Beaten up at Bananas

I came into the room like Sal Paradise into some beat crash pad to get over workaday blues and prepare for party goofs with the JET crew and… GOD damn if there wasn’t the most beautiful girl in that old room. She had more than a cute new face. It was like she had just been dropped off into the universe and was ready to, as Jack said, “take on new worlds with a shrug”. My word! Such a lively face—lithe even—yeah that’s an appropriate description. And and and not the kind of beautiful that’s like, “huh, yeah I guess she is real cute", like a whitewashed Dave Brubeck song. Rather this girl's being was like the ripping tearing straight-to-the-organs kind of beauty of John Coltrane whacked out of his gourd steaming out of control in “A Love Supreme”. And her eyes!! Even the most detached of Bodhisattvas' old heart would skip a beat sending him back into the hellish realms of desire and worldly attachment with just a look. Wonderful to see. I thought to myself, with all that’s rotten in this world there are and will aways be beautiful girls right around every corner.

Anyways the charm (and she was charming, too) of this girl was not lost on old Randy Brownstone who, believe you me, when he gets air of a beautiful girl is a thing to see. Childlike and smooth if making her was a possibility, even a remote one, he was there doing it all the right way. He reminded me of Dean in On The Road but without the madness and Benzedrine. When there was a girl like this in the room Rich ...er.. Randy was really in his Buddha nature. Unlike me, who unwisely turns to juice and tequila joy, ole’ Randy B stays on target. Never flustered. He’s a sight to behold!


I was deep in juice joy and running around digging the whole scene. We’d all be lying if we said we weren’t looking forward to it! Rashaan Roland Kirk wrote a poem about how great a particular crowd was because the patrons didn’t look like Saturday night people. He said that “Some people only go out on Saturday night; and they act like it.” And for all my midweek goofs in my college days, and all my drunken motorcycle rides, we couldn’t deny that we were defiantly Saturday night people.

And there I was, a part of the whole thing. I was genki as a yellow cap kid kicking stones on the walk from school, and I was listening to some gone Japanese girl dressed up as an angel talk about something I didn’t really know about, or maybe I was telling a story about some mindless adventure I’d had, or wanted to have. Either way, while she wrote on my hand, I looked up and saw the people.

The people!

People who had been real go-outers in far away homes in New Zealand, England, and all points around the English speaking world have been cooped up in the suit guglag that is the education system here or in any town in any country really. But we were without even a same-speaker to have giggles and glad talk with at work.

There were cats there who looked like they just came from some long lost Kansas or, say, Garden State, farm, let lose for what seemed to be the first time no longer with their good looking and faithful boyfriends waiting and worrying at home. Pretty much everyone earnestly looking for companionship. Most hadn't discounted the chance of sex and were all fumbling and gyrating (some stone sober even! God! how?!). Everyone with great gusto and biological sense of purpose. The whole scene was like the freshman dorm scene played out ad infinium across the middleclass-isphere.

And the people!

By this point I was well lit, and tried to get into conversations with beautiful girls all dressed in fancy East Coast degrees, but addled with my juice joy it all come out weird. It was if they knew all my faults and bad habits already and I babbled on incoherently. As I asked pointless questions and in response got back the WTFinstant message faces that I more then deserved. Had I been out here in isolated Kamiichi to long to properly communicate effectively with the future leaders of tomorrow? It appeared I had. Later in recounting the night, I guess others had the same experiences, getting the same rejecting faces, so I didn’t feel that bad. But as it usually does luck was to shine on me again…

This new groovy cat from far away Philadelphia’s was lucky enough to have a birthday that night. I liked him because he seemed honest and terrific and we'd been on a great rip though Tokyo. Before I knew it we were hit by the proprietor of this crazy bar with 4 birthday plastic cup fingers of plastic bottle tequila that sent my mind back to Sharkees of all the bars in Santa Barbara.

Oh man! I was fully right back there in Sharkees looking at a totally different set of people. Back in skanky old Sharkees, and me in jeans and t-shirt sadness looking though booze eyes at the storied women of California shanking their hips like a hurricane all while trying to avoid eyecontact with me. Was I really was the broke square that I saw myself as at the time? But I'd come out of my selfloathing soon enough and I was really just there to hang out with Chris and Rob and tell stories of the days' waves ridden, and how they’d gotten tired of hearing overhearing the gay sex in the apartment above and moved out, or other such bar talk. And as corny as it sounds, every conversation was really just a celebration of being young and enjoying the weird freedom we’d half deserved and half had just fallen into.

But I wasn’t there anymore. I was back in Uozu with Florence who was having herself a good time in the thick of it all to. She’s amazing, an honest woman, riding that fine-zen-line between feminist and feminine, able to get what she wanted and do it all her way. I dig her, I think she’s terrific. “Cool” doesn’t even suffice for her she’s something else. She was more than that. She'd best described by some adjective not yet percolated into the vernacular of the middleclass children playing Peter Pan games far from home. Anyways we talked and gossiped about the course of this night… natural and silly as always. Like two zen monks throwing bananas at each other, only we were at Bananas (that was the name of the bar) and not throwing them.

Somewhere in the pheromone fog of the place I was thinking of those that weren’t there. TokyoPUA was surely up in some Shibuya ward playing cool games at night with adventurous local girls looking for a laugh and something different. He would always write to me about regretting his wild actions the morning after. I don’t really believe that he's sorry for his actions, the relenting that is, but he was out there in the mix being really kinetic and I loved him for that.

Another group that didn’t make it was the too cool for that crowd. But we’ll let the melancholy Chet Baker, “they’re singing songs of love but not for me” crowd be. Some simply had to work the next day and stayed in, these are the same type of people that never get second notices from the bill man.

Then there were the others that I missed, that had escaped Neverland (not THAT Neverland) and went home for even fancier degrees and realjobs to show their proud grandfathers when they gather around for Thanksgiving or Sunday roast. We missed them greatly! Lastly we missed the brave adventurers who left the handholding world of the English teacher in Japan for journeys into to Tibet and other far out places on the Earth. These who truly let it all hang out deserve praises.

Anyways, the people at this great party were like the beatniks of the 50s. We were the outsiders of the community. We were seen as wild and unruly, but in a romantic, and lonely way. We were the free living in the midst of self-imposed worker bees who had sadly long forgotten the meaning of Saturday night. We didn’t think of ourselves as being at the bottom of the totem pole of ancient Confucian hierarchy, but rather the dumb drunk bastards dancing around it. Anyways... I’m getting rather carried away here.

Within an amount of time, I was sitting on the ground with back to the wall listening to the loveletter-life of Dorthey and Toto (the symbolism was not lost on me) thinking about her sweetheart at home and they way they were. I was far too long gone to try and be cool (ha) , and just wanted to listen and hear what she had to say (no, ulterior motives) when the lights went on at the club…

The show was over, and it was off to stage two, where it was all jamming to the beat, but I was done and had to work the next day so I went back to the apartment where I saw that amazing girl a few hours and God only knows how many tequila sunrises before. But she was gone, as girls like that usually are, and I folded the futon down, laid down and tried play Stan Getz and Oscar Peterson bop jazz in my tired brain’s jukebox and get to sleep. But I was not alone there. I talked half awake, though mostly listened really, to the wild and, to be honest, fairly raunchy stories of a wild Southerner doing things that I couldn’t even arrange in my head properly. It was all beautiful, and I must have passed out while she was talking, but like most nights like this the last thing I thought about was that Jake Kerouac poem that I carried around in that mupple head of mine:

“Man exists in milk and his rancorous music takes place in honey and creamy emptiness.”

Short term goals revisited. Long term goals posted.

Short term goals revisited

1.) Fix the fucking shirt. Done and done! Total time spent 2 minutes.

2.) Go to a museum. Check! Went to Kyoto castle (which is like a museum), the Golden Temple, Silver Temple, and walked around a bunch of Japanese gardens, which is also like a museum.

3.) Stop eating chocolate. Well unfortunately my parents know that I have the chocolate cravings of a pregnant woman so they went to Costco and bought a huge box of Toblerone. Fortunately they bought the Halloween style individually wrapped type, perfect for giving as omiyage (small gifts given to coworkers when you go on vacation). So I was able to get rid of the chocolate and butter up my teachers.

4.) Haircut. Done and done!

5.) Give Kakuda more slack. Although this woman can hardly breathe, she is in the full employ of the Japanese government as a teacher in a language she can barely speak. Therefore I have to do most of the planning for all of her classes. Last week was especially bad. I had about 3 minutes notice to plan and teach lessons for her. Of course I didn’t make a big deal about it, but she does kind of bug me. So if there was a fail for the week it was this.

6.) Download more reggae. Big success here, I scored a Toots and the Maytals album that rules. Funky Kingston is especially groovy and their Country Roads cover is fantastic. I also downloaded Bob’s Babylon by Bus, which has some pretty good stuff on it as well. At this point it’s safe to say that I’ll be forever loving Jah.

7.) Less Sorry more thank you. This is pretty hard to measure, but while my mom and granddad were out here I said a lot of Thank Yous, had had little reason to say I’m sorry.

Conclusion: damn writing stuff down is pretty useful…So now it’s time for some longer term goals.

1.) Live in a big city for at least a year. I’m a small city person in my heart, but I have to give it a try.
2.) Masters degree by 30 a frightening close 4 years away, if I can swing this one, I can consider the whole Asian experience will be a sojourn rather then a debacle.
3.) Smoke pot with Bob Dylan. Might have to wait until heaven, but…
4.) Write the great American novel. I don’t really need to publish it, but the whole process would be sweet.
5.) Do a 540 on a snowboard and land it.
6.) Ride a 15-20 foot wave. My biggest yet is about 12 feet, and I still get jittery thinking about it.
7.) Rob an armored car…without firing a shot, give the money away anonymously.
8.) Ride my bike across the US.
9.) Finish the Pacific Crest Trail. I’ve done the hardest part already (John Muir Trail) and the rest is pretty much below the tree line. Peace of cake.
10.) Make and bottle my own wine.
11.) Build a deck and Adirondack chair out of wood without nails or screws
12.) Get tenured at a college before 45.
13.) Take care of my mom and dad when they get old.
14.) Rescue somebody from a life or death situation.
15.) Do a triathlon.
16.) Learn to play the saxophone.
17.) Sell a piece of art that I made to a stranger.
18.) Learn to sail. Buy a boat. Live on it.

Love and family? That shit's totally out of my control…

Short term goals. (boring)

I've hear a lot lately that if you write something down your more likely to accomplish what you want to do. I think that if my friends and family, not to mention some of cute girls, read it that will just make it even more likely to happen. So here's the short term list:

1). Fix the button on my orange shirt. It’s old, out of fashion, and a bit worn out but I’m loyal to that shirt, I have the string, I have the time, I have the button. Fix the fucking shirt.

2) Go to a museum, buy the t-shirt. If you can’t remember the last museum you went to, you’re a philistine, it's just that simple. Plus talking about museums in far away places is pretty cool. I guess I went to a small art gallery in Tokyo a couple weeks ago, but it's different. I still I gotta go to a museum. My mom and my grandpa are in Osaka this weekend, anybody know a good museum there?

3) Stop eating so much goddamn chocolate. I’m relapsing. I read somewhere that crack dealers do their best business in autumn.

4) Speaking of relapse, I need get a haircut. I look like teenwolf again.

5) Give Kakuda-sensei more slack. She’s trying her best.

6) Download more reggae. Winter’s right around the corner.

7) Less ‘sorries’ more ‘thank you’s’.

Seven will do.

A Fine Balance

Rohinton Mistry wrote a fantastic book (it’s on Oprah’s book club incidentally) about revolutionary-era India called ‘A Fine Balance.’ On the cover of the book, a young girl is holding on to the steeple of some tall building with a somewhat worried look on her face. Throughout the story the protagonist is pretty much constantly dangling above a precipice of loneliness and despair. She’s trying desperately to hang on to whatever she can get her hands on.

It’s not like being shipped off to the Western Front or anything, but the first few months on JET you're definatly disoriented. You have pretty much no idea what is going on, how to teach, what that sign says, who is cool, or even what food is edible. The teachers around you are just trying to make sure your not a drug addicted ax murder let alone a teacher. Everyday is a mad goof of trying to find that fine balance in the neon jello that is Japanese culture without falling off the steeple.

Of course as things settle down they start to make more sense. You start to live here mentally instead of in some schizophrenic halfway point between Japan and home (Hawaii?). Before you know it the first year is over and the funeral procession of your non-recontracting friends begins. One by one you sherpa your friends luggage to the station, saying that you’ll meet up in London, Denver, or Melbourne. The balance of life that you found bit by bit as a first year finally tips over. You find yourself back where you started. It becomes all too clear that you’ve resigned yourself to an “I’m going to stay home and study” hermit attitude.

OK now I’m going switch into first person. After all this is a blog, and due to its bloggy nature it has to be narcissistic. Richard told me that people don’t like to hear that things are going well on blogs and that it just makes people sick. But that’s just because he’s British. So damn it, this is going to be positive! So if you wanna read me slag off Japan just scroll down, there’s plenty of that going on here, too.

Because I’m not really the otaku type, I’m 26, and I’m ready to be Drifter Senior grade, I decided I was going to be an academic hermit instead of a Japanese language hermit. I got started on some postgraduate work in international relations, which is becoming increasingly interstesting because my focus is on East Asian politics (Korean nukes) and South East Asian politics (Thai coups). A long nerdbook a week as got my academic neurological webs lit up for the first time since I graduated 4 long years ago.

I also started working out regularly for the first time since doing jujitsu with Jake last year. I don’t know if I’m actually getting stronger, or leaner, but the endorphins rushing around my brain make me feel stoned without the foggy side effects and the sketchy dealers. Actually the girl at Nakamura Sports is pretty sketchy. Anyways, I work out in the mornings before work. I haven’t gotten up early since the morning surf sessions ages ago, and it feels good to get up early and get things going. Instead of the drunkerd, I feel like a productive member of society. The real test of my tenacity will come with the first snows…

Socially I was ready to just say fuck it and stay home all the time. I’d made my friends already, I didn’t need anymore. I just needed a drinking buddy (Francie), a ride to the slopes in the winter (Richard), and stalwart Devin to hold down Tokyo for the occasional superbender. For the first few weeks into being a second year things looked pretty bleak for the go-outers. Toyama’s finest late night squad had been globally dissolved, replaced by stable couple’s and nondrinkers. Not to say that that is a bad thing, I just know I need the company of gonzo all-nighters who consistently opt for one more adventure before the crows of remorse circle above my doorstep.

…then we had Welcome Weekend. There was some definite second year bonding: Shoulders to cry on. Stories retold. Faces that no longer looked like the faces of the bright eyed and bushie tailed. We’d developed the thousand tatami stare, able to teethsuck and headtilt their way out of even the most outlandish Kyoto-sensei request. Juxtaposed with the unfamiliar new English speaking strangers (who might have been ax murders), I saw a lot of 2nd years in a new light. A better, cooler light.

That’s not to say that the new folks aren’t cool. Most of them I just don’t know yet. BC, Niko, and I had a nosleep mad tear through Tokyo and had some fairly fantastic adventures (on bridges, with a helmet). Way out in distant Tonami the mostly first year crew laid out a fine, albeit slightly krunky, party. So, I guess it’s like the Grateful Dead said, “once in a while you get shown the light in the strangest of places if you look at it right.”

So this second year has not been a descent into delusional loneliness, but rather a new and fine balance of academic pursuits, health kicks, and a mixed social life. So with a firm and manly will we embrace a second year in the karma Toyama. What will happen!

Jake's Survey

Ok so Jake is a snob and sent me this survey I added a few questions, but think it's pretty damn good as far as myspace surveys go.

1) What is your spirit animal?
The Pacific Pelican: The Jimmy Buffet of animals. Free to go wherever, kind of smelly but still dignified, doesn’t get real uptight, loves the water, digs a good adventure, but always keeps things mellow and by the beach.

2) If you could make love to one song, what would it be?
Piotr Ilyitch Tchikovsky “1812” overture in E Flat played through outrageously large speakers. Orgasms as the cannons fire. THAT would be memorable sex. Elaborate, but memorable.

3) What's the furthest distance you've traveled to get some nookie?
Unless long term trips to Asia count, I’d say Washington DC from the West Coast for the weekend.

6) What's your favorite Spanish word?
Mi corazón (my heart) is a great sounding word and portrays the meaning well. Also, The Clash sing it with a horrendous working-class accent in Spanish Bombs.

7) If cost wasn't an issue, where would you want to have your wedding?
Jake the Snake said, “space”, which of course is a great answer. I think a modest wedding aboard a huge 1920s sailing yacht would be sublime in a Kennedy sort of way. Then we drop off the wedding party, pick up the surfboards and the red wine and sail God’s beautiful Earth until we die.

8) What book changed your life?
“The Book” by Alan Watts totally blew my mind spiritually and philosophically. It’s transforms the intricacies and non-duality of Eastern thought into a practical way to enjoy life second by second. Noam Chomsky’s "Hegemony or Survival” and Howard Zinn’s “People’s History,” forged my socialist political leanings.

9) Who is your favorite New York Times columnist?
Not Freidman, his, “India is like a champagne bottle” metaphors are inane. Dowd is a bit too rabid. I like Nicholas D. Kristof. He likes to get dug in deep and see things for himself, and he’s not afraid to take on controversial issues like religion. He’s as rational as he is biting in his Bush critiques.

10) Perfect Meal?
California Red Zinfandel from the Central Coast, bruschetta, and good cheese. A second course of tacos made by Carlos’s mom, to be followed by fillet minion topped with murell mushrooms, and wasabi twice baked potatoes. For desert my mom’s apple pie.

11) What's your all-time favorite Simpsons episode? You only get to choose one.
Tchaikovsky’s “1812” was an easy one, this is a toughie. I’m going to go with Homer as the Beer Barron episode, but only bimyo.

12) What’s your favorite quasi-legitimate religion?
Rastafarianism for several reasons including: religiously sanctioned laziness, high spirituality, and political awareness, but mostly to say things like, “I&I be speak to Jah on the most high”.

13) Who would you cast to play yourself in a bio pic? Who would write the novel of your life?
I’d like the novel of my life to be written by my good friend Brad Griff*th, and that Michael Cane would play me in my adult life, but I think Doogie Hoswer is much more likely.

14) Finally, think about the one that got away. How did she/he get away?

got on a plane…