Dear David,

Yes, Mrs. Kobayashi was delighted to know you.
She is worm-hearted woman and she takes very good care of her students.  Her
ex-students drop in on her from time to time and joy talking and having
dishes.

 By the way, I thank you to ask your friend about universities.
Miami is the place that X-san mentioned it's unsafe.  While Boston
appears the good place to study , and I never thought I would taken an
university in Miami.  I really appreciate you and Kelly 's advice though,  I
wonder  " the best academic choice " is in need to Kumiko.   I do not think she
will be a first class musician , and I do not think she studies hard.  She
says she does, but I have been watching her seventeen years.  Some people
say I should visit US before Kumiko decide her school and place to live.
Maybe it is good idea though,  I don't take to trip and I do not know what
we should see, what we should know in the US.

 I hear one of Kumiko's class mates who were wanting to study in the US, gave
up studying abroad.  Since her mother is sick because of too much worrying
about daughter's life abroad.
My husband and I may be unusual parents.  Usually, parents against their
children's plan(study abroad),  against and against, if they say yes, they
would be worry very much.
Sorry to my daughter, her parents are very nonki (easygoing, optimistic).
Anyway, my husband says " all I can do is sending money" .   ------Y is
warring " don't forget me expecting enter university next ".
                                                              X-san

******************************************************************************
Mr. B., who just returned from a little rest of about 10 months.  Seems
the ole' circuits got a little burned out, even though he's five years
younger than I am.  Job stress was cited as the reason for his long
absence. Well that's what the teaching life often does to people over here.
In fact, in the teaching profession, life expectancy is inversely
proportional to vertical ascent.  At one school I've got a vice -principal
who looks like he's about had it.  I was surprised to find he and another
instructor who looks to be in his early forties both graduated together.
(strangely we foreign teachers are immune, perhaps because we just couldn't
give a damn about becoming kocho-sensei--principal.  I was at the train
station the other day with Tim and asked him, if he were Japansese, whether
he'd rather be a train engineer or an English teacher.  We both agreed that
running a train would be better.)  Mr. B. does it to himself, really.  Like
the meeting of all the teachers in Isesaki, last month.  I had to do a
team-teaching demonstration with another teacher (a really lousy lesson
plan I tried to talk him out of, and that only demonstrated that he didn't
understand anything about how students hear iambic mess we call English
(Japanese is flatter with much less pitch and stress flux.)  Afterwards the
critique.  My earlier criticisms were reinforced by silence--the worst kind
of criticism).  Mr. B was present, setting across the room.  I noticed that
he was the only teacher not wearing a jacket and tie, like he was trying to
look casual and relaxed.  But he didn't LOOK casual and relaxed.  He looked
like a guy that's nervous because he came dressed casual to jacket and tie
affair.  He must have gotten confused and thought he was me.

He's about to burn my circuits out right now.  He's always looking after
me; I really dislike being "looked after."  And he sits just to my right so
he does it constantly (really insignificant things too). He'll look at my
schedule and then turn to me and say, "So, you have a class with Mrs.
Tajima today."  I have gotten to the poin now where I say something like,
"Yes, that's right, Mr. B.  You are correct," or "Yes, that's right, Mr. B.
According to the schedule on my table, I have a class with Mrs. Tajima in
the fifth period.  What do you think about that?"  It's my way of saying,
"Yes that's right, Mr. B.  WHAT is your fucking point?"  Or today, for
instance.  I returned from a clas with Mr. Watanabe and sat down.  Then Mr.
B came back from a class and sat down.  He looked at my schedule and said,
"Oh you just taught a class with Mr. Watanabe.  Did you enjoy it?"  I want
to say, "What the fuck do you mean did I enjoy it?  Did you enjoy the class
you just taught?"  But I just say, "Oh yes it was Wonderful, fantastic,
incredible."  "Wow," he says staring at me with his idiot smile.  Of course
I "enjoy" to one degree or another all my classes, but it's just a
pointless question.  What a weirdo.  And he leaves his books and papers on
my desk.  They're there every morning when I walk in--not just his books.
I mean all his students' notebooks.  Stacks of them. Today I came in to
find that he'd stuffed a big bag of senbe (rice-crackers) into the bottom
drawer of my desk.  It'll take them some time to find them where i put
them, but they'll be too embarrassed to ask me about them.  Perhaps I'll
break them out before I leave for Christmas holiday.[a word on usage: In
Japan, the h-word is used for any day off.  Teachers work six days a week
(not me!) but they get a holiday every week.  There has been some talk of
reducing the work week to five days, but these kids will be drawing their
retirement checks before that happens.]

B-san picks up a copy of the DAILY YOMIURI every day. He just handed it to
me five minutes ago. He never reads himself.  When he came back to work,
which is when I first met him, he began just giving it to me when he'd come
in, which I appreciated; however, on days I have dropped in to the school,
for just a few minutes, I've seen the paper there, unrolled, but never
taken apart.  I suppose he might read the headlines on page one, but that's
a pretty expensive daily habit, and an unnecessary oneconsidering that the
school takes the Japanese newspaper every.  And he does read that paper.

When the news about the identity of the the Kobe Killer was
discovered (a 14 year-old boy who, if you will recall, spiked his
classmate's head on the school gate early one morning and put a note in his
mouth promising to do it again) I remarked to B-San that I was surprised
that the police had deduced that the killer was a man in his late thirties.
I pointed at the paper and said "Look, the note says (they'd printed the
note) 'If you think I am a weak child, you are sadly mistaken.'  I mean,
that's as good as saying that he's a strong and dangerous  child, right?
Why else use the word child?"
B-sensei said, "Oh, they printed the letter?"  "Yeah, here, would you
like to read it?"  "Uh , no thank you.  It would take too long." "No, it's
only about four lines long."  "Thank you but I'll just find the Japanese
newspaper."  So he spent the next fifteen minutes looking for the Maebashi
Shinbun.  That he prefered have read the Japanese newspaper is
understandable.  What I don't understand is why he buys the Yomiuri.  Maybe
it looks "steki" (cool), and in Japan, even more than America, appearance
is everything.

*******************************************************

So, it seems now that, Mr. Yoshida, the fifty-something year-old leader of
my Thursday night class is plotting against me.  He was very disappointed
that Marilou, the Filipino teacher I'm substituting for wasn't ready to
come back from her maternity leave.  He's disatisfied because I don't speak
Japanese as well as her.  Well, dammit, she's married to a Japanese man and
has been living here for years.  Of course her Japanese is better than
mine.  At the beginning of the class he (Mr. Yoshida) handed me the tapes
to one ofthe texts that I haven't used in several weeks.  "Thank you," I
told him. I didn't tell him that I lost the teacher's textbook several
weeks ago.  (the book turned the next week in one of the student's book
bags).
Besides a number of students had complained to me that the book is too
easy.  Here's a pretty faithful account of last week's class:

Handing out cards with job titles on it I said:
"Everone, please look at your card.  But don't show your card to anyone.
It is a secret.  Anato no karuta o misenai.  Now, please take paper and a pen
or pencil and describe--write about--your job.  Five minutes later, go hun
ato de, I want you to tell about your job to the other class members.  They
will guess your job.  You have five minutes.  Do you understand?"  (deathly
silence, as ususal, I once told them that I'd taught more lively classes in
the cemetary)  "While you're writing I will prepare questions for a
different assignment."
I turned and began writing on the black board, while the 20 students began
working.
Five minutes later I turned and said, "Now, Mr. Yoshida.  Please tell us
about your job.  Mr. Yoshida looked at me, then at his paper, then at the
blackboard.  Then he looked at the other student and back at me again.
"Wakaranai." (I don't understand.)  "Well, just read what you wrote about
your job," I said.  Walking to his table I was miffed to find that he'd
only copied what I'd written on the board.  "Wakaranai."  "Alright
everyone.  Five minutes ago I explained the game and then asked "Do you
understand?  That was the time to say 'I don't understand.'  Okay.  Next
person.  Mr. Masato, did you understand the assignment?"  "Yes."  "Thank
you.  No please, describe your job to us."  "Eto (uh), I build houses and
other things.  Maybe I build a boat.  I work wood."  One of the other
students said, "You're a carpenter!"  "Great," I said.  "Now, we're getting
somewhere."  But Mr. Misato was puzzled.  "Eto, eto.  No.  That's not it."
"What?  That's not it?" I asked.  "I thought it was carpenter too."
Another student asked, "Can you tell us more?"  "No, that's all," he said.
"Then, alright.  What is your job, Mr. Misato?"  "I'm me- me-chanic."  "A
mechanic?  I'm sorry, Mr. Misato but a mechanic doesn't build houses or
boats."  He started speaking in rapid fire Nihongo.  "What's he saying, Mr.
Oki?"  Mr. Oki said, "He says that he used his dictionary."  "Mr. Misato,
may I see your dictionary."  But it was a Japanese dictionary.  More
hyaku-guchi (fast speaking) Japanese.  "He says that he made a mistake."
"How do you mix up carpenter and mechanic?  Do they have similar kanji?"
"I don't understand it either,"  Mr. Oki said.  "Well ok then. . ." and I
explained the difference between the two on the blackboard, which almost
everybody understod but him anyway.
The next person, a woman named Yamaguchi (mountain-mouth), said "I'm
singer.  I'm play GEEtah.  Concert."  "Are you famous," Mrs. Yanai asked.
"I'm a rock star," she said.  "Well that maked the game pretty easy," I
said, "but only Mr. Oki and Mrs. Kobayashi understood me and laughed.
After the class, Mr. Yoshida began talking in Japanese about how Marilou
couldn't come back for several more months.  "What's he saying?" I asked
Oki-san.  "Maybe he is very sad that Marilou is not coming back to teach
the class.  He says that he spoke to her and she says that she is very busy
with the new baby but that she can maybe teach in the mornings, but of
course this is not convenient for us.  He says that Marilou told him that
maybe there is some trouble at home."  "What kind of trouble?"  "Well, he
says that maybe (the ubiquitous non-comittal maybe) Mr. Tamura is
dissatisfied with Mariou."  "Like maybe she's too busy with the baby and
teaching the class and doesn't have enogh time to be with him?"  "Well, not
exactly.  He says that maybe there is a more severe problem in there home."
Of course, I'm a little shocked that in a culture that prizes subtlety
that Yoshida is airing Marilou's dirty laundry in front of 20 people.  At
this point I said to everyone I said, excuse me, everyone, I'm leaving now.
Do what you want.  See  you next week."  That class is a pain in my ass,
and the pay is lousy.  I only took the job as a favor to Marilou.  I wish
she'd come back.  I could find another class that'd pay twice to three
times what this one pays and that'd be far easier to teach.  Well, it's
convenient, right around the corner, so I'll probably continue . . .

***********************************************************************

Mark Frank came into town this weekend--it was a long weekend on account of
Monday being National Old Fart's Day.  He was supposed to be here at 3:30,
but he didn't show up until six.  Seems that instead of buying just one
ticket for the whole trip, he bought one at each stop.  Then at one of the
stops he went to ask a question in  the ticket both area and he went in the
exit door and the automatic door closed on his head, knocking him half
unconscious.  By the time he'd gathered his wits, he'd missed the train.
Well--he could have just taken the next train going toward his next stop,
no later than twenty minutes later at the longest, but since none of the
trains explicitly read that they were going to Nagaoka, and since he was
too damned shy ask a simple question, he waited there for three hours.  It
was too late to go out to another city and there's not a whole lot to do in
town here, but we had a party and kept ourselves occupied until late at
night, when we bicycled through a rain shower to a ramen-ya where I fell
asleep three times.  He just left a couple of hours ago.
*************************************************************************
I just got back from the yakitori-ya with Tim the British
guy (33) I mentioned in the Natto story zutto mai ni like way back if
you'll remember.  A typical night.  I came back from teaching a class at
the public bldg. nearby and Tim's walking through my parking lot because
since I live so close to the eki (train station), bloke thinks he can just
park his bike under my stairwell.

So we "end up" (a phrase I had to explain tonite) going to the little
yakitori (not, the one that I have promised to burn down because of heir
racist service policies) and we're not
there thirty minutes when this drunk comes staggering in with a plastic bag
over his head with the eyes cut out into this mom and no pop-eration no larger
than your walk-in closet, it just means it's rainin' and this guy's pissed
out of his skull.

He takes off the garbage bag, revealing a fifty-something something face.  All
redfaced and, even I can tell his Japanese is slurred (a drunken slur is a
drunken slur in any language, right?) and so of
course he sits down next to me and before I can say ohisashiburi
desu ne (I haven't seen you for a while) he got he's giving me his complete
attention, but I can't understand a thing he's saying.  This kind of thing
happens almost every time I go to a yakitori-ya or bar at night.

Though he
bought us several drinks, it was not enough to compensate for the patience
we alloted the poor drunk, and also we were subjected to a twenty minute
history of the bad relations between the Japanese and the Koreans and the
Japanese and the Chinese and the Japanese and the Vietnamese and basically
anyone the Japanese came in contact with--all delivered in rapid Nihongo
(Japanese)--at least as rapid as slurred speech can be-- without any
consideration for the fact that we understood, at best, about 1.375% of his
drunken diatribe.

He said yes, sometimes, and then the
discussion deteriorated into the old guy trying to feed us boiled
intestines from his ohashi (chopsticks).  Once Tim turned his head towards
me and the guy  put the chopsticks in his mouth and then put them in Tim's,
but we let him know
that this was a dirty trick and unacceptable.

Outside, he asked me what hotel he was staying in and I explained (in
Japanese) for the fourth time that (Isesaki ni SUNDE Imasu yo) I LIVE in
Isesaki.  He tried to get me to go with him somewhere, karaoke, I think.
People are always trying to take us somewhere.  I thought, if you drive
that car, I'm going to call the police myself, but as it turned out, his
wife was coming to pick him up and put him to bed.

Just the idea of it occuring to this guy instead of going out with an
umbrella, which
every Japanese person had five or six of, actually thought to himself, hey
I'll cut the eyes out of a garbage sack, and then actually did it.  Ugh I
can still feel his awful slobbery old mouth on my right cheek, the alcohol
smell reeking off him the way some men smell of cheap cologne.  Well, every
yakitori-ya has one.  Like the one I've gone to three times, but won't
retun to again because the same old drunk is there everytime, tries to give
me Nihongo
lessons, and even the Nihon-jin around him can't understand his speech
production.  Every time he leans over me and points over the counter at the
woman cooking, and says in English.
"BOOO  TEEE  FOOOLU  ------   OOOOMAHN" (beautiful woman) about thirty
times.  (Last time I was there he was spraying saliva absentmidedly onto my
plate, so I sent the order back and the mama-san made him leave me alone.
Every yakitori-ya has one.

Entertaining, but sometimes one's patience does wear thin.  ah well, it
comes with the territory, but the thing that I remember most I guess is the
expression  on his wife's face, sitting in the driver's seat, waiting for
her idiot husband to shut up and get in the car.  THAT must get old
after the first fifteen years or so.  I don't know how they do it or why,
except that a thousand years of culture that has conditioned them to put up
with any amount of B.S.  Which is why whenever I meet a woman who tells me
that she's divorced, I don't say, Oh, I'm sorry.  I congratulate her.

**************************************************************************

I just returned from an all day drinking and onsen-ing marathon with Eiji,
his girfriend Chiee, Hebi-san, Tim's girlfriend, Kumiko (sans Tim, who's on
a school trip), Rika and Mark Frank.  We went to a river and and sat in
this little three walled shack and sat in some very hot water that even had
some little flecks of gold or something that looked just like it floating
in the water with lots of other minerals.  We were nekked save for small
hand towels as is the custom at most onsen--Kumiko, Chiee and Rika were
wrapped in larger towels.  We heated bottles of nihoshu (rice wine) in a
hole in the side of the shack here the hot water came in through, and soon
the alcohol was infusing into our blood stream.  When we got really warm
Mark and I braved the ice cold river and sat up to our necks in it until we
started getting dizzy.  About thirty minutes later, the owner came out and
told us that we'd either have to get completely naked or leave (it was
free--no admission but it was private property).  He didn't mind the little
hand towels which are usually used like fig leave when entering and worn on
the head while sitting, but large towels the girls were wearing had to go.
I didn't much care one way or the other since we been there a long time and
the skin on my legs was beginning to turn bright pink.  So we all went to
another onsen town and went to probably the nicest "rotenburo" (outside
onsen) that I've been to.  It was really pleasant even though Mr. Ueda
later told me that a big Yakuza got impatient in the shower room and took
the sprayer, saying, "Give me that."  Then his two assistants scrubbed him
down.  Eiji and Hebi-san promised Mark that he could absolutely without a
doubt make it back to Niigata by 10:00 on a train that went sraight
through, but he ended up having to make four changes with only 3 minutes
between trains.  I hope he made it home.

*****************************************************************

P.S. After calling Mark late this evening I learned that he almost didn't
make it home.  The schedule that Mr. Ueda (Hebi-san) and Eiji prepared for
him turned out to be completely wrong at all four stops.  When he showed
the schedule to the station master, the man just shook his head, crossed
out all the times and wrote new ones.  He had to wait one hour for his
first train and got home about 10 minutes before they put all the trains to
bed for the night (12:00).
*****************************************************************

One of my friend's got stuck in a high school where the Kocho-sensei
(Principal) had a brilliant sense of humor.  He knew one joke, but he'd
made it up himself.  There are some real kooks in the educational system
over here.  When I met my friend, he told me, "I've been here a
year-and-a-half and every day makes the same joke.  The joke is that
actually, he's not Kocho-sensei, but I am.  Every day, he tells me, 'I'm
not Kocho-sensei--YOU ARE!!!  Then laughs as though it is the funniest
things he'd ever heard.

So about a month later I visit my friend's school enkai (official mandatory
drinking party),
and Kocho-sensei is there.  My friend introduces me, saying, "David this is
my Kocho-sensei--"  "I'm not kocho-sensei," the old guy interrupts all
drunk and
red-faced.  "HE IS."  We all had a good belly laugh over that one, and I
complimented him on his great sense of humor.

But it is important to laugh, even at really stupid things.  I mean it's
good for health.  And I'd easily trade the stern-faced mean-spirited
bastard at San Chu [who no one likes] for this weirdo anytime.

>Dearest Dave;
>
>Oh Boy!  You would not believe the fun and frolic our family had at the annual
>Japanese Fall Festival in the stroll garden at Nathaniel Greene Park
>yesterday.  And was I in for a surprise!  The japanese are just like us
>hill-folk, dining on hot dogs and chips, drinking Hawaiian punch and Iced
>Cappacino (brought to you by Moon City, swear to god), and finishing this
>delicious feast with a refreshing dip of Hagen-Daz.  Now I understand why you
>are not homesick.
>
>So I said fuck it and we went to Ossi's, the newer of the two japanese steak
>houses here in town and the boys had sushi for the first time.  They were
>quite impressed.  But we all want to know what Wassabi is.  Was it that grated
>mass of wet, crispy stuff that I have always thought was part of the garnish?
>What is it really for?  Why is it there?
 

Well, the Japanese do eat that kind of stuff sometimes, but they prefer a
regular diet of tofu, noodles, rice and fish etc.  Me too these days.  Glad
that you made it out there though.  Did you read about it in the paper
before-hand?

Wasabi is the green paste either placed on the side of some dishes or in
the case of sushi, between the rice and the fish.  If you hadn't noticed,
if you eat enough of it in one bite (which is very much) it'll set your
nostrils on fire, take your head right off and put your ass on the floor.
It's the only legal drug in Japan, I've sometimes remarked.  Next time ask
for more and give it a try.  It's fun.  I eat a little every day.  Oh the
purpose: it's there to kill any worms or unfriendly bacteria that may be
lurking in the raw fish.  By the way, I recommend that you don't eat salmon
sushi, which is sometimes the harbinger of a particularly nasty and hard to
kill worm that really likes the taste of human brain.  But all the other
varieties of sushi are perfectly safe, and a small dab of wasabe will kill
almost anything.  One television show last year proved how effective wasabe
is as a disinfectant by using it to clean toilets bowls with a before and
after analysis of present bacteria.  Seems it did the trick.  I think the
crispy grated stuff you had was ginger.  Cleanses the palate.

********************************************************************

Then there was the time, Tony Sumpter, who weighed at that time about 250
lbs. stands a formidible 6'3" with a gotee and shaved head (he's scary
looking even to other westerners, but he's really just a big ol' Teddy
Bear) goes to the 7-11 to buy some manju.  Manju are doughy, fist-sized
treats with a sweet bean paste in the middle.  There's one young woman
working the counter.  Well, Tony had only been in Japan or a week or so and
so he got the word manju mixed up and accidentally said, "Manko wa ikura
desuka," which means "How much is your _?"  The clerk looked up
and her jaw about  dropped to the counter.  She shook her her, stuttering
and forming her forearms into a cross, the sign over here for "dah-meh"
which means "No" "Can't do that" "Get the hell out of here before I call
the police."

************************************************************
Halloween:

Was mixed up crazy wound up loaded.  As I said, we were planning to join a
party on the subway in Tokyo since I heard that was the place to be on
Halloween.  I wore my long red underwear and green stuff on my head and
went as a red pepper.  Rika went as a black cat.  We took the 6:30 train
down there, dressed normally of course, since although it's permissible get
really drunk on the train, grope women, and vomit into your briefcase--I've
seen all three of the above--but you are definitely NOT allowed to dress
strangely.  You may spend the night in the pokey.

So we get to Tokyo at 8:30 and by 8:45 we're on the Yamanote (circle)line where
we expect to see alot of costumes, but there's nothing but white shirts and
black suits.  I'm thinking, "Hmmmm."  Better go to Rappongi (the foreignor
district).  We get there at 9:30 and then find the Irish pub I'd been to a
year and three months before and as expected a party is going on with a
bizzare array of costumes.  Rika's first Halloween. 12 dollar Guinesses.
We left there at about midnite to grab some pasta.  Rika was about ten
steps or so behind me--she'd stopped to look at something when she was
attacked by an executioner with black hood an axe.  Scared her.  Ended up
following crazy screaming goblins to Club Plastic, stayed until 4:30.
Slept outside on a mezzanine for 45 minutes.  Caught the 5:57 home.  But
this is old news.
**************************************************************************
Hey, it looks like Christmas in Las Vegas and New Years in San Francisco.
Rika is excited, since the only foreign place she's been to is Hong Kong.

Meanwhile, the class I was complaining about has gotten much better, so
I'll keep it.  December is a rough month.  Everyone cancels private
classes.  NOT because of X-mas, but Bon-enkai. According to tradition, on
the seventh year after their death, the parents or grandparents will return
to their homes.  Kind of a holiday from the rigors of the underworld.
Families return to their original homes and there is alot of relaxing and
drinking.  It's a nice time of the year, but my private work gets a big
bite taken out it.

Sorry for the rough composition--it doesn't merit much editing or careful
reading.  I promise better next time--a real story or something kind of
like one. How about something traditional and Japanesey about carrying a
huge shrine on my back through the city streets on the hottest day of
summer?  It's cold here today.  No snow in Isesaki, but Mount Akagi and
Haruna look quite beautiful, all snowcapped and desolate-looking as I cycle
towards them, schoolward, in the morning hours.