Walkabout - Saga

   Several years ago there was a hit song called "S-A-G-A, Saga!" by a comedian and musician who goes by the stagename of name Hanawa. The song poked fun at what a little known, cultural and economic backwater the prefecture was. Although "S-A-G-A, Saga!" didn't put the prefecture in the best of light, had it not been for the song, I doubt most Japanese would be able to identify the prefecture on a map today.

   Now, while I've been living in Fukuoka prefecture for two decades now, I never visited the city of Saga until now. Oh, I had been to the prefecture many times--usually as I traveled through it to get to Nagasaki--but had never made it to the capital. For one, it isn't the kind of place that a person goes out of his way to visit. Even the people who live there--as many of my students do, commuting from their homes every day--don't have much praise for the city.

   Is there anything worth seeing, you might ask. Not really is usually the answer you'll get back. You might ask them about the "castle", but they'll reply that it's more like a house with a big gate. Hmm. Any good food to be had in the city? Not really.

   I didn't let that discourage me. No, I got on an express train (Kamome Tokkyû) from Hakata Station and a little over half an hour later, I was in Saga.

   There wasn't much to see around the station, so I went to the information desk and asked where the more historical neighborhoods were. There were two, I was told, and immediately headed off towards the nearer of the two, Yanagimachi.

   Yanagimachi wasn't very close, I'm afraid. (Especially when you're schlepping a two-and-a-half-year-old the whole way.) It took about hour to reach and there wasn't much to see along the way, just a dismal little town filled with lots of old people and shuttered up buildings. Yanagimachi--the two blocks or son along one street, that is--was rather nice. There was the former residence of the owner of Koga Bank, a merchant house from the Edo period that was nicely restored, a bank from the Meiji period, and so on. 

   These former buildings are always so beautiful, with such sensitivity put into their designs, it makes you wonder why on earth they would go on to abandon this kind of architecture and start putting up the shabby prefab crap that predominates today.

   Many of the buildings along the main road leading from the station to the castle looked as if they had been built a hundred or so years ago, but in the meantime were covered up with siding and other insults. The result it ugly. The aim might have been a warped sense of modernity, but what they got instead was an eyesore. It's a mistake all too common throughout Japan.

   Yanagi Machi, Saga City

   Former merchant house from the Edo Period.

   Entrance to the former Koga residence.

   Main hall of the former Koga residence.

   Upstairs at the former Koga residence.

   Roof of the former Koga residence.

   Former bank that went bust in the early 1900s due to speculation.

   Former merchant house from the Edo Period. Note the hard clay floor called doma (土間).

   Former Koga Bank.

   Heading home.

Aloha!

Mahalo! This is just what I needed when I was going through Hawaii withdrawals.

マイ・ファミリー

父のアラン二世 

サッダーム・フセイン似の父ちゃんの夢は俳優だったけれど、子供が多すぎたのであきらめ実業家になった。（中東の独裁者になれば良かったのに〜）お父さんが何を考えてこんなにたくさん子供を作ったのか、ぼくにはわからない。「父ちゃん、調子に乗るな！」を言うのはもう手遅れです。

母のローイス

百発百中で子供ができるお母さんは、まるで、よく当たりが出るパチンコ台みたい。次からつぎへと当たりが出るので、ほんとのパチンコ台だったら、すぐに取り替えられてしまうだろう。

何でもできるお母さんは車の免許はもちろん、看護婦の資格やパイロットのライセンスなど持ってる。（本当）パソコンも年のわりには自由に使えるから、週一Skypeで話してる*

お母さんはこの間79際になった。まだまだ元気です。来年の80歳の誕生日を向かって、スプライズパーティーを計画してる。

長女のマーガレット

マーガレットお姉さんはみんなにペギーと呼ばれてる。

（マーガレットという名前はどうやってペギーに進化したのかダーウインを参考してください）

副長女。実は、長女はキャシーでしたが、小さい頃に先天的な病気で亡くなったらしい。マーガレットは３回結婚して、３度目の正直！のはずだったのに、残念ながら、３回も離婚した。でもあきらめずに、次の旦那を探してる。２人目の旦那とバカ息子を２人生んだ。その一人は去年、パパになったので、ペギーはもうお婆ちゃんになっちゃった（ひえ～）。

次女のテレサ

マーガレットの双子の妹。テレサはできちゃった結婚してもう３０年たった。お母さんとテレサは同じ時期に妊娠していて、テレサの長男・ブライアンは、ぼくの一番下の妹・メーガンと同い年。（ひえ～！）息子が二人いて、次男も結婚し、４人も子供を持ってる。このお姉さんもグランドマザーだ！

【補足】ペギとテレサは子供のころ、この決まってるヘアスタイルをしていた。スタートレックに出てもおかしくないだろう。

三女のデボラ

ぼくが小さい頃、お母さんが２つ上のクレアの世話で忙しかったため、デボラ（愛称；デビー）がぼくの面倒を見てくれた。ぼくはデビーを「お母さん」と呼んでいたらしく、そのことに嫉妬した実母マムはそれ以来ぼくのことが気に入らなかった。つい最近までぼくとお母さんの関係は「冷たい」関係でしたが、いまは昔より打ち解けてきました。デビーとの関係は最高です。デビーはレバノンの首都ベイルートに住んでいて、子供が４人います。長女のブリジットは数年前日本に来てぼくと一緒に暮らしてた。長男のジョンは顔も性格もぼくに瓜二つ！とてもカッコよく、女性に大人気です。本当に。

四女のバーバラ

ぼくが小学校１年生のとき、他の生徒より読書が苦手で問題になった。今もあまり変わってないけど、集中力が乏しかったからだ。当時高校生だったバーバラ（愛称；バーブ）お姉さんは親に命令されて、毎日厳しく読書を教えてくれた。まるで、両親から与えられた彼女への罰のように、彼女は全然楽しくなさそうに教えてくれた。例えば、僕が文章を読んでいる最中ぼーっとすると、彼女に強く殴られた。ちょっとでも間違えたら「違う！」と僕の頭を叩く。

今、大人になって、上手に文章を読み書きできるようになったのは、よくバーブお姉さんのお陰と言われるけど、本当のことを言うと、自己防衛のためだ。今でも、読書はそんなに好きとは言えない。本屋さんに入ると、鼻水やくしゃみがすぐ出てくる。（…トラウマかな。）バーブは子供が４人もいる。みんな上手に読書ができるらしい。

長男のアラン三世

マキニス家の長男。お父さんとおじいさんと同じ名を付けられ、「アラン三世」というロシア帝国の皇帝のような立派な名前を持ってる。ぼくが若いとき、アラン三世はぼくのヒーローだった。スポーツも上手だったし、何より超頑固。反抗期のとき、アラン二世（父）にも絶対に負けず自分の主張を押し通した。アラン三世は、今では禿げた郵便屋さん。あれ？

【補足】朝鮮戦争の後、お父さんのアラン２世はショービズネスに手を出した。当時「アル＆バディー」の腹話術はとても人気だったが、ある鋭い客が叫んだ。「おい！あれはダミーじゃないよ！本物の子供だ！」

アルとバディーは必死にトマトや卵を避けながら舞台を降りることになった。

次男のジョージ

ジョージは双子の悪役の方を見事に演じた。中学生のとき、少年院みたいなところに入れられたが、今はしっかりしていて、会社のくそ真面目な社長になった。お金持ちだけど、ドケチです。奥さんと養子のフィオナちゃんと暮らしてる。

【補足】当時、２組の双子が生まれるのはめずらしく新聞にも載りました。「Twins Again !」という見出しで、双子のお姉さんが双子の弟を抱えている写真でした。

三男のジェリー

ジェラルド（愛称：ジェリー）は小さい頃、パンを焼くことやバービー人形と遊ぶことが好きで、みんなに「ジェリー・ザー・フェリー」（「ホモのジェリー」）と呼ばれてた。今では３回も女の人と結婚して、男兄弟のなかでは唯一子供がいる。安心、安心。

【補足】ぼくは子供の頃、ジョージとジェリーに激しくいじめられた。双子のにーちゃんたちは、プロレスのタッグチームのように交代で、ぼくを毎日ボコボコにした。ぼくは奇跡的に生き残った。この経験のお陰で、ぼくは小さい頃怖いものなしになった。今でもそのとき身に付けた生意気さは残ってます。

五女のマリア

５つ上のお姉さんのマリアにもいっぱいいじめられた。（はぁ〜、よくみんなにいじめられたなぁ。ため息）彼女は１９歳のとき、できちゃった結婚した。しかしその後マリアは一人目の旦那と別れ、ぼくより年下の男と再婚し、田舎に引っ越しして消防士になった。子供は２人いる。その子供は山と海のように性格が正反対で、娘はハワイ在住、息子はプロースノーボーダーです。

六女のクレア

僕が８歳のとき、クレアは肝炎で亡くなりました。生まれつきの障害があまりにも重かったので、言葉も話せなかった。今でも彼女のことを思い出すと涙が目にあふれてしまう。

四男のぼく

ハロー！可愛かったでしょ。上の写真はぼくが末っ子のときの家族写真。末っ子黄金時代は５年間もつづきましたが、ある日幼稚園から帰って来たとき、突然妹がうまれていた。お母さんが妊娠していたことさえ、ぜんぜんしらなかった。そんな感じでこの家族はさらに増えていった。ちなみに、午年のぼくはなぜ猿に似てるの？

七女のカースティン

マイクロソフトで働いて、今自分のコンサルティングやコーチング会社をやっているバリバリキャリアウーマン。まぁ、とにかく、運がいいです。いつもケチケチじゃなくてケラケラ笑っています。

８女のメーガン

んーーー、我が家の問題児の末っ子。頭は悪くないんだけどね。

The Nation at Their Feet

   "Some grade school kids these days don't know how to tie their shoes," Shizuko, a woman in her late seventies, grouses.

   I love it when the older members of the class get self-righteous: it gives me the perfect opportunity to playfully goad them: "Well, considering all the shoes with Velcro today,” I say, “I'm not surprised. But then, what about yourself, Shizuko? Could you . . . ? Sorry to ask a stupid question, but did you even wear shoes when you were young?"

   A number of them, including Shizuko, giggle, which I take as a no.

   Another woman, this one in her early eighties, tells me about the shoes she used to wear, how they didn't have laces. She draws me a picture of a simple rubber and canvass slip-on. Several of them concur: they wore the very same kind of shoe.

   A woman in her fifties says that parents today have to prepare three or four pairs of shoes for their children: the shoes they wear to school, the shoes they wear in the school facilities, the locker room slippers, and so on.

   I ask what to me seems to be the most reasonable question to ask, "Why?"

   "Why what?"

   "Why do you think the kids have to prepare so many different shoes for school?

   "I don't know," she replies.

   As expected, no one does. And why would they? Like the well-trained Japanese that they are, they probably never gave it a second thought until day even though four pairs of shoes for a kid who'll outgrow them in no time is quite a lot.

   "Did it ever occur to you,” I say, “that the reason your kids have to prepare four pairs of shoes is because the owner of a major shoe manufacturer and a high-ranking official in the Ministry of Education have been good friends since the time they were classmates at Tôkyô University?"

   I'm only half serious, but considering the way so very little is left to chance in this country, it would seem awfully peculiar if such rules had been made arbitrarily.

   Case in point: Taspo[1].

   While the stated aim for the introduction of the “Tobacco Passport” was to reduce the smoking of cigarettes by minors,[2] the tacit goal was to change the purchasing habits of smokers, moving them away from the vending machines and into convenience stores where the Taspo card is not necessary. The big winners of the legislation were convenience stores such as Lawson and 7-Eleven which had lobbied hard for its passage. The losers: independent mom-and-pop shops which often have cigarette vending machines out front.

   Similarly, a law was passed a few years back re-designating certain drugs such that they could no longer be bought over the counter unless done so by a licensed pharmacist. This rule was pushed by the major drug store chains such as Matsumoto Kiyoshi and Drug Eleven to further put the squeeze on small-time pharmacies.

---

[1] Taspo (タスポ), formerly known as Tobacco Card (たばこカード tabako kādo), is a smart card using RFID developed by the Tobacco Institute of Japan (TIOJ), the nationwide association of tobacco retailers (全国タバコ販売協同組合連合会 Zenkoku Tabako Hanbai Kyōdō Kumiai Rengōkai), and the Japan Vending Machine Manufacturers Association (日本自動販売機工業会 Nihon Jidōhanbaiki Kōgyōkai) for introduction in 2008. Following its introduction, the card is necessary in order to purchase cigarettes from vending machines in Japan. The name "Taspo" is a portmanteau for "tobacco passport" (たばこのパスポート tabako no pasupōto). For more, see Wikipedia.

[2] In Japan, you have to be 20 to drink alcohol or smoke cigarettes. This doesn’t really stop minors from doing either.

We there yet?

Four years and three books ago. Note the bottle of Zacapa.   "So how much longer until you finish your book?" my wife asks.

   "I finish . . . when I finish."

   "Yes, but when will that be?"

   "I don't know."

   She looks disappointed. "But you said . . ."

   "What I said was that I would like to be finished some time next year—say, spring, late spring, June or July."

   "That's not spring! That's summer!"

   "You see, darling, that's where my creative genius comes in. It allows me to bend time, to perceive June and July in ways the ordinary, bound-to-reality person cannot."

   Now she looks irritated.

   "C’mon, you're asking me the kind of question you'd ask of the staff at Kinko's. Writing isn't a project."

   "It is, too, a project."

   "It is not at all like anything that goes on in the business world. It’s not just a matter of setting a deadline, then meeting it, and going onto other things. No, stories have a life of their own, and once you get involved with them, even though you're the one telling it, you never can tell when you'll be surprised by what comes up."

   "So when will you be finished?" she asks again. She can be terribly persistent at times.

   "You're not listening to me."

   She smiles.

   "To be honest,” I continue, “I've always wondered if a writer really ever feels ‘finished’ with the novel he’s managed to get published. I mean, no matter how many times I rewrite something, there will always be things that need changing, a better choice of words here, a deletion or addition there."

   "Murakami Haruki said that he never read any of his books once they had been published."

   "It wouldn't surprise me if other authors did likewise. Or musicians, for that matter. Does a rock star listen to his own songs? I doubt it, unless he's a narcissist . . . Funny, but I've seen so many movies which show an author typing out the last sentence of his novel. You know, always on one of those old manual typewriters, right? Tappity-tap-tap: The End! And then without fail, he'll rip the page out of the typewriter and look at it with the satisfaction one has when a job is complete. And you know why?"

   "Why?"

   "Because actors are not writers. And because they read scripts, not books."

   "Hmm . . ."

   "No, a writer is only finished with his novel when the thought of spending another day with it is more disgusting to him than the thought of leaving it as is. He pushes the plate away, ‘Enough!’ he shouts. ‘I can't take any more of this crap.’ Then he crosses his fingers and submits it. And the smile he has when it's published is not the smile of satisfaction; no, it's the smile of a con man who's just gotten away with it . . . But seriously, the reason I said that I would like to finish ‘next spring’ is so that I can get onto to writing something different."

   "You have other ideas for novels?"

   "Dozens! I sometimes feel as if I'm the new checker at a supermarket and there’s a long line of customers waiting impatiently, looking over the shoulder of the people in front of them, and looking over at the other registers and thinking of changing lines . . ."

   "Do you think when a novelist dies his last thoughts are, ‘If only I'd written that book?’"

   "More like, ‘If only I had sold out sooner!’"

On Royalties and Bath Plugs

   One of the reasons why I married my wife were the silly conversations we would have, like the following:

   Riko D: How much money do you think you'll make once you sell your book?

   Aonghas Crowe: How much does a book cost? One or two thousand yen? And royalties? Haven't got a clue, but they can't be high. Do you know?

   RD: No.

   AoCr: Well, let's say I'll get ten percent.

   RD: Ten percent, huh?

   AoCr: Yeah, so ten percent of fifteen hundred's a hundred and fifty yen a book. That's not a lot of money, but it adds up. So, if I were to sell two books, one for me and another for you, I'd make three hundred yen. Of course, if I were to write a second book, it might sell as many as ten copies . . .

   RD: Honey, be serious.

   AoCr: I can't. Especially when you ask me silly questions like that. Anyways, like I said, I don't know. I don't want to know.

   RD: Why not?

   AoCr: Because if I thought about how much money a book would make me, I wouldn't get anything done. I'd have all these dollar bills dancing around in my head, having a wild party and kicking up a helluva racket. “Keep it down, you guys!” I'd say, but you think they'd listen to a wet blanket like me?

   RD: If I were a writer, I'd know how much I’d get in royalties.

   AoCr: Oh, I'm sure you would know. What I want you to understand is that I'm not writing for money. That's never been the point. If I were writing for money, I . . .

   RD: I know, honey. But, but, but you must understand that I worry about the future and whether you'd be able to support me and our children. I worry that we wouldn't have enough money to buy proper clothes for them if the book you wrote didn't sell.

   AoCr: I don't know what's to worry about it. If it got too expensive to keep the three kids, we could always send one of them away. Take a hike, kid! Not enough food to go around for all of us. Oh, he might be sad and cry out to his mother, but that's life. Besides, think about how obedient the remaining too kids would be. They'd know that if Daddy's next book didn't sell well, why they might be the one who gets the boot next. “Mummy, Daddy, can I do anything for you today? Clean? Cook? Do the shopping?” They'd be petrified with fear every time they made the slightest mistake . . .

   RD: Can I tell you what my dream is?

   AoCr: Shoot.

   RD: I want to marry someone like Murakami Haruki. (She goes on to explain why she likes his writing, his lifestyle and success.)

   AoCr: I enjoy reading his stories, too. But, Murakami has never once made me look up from the page and think, Wow! Not like, say, Gabriel Garcia Marquez.[1] Granted I've only read a few things by Murakami, most of them in English, so . . . 

   RD: Oh, he's very good at describing things and using metaphors. I read an interview of him once where he said that he considered himself a pretty useless person. He wasn't like the plug in someone's bathtub, he said. The plug's quite small and simple, but it does its job well, keeping the water from flowing away. I really liked that image.

   AoCr: I've always thought of bath plugs in terms of oppression: chained his entire life to the side of a bathtub, shut up in darkness most of the day, only to traumatized every evening when he's forced into a hole and made to bear the back-breaking weight of so many gallons and gallons of water. You think the plug wants to do it? You think he feels he's being useful? I doubt it. When he was just a kid, still the sap of a rubber tree, he probably had grand dreams of becoming the tire of a bicycle tooling about the countryside . . .

---

[1] Check out my Gabo tweets. Ninety thousand followers and counting!

If you are interested in knowing more about how authors are paid (or not paid), check out this site. Hope you like peanuts.

My friend, the call girl

   Yuko is visibly upset when she comes in and sits down across from me.

   “What’s the matter,” I ask.

   “My friend.”

   “What about your friend?

   “My friend is a . . .”

   “Is a what?”

   “She’s a . . . Oh, I don’t know what the word is in English.”

   I hand her my pocket electronic dictionary.

   “My friend is a call girl.”

   “Huh? A call girl?”

   “Yes.”

   “Your friend is a prostitute?”

   “A what?”

   “A prostitute is a shôfu.”

   “A shufu?”

   “Not shufu, a housewife. Shôfu, a prostitute.”[1]

   “Shôfu? No, no, no! She’s not a shôfu! She’s a call girl.”

   “Show me that dictionary,” I say. “Oh, she's a ‘coward’.”

   “That’s what I said!”

---

[1] Shôfu (娼婦) is another word for baishun (売春) which means prostitute. Shufu (主婦) means housewife.

It was a Man's Man's World

   Many Japanese women tell me they want to marry rich men. Sometimes I wish I could marry one myself, but, well, we know what the odds of that ever happening are. Necessity of my gender has forced me instead to try to become successful myself and be satisfied marrying a woman I can love and respect.

   If you suggest to these women that they might fare better trying to succeed themselves, they’ll look at you as if you are insane.

   “It's a man's world,” they’ll say, end of conversation.

   That begs the question of whether Japan truly is a man’s world.

   For one, there are more women than men because so many of you live longer than us guys. Call us the Weaker Sex, if you like.

   Maybe it just seems like a man’s world because you gals aren't trying hard enough.

   Then again, maybe you know what you're doing.

   The typical housewife in Japan controls the purse strings. The poor men work their arses off and what do they get? Complaints from their cold wives and a small allowance that barely allows them the luxury of eating at a fast food chain every once in a while. Meanwhile, their wives are dining with friends at French restaurants, going to their lessons, shopping. Kind of makes you wonder who really is in charge?

   Go into to town and who do you see? Women! Where are the men? Why, they are locked up in their offices working their arses off is where. Go to any culture school in the evening and who will you find? Women! In the department stores and fashionable restaurants, it’s women, women, women.

   Young Japanese women spend their money like sailors on shore leave often because their parents are still supporting them. When they go on dates, the hapless male pay. If a man tries to live like a woman by wearing fashionable clothes and eating out at nice restaurants, he'll be criticized for being a spendthrift. Men in Japan are damned if they do, damned if they don't.

   And if that weren’t bad enough, this so-called Man's World is becoming increasingly off limits to men. There are now women-only hotels, women-only cars on trains, women-only busses, women-only floors in hotels and condominiums. Even some massage parlors and boutiques are off limits to men.

   The beleaguered Japanese male is increasingly being brushed aside and marginalized. No wonder so many of them have lost interest in sex: carnivorous women have turned them into herbivores.

Those Bloody Japanese

   "Sensei, what's your blood type?"

   I tell the students that I'm surprised they don’t already know.

   "You must be A-type," one of them says.

   "Why do you say so?"

   "Because you're so, so, meticulous and fussy."

   "Yes, I suppose I am."

   "I knew it!"

   The students leave believing that I have Type-A blood. They're convinced of it, in fact, and if I were to tell them otherwise, they would probably argue me down. Let them believe what they want to believe, so long as they keep coming back, I say.

   Now, I’m not such a bubblehead that I believe blood type determines one’s personality, but I have become convinced that for many Japanese merely believing that it does can have a big influence on their personalities.

   A person who has Type-B blood, for instance, will be constantly told that B-types have bizarre taste, are unique and out-spoken to a fault, and tend, much to the frustration of those around them, to do things in their own way. A woman with Type-B blood, having heard this crap throughout her formative years, can't help but give into the consensus and conclude: I am, what I am, and then, go off saying what she thinks, wearing what she wants—no matter how outlandish—and generally acting like a screwball. It isn't the blood type; it's the license everyone gives her to act as she likes.

   On the other hand, someone who has Type-A blood is expected to be a conformer, and, in general, he’ll stick to the stereotype.

   When I'm asked on another occasion what my blood type is, I ask the students what they think. One ventures a guess: being American, I'm probably type O.

   "Yes, agrees another. He is rather ‘O-ish’, isn't he?"

   I remind them that being American doesn't mean much; that my own family came from Ireland, originally. And, while most Irish also have Type-O blood, there are parts of the country, which had Viking, Anglo Norman settlements where Type-A predominates. And then there are quite a few gypsies in Ireland and they are known to have predominately AB-Type blood.*

   "Ah, that explains it," says another who's seen the light. "You have AB written all over your face."

   "ABs are intelligent, too," chirps yet another. "Sensei’s got a good head."

   Well, this isn't the correct answer, either, but if they want to curry favor with me by singing the praises of my intelligence, who's to stop them? They, too, leave as convinced as the other class was that their teacher has AB blood.

 

   A big part of this silliness stems from the fact that many Japanese are eager to act out the role they or others have chosen for themselves. I’ve written about this before, but when, for example, a Japanese takes up a hobby, he often does so by starting with the “form”, or what is known as the katachi.

   A surfer wannabe will buy a surfboard, get the right brand of shorts and drysuit, work his abs until he can scrub his laundry against them, tan his hide a golden brown, and grow his hair out. He might even buy a station wagon to carry all his gear. And he’ll do all of this before even hitting the waves.

   And so it goes with the katachi a person’s blood type dictates. Not sure how you’re supposed to act? No problem: the fashion magazines will show you the way!

   *To learn more about the distribution of blood types in the world visit this interesting site.

Good for Nothing

   It’s not unusual for a Japanese woman to have a difficult relationship with her mother-in-law, particularly when filial duty forces her to live with her husband’s parents in their home. It is far less common for the relationship between a man and his mother-in-law to sour, so I was surprised when I overheard Nobuko saying that she couldn't stand her son-in-law.

   Why not? I ask.

   Because he comes over to my house too often.

   That's great, I say. He likes to spend time with you. You should consider yourself lucky.

   No, she protests. I don't like it when he comes over.

   Why not?

   Because I have to cook for him.

   Have to? No one is pointing a gun at your head and forcing you to cook. You don't have to cook for him.

   But, I do have to cook for him; that's why he always comes over! My daughter told me he loves my cooking, so every time he comes over I end up spending the entire day in the kitchen.

   Why don’t you just get your daughter to help?

   That good-for-nothing daughter of mine doesn’t lift a finger. No, she just loafs in front of the TV the whole day.

   Well, with you buzzing around the kitchen like a worker bee, why would she? Anyways, how can you be so sure that your son-in-law actually likes your cooking?

   Because my daughter told me so.

   Nobuko, has it ever occurred to you that your son-in-law may not like your cooking all that much? The two of them may have figured that, judging by the way you scramble around the kitchen preparing meals, you must live to cook. They probably don't have the heart to hurt your feelings.

   No, never!

   You never know, Nobuko. It seems like everyone in your family is trying hard not to hurt each other's feelings, trying in their misguided ways to make each other happy, but all you’re doing is getting under each other’s skin. You resent your son-in-law because you think he wants to eat your food. He never asked you to cook for him, certainly not every Sunday. No, you did that out of your own free will. If you had been honest with yourself, your daughter, and your son-in-law, and refrained from cooking so much, you would all be a lot happier today. Life's too short to try to make other people happy at the expense of your own happiness. If you don't feel like doing something, then by all means don't do it.

   I have no choice, she surrenders.

   Why not?

   Because I’m Japanese.

The NRA's Gifts to America

On the twelfth day of Christmas,

t’NRA gave to us:

Twelve school shootings,[1]

Eleven assault weapons,

Ten armor piercing,

Nine million dollars,[2]

Eight men a-killing,[3]

Seven vigilantes,[4]

Six background checks,[5]

Five extended clips,

Four homicides,[6]

Three suicides,[7]

Two smoking barrels,

And pols in the lobby’s pocket!

---

[1] Of the sixty-two mass shootings that have occurred since 1982, 12 have taken place in schools. (See Mother Jones.)

[2] The NRA PAC spent over nine million dollars ($9,493,815 to be exact) on independent expenditures in the 2012 election. Another $7.5 million was spent by the NRA Institute for Legislative Action, and the National Rifle Association (501c) spent $682,595 on communication costs. 91.3%  of the $17.6 million the NRA spent was done so in the general election. $6 million was spent supporting Republicans and $11 million fighting Democrats. How successful was the NRA? Not very. Only 50.4% of NRA backed candidates won. And only 5.5% of the money the NRA spent resulted in their preferred candidate winning. Maybe there is a Santa, after all. (See Open Secrets.)

[3] 8 in 10 of firearm deaths among 23 populous, high-income countries occurred in the U.S. Homicide rate in America is 6.9 times higher than rates in 22 other populous high-income countries combined. (See Brady Campaign.)

[4] Seven out of ten defendants in Florida went free in the nearly 200 cases where the Stand Your Ground law has played a factor since going into effect in 2005. The law removes a person’s duty to retreat before using deadly force against another in any place he has the legally right to be so long as he reasonably believes he faces imminent death or great bodily harm. (See ProPublica.)

[5] An estimated forty percent of gun acquisitions occur in the “secondary market”, taking place without a Brady background check. Only six out of every ten guns are bought in the U.S. are done so with Brady background checks. (See Brady Campaign.)

[6] 4 out of 10 homicides. According to the Brady Campaign to Prevent Gun Violence, “an estimated 41% of gun-related homicides and 94% of gun-related suicides would not have occurred under the same circumstances had no guns been present (Wiebe, p. 780.)” (See Brady Campaign.)

[7] There are about three suicides and attempted suicides a day in the U.S. involving guns. A gun owner is more likely to shoot and kill himself than shoot an intruder. According to the Brady Campaign to Prevent Gun Violence for So much for having a gun to protect oneself: ”A gun in the home is 22 times more likely to be used in a completed or attempted suicide (11x), criminal assault or homicide (7x), or unintentional shooting death or injury (4x) than to be used in a self-defense shooting. (Kellermann, 1998, p. 263).” (See Brady Campaign.)

Chopsticks and Sushi

   Imagine traveling to New York. You hail a yellow cab, and as soon as you settle in for the ride, the driver asks, "Where are you from?" You tell him you're from Japan, something that excites him and makes him want to ask you all kinds of questions.

   "How long you here?"

   You reply that you're only there for the week. So far, so good.

   Then, for no reason whatsoever, he says something like, "So, how do you like hot dogs?" or "Can you use a knife and fork?" If he weren't sincerely curious, you might think he was trying to get a rise out of you.

   You answer that you don't care much for hot dogs, but love the hamburgers here, and that you have no problem handling a knife and fork.

   He praises your poor English, by telling you its perfect, like a native’s in fact, which you know is definitely not true, then he asks whether you have a hard time keeping your glasses in place with such a flat nose. And so on.

   Would you be offended? Irritated? Or, amused?

   Now, imagine yourself having this conversation on a daily basis for years and years and years.

   I’ve been living here for two decades now and I still can't understand why Japanese when given the opportunity to speak with a foreigner for the first time end up asking the same stupid questions. Some of these questions are admittedly reasonable, even questions I might be inclined to ask. These include “Where are you from?” and “How long have you been in Japan?” Other questions offer the potential for deeper conversation and communication, such as “What do you do in Japan?” or “Why did you come to Japan?” Yet, oddly enough most people who ask these broader questions never seem to be expecting much more than a one sentence long answer. One of the odd bits about this second question, incidentally, is that you get the feeling that the person asking the question couldn't imagine why anyone in their right mind would want to visit, let alone live in, a country such as Japan where people work too hard and live in cramped uncomfortable homes.

   I haven't got much problem with those questions, and I doubt most other foreigners do either, except that they probably get tired of answering them, day-in, day-out, week-in, week-out. No, the thing that always makes me scratch my head is those questions which are, for lack of better words, just plain strange or out of place: Do you like sushi? Can you use chopsticks? and so on.

   To be fair, the questions are innocent and may address a certain curiosity on the part of the person asking, but what has always struck me as strange is the total lack of context in which these questions are asked.

   Why do taxi drivers insist on asking whether I can use chopsticks? Is he going to offer me something to eat? Is this a regular service that taxi drivers provide? It would begin to explain their high fares. Unfortunately a free meal never comes with the ride.

   Context. If you were serving dinner to a foreigner or suggesting a place to eat, it might make sense to check first if he liked sushi before making reservations. When setting the table it would be helpful to make sure that the foreigner could use chopsticks. But in a taxi, or in a park, or in a bar—which is where I am often asked these questions—there is such an utter lack of context as to make the encounter feel almost surreal. I don't know how many times I've been asked whether I like sushi or can use chopsticks but after over twenty years living here it must number in the thousands.

   My question for you, the people of Japan, is this: Why are you so eager to know these things? Do they keep you awake at night? Do you lie in bed wondering, "Do foreigners like sushi? Can foreigners use chopsticks?" It's not hard for me to imagine a third of Japan's population lying awake at night contemplating these mysteries. Perhaps this is why Japanese have won comparatively few Nobel Prizes[1]. Imagine the things they could be thinking about instead!

   To be fair, I didn't really mind the repetition of these questions during my first two years here. It certainly helped me learn the language. Each time I was asked, the better, more fluent my answer became and the sooner I could get onto the next question. It was as if I was going through an obstacle course and had to clear several hurdles before I could get into the meat of the conversation. Unfortunately, once I had leapt over all those hurdles, there usually wasn't much meat to be found, just a plate of sushi and someone asking me if I could eat it.

   By my second year, I was able to put my mind in neutral for the first ten minutes or so of a conversation and coast effortlessly down the hill, never really having to listen to the questions:

Japanese Person:  おく . . .

(Where y...?)

Me:  アメリカです。

(I'm from America.)

JP:  日本は . . .

(Have y...?)

Me:  はい、もう１０年間以上。

(Yes, more than ten years.)

JP:  お上 . . .

(Your Japanese . . .)

Me:  いいえ、そんなことないです。

(No, it's nothing of the sort.)

JP:  やっぱ、向こうに . . .

(I suppose, if a person goes over there an... )

Me:  さあ、人によって、勉強しないとうまくならない。

(Depends on the person. If you don't study you won't improve no matter how long you live in a country.)

JP:  にほ . . .

(Do you l...?)

Me:  はい、とても。大好きです。

(Yes, very much so.)

JP:  あっ、それを聞いてとても . . .

(Ah, that makes me very . . .)

Me:  うれしいですよね。

(Happy to hear that, yes. )

JP:  す . . .

(How about s...?)

Me:  好かん。

(Hate the stuff.)

JP:  あらら

(Oh, that's too b...)

Me:  でも、他の食べ物は大好き。すき焼きとか鍋物とか煮物とか焼き鳥など。

(But, I love other kinds of Japanese food. Sukiyaki, nabemono, nimono, yakitori, and so on.)

JP:  おは . . .

(And chop...?)

Me:  は問題ないですね。

 (Not a problem.)

   And, the better my Japanese became, the more I was able to joke around with people, but the jokes started coming off as a bit jaded. You learn quickly that nobody, not even the Japanese, care much for a smart arse.

Japanese Person:  日本はながいですか？

(Literally means how long is Japan, but most people use this phrase to ask someone how long they've been in Japan.)

Me:  はい、やく３０００キロぐらい。けっこう長い国です。

(Yes, it is. About 3,000 km. It's a rather long country.)

   The best solution I came up with was to create different odd-ball personalities that were intriguing enough to promote further questions, but answer them with such a poker-face that few people ever challenged my veracity. One thing the Japanese can be both praised and criticized for at the same time is their gullibility. Their politeness prevents them from confronting people even if they think the person is pulling the wool over their eyes, and their naïve insularism makes them nearly capable of believing just anything a stranger tells them.

Japanese Person:  Where are you from?

Me:  Yemen.

JP:  Yemen?

Me:  Yes, near Oman.

JP:  Oman?

Me:  Yes, Oman.

JP:  Never heard of it.

Me:  No?

JP:  What do you do?

Me:  I'm a camel jockey.

JP:  No kidding!

Me:  No kidding.

JP:  Why are you here?

Me:  Exposition at the Dome.

JP:  Really?

Me:  Really.

   The point was to offer something the person would never expect to hear. Japanese are so used to giving the same answers that never quite reveal much. Ask them what they do and they’ll reply unhelpfully, “I work for a company.” What's the point in asking a question if that's the lousy kind of answer you're going to get? How do you start a conversation with someone so parsimonious with information?

Japanese Person: American?

Me: No, I’m from Lichtenstein.

JP: Lihi . . .?

Me: Lichtenstein.

JP: Is that a country?

Me: Yes, a small one.

JP: Never heard of it.

Me: No?

JP: Where is it?

Me: In Europe. Between Switzerland and Austria.

JP: What do you do?

Me: I'm a camel jockey.

JP: No kidding!

Me: No kidding.

JP: In Europe?

Me: It’s a very dry part of Europe.

JP: Why are you here?

Me: Exposition at the Dome.

JP: Really?

Me: Really.

   I suppose that it is inevitable that Japanese who are normally not very good at dealing with foreigners would freeze up and then start rattling off the first silly questions that came to mind. A little stage fright can't be avoided. But, please don't let your inner fool take control. Breathe in deeply, exhale slowly, and calm down. Ask questions you are genuinely interested in knowing the answer of, but be careful not to be too intrusive, or too curious about things that might be considered private. Ask yourself if you would mind a stranger asking you similar questions. If you would feel awkward, chances are the foreigner you are trying to engage in conversation might also find it irritating.

   Secondly, introduce something often lacking in so many of these conversations: context. So many of the questions that are posed come right out of the blue. If the point of starting up a conversation is to have a conversation then try to coax the conversation in a direction that will produce that effect. A random list of questions probably won't get you anywhere. Input a bit of yourself into the conversation, don't just act like a reporter interviewing someone famous, give a bit of yourself so that the foreigner will be interested in knowing something about you. Only then will you be able to discover a common point of interests that will allow your curiosity develop into the beginnings of a friendship.

---

[1] I originally wrote this piece in 2004 when Japanese had only won 13 Nobel prizes. A small number when you consider Japan's population and economic strength. Since then, there have been seven more Nobel laureates from Japan. Good job!

Delicate Melonpanna

A: あらまあ。メロンパンナ、大丈夫？

M: んー、ちょっと凹んでいるだけです。

一週間後

A: あっ、メロンパンナだ！元気そうなぁ。良かった、良かった。

A: あれっ！メロンパンナが . . . あの人と？ 意外な趣味だなぁ。

それから、一週間後

A: あっ、メロンパンナ、また凹んでいるの？

M: カレーパンマンの馬鹿！！

Ah, FUK

   This time last year I was only a few weeks away from a long trip that took me and my family to PDX, SFO and HNL. This Xmas we are grounded here: Ah, FUK.

   For a salacious photo of fuk, click here.

   More notable airport codes can be found at aviationhumor.

"Yuru Kyara" Grand Prix

   Yes, there are contests for these kinds of things in Japan and the winner of the 2012 Town Page Yuru Kyara Grand Prix was Balii-san (バリィ) from Ehime prefecture.

   Runner-up in last year's contest, Balii-san is a chicken who hails from the city of Imabari (今治) which is famous for its yakitori and towels. The pressure was on Barii-san to win this year's title. Had she lost, she might have been sliced up, skewered and grilled. (バリイうまっ！)

   In second place was Choruru (ちょるる) from Yamaguchi prefecture. The kind-hearted Choruru likes to stay active. His green crown of hair is said to be an antenna that captures the energy of the people and nature around him. Fascinating!

   Gunma prefecture's mascot, Gunma-chan (ぐんまちゃん), who came in third this year, often appears in local magazines, advertisements, and televesion programs. The most popular character in Gunma, they say that there isn't a single person in the prefecture who doesn't know who he is. Gunma-chan is currently traveling the country promoting the prefecture. Watch out, kids: the ass kicks.

   Sanomaru (さのまる), who wears a wooden Sano ramen bowl on his head, placed fourth in this year's Gran Prix. He is a samurai, armed with two fried sweet potatoes for swords (lethally delicious, I've been told), and lives in the working-class district of Sano. If you take a close look at his hat, you'll see that instead of the raimon design, common along the rim of the ramen bowls, Sanomaru's name is written in red letters. 

   In fifth place was Fukka-chan (ふっかちゃん) of Fukaya, Saitama prefecture. She has long green onions for horns, which are a special agricultural product from her hometown.

   In sixth place was Shimanekko (しまねっこ) from Shimane prefecture. Self-respect prevents me from translating the drivel that accompanied the photo. Go have a look for yourself.

   While Shusse Daimyô Ieyasu-kun (出世大名家康くん) of Hamamatsu city, Shizuoka prefecture came in seventh this year, his name is first in length and means "Ieyasu a feudal Lord who is moving up in the world". He's got an eel for a chonmage (topknot) and rumor has that if you touch it you will also succeed in life. Sometimes its better to just be satisfied with what you have.

   You gotta be kidding.

   Yanana (やなな) will be retiring next March (Thank God!) and gave it her all in this year’s Grand Prix to bring vitality and smiles to her beloved town of Yanagase. (Blech!) Would you believe it that this yuru kyara came in third in 2010? (Were the judges drunk?) Well, it’s true. Although she remained at eighth place for a second time this year, in the hearts of the people of her hometown, Yanana will always be Number 1. (Yuck.)

   Ayukoro-chan (あゆコロちゃん) of Atsugi City, Kanagawa prefecture was ninth.

   Tatsunomichi Yuzuru (竜の道ゆずる) from Ôita prefecture placed tenth. 

   Just in case you were wondering, yuru kyara is a contraction of “yurui" (loose, smooth, gentle) and "character”. A mascot needs to fulfill three conditions be recognized as a yuru kyara. One, it must convey "a strong message brimming with love for one’s hometown or region". Two, it must appear "unstable on its feet" and at the same time "unique" in its movements. And, three, it must possess "likability" and that “looseness” again. (Let's hope it's not the mascots' bowels they're speaking of.)

    Anyways, after looking through a number of these "yuru kyara"*, I couldn't help but conclude that if local and national governmental bodies in Japan had put as much effort into solving their problems as they did in creating these stupid characters, this country might be a different place today.

*You can find an exhaustive list of "yuru" characters on Wikipedia.

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