Just to prove a point - if you are going to go drinking in Japan, or have plans to do a lot of drinking while in Japan, it's good to befriend the local liquor salesman.
Living below my third-floor apartment in Ohtawara-shi, Tochigi-ken, at 327 Zuiko Haitsu, the old man, his wife and son owned a liquor store directly below their apartment.
The old man never spoke a word of English - and why should he? His wife was the same. And his Noboyuki, I believe... well, he could speak well enough for us to have a conversation, and well enough your us all to feel like human beings rather than strangers.
One of the biggest mistakes I made while in Japan was not putting forth a serious effort into learning the language - either before I got there and while I was there.
Okay, I did study and study hard while I was there for the first four months. Along with basic conversation, I taught myself over 500 Kanji (Japanese alphabet that looks totally like the Chinese alphabet) in a few weeks - I knew exactly how to draw each and every one of them, knew what they meant and knew how to pronounce them... but what always threw me, was when the Kanji pictographs were combined giving it a whole new meaning.
My favorite example is 'ba' and 'ka', which has a Kanji representation of 'horse' and 'deer' respectively. But, when combined to make the word 'baka', rather than make the new word of 'horsedeer', it makes the word mean 'stupid'.
And it certainly is.
To make things even more weird, 'ka' and 'ba', which is now reverse-represented by Kanji as 'deer' and 'horse', it can form the word 'kaba' (in another Japanese alphabet - Hirogana), which means hippopotamus.
And so, I stopped studying Japanese, and got drunk a lot.
Now the photo above is indeed a special occasion. Not only am I drinking heavily with my two Japanese friends on a hot, sweaty day in the summer of 1992, but I (I'm the dark fellow with a samurai print T-shirt, turquoise short shorts, expensive Seiko watch I still wear today, a dazed look on my face that I apparently only have after drinking half the inventory of a bar or liquor shop) also have my friend John Kutchera from Toronto sitting beside me - who is beyond toasted and is getting more and more quiet - but the person taking the photo is none other than my mom, Lynda, who would die two years afterwards at the age of 54.
I am approaching that number soon enough, and it scares me. It scares me stupid. Stupid enough to want to drink.
But I don't. I want to grow old with my Seiko - let it keep perfect time... or stop it - like this photograph of myself... lost in a moment with people I probably will not see again.
And that's what sucks about doing a blog that was originally based on my life in Japan. Ah... I'm just getting maudlin.
I owe a letter back to my pal Nick in the UK... and last night reconnected with one of my best high school friends, Dave - interestingly, both involved with the constabulary.
And I look back at that dumb, drunk me... and rather than feel shame... I feel envy... because at that one moment... sitting there... I felt... drunk. What did you expect? Something profound? Look at all of the friggin' bottles. Look at the look on my face. I was thinking how the hell I was going to move wearing such tight shorts, wondering just how I was ever in style. Profound? Sorry. I was hammered, but my tolerance was high, and I never ever did get to know what a hangover was.
I'm pretty sure I had to go out drinking again the next night. It is Japan after all.
Vincent, buddy... taking Japanese lessons is all very fine... but Japanese culture is ALSO an important part of Japan. As you can see from the photo above, I immersed myself in it.
Cheers
Andrew Joseph
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