Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man In Tight Leather

If you don't know who Razor Ramon, a.k.a. "Hard Gay," is by now, you've obviously been living under a rock and there was probably no internet access in the vicinity of that rock. In the event that you're actually not familiar with his antics, he is one of the most interesting (and potentially, most offensive) Japanese television characters to capture the fickle spotlight in recent years. While it's debatable whether his parody of the "hardcore gay" male is helping or hurting the nascent gay rights movement here in Japan (indeed, some have already taken offense), his popularity is showing no signs of abating, leading some to question whether he may actually find some sort of lasting career outside of the customary 15 minutes.

While a number of Hard Gay's skits are now available online, one thing that you can't really get a feel for without actually being in Japan is the ubiquity of Hard Gay merchandise. Since reporting on Hard Gay costumes a little over a month ago, a new Hard Gay item has started popping up in my area: the Hard Gay book. Released just a few months ago, HG, as it is simply titled, marks the comedian's first foray into the world of publishing. Since most of you may never have an opportunity to page through HG, I thought that I would give you all a little preview of what's inside. I don't have access to a scanner, so try to excuse the low quality of the photos.
The cover of the book features Razor Ramon staring stoically into the eyes of the reader. It also features "HG" stamped in foil letters. Classy.
The first few pages feature "sexy" shots of HG like those seen above. However, the real meat of the book (pun intended) is a series of skits, much like those seen on television, presented in manga style. Let's have a look, shall we?
This page comes from a series where Hard Gay is attempting to cut down on litter by ensuring that cigarette butts are properly disposed of. Here we see our hero loudly announcing (in English) that he intends to "CATCH!!" the stray cigarette.
As he rebukes the polluter, he disposes of the cigarette in what is apparently the proper receptacle: his leather hot pants.

And then for good measure, he thrusts his hips while shouting his inescapable catch phrase: "FUU!!" (most likely a transliteration of the sound generally identified in English as "woo").
In another skit, HG impersonates a doctor. As you might expect, hilarity ensues.
A young man comes in and complains of a sore throat. The "doctor" replies that he understands and notes the symptoms.
In a rather unorthodox move, he then commands the patient to remove his pants. Finally, he shouts "FUU!!" yet again. Boy, didn't see that one coming! In all seriousness though, HG is no one-trick pony. Elsewhere in the book, he attempts to prove to the reader that he is also in command of more subtle forms of humor, for example, innuendo:

"BANANA FUU!!"

"SAUSAGE FUU!!"

If you haven't seen enough yet, you could always order your very own copy of the book, which is guaranteed to serve as lasting evidence of an odd cultural phenomenon. It would probably also be a good conversation starter, so you might even want to give it a new home atop your coffee table. FUU!!

Gotta Catch 'Em All!™

If I think back to my elementary school days, one of the few things I can recall with any amount of precision is riding the school bus. This is strange, of course, because the school bus was merely the vessel that took us to and from school. But this also makes perfect sense in a way; while we moved from one classroom to another as the years progressed, it was the school bus where our progress as students, nay, as human beings, was really made manifest. Some of you may even be able to recall your maiden voyage as a first grader; with a new backpack still smelling of vinyl strapped to your back and a Ninja Turtles lunchbox trapped in the grip of your tightly-clenched fist, you cautiously descended into the belly of the yellow beast. While those of us with less than total recall might have forgotten this rite of passage, most will at least remember the feeling of sitting in the front of the bus and jealously eying those kids in the very back who seemed impossibly tall and unattainably cool: the 5th graders.

Though it once seemed unthinkable, as sure as the sun rises and sets, you would progressively work your way towards the back of the bus as the years progressed. And one fall day, as dictated by the tradition handed down from bus-riders of years past, you would step onto the bus and claim your rightful place in the back. Perhaps you looked out over your fiefdom from back there, all those kids running about wearing backpacks as big as themselves. Things used to be so much simpler, didn’t they? You, on the other hand, had plenty to worry about: making signs to offend passing motorists, the “silent witness” behavior-monitoring camera, that French exchange student a few seats up that you were crushing on.

So where am I going with all of this? Well, most Japanese children don’t ride buses. They usually attend local schools and the vast majority of them simply walk there. With no school bus to enforce the social hierarchy, you might think that Japanese elementary schoolers have no yardstick against which to measure their progress. However, this is not the case.

One rite of passage that I have been lucky enough to observe is the elementary school karuta tournament. Generally held once a year at many elementary schools, the tournament is one of relatively few events that brings together students from all grade levels. The first graders often train for weeks in advance, approaching their first match with a mix of apprehension and excitement. As they grow older, they also grow more confident in their abilities until they have at last mastered the game by the time of their bittersweet final tournament.

At this point you’re probably wondering, what is karuta anyway? Well, dear reader, move in a little closer and I’ll tell you. Karuta is, essentially, a card-matching game. It is said that in its original form it was played with shells but when the Portuguese introduced playing cards to Japan in the 17th century, karuta was quickly translated into the more affordable medium, which did a great deal to popularize the game. Originally, the game involved matching stanzas from classical tanka poems, as many upper-class leisure pursuits revolved around classical poetry in ye olden days.

The variant of karuta commonly played nowadays is much simpler and requires far less outside knowledge. Known as iroha karuta, it involves matching the first syllable of a proverb with its corresponding hiragana character. Thus, at least theoretically, anyone who can read hiragana can play. Seven year-olds and foreigners rejoice!
Here we see the torifuda, the "grabbing cards". Note that each card has a single hiragana character in the upper-right-hand corner. The illustrations on the cards correspond to the matching proverb. Many schools produce their own karuta decks and Koyuu elementary school (where I attended the tournament) is no exception. All of the proverbs and illustrations in this deck make reference to some Momoishi trademark; be it the statue of liberty or a large pumpkin that someone grew.
These are the yomifuda or "reading cards". These contain the proverbs that correspond to the characters on the torifuda.
While it's not customary to do so, at Koyuu, the torifuda cards were placed inside of a hoola hoop that the players sat around. Note that the players must sit in the formal seiza style, with their hands folded behind their back. This position seems somehow effortless for them but is painfully uncomfortable for gaijin, especially those of the over six-foot variety. It's also worth noting that they are all wearing their recess caps, perhaps to denote that they are playing rather than studying?
The announcer (in this case, one of the teachers) then reads a yomifuda card aloud...
...and after a quick survey of the cards, the fastest player reaches out and claims the correct card with his palm. As you might have guessed, the object of the game is to collect the most cards in this manner.
But what happens when two hands reach out for the same card and seemingly land on it simultaneously? At Koyuu, such quandaries were solved through the age-old method of jan ken pon (i.e. "rock, paper, scissors").
When the last card is reached, the players must hold their hands over their head until the first syllable is read. This way, everyone has a fair shot. The announcer will occasionally read out the wrong syllable, just to psyche the players out.
Personally, I was really impressed with the speed at which the older players identified and laid claim to cards-to me it seemed almost instantaneous. For that matter, even the first graders were surprisingly skilled. For example, I played one match with a circle of first graders. The winner of the match grabbed 16 cards. I ended up with two. The difference isn't in their ability to read hiragana (trust me, I teach them and I know that their literacy level is about the same as mine) but in their familiarity with the proverbs. To be fair, they also had a lot of practice whereas I first learned about the game from Okubo-San on the car ride over.
After a few rounds of playing, the best of the best eventually squared off against each other in semi-finals and then in final matches. As you can see, these matches attracted a fair number of spectators.
After it was all said and done, the winners of the tournament were presented to their peers and announced their name, grade and class number. Then, the principal of the school made a speech. He thanked me for attending (and presumably, for lending my local celebrity status to the event) and remarked that he hoped I had learned something about Japanese culture. He asked the first graders if they had fun playing and if they looked forward to playing again next year (only about half of them raised their hands). He then told the sixth graders that this final karuta match marked the beginning of the end of their elementary school career (as the school year here ends in March). He went on for a bit about how this was the end of one journey but the beginning of another and assured them that they were well prepared for what lie ahead. Things used to be so much simpler, didn’t they?

Snow Country

The other day I woke up to what you see in the pictures above and below. Good thing I live in the part of Aomori that "doesn't get much snow," huh?

On the Origins of Randoseru and the Once Proud Prussian Army

Since December, I've noticed little stations popping up in malls and shopping centers all over the place, selling what appear to be the exact same children's backpacks. What's surprising is not the plain-looking backpacks themselves but rather, their price tags, which range from $200 to upwards of $500 USD. My first thought was that there must be something incredibly advanced about them, like a built-in GPS system or some sort of tracking device. Under closer inspection, however, they appeared to be nothing more than plain-old backpacks. Well, in that case, no one must buy them, right? That's when I noticed that every single kid at my elementary schools has one.

As it turns out, these "backpacks" are actually called randoseru, a loan word based on the dutch ransel. Like many other aspects of the Japanese school system, randoseru traces it's roots back to 19th century European military practices:

It seems that the randoseru's origin can be traced back to the haino, a cloth knapsack for soldiers that was introduced-along with Western-style armies into Japan late in the Edo Period. A similar type of military bag was called ransel in Dutch, and these military satchels came to be called randoseru in Japan.

During the last great (internally-mandated) education reform initiative, which occurred shortly after the Meiji restoration of 1868, the Japanese national government attempted to modernize the school system using Europe as the blueprint. As per the trend in the West, new middle and high school uniforms were based on military designs; this was seen as a way to introduce military-style discipline into the classroom. Thus, boys were outfitted in the black uniform of the Prussian army and girls donned the sailor suit of the Royal British Navy. It was also around this time that the Dutch army ransel was adopted as the official backpack-black for boys and red for girls.

Anyone who's ever set foot in a Japanese school knows that unlike in Europe, most of these traditions haven't changed since the 19th century. Virtually all Japanese students still wear military uniforms and many middle and high schools still perform military-style drills in the mornings (exercise routines, standing and marching in formation, etc.). The randoseru persists to this day as well, although it has been passed down to elementary schoolers. Apparently, they became popular items for the younger crowd in the 1950s, during the early years of Japan's miraculous economic recovery. Nowadays, tradition holds that grandparents generally buy randoseru for new first graders-an act that symbolizes their entrance into the formal education system. Although the new school year doesn’t begin until April, randoseru booths are already reminding parents and grandparents of their obligatory investment.

That only leaves one question unanswered: why on earth are these things so damned expensive? The only answers I could turn up are that they're designed to last through all six years of elementary school and they're often made of real leather. While that's not really a sufficient explanation for why a backpack should cost $500, if I started getting into why things in Japan are so expensive in general, I could probably fill up a whole webpage.

Punks In The Beerlight

When Ryan emailed me on Friday to inform me that he had spent his Thursday night (or "college night" as they've taken to calling it in Misawa) getting his drink on, I was anything but surprised. I was surprised, however, when he informed me that he had discovered an establishment that not only served German beer but also offered a ¥600 nomihoudai. With images of Paulaners, Weihenstephaners and Ayingers dancing through my head like so many sugar plums, I insisted that we return that very night. Naturally, Ryan was not adverse to this idea.

Well, as it so turns out, the beer served at this establishment was not one of my old favorites but rather, the oddly-named Pfungstadter Edel Pils Premium. Having not heard of it before, I quickly (and presumptiously) determined from it's unremarkable taste that it must be the German equivalent of Budweiser. Regardless, any non-Japanese beer was a welcome break from the skunky norm. Since then, a little research has revealed that Pfungstadter is actually a very popular beer that is generally not sold outside of Germany and has a fairly long brewing history. Unfortunately, there doesn't appear to be much information available on Pfungstadter in English, as it is widely unavailable in the English-speaking world. Perhaps resident German expert "anonomom" can shed some light on the topic in the comments?
The place also had an interesting "sitting dish": shrimp. After making a royal mess of trying to eat one (and noticing that the people at the next table were staring at me), I decided that these creatures were best left in the porcelain bowl from whence they came.
SHAMLESS PLUG ALERT: While offensive blogger (and occasional offensive commentator) Ryan is undoubtedly a terrible person, he also lives a double life as an international man of charity. His latest project will take him to Papua New Guinea in May where he will be building low-income housing with Habitat for Humanity. In addition, he is attempting to raise £300 in donations for Habitat's Papua New Guinea affiliate. I'm sure that if you choose to contribute, he will be as joyful as in the photograph above and possibly as inebriated.

A Voyage to Lilliput

Perhaps you've noticed that I've never posted any photos of myself teaching on here. That's because I'm too busy teaching to photograph myself, idiot. Anyhow, many of you will recall that I traveled to a local day-care center a few weeks ago to take part in their mochi tsuki ceremony. Okubo-San accompanied me that day and she took a few snapshots of me playing with the children. Well, she presented me with copies of the photos the other day, so I've decided to post some of the best ones here. While I didn't really teach any sort of structured lesson that day, these pictures should give you some idea of what I normally do at the kindergarten. It's funny, until I saw these photos, I had no idea how almost Gulliver-like I look amongst small children.

Should I Stay Or Should I Go

Oh, the times, they are a changin'. At work today, Okubo-San revealed to me the master plan for the coming year. With the impending merger looming just over the horizon, the Momoishi board of education is in for some big changes. First off, we're not only going to combine with the Shimoda board of education, we're also going to be moving to Momoishi town hall. The new Oirase-Cho board of education is set to include myself, Charlie Mac, Kondoh Kacho (my supervisor), Baba-San and two people from Shimoda whose names I didn't recognize. Resident English expert and my occasional savior, Yayoi-San, will be moving to another office. And Okubo-San, sadly, will be leaving us altogether. It turns out that she was only a temporary employee and her two-year contract will expire in March. As such, she asked me that dreaded question: if I was ready to turn in my re-contracting form yet.

While the JET program is essentially a one-year program, if "the Contracting Organization and the JET participant agree...it is possible to re-contract for another year". While this sounds tenuous, the truth of the matter is that unless you prove yourself to be horribly incompetent or somehow demented, your supervisor will be crossing his fingers that you choose to stay, if only to save himself from the expense and paperwork involved with procuring a replacement. It is possible to stay for up to three years under normal circumstances and in some cases, even up to five.

Now here's the problem: I haven't made up my mind yet. When I initially arrived here, I was almost positive that I would do at least two years but my priorities and goals have changed since then and moving out to D.C. is looking like an increasingly attractive proposition. On the other hand, the JET program affords me any number of great opportunities that I know I will never have again if I choose not to re-contract. As good as my situation in Momoishi has been, I do get the feeling that after one year, I will have seen most of what there is to be seen in the vicinity. Or maybe I'm completely wrong? Perhaps I've only scratched the surface?

Well, I was pretty sure that it was going to come down to a coin-toss on February 3rd, the day of the printed deadline, but Okubo-San has given me a new deadline: January 25th. Which means that I'll have to make sure to bring a 100 yen coin with me to work next Thursday. Feel free to chime in with your opinion in the comments, I'll be sure not to take it into consideration.

Burning Down The House

Some of you may recall me having a laugh at the expense of Ryan back in October, when he foolishly tried to dry a wet shirt by placing it on his kerosene heater. Well schadenfreude fans rejoice: the karma police have finally caught up with me (and no, I'm not referring to my performance at karaoke this past weekend that incited such comments as "go through puberty").

This morning, my alarm went off at 7:25 am, like it always does. I rolled over in bed and hit the snooze button, like I always do. As I started to sink back into the arms of sleep, I could feel my nostrils filling with the scent of burning popcorn like they alw-oh wait. That's when I sat bolt upright in bed and noticed that my room was full of smoke. After muttering a string of expletives and opening up all my windows to the frigid Aomori morn, I returned to my room and to the following sight.
Now, you must be asking yourself, how could a reasonably intelligent person allow such a thing to happen? Well, it's kind of a long story. My apartment, like most in Japan, has only one gas heater, located in my tatami living room. Since Japanese homes don't usually include either central heating or insulation, my bedroom (on the other side of the apartment) becomes completely uninhabitable during the winter months. To alleviate this problem, I purchased a small electric space-heater a few months ago. Any number of official JET pamphlets warned me that leaving such a device on overnight was a fire hazard but I figured that as long as I was extra careful, I would be able to use it to heat my bedroom at night.

Well, I've been using this thing all winter and let me tell you, it's made my life infinitely more comfortable. The only problem is that as it has become steadily colder, the heater has become less effective. That's when it hit me-I could make myself warmer by moving the heater closer to the bed! Now, before you point out what a stupid idea this was, let me remind you that when the inside of your house regularly drops down to about -6º C/20º F, any opportunity to make yourself warmer is generally seized with little thought. It's also possible that, as per the laws of kinetics, the cold temperatures have caused the neurons in my brain to fire more slowly.

Well, I had learned my lesson and by some extraordinary stroke of luck, had not died in the process. But there was still the small matter of the ruined throw. Let's zoom in for closer analysis:
Luckily, I was able to fix the throw the same way that I solve all of life's problems: by covering it up with duct tape. If you think I'm just being funny, I would recommend that you look up the current inhabitants of apartment number two at 5412 Woodlawn Ave. in Chicago, who may or may not have discovered that one of their bedroom walls is actually constructed out of duct tape and is merely painted to look like a wall.
The truth of the matter is that the throw was here when I moved in to the apartment, which means that it's property of the board of education which means that I will eventually have to replace it. However, until payday rolls around, this will have to do. Remember children:

Beyond Thunderdome

If you asked me to make a list of things that I miss most about America, seeing live music would probably be pretty close to the top of the list, along with decent cheeseburgers, central heating and the English language. During the glory days of Chicago’s Fireside Bowl (R.I.P), I probably averaged about two shows a week and always made time to see music, often at the expense of sleeping. Even growing up in small-town Wisconsin we always had some sort of homegrown scene, born almost certainly out of necessity. I fondly remember spending my middle-school Friday nights religiously attending battle of the bands at the local YMCA with Adam Kacala (with whom I jointly purchased a Sex Pistols record in the 7th grade, unbeknownst to our parents) where the only competition that really mattered was who could play the loudest. Later on, people somehow started convincing smaller touring acts to stop in Racine. In particular, I remember seeing Calvin Johnson, The Microphones and Mirah playing to a crowd of maybe a few dozen kids at most, almost none of who had even heard of Beat Happening. I remember thinking to myself at the time, “This is the guy that Kurt Cobain worshipped?”

So, as you might imagine, moving to Momoishi has required a change of pace with regards to seeing bands. While larger cities like Tokyo have a thriving music scene, more rural areas of Japan seem void of any discernable youth culture. This is probably due to the mass exodus of twenty-somethings to the likes of Tokyo, Osaka and Sapporo; there just isn’t an audience in a place like Aomori to support rock venues. I’ve heard it said that when independent Japanese bands want to play shows, they simply make the trek down to Tokyo, regardless of where in the country they’re from, because most of them can’t book shows anywhere in their area. While I’m not ruling out the possibility that I’m just not “in the know,” I’d like to think that if there was a place to see music regularly, I would have heard something about it by now.

Anyhow, a few months ago, a poster appeared in my office for an event called “Momo De Live”. It featured a bunch of thugged-out looking dudes talking on cell phones, superimposed on an image of Momoishi’s statue of liberty. I didn’t recognize the names of any of the DJs listed on the flyer but I was determined to go anyway, just to see what people were up to around here-at the very least, it promised to be funny. Well, I ended up completely forgetting about it until Matt told me recently that a high-profile DJ had made an appearance there, apparently playing one of his only gigs outside of Tokyo. Then, when I was at Jammin’ during Halloween, I found out that Momo De Live is regarded as being the premiere music event in Aomori. That’s right, the biggest event of the year was in my tiny town and I missed it.

So, when Matt called me up a few weeks ago to let me know that he had caught wind of an “Amateur Music Festival” in nearby Iwate prefecture, I knew that we couldn’t miss it. The flyer listed styles as diverse as rock, J-pop, folk, A cappella, fusion and dance so it seemed likely that there would be at least one act worth seeing. Thus, on Sunday afternoon, Myself, Matt and Ryan (who is so easily coerced into getting into a stranger’s car that it doesn’t even require the expenditure of candy) headed out for Ichinohe, located just past Aomori’s southeastern border with Iwate prefecture.

After what seemed like hours of driving behind characteristically slow Kei-trucks, we finally arrived in Ichinohe and immediately set to searching out sweet lady rock. Unfortunately for us, the local community center proved quite elusive, especially because the city map posted outside of the train station (which Matt characterized as looking like it was “drawn by the kids at the elementary school”) was less than helpful. We then decided to simply drive around the town, looking for something resembling a cultural center. While driving down the main drag, we spotted some substantial-looking buildings in the distance, so we decided to head down a side street in order to investigate. We soon found ourselves caught in a maze of snowy hills, trying in vain to head in the general direction of an imposing blue dome that loomed on the horizon but blocked at every turn by dead ends.

When, at long last, we appeared to be heading in the right direction, calamity struck and half of my car ended up careening into a ditch while we were headed up a snowy hill. Matt and Ryan took turns pushing and directing the vehicle while I operated the machinery from within the cabin. The car was eventually able to wrest itself free but not before a man, a small dog and a police officer had gathered at the foot of the hill to curiously observe the spectacle of three foreigners trying to figure out how to get a car out of a ditch.
By the time we finally arrived at the cultural center (which turned out to be the blue dome that we had been heading towards), we had missed more than half of the festival. Although we knew we were in the right place, it sure didn’t seem like it. There were only middle-aged people standing around near the entrance (none of who were smoking), we couldn’t hear any music and we had to change into slippers before entering the building. Still, having never been to a rock show in Japan, we didn’t really know what to expect, so we pressed on. We eventually reached the auditorium where we were greeted by the following:
Meet SuPi★Ka, a “J-Pop” band from Hachinohe. Characterizing them as J-Pop is a little misleading though, it was more like “Two guys playing horrendously out of tune guitars, fronted by a woman who was not a very good singer”. I’m not sure what genre that would fall under, maybe freak-folk? At any rate, we sat through their cringe-worthy performance, hoping that the next act, a rock band called “The Brave,” would deliver the goods.
Now the last time I checked, the word “rock” didn’t normally include sensitive singer-songwriter types like this guy but if I understood him correctly, his band couldn’t make it or something? So I guess he decided that the next best thing would be to replace them with (unintentionally) cheesy, MIDI-quality orchestration and beats. What’s more, he was visibly very nervous and didn’t seem to be putting any effort into his singing. I understand what he was going for and I don’t think that the idea was necessarily ill conceived but the execution left a lot to be desired. Had he been more graceful he might have stood closer to his peer Shugo Tokumaru but instead he came across like a self-conscious Dashboard Confessional with a Casio.
Okay, well, at least they saved the best for last, right? I guess so, if we assume “best” to be a relative term. 荒谷正勝社中 (in the rough valley of Masakatsu?) are a so-called folk band from Takisawa who have been playing since 1978. As you might imagine, they’ve become rather comfortable on stage during the last three decades, so they were well equipped to deal with the small child behind us who decided to vocally protest the band’s snooze-worthy songwriting. Realizing that a good percentage of his audience was nodding off, the bandana-sporting frontman attempted to recapture our interest by talking for a really long time in-between songs (at this point I leaned over to Ryan and said “I thought this was a music festival, not a talking festival”).
When it appeared at long last that the folk band was done (I swear, they said “This is really our last song” before each of their last three songs), they brought out all the performers on stage for what appeared to be some “We Are the World” style Kumbaya shit.
The reality of the situation was far worse. Instead of “Kumbaya,” they sang “Amazing Grace”. Now, of course, Mr. Bandana didn’t know the actual English words, so he instead substituted the following lyrics, which I can only assume he penned himself:

Ahhh Ahhhh
Ahhh Ahhhh
Ahhh Ahhhh
Ahhh Ahhhh
Ahhh Ahhhh
Ahhh Ahhhh
Ahhhhhh Ahhhhhh!

It still makes me shudder just thinking about it.
After finally escaping from the “music” festival, we returned to Matt’s native Nambu-Cho (the artist formerly known as Nambu-Machi) and dined at Megu, the coffee shop/Italian restaurant down the block from Matt’s house. Thanks to their policy of playing only 50s and 60s pop, our eardrums were able to recuperate from events prior. Consider this a warning: I’m not sure what they equivalent of “amateur” is in Japanese but it apparently means that something really sucks.

Roman Holiday

After what seems like a long hiatus, I’m finally back in my natural habitat: sitting at my desk and staring at a 12-inch screen for eight hours while various people scramble around me like worker bees, answering phones, bowing to each other and thanking visitors profusely. The New Year has been a bit of a whirlwind thus far, as my father came to visit me for two days immediately after I returned from my own vacation (hint: he’s the short, Japanese grandpa on the left who looks suspiciously like Superintendent Komata). While two days might seem like a short trip, he was going to be passing through Japan on his way back to America from Sri Lanka and figured that he might as well stop in for a short visit. I was initially a bit nervous about his coming for a variety of reasons, the foremost being that he would be the very first visitor I would entertain since moving here in July. Had he visited under more temperate conditions I probably could have devised a whole schedule of things to see in the area but as it’s the dead of winter, I was at a bit of a loss. Luckily, I was able to rely on the helpfulness and local expertise of my co-workers.

Despite the extremely confusing nature of the Tokyo subway system (even though I’m able to read some Japanese, I’ve spent many a minute staring at station maps and scratching my head), my father somehow made it from Narita to Tokyo station, where he hopped a shinkansen to Hachinohe on Tuesday morning. He wisely purchased a Japan Rail Pass prior to his arrival, thereby saving a fair amount of money on travel expenses. I picked him up at the station just after noon and after dropping off his bags at my apartment, we went out for sushi. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much activity at my favorite kaiten place, so we had to settle for the mall’s inferior Kappa sushi. On the way there, I received a call from Okubo-San, who inquired as to when we would be stopping by the office.

When we arrived at the office, we were quickly ushered into the meeting room (which is generally only used for distinguished guests), where we had coffee with the Superintendent, Supervisor Nakamura (from the office next door to mine, first from the right in the photo) and this guy who is in charge of school lunches. My supervisor had to go to Tokyo due to a family emergency, so Nakamura Kacho had stepped in to take responsibility of my dad as a guest. While some might have found it annoying that my co-workers essentially “hijacked” my dad’s trip, I was more than happy to have their guidance, being that I am new to the area. When they asked me to ask him what he was interested in, he replied that he would like to see some Buddhist temples. I told that to them and added that I planned to take him to an onsen. Although I was really planning to go to the fabled Asamushi Onsen (near Aomori City), I lied and said that I was going somewhere nearby, knowing that they would forbid me to drive so far. After a few minutes of debate, they eventually decided not only that Misawa’s Komaki Onsen would be the best choice but that it was also “Japan number one”. While I appreciate their concern for my safety, I do find it slightly demeaning that they seem to think that I can be tricked as easily as if I were five years old. You can tell me that you’ve “got [my] nose” all you want but I will probably not believe you.

At any rate, Nakamura Kacho immediately ushered us over to Momoishi’s newest attraction, the Shogi Museum, which they opened up especially for us (it was closed for the holidays, I think). While this place is boring even for me (imagine a museum about chess, where you can barely read or understand anything, including the rules of the game), they sent one of the guys from the office to give us a guided tour, which I attempted to translate for my father. He seemed to think that it was pretty interesting, so I suppose it was time well spent.

After that, Supervisor Nakamura ushered us into his car and drove us to a nearby Buddhist temple. I didn’t even know that there was a temple in Momoishi to begin with, so it was a real treat to be given the royal treatment and shown around by one of the monks in residence. The temple apparently dates back to the Meiji period, so it is likely a hundred years old, if not older. For such a small temple it possessed a surprising amount of interesting artwork, including ornate woodcarvings, statues of Kannon, Amida and various bodhisattvas and two very old-looking scroll paintings; one featuring a depiction of hell and another of Amida and his retainers cold chillin’ in the Western Paradise (like those used by pure-land Buddhists when chanting the nembutsu). Out of curiosity, I asked the monk how old the paintings were but he said that it was not known. Before we left, they even invited us into an area where laypeople are usually not allowed in order for us to appreciate the woodcarvings on the ceiling. Nakamura Kacho was quite excited about this, telling me that he has been going to this temple his whole life yet had never seen these carvings before.

Following our visit to the temple, we traveled all the way to the Komaki Onsen in Misawa. My father had never been to an onsen before, so I’m sure he felt some level of apprehension about disrobing in front of and bathing with complete strangers. Regardless, he seemed to really enjoy it and chimed on about how he had enjoyed an “authentic Japanese experience”. Komaki is really nice for an indoor onsen; modeled after Lake Towada, it aims to recreate many of that vista’s waterfalls and landmarks in an artificial setting. Unlike other onsens I’ve been to, it only had two large pools: a hot one and a really fucking hot one (“This is much hotter than a whirlpool,” my dad was heard to remark). If I understood correctly, they actually pump water from a natural hot spring into the building, along with water from the Oirase river.

Afterwards, Nakamura-San walked us around the huge onsen complex (which featured four hotels, a number of restaurants and myriad gift shops) before treating us to a huge dinner of washoku, a traditional Japanese-style meal that consists of a number of small dishes served together on a platter. I’m sure that I’ve forgotten something but from what I recall there was sashimi, grilled squid, yakiniku-style clams with vegetables, some sort of egg dish and an oyster soup. All of it was delicious and Kacho insisted that we wash it down with my father’s favorite Nippon libation, warm sake.

The next day, after showing my dad the local sights (i.e. the mall), we met Baba-San at the office at half-past five for the official welcome dinner. We ended up going to what was described to me as a Japanese home-style restaurant. It was a tiny place in Momoishi’s bar district (although this “district” would probably be better described as a street about one-fourth the size of a city block) that was just barely able to accommodate those of us in attendance. As is the standard for Japanese parties, they ordered about three times as much food as was needed and ensured that drinks flowed freely. As my father expressed an interest in sake, they made sure that we cracked open every bottle in the place, working our way up from the standard house sake to the upper reaches of the top-shelf. The pinnacle was a limited run sake of which only 100 bottles were produced right here in Momoishi. As an almost superfluous sign of quality, it had real gold flakes suspended in it (a la Goldschläger). Were I the type to jest, I might remark that this particular sake represented a “gold standard”. Luckily, my disposition is such that I will make no such claim for the sake of a joke.

All in all, the visit seems to have been a rousing success. My father felt as if he was able to see a lot in his two short days here and was also able to eat a lot of good food that neither of us paid for. It is also somewhat serendipitous that we were led around by Nakamura Kacho, as he is much warmer and friendlier than my own, generally stoic, supervisor. In conclusion, you are all now welcome to come and visit me in Momoishi although it’s worth noting that floor space is limited and will be distributed on a first-come first-serve basis. Additionally, the drinking of any liquor that may be in my possession is strictly prohibited.

Contrast and Compare

Upon returning to Momoishi a few days ago, I couldn't help but feel slightly taken aback by the amount of snow on the ground. Granted, the average yearly snowfall here is probably about the same as, if not less than, that of Chicago. However, when juxtaposed with snow-free Tokyo, it makes quite an impression. This gave me an idea-wouldn't it be neat to compare photos of Momoishi in January with photos of the same locations taken in the summer and fall in order to observe how the landscape has changed? I sure thought so.

Back in Black

Hello? Is this thing on? Well, I just flew in from Tokyo and boy are my arms tired! Heh, anyhow, I'm officially back and ready to dust off this old blog and get down to business. Coming soon in oh six: a full-review of my new robotic maid, a comprehensive guide to schoolgirl undergarment vending machines and an exclusive interview with Mothra. Okay, that was all a lie. But I will probably talk about Japan and stuff. Until then, enjoy some photographs from my enigmatic trip to Monster Island.