Where It Started

Kyoko-sensei, Christian and Masa-sensei, reunited in 2006 at Aitas Japanese Language School, Toronto.

Just after graduating from University, I decided that if I was going to make this Japan thing work, I had better start studying the language. I had been told by a lot of people that an English teacher need not worry about studying Japanese; English was written everywhere and most people would assume that I knew little to no Japanese and would be willing to struggle it out with hand motions and broken English. It was probably the worst advice I never heeded.

I was scheduled to spend a month in Quebec City on the French language bursary program that the government of Canada awards to Canadians interested in becoming bilingual. More than anything, it was a chance to pull myself out of the English cocoon of Toronto to see how I would fare in a place where my native tongue was not primary language spoken. It was also a great excuse to get paid to party en français. But I had some time to kill before that fateful July of 2004, since it wouldn't make much sense to try and get a job if I needed to ask for an entire month off right off the bat. I needed to make good use of my time.

I took a course on teaching English overseas and received my TEFL certification after a few long weekends in May. One of the instructors had asked me where I had planned to go with my new desire to teach and I explained that while the money sounded good in Korea, Japan had been my Asian destination-of-choice since I was a young lad. Though he had taught in Taiwan, he was really excited at this because he had visited Japan and studied Japanese independently while he was still a traveller. After asking him to recommend a good textbook on Japanese to get started with, he took it a step further and recommended a sensei.

I called Aitas Japanese school not knowing quite what to expect. Would they speak any English when I called or would I have to struggle even to set up lessons? I had spoken only English my entire life, and while the desire to learn more was alive within me, I wasn't sure if the skills required would ever surface. Could I be saved? As it turns out, I could.

From the moment I took the free trial lesson, I knew that I would not only enjoy studying but that Japan was probably the place for me. Kyoko-sensei and Masa-sensei were both so polite and excited to meet me that it was the absolute best first-impression of Japan that anyone could experience. In my heart I secretly wished that everyone in Japan would be this awesome when I landed overseas.

After a month of lessons with Colin Moock, another Japan-bound student of Aitas, I had a firm grasp on the basics of Japanese that would lay the foundation for everything about the language I know now. It was a sad day when I had to part for Quebec City and Colin was going to continue into Level 2 without me, because we had had a lot of fun trying to communicate with each other using only Japanese (as was the rule in the classroom) despite our obvious lack of practice.

Just before I was to (secretly) return home for Christmas of 2005, I received a newsletter from the school. Kyoko-sensei mentioned that life was getting pretty cold in Canada and it was unfortunate that Canadian drug stores didn't stock hokairo; in Japan, the ubiquitous hot packs for your clothes and shoes that keep you warm were a required purchase during the winter months. I decided I'd better bring some home. While visiting Amber Ebert in Toronto, I stopped by the school with a pile of hokairo for her and she was ecstatic at my return. My Japanese had really improved, Kyoko-sensei explained proudly, and it was fantastic that I was enjoying life in Himeji so much.

This year, with Japanese girl in-tow, I returned once again to Aitas school to give my best wishes to Masa-sensei and Kyoko-sensei. This year, I'm proud to say, the entire interchange we had was done in Japanese. It wasn't until Miki and I left the school that I realized this, for Miki hadn't heard either teacher use English and so she wasn't entirely certain that the couple could speak it. I suppose that this was a testament to my Japanese ability. But my Japanese ability is a testament to Aitas Japanese school, who laid the groundwork for not only my understanding but for my love of all things Japanese.

December is (still) update-a-day month! To read all the posts this month, click here!

Prick

Jacob: It's done.

Southeast Asia: Here we come.

Today I went to the travel clinic to get my shots done. Feeling a little bit faint and a whole lot of nervous at the prospect of getting a bunch of needles stabbed into me, I was relieved when the doctor told me I should really only get a single shot because we had timed our travels perfectly: the dates and route that we have chosen will keep us outside of the rainy seasons, thus limiting our exposure to the really bad stuff. Mosquitoes, though they will continue to pose a significant threat, will be reduced so drastically in number that all I really needed to get done was the initial vaccination for hepatitis A and typhoid fever. As you can see, it was a fairly painless procedure.

No follow-up shots for a year. Now all I have to do is pick up some doxycycline for the malaria and I'll be good to go.

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Yatto Kitta

Miki has arrived.

After a long autumn without her, I finally have the opportunity to share my world with her; after she so graciously showed me around her home town of Himeji, it's the least I can do. Now studying English at Carleton, Miki has accepted an invitation to join my family and I in the Toronto area for the Christmas break, and the MacInnis family gets to host its first international guest.

This is Miki's second time to Toronto, but the first time that she's had the opportunity to stay for an extended stay. We've got a lot stops to make and a ton of people to see, so if you're interested in hanging out with a beautiful and talented Japanese person who just loves Canada, be sure to track us down.

Canadian friends beware: we're going to be talking trash about you - in Japanese. Just so you know.

December is (still) update-a-day month! To read all the posts this month, click here!

Hisashiburi

As if to say, "Who is this guy?"

Sorry about that. This post was sitting saved as a draft for a long time before I realized that I hadn't published it online for you. So for those of you who are thinking that I'd already failed at my post-a-day promise, you'll be pleasantly surprised to know that I'm actually just somewhat incompetent making sure they get out there.

Well, things are back to the way they used to be. The gang was reunited in and everything fell back into place. Having slept on the plane I've suffered little jet-lag, though I'm exhausted from the excitement of seeing all of the old faces I know so well. It's good to be home.

The feeling of normalcy was the most abnormal part of seeing everyone. Brit ordered chicken wings. I ate a roast beef sandwich and drank a Stella Artois. At one point, I felt like taking a picture of an English stop sign because it was just so foreign to me. I realized that it probably wouldn't mean to same thing if I looked at it out of context, once I had been home for awhile.

Knowing that, yet again, I'm not here to stay makes these moments with these people all the more precious. Hopefully we'll have quite a few more before I take off once again.

Nice to see you again, dudes.

December is (still) update-a-day month! To read all the posts this month, click here!

Crash Landing

or, How it Took me 24 Straight Hours to Find My Way Home.

I left my apartment just before 4:50 a.m. and carried more than my own weight on my back, shoulders or rolling behind me. Catching a 5:15 a.m. train to Himeji - in order that I might be on a 5:30 bus that would get me to the airport at 6:50 for my 8:o0 a.m. flight - was no easy task. Following that with two additional flights and traveling around the world in a 24 hour time span has completely killed me.

I slept (albeit cumulatively) for about eight hours between Himeji, Japan and Toronto, Canada. And I managed to do it in all the right places. I'm not sure if I slept on that early morning bus, nor do I remember sleeping on the first flight that took me from Osaka to Tokyo, but I secured a broken but gratifying six hours between Tokyo and Dallas. I knew I would need the rest and my body, having been deprived of sleep in any form the night prior to this heavy-handed exodus, collapsed after finding my spot on the plane.

I stopped in Dallas. The U.S. Customs Agents were polite to me and to my Canadian passport.

One of them let me line up in the U.S. Citizens' check-in line because it was shorter and I had a flight to catch.
Another one said that moving to the front of the line was not an issue because I didn't need to be fingerprinted.
One told me to have fun in Toronto as he scanned me for dangerous metallic objects with a large magnetic device.
One of them searched my bag and threw away my toothpaste because it was too big.

I was almost home, and I knew that being as polite as possible would get me through Texas and back home to good old Canada. Sprawled across three empty seats on a 737, I slept for two sweet hours during a two and a half hour flight from Dallas. I slept through the free beverages and I slept through the on-board movie. I slept through pleasantries with the stewardesses and neighbouring passengers. I woke up just in time.

I watched with amazement as my home city's skyline came into view, appearing like a miniature village of familiarity on the lake as I coasted home.

In Toronto, a customs agent was polite to me and to my Canadian passport. He told me how to speed up the customs process next time so I could get home faster. With a two-in-one question ("Japan? Teaching?") and a pleasant nod, he wished me on my way. At 3:00 p.m. on December 18th, 2006, I was home. It was 5:00 a.m. in Himeji once again, and I was home.

Mount Fuji is that white blob in the middle of the photo, as seen from my airplane

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Wiped

As you read this, assuming it's not July 2007 by now, I'm probably in transit. Admittedly, that's the story of my life. Most of the time I spend "at work" here in Japan is actually time spent on the trains or buses getting to where I need to be because I teach all over the Hyogo Prefecture at different schools wherever a handsome young Canadian is needed to teach the Japanese leaders of tomorrow how to speak English. In short, I'm always on the run.

But today is a special kind of transit. Tonight and tomorrow morning I'm getting ready for my big return to Toronto. It's been an exhausting process. This is the last airplane trip I'll be making to Toronto while living and working in Japan. As a result, I've had to pack up most of my belongings in the suitcases to avoid having to ship everything home. When I get back to Japan on January 3rd, it's back to the grindstone until the 20th when I finish my contract and get ready to leave on my huge Asian adventure. Essentially, anything I want back in Canada I have to take now. This wouldn't be so much of an issue were it not for the fact the my single suitcase is already loaded with Christmas goodies and souvenirs.

Half of my clothing is rammed into my carry-on and I've also got a heavy guitar to bring with me. And the world's heaviest laptop. I'm pretty sure that if I was to actually use this computer on my lap it would completely burn out all of my gametes, both now and forever. So it's going to be an exercise in perseverance. over the next 40 hours. My route runs as follows:

Osaka -> Tokyo -> Dallas -> Toronto

I'll be a sleepy panda when I get back, but don't let that stop you from reaching me if you want to hang out. You know I'm good for it.

December is update-a-day month! To read all the posts this month, click here!

Tim's In Charge

Well, we're all leaving Japan for the holidays. The whole crew and company of people are leaving the city. Scott and Angie of Vancouver, Canada, are probably already home by know and partaking in the local fun. Jon left without saying goodbye and will be getting a swift kick in the ass when I see him in Markham, for he could have at least told us he was leaving. Not even a group email! Kelley and Satomi departed for Oregon on yesterday, stopping over in San Francisco in the process. The Himeji ranks are dwindling. And, of course, I'm leaving Monday morning (Japan time). All that being said, poor lonely Tim is staying here without anyone to keep him warm over the holidays.

Tim's dad will show up just before Christmas and they'll be taking a trip around Japan and up to Kinosaki where I took my parents when they were up last month. It should be snowy and beautiful by now. This is the second lonely Christmas in Japan and once again we've all abandoned him. This blog entry is dedicated to Tim.

Tim's in charge. Have a good one, mate.

December is update-a-day month! To read all the posts this month, click here!

Packing It Up

Clothes go in the suitcase.
Christmas shopping goes in the suitcase.
Photos go on DVDs.
Books go in boxes.
Guitars go in cases.
Time goes in cycles.
Earphones go in the ears.
Garbage goes out.
Non-perishables come in.
Clocks go 14 hours back.

I go to bed.

Twice more, and then planes take off.

December is update-a-day month! To read all the posts this month, click here!

Japan Without Me

I suppose that the title of this post could be interpreted in a number of different ways. If "Japan" was a verb, for example, the title could be seen as some sort of abstract imperative (depending on what it means when someone tells you "to Japan").

Example: I'll probably be working on these reports until midnight, so you Japan without me and I'll catch up with you later.

I think I typed it out at first thinking about me without Japan, but it came out in reverse. It's also more correct, because as I pack things up I realize that Japan with be very much without me once I am gone. Whether anyone or anything will notice is a completely different issue.

I know that Himeji will be different. The new differences, like superficial lacerations, will heal over before anyone notices. That's part of the reality of teachers employed by big eikaiwa companies like mine: turnover is guaranteed and there are always fresh faces who want to try their luck at this whole teaching abroad thing. So while the employee number of the next tenant of this apartment will be different, he or she will undoubtedly perform the same duties that I did while I was here and we will be considered temporally different examples of the same body.

In Japan, the nail that sticks out gets nailed down, as the saying goes. Conformity is important in maintaining the relationships between people in this small island nation of communities. The population is so culturally (and, to an extent, ethnically) homogeneous that being a foreigner and (very) visible minority here makes conforming absolutely impossible. There are pros and cons to this of course, but I would be lying if I told you that I hadn't been regularly noticed simply for being the white guy during my time here. As the next foreigner moves in to take my place, will people ask about that gaijin who wore a lot of blue and rode his bike everywhere, rain or shine? Will they inquire about the nice Canadian boy who seemed to love sushi more than a Japanese person and would never stop raving about onsens? Will the people of Himeji speak in quiet whispers about the new foreigner and the whereabouts of that other guy?

Some just might.


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The Incremental Departure Plan

I hope that someone plays a somber tune on the koto as I leave Japan for good.

It's kind of hard to picture myself living somewhere other than Japan. The irony of this statement is not lost on me, for it should be noted that prior to my arriving here it must have been hard to picture myself actually living here.

To help me deal with the shock of leaving, I've moving away in little pieces. First, my parents took a big load of things home for me in a suitcase so I wouldn't have to ship it all back to its temporary home in Canada. I've gathered bags of clothes I don't need and am searching for a place to recycle them. The Christmas gifts I've purchased have found their way into another suitcase with the last of the clothing I plan on keeping. The permanent knick-knacks around the apartment are being offered, if not with wanton carelessness then with seemingly little forethought, to any visitor who enters the apartment at this time. Today I wrote a letter to the new tenant of this apartment offering to sell them the whole lot for a very fair price, which saves me from having to throw it all away should he/she accept my offer.

Then there are the items I have to schlep across the ocean in my luggage during my vacation to Toronto.

I stare at my bulky guitar and its heavy hardcase with a series of mixed emotions - some of love, some of resentment.

Realizing that I am flying out soon has induced a state of panic. There are Christmas gifts to be purchased and there are errands to be run. There are gifts already purchased and there is nary a square centimetre of space left in my modest suitcase. There will be only three weeks of life in Japan upon my return after the Christmas holidays. There is great reason to be terrified at this.

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What Two Years Will Do

Two years will change your mind. Two years will change your views. Two years will take away your friends and family. Two years will threaten the fragile nature of love. Two years will age you, but in slow gradual ways that you're not noticing until you stumble across an old photo of yourself. Two years will change your weight. Two years will change your mind. Two years will pass and you'll still be there. Two years will change your sense of humour. Two years will happen as you stand around wondering what's next.

Two years of bathroom-mirror self-portraits. Two years of drunken photos. Two years of terrible karaoke videos. Two years of washed-out clothing and hanging up your clothes to dry. Two years of the foreign that becomes the familiar after two years. Two years of children and two years of teaching. Two years of fantastic food and an improved lifestyle.

Two years of questioning the paths of old love. Two years of hesitating in possibilities for new love. Two years of passing on opportunities that could have been if you were staying for more than just, say, two years.

Two years will challenge what you know. Two years will improve you, assuming you choose the correct two years.

Two years will change your mind.

December is update-a-day month! To read all the posts this month, click here!

June Of Your 25th Year

Picture this: It's June of your 25th year. You've been away from home for about six months. You haven't seen anyone from home or had any sort of regular Internet access for the whole time you've been away, but you manage to make due because you're good at meeting people and have met some new friends. Things are good, the weather's great and a change in your surroundings has really done wonders for your health. Your diet is better and your days are longer. The change hasn't ceased from offering its share of surprises, but you're starting to get used to the language barrier and the general course of action you have to take to get things done.

Then your best friend visits. With him he brings nostalgia, a sense of a life left behind and a freshness to this foreign world. He also packs a laptop computer that you have purchased by proxy from someone in Canada, albeit with a little help from your friend. You can already sense how the laptop is going to come in handy. You promise yourself you'll start storing all of the digital photos you've accumulated in some sort of online folder so that all of your friends back home who are dying to hear from you can see what the hell you've been up to over the last six months. Your new lifestyle, kept secret behind a shroud of vast irreconcilable distance until this point, is about to be part of the global broadcast. To top things off, your best bud is on this side of the world with you now and you can't imagine what the future is going to hold.

After a few days together, your friend departs for his little corner of existence via a train leaving from a different city than your own. Curious about your new surroundings and energized by the sudden availability of free time at your disposal as his train pulls away, you commence filming the world around you without quite knowing why. There is traffic and sound and pulse. There are people and lights and shops. There is laughter and there is music. You're aware of the energy though not familiar with it. You move and divide the particles all around you as you walk. You can feel them recollect behind you in your wake.

There is a girl standing on the street announcing that the karaoke box she is employed at is an all-you-can-drink deal. You can sing and drink your heart out. There are people crossing the street and coming towards you, interested in the obvious filming you are doing as an obvious foreigner. They wonder where you're from without asking. There are young people gathered near a train station watching the local talent jam out their goods; keyboards, guitars and amplifiers are generator-powered and ready to be played by the band members who are waiting their turn.

A band of young gentlemen is playing a pop-rock number and there is an old man bouncing enthusiastically to their song. He must be in his late sixties and stands at about 5'0" in height. Your camera goes instinctively to him, though all you're consciously interested in is the gathering scene of young people in this far-away land. But the old man continues. At first, you're apprehensive about filming him, for fear that you might embarrass him or scare him off, but you soon realize that this is no ordinary old man and, by golly, this is no ordinary dance.

December is update-a-day month! To read all the posts this month, click here!

Close Quarters

(Actual Size)

There are a lot of people in Japan. Most of the land here is mountainous or slivered apart by rivers, severely limiting the total of habitable space that they have to share. Sure, it wasn't always like that. Before the Japanese needed to deal with a huge population, there were feudal wars and rival clans all going after what land there was and it tended to sort itself out. But now there are 127 million people strong (that's about 1.94% of the world's current population) and they all have invented some pretty creative ways to fit everyone into a meager 377,873 km² of space from tip to tip. This nation of islands is no Canada, let me tell you.

It's in the way they greet each other on the street. It's in the way manners have built the language. It's in the way the Japanese bow in lieu of shaking hands. It's in the way they respect their elders and revere their children. It's in the way Japanese people avoid confrontation by taking an "apology-first" approach in their daily lives. It's in the way that they keep crime to a near global-low.

Also, it's in the way they stack hotel rooms on top of each other that are no larger than a luxury casket. But it was an incredibly comfortable way to sleep. There was a communal bath and sauna on one of the floors, and beds and beds in stacked rows and rows. My second night in the capsule hotel, they were playing Star Wars on the tiny little television that is built above the bed. It should go without saying that these hotel "rooms" are single-occupancy spaces. I was surprised to discover that the bulk of the capsule hotels are men-only. I think it's the best way to spend a frugal night in Shibuya, which is renowned for being one of the most expensive areas in Japan.

I'll be spending another night or two in the capsules just before I take off to Singapore on January 27th. Tokyo is going to have to deal with Makinasu-san one last time. At least, for this leg of my Japan life.

December is update-a-day month! To read all the posts this month, click on December 2006 on the right-hand side of the screen!

Everything's Cute

In Japan, there aren't many domesticated animals that don't have a fully-stocked wardrobe. Dogs are pampered with such lavish threads that I am starting to worry that I'm under-dressed when I visit the pet store in downtown Himeji. But no number of skirted chihuahuas or pampered dachshunds could have prepared me for these absurdly-dressed rodents who were standing around with their owner at Himeji castle one day last year. What was more striking than their outfits was the harsh way that the man (who was clearly responsible for their wardrobe) was ordering them to stand upright for we spectators, lest the prairie dogs should embarrass him in front of a curious public. If I had to wager a guess regarding the working conditions for prairie dogs captured by crazy Japanese men, I'd have to say that they were berated with a wanton cruelty but quite well-fed.

Life can be really unfair. Millions of years of evolution will eventually sort out and refine the genes you carry in your DNA and render your various abilities accordingly. You're an example of successful genes. Maybe you're tall or blond or have an incredible aptitude for mathematics. Or, just maybe, nature's gradual game has kept you a small mammal with strong teeth and the ability to stand upright to watch for the predators who want a taste of your juicy, fleshy hide.

But nothing can prepare your genes for the moment where you are taken from your woodland home and dressed up in a display of anthropomorphism that rivals even the peanut butter lipsmack of that mean ol' horse, Mr. Ed. These traits, while cute to human eyes, are not present so that you can be captured and renamed Edna or Morris. You're supposed to be watching for hungry carnivores with quick wit and sharp fangs. Instead, here you are. Dancing for the public like the village idiot.

Japan's love for cuteness is ubiquitous. There are cartoon mascots for everything from construction signs to bars to lip balm brands. There are anime characters who thank me for using the bank machine and a sickly-cute frog reminding me to look both ways before I cross the street. There are piles of stuffed animals arranged in an effeminate manner across the dashboard of many vans driven by otherwise unruly-looking characters.

Hello Kitty is cute. Doraemon, a robot cat from the future, is cute. Anpanman is so cute you'll wretch. Pikachu is cute. Pooh-san (known also as Winnie) is a sticky kind of cute. Small dogs are not only practical if you have a small home, but they're fashionable. Why? Because they're so cute. Children are expected to be well-cared for and healthy. When they're cute, it's an extra delight.

Everything is acceptably infantile and playful. Governmental by-law signs and national airline jets are adorned with cute cartoons of some kind or another. Each ward has a cute and unique "don't-let-your-dog-crap-here" sign, occasionally with a cute dog and his cute owner examining the cutest pile of poop that was ever shat. Do all of these soft corners help to promote a harmony within the busy lives of the average Japanese person? Does a nation with this many people crowded into small urban spaces need the soothing cuteness to relax a mechanical populace? Or is it simply a trend that a Westerner can't be expected to truly understand?

December is update-a-day month! To read all the posts this month, click on December 2006 on the right-hand side of the screen!

9 October 1940 – 8 December 1980

Sayonaras Begin

There have some really, really great people that found their way into my life over the last two years. I don't know the names of the people in this photo. They are an older couple who run a barbershop beneath one of the schools where I work. For a long time, I would just nod and be polite when they talked to me because I simply couldn't understand what they were saying. As my Japanese ability improved, I began to follow what they were often trying to convey. In turns out, at least for some time, they had been inviting me into their shop to have a cup of coffee before I started a class, and I had been inadvertently refusing each time in my ignorance.

Occasionally the husband would appear at the door of the classroom as I was preparing lessons and make some motions towards his shop downstairs and speak in frantic tones that I assumed could only refer to an impending disaster. I tried to smile and nod in hopes of appeasing him before he left, finally surrendering to the language barrier. My company rents the upstairs room in his building as a classroom space, so I assumed that he was trying to explain something about the electricity or water that I should know. I decided that if whatever he was trying to tell me was truly important, he would either call the head office of my company or wait until the Japanese teacher was there the following week.

When I finally clued in, I discovered how kind and generous the Japanese are to strangers. The teacher who I replaced had also been friends with the couple in the barbershop and would visit them from time to time. After that initial visit for coffee, I began getting offers to park my bicycle in their garage out of the rain, or a take-home umbrella in case I didn't have one. The offers for coffee continued because I think they found me interesting to talk to after I could hold my own in a conversation. My Japanese is broken and stammering at best, but they were able to ask me about Canada and my travel plans.

I took this picture today because I'm now in the last cycle of schools before I finish my contract. After this week, work will not bring me back to the school, but friendship will. I plan on framing the photo above and giving them some Canadian souvenirs as a gift for all of their kindness since I arrived in the country, a nervous and confused young Canadian in search of friends. And although I still haven't learned their actual names, I know now that I had found some.

December is update-a-day month! To read all the posts this month, click on December 2006 on the right-hand side of the screen!

I'd ask my friends to come and see

An octopus's garden, so to speak.

Oh what joy, for every girl and boy, knowing they're happy and they're safe.

If I had to tell you the exact number of times being a Beatles fan in Japan has come in handy for me, I simply couldn't do it. Perhaps it's my ability to find Beatles elements in the things all around me whether intended or not; I have quite a profound sense of cognition and perception when there are even slightly Beatlesesque things about, and it's proved to be very helpful in a place like Japan.

I should note some obvious discoveries that I have encountered:

• The closest hair salon to my home (about 45 seconds from me on foot) is named, simply and without explanation, Beatles. There are models of the four boys circa 1964 in the front window beside their fish tank. While I've never actually been to the place for a two-bit shave and a haircut, I get the sense they could give me a mean bowl cut if I went in there with a serious look and asked in a really, really intense tone.

• The closest pachinko parlour (Japan's quasi-gambling venue of choice, not that I play) to my home is called The Pachinko Apple (or Apple Pachinko, depending on how you read it) and used to have the lyrics to Let it Be and Imagine painted in stencil on the walls. Given that I'm not even inclined to gamble, despite the somehow-sickening allure of the lyrics, I found it a brash and sacrimonious juxtaposition against a backdrop of smoke and sin and stink. Pachinko parlours are often where dreams go to die, though from what I understand,there are ways to make some cash off of them. Recently, The Pachinko Apple underwent some exterior renovations to what I thought I would be my relief. Instead, the Beatles motif is larger and louder. The building is now pink with a pixelated representation of John at the keys and the words "Tomorrow Never Knows" splayed across the front. That misappropriation is also used in all of the advertising for the parlour that I see around Himeji. Either Yoko Ono is raking it in from the suffering of gambling addicts or she's not aware. I bet that's some fan mail the Beatles would still be interested in. I'll post some pictures, I promise.

• A café near my home is full of John Lennon paraphernalia, and I only somehow discovered it last week.

• One of the first and best bars I visited outside of Himeji is a music bar in Nishi-Akashi, adorned wall-to-wall with everything Beatles, including a huge music notation book on their piano filled with - you guessed it - Beatles songs. And only Beatles songs.

• I have eaten at a Beatles-themed okonomiyaki restaurant in Kakogawa.

• I have impressed German people with my renditions of "Sie Liebt Dich" and "Komm Gib Mir Deine Hand" because they also like the Beatles. It should be noted, however, that they did not like my German.

• Jacob found me a Beatles paraphernalia shop in Shibuya, Tokyo within a 5 minute walk from the capsule hotel where we were staying. The capsule hotel itself, unfortunately, was a void for Beatlemaniacs.

• I have made friends with people with three words: Let It Be.

• While I have yet to visit the John Lennon Museum in Saitama that Yoko opened, I have managed to meet a few Yokos while visiting a small city called Ono.

• A fantastic guitar player I know offered to give me discounted lessons because I promised to learn the complementary vocal harmonies in many songs that we could jam together. Neither of us has had time to indulge.

• I have been referred to as being "gay for The Beatles" by Jacob Goldfarb, and I'll have you know that I personally find the expression both endearing and somewhat accurate. In fairness, I was gay for The Beatles long before I set foot here.

• In attempting to explain and translate the lyrics and concepts of "Across the Universe," I have brought a young woman to tears (in a good way).

• Nearly the entire scope of my relationship with my friend Ai Yamamoto stems from the fact that she first saw me wearing a Let It Be t-shirt and then later heard me talking Beatles with a bartender.

• There is a fantastic shot bar in Himeji where they serve absinthe and play super-convoluted Beatles elements with an Korg Kaoss Pad, but only on Sundays.

• Fujifilm Japan currently is running an ad campaign that simply states, in English, "Photo is Love." The graphic is a famous picture of John and Yoko sharing a kiss.

The references don't end here. Some of the first Japanese friends I made were a small group of young people in Nagoya who we approached on the street when looking for a nice place to drink and they took us to karaoke for the first time. I had been in Japan for only a week, but I could safely say that I had sang the Beatles with people who didn't even speak English and it was fantastic. The ¥600 Hard Day's Night t-shirt I bought last summer is still a popular accessory for my wardrobe that always draws intriguing comments from the Japanese and Westerners alike.

It's really important to remember the things that you loved back in your home country when moving somewhere new. Having my guitar here and an inextinguishable obsession with the music kept me sane when home felt really far away. I will refrain from mentioning any names here, but there are people I've met here where the only thing we have in common is a particular opinion about the Beatles, though otherwise we little to do with each other.
have changed.

The Beatles were really there for me for the first time, in 2002, when I lost the woman I was absolutely sure I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Granted access through her eyes I learned some amazing things about myself and the world I occupied, a love for jazz music and romantic stillness. I was really messed up when we broke up and for whatever reason The Beatles worked their way into the music I was listening to until they were all I listened to. And it got me through it. It's still getting me through it, though the circumstances of personal strife have changed. I feel really bad for giving my brother Darby such a hard time about listening to them ad nauseam when we were younger, but I think he understands.

December is update-a-day month! To read all the posts this month, click on December 2006 on the right-hand side of the screen!

Paperworked

Like it or not, it's here to stay. Today, in lieu of actually teaching a class, I was stationed at the local office to get some paperwork out of the way. The term paperwork, in this case, carries more than the usually singular meaning of filling out and filing forms. Today, I was papered.

Over the course of two years, you tend to accumulate a whole lot of stuff. Not the least of which are the seemingly-important company memos that you receive. For fear of tripping and breaking an ankle in a policy loophole, I kept every piece of paper ever handed to me while working for my company. I have a closet that, until today, was dedicated to housing all that sheet.

But my days here are now very briefly numbered. Considering that I'm coming home for two and a half weeks in December, I have less than an entire work-month left in my contract before I'm thrown into the fray of my Asian adventure. And that paper needed a new home. To my delight, I discovered that the plastic bags in the paper shredder were now transparent, (hopefully) to indicate an intention to recycle the kilograms of paper that leave the office in confetti form every day. It was time.

I arrived at the office with three huge plastic shopping bags of old notes, faxes, obsolete agendas and outdated policies. And charged with my task of cleaning house, I shredded. I shredded a cathartic shred for every handout I was forced to read and file over the last two years. I managed to condense my hold to a tiny pile, and much of that is being handed over to someone needing printer paper - one side of some sheets were blank and ready to be used again - while the rest of it is currently being reintegrated into the recycled paper market.

It's not all fun and games, you know. I occasionally run the risk of a pretty serious paper cut if I'm not careful. Today, I escaped from the office unscathed.

December is update-a-day month! To read all the posts this month, click on December 2006 on the right-hand side of the screen!

Itadakimasu

If I had to sum up my entire culinary experience in Japan into a word, that both adequately described what I had intended to consume here and subsequently how I realized it, that word would have to be simply: sushiro.

There is not another restaurant like it. I'm sorry. That's not true. There are a handful of different restaurant chains in Japan that offer a customer the chance to pick his sushi from the conveyor belt that whips through the entire length of all the tables and benches in the place. And there are countless independent restaurants that have adopted the same practice for expediency's sake.

But there's something about sushiro. Maybe it was the first place I ever completely gorged on nigiri sushi, but I've never looked back. All of the other sushiyasans in Japan are good and I've never disliked an experience at a sushi restaurant, but colourful, friendly sushiro has me eating there four times in a week if its convenient and I am in the greatest shape of my life. This is also largely due to a diligence to remain active and the fact that I'm riding my bicycle nearly everywhere that I have to go to, even if it's four times on the occasional week that I'm riding to sushiro. There are two such restaurants within a short bicycle ride from my house.

I want to open a sushiro in Canada. It's based a little bit on the honour system: you take what you want, you eat the selected delicacy and then at the end of your meal a friendly young woman arrives at your table to count the plates. I just wonder if I could trust the Canadian public to not try and screw the system by hiding empty plates when it came time to pay up.

There are some things to consider in doing this, of course. It's obvious that we as Westerners need some major lifestyle changes in the kind of food we consume, and sushi is one of the healthiest meals you can eat. I don't support the practice of over-fishing that destroyed the marine-based economy of Eastern Canada, either. But I think if we were responsible in the execution of a Canadian-based sushiro, it could really take off.

And the greatest thing about sushiro? It's only ¥105 a plate. That's about a buck for two pieces of the most delicious nigiri sushi I've ever had in my life. At that price, I tend to eat a lot of it. My current record is 14 plates. All that rice is pretty filling, and after tossing a nice ¥105 bowl of udon soup into that, you know that I was dragging my feet out the door, dizzy with omega-3 acids.

And it was worth every yenny.

December is update-a-day month! To read all the posts this month, click on December 2006 on the right-hand side of the screen!

Marketing

It's true what you hear. The truth is stranger than fiction. My first encounter with Pocari Sweat was shock, awe, and denial. Who the hell are the Pocari and what kind of money are they making in all of this hydrating and perspiration? And what makes you think that I'm willing to pay ¥150 for a bottle of it? As it turns out, it's not sweat. But it's incredibly close. This sports drink is made up of electrolytes and all this other goodness that we lose during activities, so someone in the marketing department figured that they would latch onto the trend of using completely random English in hopes of "cooling up" the product. And Pocari Sweat was born.

I'm not going to lie to you, either. It tastes just delicious. But the smell reminds me of a high school change room for reasons I cannot explain.

My father's first reaction was to take a picture of the vending machine, so the credit goes to him for that. I've been staring at these vending machines for the last two years, but grew gradually acclimatized to the oddity and it took some fresh Canadians to make me realize just how absurd this and other anglo-misappropriation I was seeing on a day to day basis.

We expatriate residents of Japan do, in fact, have a fond name for such widespread misuse: Engrish.

An Unlikely Stop

If not for the fact that I had heard some great things about the Osaka Kaiyukan (Aquarium), I wouldn't have included it on the things-to-do list for when my parents came to Japan. Here's a picture I took of the school of fish that was swimming above me as my parents and I walked through a transparent tunnel surrounded by water and aquatic life on all sides.

We were trying to get organized and decide on what we were going to do for the first day in Osaka. Still a little bit jet-lagged, I thought that the aquarium would be a tranquil choice for a late afternoon adventure. For some reason, I can't stop thinking of David Bowie songs being sung in Portuguese.

The Backlog : or, A Series of Events I Neglected to Tell You About

What are you doing?

Oh. That.

Hey. That's cool. I bet a lot of people take pictures of that.

Digital tourism and the suspended decay of memory-based experience.

There's really so much - so very, very much - to say. There are weeks and weeks of neglected moments and memories that will never get out of my head for one blog.

Wouldn't you rather hear about these things in person?

I suppose for posterity's sake I should attempt to record what I do here. Why I wait until late, late at night to do these things is beyond me. I fib and tell myself that it's because I'm busy, or that I'm trying to adjust my internal clock to Toronto time in anticipation of returning home, or that I'm simply an irreconcilable nighthawk, so I should just deal with it.

None of these are completely factual, however, and the truth is that I am the most irrationally fearful person who ever considered writing publicly. Looking back on all the fun I've had in Japan, I realize that at times I've acted as though my life here was temporally exclusive or private beyond consequence. I've tried not to hurt anyone along the way. It's hard to go a full two years without stubbing your toe on another person's existence. I'd like to think that all I've accomplished here in Japan is noteworthy beyond the scope of what a blog can help me express. But that's just another excuse I trick myself into believing.

I used to write papers in school. I would write drastic, frantic, last-minute papers that occasionally scored me a mediocre mark but rarely truly rewarded me with one. I was so entirely worried about my self-indulgent faux-eloquence collapsing under the strain of honesty that I became a written invention. Everything I was obliged to do was a makeshift presentation because, like in everything I've ever written, I'm deeply terrified of honesty. My explanation for this is two-fold, though you might argue that one reason is an incarnation of the other.

First, in being afraid to be honest with myself I limit my ability to express myself. I can always tell myself later that I hadn't really tried and that is why I failed. If I wrote a researched, thought-out and organized piece and subsequently discovered a resulting mediocrity - despite my actual best efforts - I am then destined to that judgement of myself. At times I underachieve to avoid having to discover myself as sub-par. I fail to commit to an effort and never taste its realization. Incidentally, this is also why I think I know a little bit about a lot of things as opposed to knowing a whole lot about some important specifics. I'm also very modestly proficient in a lot of different areas but don't particularly shine at most things the way a committed effort would allow me to. A fear of commitment is, at least partly, a fear of failure. Somehow, this attitude maintains a protective shield between me and what I am actually capable of, but eventually you get tired of thinking about what you might be.

Secondly, writing in verbal tapestries and pedantic whims or in sprawling gusts of masked meaning, I maintain a degree of privacy. How elusive. I know that no one is expecting me to be completely open in the writing I do on my blog. And no one really wants a play-by-play of the events that make up my everyday. You all have your own important and worrisome lives to lead. But I'm rarely to the point about anything here unless I know I'll be safe from everyone who might read it. The illusion of privacy keeps me sane in Japan; I imagine that if no one else tends to stand out then neither will I, despite my visible differences as a minority. In coveting that somewhat-transparent privacy I prevent myself from honestly expressing myself, whether it be here for the digital archives or in my day-to-day interaction. As though if I didn't post it on my blog no one will know that it happened. In a sense that's true for you fantastic folks from home who have a very limited and narrow window with which to see into my life here. But that attitude discounts the very real life that I'm living with the people I know here in Himeji.

I know most of you who are reading this. I've met you face-to-face at one time or another, and you have at least a fleeting desire to know what I'm like outside of the person you met on the street or the train or the bar or on the job.

I'm not dedicated enough to this blog. I never wanted it to be play-by-play. But the lack of updates that this receives stems from the lack of honesty I ever give out. I'm not quite comfortable enough to explode across the public space I've created so I let the photographs and the videos and the newspaper articles entertain those of you who have a web-based interest in what goes on in my head. Trust me: I owe you a lot more than you ever receive from me.

Perhaps - but no promises - I'll try to make December the month where I tell you an anecdote once a day. I've accumulated a lot of experience here in Japan, and this leg of my life adventure is coming quickly to a close. There's less than two months before I am in the nation of Singapore to being the Asian journey of a lifetime, but I'm managing to squeeze in a two-and-a-half week stretch in Canada for the Christmas holidays. I'd love to see as many of you as possible, so drop me a line now. I'll do my best to set things up as well, but you know how I hate group emails. I'm not trying to surprise anyone this time around so make sure you just drop by.

Home: December 18th - January 3rd.
Japan: January 3rd - January 27th.
Southeast Asia and Life: January 27th onward.

Why People Visit Japan

Tokyo and other Worlds

Well, 12 days and 1300 photographs later, the parents and I have made it through the following locations relatively unscathed:

Osaka
Himeji
Hiroshima
Miyajima
Kinosaki
Kyoto
Nara
Tokyo

and the adventure is almost over. Rather than attempt to describe the entire journey, I'll post a photo or a few hundred of them when we return for a night in Himeji tomorrow before the parents depart back to our home and native land. We've visited nearly every Starbucks along the way (apparently the only place in Japan where you can reliably purchase decaffeinated coffee) and experienced all sorts of nonsense, poorly-translated English and extremely good hospitality from our Japanese hosts, both in the hotels and the ryokans we've stayed in. Stay tuned for more.

Shinsaibashi

We think the same things at the same time
We just cant do anything about it

Even Part of the Time

It was worth it

One return flight home from Osaka to Toronto: ¥103640 (roughly $990 CDN)

It's worth it.

In November, Lynne and Larry are coming up for two weeks. And I'm getting paid for it.
In December, right near the end of my second contract, we're given two weeks of off time. And I'm going home for it.

So get all the gear you need for a celebration, because I want to give you all a reason to celebrate. I'm coming back. And Toronto will never be the same again.

From there, the remaining money I've accumulated here will be spent in every little corner of southeast Asia that I can find. If all goes according to plan, they'll be enough money to get me started up again in Vancouver. Because the west coast has never seen the likes of me before, and that's where I need to live. At least for a little while. Maybe some more school. Or some nude modeling. Maybe open a vegan restaurant or two. Get back to acting.

Acting. Can I do it? Sure. Will I? Probably. But, unlike the aforementioned two-week vacation I'm taking across Japan with my parents, I may not bet getting paid for it.

And that's A-O.K. Because it might be the one thing in the world that I could do for free and still feel the need to do it, no matter how deep I find myself in the red. Passion.

Art.

Red Alert

Good news, everyone!

I'm coming home for Christmas... again!

That's right, I'll be in Toronto for a whole two weeks starting on December 18th, returning to Japan on January 3rd, 2007 in the wake of my 27th birthday.

God. 27. That's starting to sound old.

No concern. I'm healthier, wealthier and wiser than I've been in past years, so I'm ecstatic about the chance to walk again through the historical chronicles of the life I had before I turned 25 and escaped from Ontario. I realize that it's only going to be about two weeks but it's the best I could do with my job schedule. After a short winter break in the hostile Canadian cold, I'll be back to Japan to finish the last 3 weeks of my contract before I depart to the exciting world of Southeast Asia with my reliable wingman Jacob Goldfarb.

27, though? At least it's not a prime number. Like, you know. 29.

Well, I'm off to work. Today I have quite a bit of free time to study, and my friend Ai told me that if I can memorize 20 new kanji characters, I win a free beer. Not a bad deal!

Start thinking of the things you want to say to me when you see me...

This just happened outside of my apartment as I was writing this:

See you next year!

Liz and Alex have left Japan and my life - for the time being. Next year in June they'll be getting married in Vancouver and I'll be there. Alex proposed to Liz a few weeks back in Bali when they went on vacation shortly before leaving the company we all worked for. Congrats to them and I can't wait to see them again.

Part of the reality for any ex-pat is the fragile and often tentative nature of all the friendships you develop while living in a country you don't plan on making your permanent home. Somewhere like Japan, where there is a lot of money to be made if you come for a year and play your cards correctly, is especially notorious as a place that fosters good friendships between people and then people return to the reality of their old lives. I wish I could say that I will stay in close touch with everyone I've met here in Japan, but in truth, you can only hold the closest ones with you along the way. Sometimes that just involves knowing you'll see them again after some time apart.

And of all the Vancouver people I've already met in Japan, these two cats will definitely remain a part of my life. I miss you guys already!

Please send me friends from home

I was blessed with a visit from Kat and Dan (as well as Marg and Greg, Kat's sister and brother-in-law) who were visiting from Korea on vacation a few months back. I have finally organized some of my photos so I thought that I would post this in tribute to them, as well as to guilt trip all of the rest of you who haven't found it in yourselves to visit me even though I make a great host.

(Just kidding!)

Big-ups to Alex and Andrew Yeung who DID come all the way to Japan for a visit, but didn't get to see me because of scheduling conflicts with my job. I love that you guys came out to Asia though.

Kathleen... Daniel... I still think about you day to day. Thanks so much for making it out here. It meant the world to me (and send me some of YOUR pictures already, would you?!)

p.s. I should mention that my parents have booked their plane tickets and will be vacationing with me here in Japan from November 3rd to November 17th! I can't wait!