These are from the book that my friend Naru gave me for Christmas one year. I thought I should share my favorite parts. I enjoyed reading this book. I just wish it wasn’t in Canada right now… … with Naru… funny that xD
It’s called “Hitching Rides with Buddha” by Will Ferguson. Who also happens to be the author of “Beauty Tips from Moose Jaw”. Says so right on the cover! I’d recommend this book to those people who want to come to Japan.
In addition to Cherry Blossom Viewing, you have Moon Viewing, Snow Viewing, Wildflower Viewing, Autumn Leaf Viewing, and Summer Stargazing. All are formally engaged in, and all follow set procedures and seasons. As a service to readers, I have prepared a handy chart listing each phenomenon, the season in which it appears and the correct manner in which to observe it:
Phenomenon Season Proper way to view it
Cherry Blossoms Spring Drunk on Sake
Wildflowers Summer Drunk on Sake
Harvest Moon Autumn Drunk on Sake
Autumn Leaves Autumn Drunk on Sake
Snow on ancient temples Winter Drunk on Sake
Japanese lavish compliments onto Westerners. If a Westerner has mastered chopsticks he is complimented on his hand eye coordination; if he catches a lazy pop fly in left field he is complimented on his sports prowess; if he learns how to say hello in Japanese he is praised as being fluent, and so on. The phrase most often encountered in these situations is Jozu desu ne! Which means “Boy! You are talented!” But could be more accurately translated as “Not bad for a dimwit”
To make matters worse, I decided to go by thumb. … “Why would you want to do that?” they asked, genuinely puzzled. “There is no reason to hitchhike. That is why we built the Bullet Train.”
“But,” I would argue, “Japan is a very safe country is it not?”
“Oh yes. Very safe. Safest country in the world”
“So why shouldn’t I hitchhike?”
“Because Japan is dangerous”
“I am going to hitchhike the length of Japan” I told the man beside me.
He smiled and nodded.
“I’m going to follow the cherry blossoms”
He nodded.
“New York? Chicago? San Francisco? Detroit?” He was evidently going to list every city in the United States, so I grabbed the next one that went by and adopted it as my home.
“So,” He said, “is it cold in Baltimore?”
“Very cold.”
“In Japan,” he said, “we have four seasons.”
“Congratulations”
“Thank you. Are you married?”
“No.”
“Can you eat Japanese food?”
This was Conversation by Non Sequitur, and I was thoroughly familiar with it by now. The trick was to answer with equally arbitrary statements until you sound like a couple of spies conversing in code.
…
Then- and I don’t mean to brag here- he assured me that when it came to speaking Japanese, I was pretty darned jozu.
“Do you know how Tanuki* make music?”
“Sure!” they yelled “They use their stomachs like a drum!” and then preceded to show me by repeatedly punching himself in the stomach. “Very good.” I said. But he kept going.
“Ah that’s fine.” I said “You can stop anytime now” He continued pummeling himself in the stomach even as his eyes watered. “Come on” I said, slipping into English, “I get the picture kid”
His eyes went wide with an audible boing. ”English! You speak English! Say something, say something in English!”
”Wayne Newton is the antichrist”
“Wow! What does that mean?”
“It’s a poem. Kind of a haiku”
I fought hard to keep my lunch (pork rice and a raw egg) from making an unexpected encore. We came to the parking lot just in time and I bolted from the car and bent over, gulping down fresh air and trying not to faint. The littlest boy came up and punched me in the stomach. “You’re not tanuki!” he said.
”I’ll kill you, you little shit”
“Hey!” He called to his dad, “He’s talking poetry again!”
*Tanuki are creatures of folklore in Japan: raccoon dogs with huge bellies and giant testicles who roam the forests drinking sake and trying to seduce young maidens by passing themselves off as noblemen.
I told her and her brothers about the mythical, far-away land of Ka-Na-Da, where children didn’t have to go to school on Saturday or wear uniforms or even have to learn anything, and they sighed with understandable envy.
It sure is great being a Canadian. You get to share the maternal benefits of living next door to the United States, yet at the same time you get to act smug and haughty and morally superior. You just can’t beat that kind of irresponsibility.
You know how Godzilla is turning up to stomp on Tokyo? The filmmakers churn those movies out like clockwork, and tokyo tower has been destroyed so many times that you’d think they’d have given up by now. Rebuild it? Why bother? Godzilla will just come and knock it over again.
Sometimes he’ll destroy other cities just for a change of pace, but he mainly sticks to Tokyo. The smaller cities in Japan have complained about this. They’re jealous. In Fukuoka city they went as far as circulating a petition asking -nay begging- the producers of the Godzilla movies to have him come destroy their fair city instead. Thousands of people signed, and after years of pressure, the producers relented, saying “All right, we’ll destroy Fukuoka. Quit whining.” Newspaper headlines were out “GOOD NEWS! GODZILLA TO DESTROY OUR CITY” So don’t tell me that the Japanese aren’t a weird bunch of people.
“I am Professor Takasugi of Tokyo University.” … He smiled modestly. “Thank you. My wife, Saori. She is also my assistant. We are in Kyushu for research. We are studying the social life of wild plates.”
“Wild plates?”
“Not plates, monkeys.”
“Ah yes.” I said. “That would make more sense.”
The word for plate (sara) and monkey (Saru) sound similar in Japanese and for some reason I can never keep them straight. And like many Westerners, I also get confused by “Human” (ningen) and “carrot” (ninjen), which once caused a lot of puzzled looks during a speech I gave in Tokyo on the merits on internationalization, where I passionately declared that “I am carrot. You are carrot. We are all carrots. As long as we remember our common carrotness, we will be fine.”
On another occasion I scared a little girl by telling her that my favorite nighttime snack was raw humans and dip.
