed in Japan. I was hoping I could use my celebrity to obtain free drinks, but that settles itself in a completely different fashion. After the initial greeting, I was left more or less alone in a corner of the bar, listening to bad 80’s techno music. It was just me, my drink, and a wife beater who has been shunned by his friends for exactly that reason. Needless to say, it was awkward at first.

Eventually, the wasted emcee came over to talk to me. As with all the people here, our conversation was incredibly limited, really just him talking Japanese and me nodding and smiling. It was good that I made friends with him though, because in short order he went behind the bar (what he was doing being the bar, I don’t know) and started making me a drink or two. Do I know what was in these drinks? Hell no. I saw him making them, and it reminded me of my days in college. He would just grab bottles at random and pour stuff into a glass. Without a doubt, the concoctions were some of the foulest things ever created, but I will say they got me fucked up quick. Once his generosity ran out, thankfully, my fellow AET was able to hook up with a few drinks and, every so often, I would just randomly get a drink from random person.

My increasing intoxication was necessary to maintain my sanity for what was to come. The “event” kicked off with a pretty young girl singing horribly while a guy dressed in very bad “I want to be ghetto” clothes ran around her rapping. At least I think that’s what he was doing. What was hysterical, though, is that he kept yelling, “Everybody say Ho!” and pausing for audience response. There was none. But, he did not stop trying.

After the singing came the dance off. Now this… well… I want to write about it but really, words just fail me here. I mean, I don’t think I ever laughed so hard in my life. There were three teams of girls, one had two girls, another had three, and the last had 10. I felt already there was an unfair advantage, but I didn’t know the rules of the competition. The music started, and they battled. One group would start dancing together, using elaborate coordinated sequences. I’m pretty sure that the two smaller groups got “served” because they kept forgetting their moves.

Just thinking about the dance fight makes me laugh… I mean, I never figured I would be in a Japanese bar, in the middle of a large crowd, watching a dance fight. Japan has taken me to new and interesting places.

After the battle the dance floor was open. In typical Japanese style, no one except a 40-year-old guy was dancing, and he was doing the robot. So, as I kept drinking more and more, I had a really bad idea. I would show these folks how to bust a move, and I did so in typical horrible, drunk walrus fashion. I joined in doing the robot. It was like a train wreck, and the good people at the bar couldn’t stop watching.

Eventually, I became plastered. I grabbed the skullcap off some random guy I’ve never met before, put it on, went up onto the “stage,” grabbed the microphone off the DJ, and started freestyle rapping. Now, most places in America, I would have only lasted about .01 seconds before I was forcibly removed from the premises. Not here.

I’m frightened because they seemed to love it.

After repeated failed attempts at picking up a girl (I would just walk up to someone and start talking to her in English. There would then be much giggling on her behalf before I would realize she didn’t understand a word I was saying and would move to the next person, usually the girl standing right next to her) I decided to head home.

I lead an interesting life.

My Boss

This past Wednesday I had yet another enkai, this time with the Board of Education. It was fairly fancy, really good food, and more alcohol than you could shake a stick at. See previous posts on how Japanese you work with typically react when drunk, and that goes the same for this one as well. What was interesting, however, was my interactions with my boss of bosses, the Superintendent.

Now, this is an interesting man to begin with. He’s the tallest Japanese person I’ve ever met, standing above even me. He’s one of my smoking buddies at the BoE, but never really says anything to me. Every so often he’ll just look at me, say something very quickly in Japanese, and then spend the rest of the break like I don’t exist. Sometimes I worry that he’s yelling at me for slacking or something, but then I figure I’m so far down the food chain that I don’t even rate his authoritative attention.

Then came the enkai, and while nothing has changed (he still ignores me on our smoke breaks), I had some interesting experiences that night.

While everyone was filing out of the banquet hall, Supes (as we like to call him) came up behind Ray and I and asked us if we wanted to join him for a few drinks. He was obviously trashed off his ass, and we figured it would be funny, so we decided to join him. The three of us and some other random drunk dude that never talked to me before went to this small little bar where Supes started drinking when he was 20, and goes there twice a week to this day. I’m pretty sure he’s about 60 now. I’m also pretty sure that the bartender there has been working there every day for the past 40-50 years.

At the bar, Supes kept telling me to drink more and more. I tried to respectfully decline at some point because, well, I had to teach elementary school the next day. He wasn’t having any of that, and so was attempting to, quite literally, force alcohol down my throat. My 60-year-old boss. I guess in the end I couldn’t resist and just kept drinking.

Eventually, as I got more trashed, I decided to ask Supes if he had any information on a teacher in the Joyo school district. Apparently, she’s a kindergarten teacher, was at the enkai that night, and is quite attractive, so I just wanted to know if she was married. When Ray asked for me, you’d think I just punched Supes in the face. He yelled several times “Dame!” which is Japanese for "bad." I was like, what, what’s going on, when he started hitting me and saying “You are now my rival! My rival!!” Thank god Ray was there to translate, as I don’t know what I’d do if I just thought my boss was randomly hitting me.

Thankfully, he stopped, and over the course of the remainder of the night, he would occasionally look at me, yell “DAME!” and move to hit me, muttering something about being rivals. Once I learned what to look for, it was no danger and I could avoid the beatings, but still, I figured it’s never a good thing to have your boss try to kill you over a girl.

Eventually, it was time to leave, but just as we were getting up, Supes orders a 40. Once he receives the 40, he immediately puts in into my trench coat pocket and says “for the way home.” Well, it’s a five-minute walk home, but ok, thanks. And so, we called it a night, having consumed a tremendous amount of liquor (none of which I paid for) and a 40 in my pocket. It was good times. Except for the whole hitting thing.

On a side note, I would like to mention that Japan has no open container laws, so you’re more than welcome to walk down the street drinking beer. However, this is not suggested, as if you live in a small town, no matter what time it is, you’re bound to run into your students, who will see you just as you’re in the middle of taking a swig, and then begin yelling things at you in Japanese… sigh, I am really worried about some of the rumors about me going around the schools.

Weird Little Bastards

So, I am now back at elementary school. In no way is this a good thing. Admittedly, I’m starting to get used to this little bastards, at least to the point where I can make through classes with grades three to six without wanting to shoot myself in the face… or them in the face, either works. However, the first and second graders are still the very embodiment of why god hates me.

I’ve been here a week, and so far, I’ve only been anally violated once and groped twice. While anyone would agree that being anally violated by a 2nd grader is a bad thing, I find comfort in the fact that it only happened once in one week. That’s not to say, though, that other strange things haven’t been happening to me.

Take today, for instance. In case you never noticed, I have a birthmark on the back of my right wrist. If you never noticed, well, then, you’re not a very good friend, are you. Regardless, it’s there, and one little kid in the second grade happened to notice it as I was trying to leave the classroom. He bolts at me and grabs my arm. He then holds my wrist up to his face, and for a moment I was afraid he was about to bite me. Thankfully, all he did was stare at my birthmark for a few minutes. While that’s kinda weird, I’ve faced weirder, and so was willing to let it go for another few seconds.

Then, he sniffed my wrist.

I’m not talking trying to get a minor little whiff of what my arm smells like. Rather, he moved my wrist right up next to his nose and inhaled as powerfully as he could. I could feel the hairs on my arm entering his nostrils. Whatever the reason, whatever he smelled, he must have liked it, because he let out a mighty “YATTA!” and promptly ran back to his seat. I left bewildered.

Later today, I found out what it felt like to be Jesus. After yet another 2nd grade class, for some unknown reason, the little bastards swarmed me. 30 of the kids just ran straight at me, and I was backed into the chalkboard. Then, they all started reaching up, trying to touch my hands. I have no idea why they wanted to touch my hands, but they did. It was as if they were begging me to heal them from some sort of affliction. I mean, I do kind of look at them as if they’re lepers, but I haven’t noticed any pieces of them falling off.

Regardless, none of them would stop reaching up to touch me, even after they got a good grasp of one of my fingers, or my wrist. I yelled out to the teacher for help (in Japanese, I might add) and he just walked away, out of the room, and down the hall, leaving me to try and figure out how the hell I was going to get away from this mob. Even as I slowly started to push my way to the door, the kept me surrounding, pressing against each other to try and get a feel of my hands. I honestly became worried that one in the front would fall, and those behind would just trample him trying to get closer. Eventually, a small hole formed, and I ran out of there faster than I’ve ever run in my life.

I have a third grade class in about five minutes. I’m honestly thinking of escaping through a window.