Well, we’ve come to it at last. The Final Japan Blog. Or I should say Final Couple of Blogs. I was conflicted as to how I should approach this whole thing, and after much deliberation and drinking that didn’t necessarily have anything to do with said deliberation, I have decided to split my entry into two totally different voices in which I concentrate the bad and the good. Since I am of two minds about my Japanese experience, it is only natural that I give voice to both of those minds.

To that end, I give you the final entry of this chapter of my life. Since overall I viewed the experience as positive, I will give air to that mind last. It is only fitting. Enjoy.



Part 1:

Well, sure is easy to say I had a wonderful time in Japan whilst sitting here at home, watching television, drinking a freezing Fat Tire I got from my huge refrigerator, and eating no fewer than three medium Dominos Pizzas I got delivered right to my face for less than twenty dollars. Sure is easy now, isn’t it? Sure is easy to look at all the Oriental hooey I brought back and fondly reminisce, that’s for damn sure. Reeeeeaaal easy to flip through smiling pictures of me and my friends, drunk, laughing, and think “well hell, that was just one big peach of a time. A regular fucking cakewalk.” And when I pass all my smiling pictures about and people say “you got paid 30,000 dollars to do this?!?” It sure is easy to go “I know! What a lucky break! To get paid so well to live in another country and do practically nothing!”

But that’s just the problem, isn’t it? I did practically nothing for an entire year. No, that’s not totally true, I did drink a lot.

Bryan and I decided to do a whirlwind tour of red-light districts before we left town, we went from Toyama’s own not-at-all famous Sakura Gicho district to Tokyo’s very famous Roppongi district, and then over to Seoul’s equally famous Itaewon district, and after our 42nd straight hour of traveling/drinking Bryan turned to me and said “for the two years I’ve been here, my body has aged ten.”

I figure that’s about right. I read those sappy JET essay contest winners where some or other kid writes something like “I may have lived here for three years, but I have had experiences enough for a thousand.” Not this guy. I lived in Japan for one year and had experiences enough for one year. My body has had experience enough for five. That’s the bottom line.

The other day someone (maybe it was my Aunt) asked me “what did you learn in Japan?” I thought about this for a moment, scruffy, a tad dizzy from JET lag, and answered,

“I learned that I hate teaching.”

And if you are thinking, “Well Brad, if you didn’t go out and do anything else that’s your own fault, isn’t it? There was Judo, or Kendo, or Flower Arranging, or Archery, or you could have gotten involved in your school’s English club, or taken Japanese lessons, there were a million opportunities.”

I say this: No there weren’t. Not if you’re a normal dude there weren’t. I took Japanese for five years before I realized it was a lost cause, so that was never an option. And my kids would never, ever, ever, have an English club. God Bless ‘em, but they were just too stupid. And also, fuck you buddy, you’re not the kind of guy I want to talk to anyway.

Now that I am home here, and I look about myself at all the fat people and the huge cars and the fifty lane highways and the Taco Bells and the Mega Malls and the no-trash separating, I think one thing: The US is better than Japan.

Why anyone would want to move away from here and stay over there for the rest of their lives is just beyond my ability to comprehend. And there are a few of you out there. I can see you right now, with your complete Gundam Anime collection and your stacks of Manga, and your walls plastered with pictures of famous woodblock prints. You probably have that ridiculous little staff you got climbing Mt. Fuji propped up in the corner too, don’t you? That one that has all of those brands on it that cost you ten bucks a pop? Maybe you have your name written out in Kanji hanging above your bed, or even worse, somewhere on your own skin, and I’m sure you have a thousand other Kanji flash cards strewn about your bedroom so that should someone come in you can go, “oh, that? That means spirit,” and then smile knowingly. Every book you read is Murakami, and you’ve probably seen Lost in Translation a thousand times and make snooty little comments when watching it like “Oh, I’ve been there” or “I can read that sign,” and I’m sure you think you can “totally identify” with Bill Murray. You’re a Lifer in the Making. What the hell are you thinking? You have to realize that the Japanese will never let you in. You know what that means? That means that no matter what you do, no matter how fluent you are in the language, or how many banzai trees you clip up real pretty, or how much of a badass Judo Blackbelt master you are, they still will never trust you.

In the year 2000, the Japanese government granted citizenship to 15,000 people. That’s it. That’s a pretty good indicator right there of how little they want you there. You know how many people the US granted citizenship to? Almost 900,000. Now you might be saying, “The US is a much bigger country!” and you would be right, but France isn’t, and even France took in 150,000 people. France! Or how about this: Throughout the 90’s, the US took in 47% of all people seeking asylum. Japan? 9%. Real nice there guys. Nicely done. The consummate hosts.


How many non-native citizens have we here in the US? Well shit. I lost count. They almost outnumber the natives! Hell, I arrived here in LA and was directed to my baggage by a nice fellow whom I could barely understand. And you know what? That’s great. Fine with me! At least he spoke something, and provided he wasn’t here illegally, more power to him! More power to them all! Especially the Mexicans! They have great food and beer. Do you see what I am saying? Do you see how ridiculous it is in Japan?

And for a country that is so paranoid about foreigners, they certainly love foreign cultures. When I think about what I enjoyed doing in Japan, here is what I think of:

Sipping a Martini (western drink) at the Jazz Bar (western music) and smoking a cigar (from the Dominican Republic)

Drinking (Italian) wine at the (Italian) Fiorentina Restraunt.

Eating (Indian) food at Santoshi

Bowling (Western)

Ramen (Chinese)

Yakiniku (Korean)

I think you get the point. And now that I look at this list I made, I wonder how the hell I could have spent twenty thousand dollars on that.

I honestly think it’s the physical act of moving oneself that keeps many of the people in Toyama. I bet if it weren’t for the fact that it is a huge bitch to get up and go, a whole lot more people would have got up and went. The turnover rate of that ken would be like a McDonald’s.

So thank you Japan, really, thank you very much for something. I just haven’t figured out what yet.