My Magic Blue Book

My manager walked up to me on Friday and handed me a small blue book with a bunch of blank pages. As she handed it to me, she said:
“Michael*, this book is very important. You need to keep it in a safe place while you’re in Japan, and then you’ll have to give it back when you leave.”
“OK. What’s it for?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“So, what do I write in it?”
“You don’t write anything.”
“Oh, OK, OK…right, right. So, when do I need to bring it in for you to write in it?”
“No no, you don’t do anything with it.”
“Oh, right. So, why do I need to keep it?”
“I can’t explain in English.”
Oh, that’s cool.

*(I’ve done everything short of wearing a shirt that says MIKE on it to get them to call me Mike at work, and they’re not budging. It’s infuriating and impressive at the same time)


Greg, one of the foreign teachers at another English school here, had a party for himself on Saturday to celebrate his two-year anniversary in Japan. We met at a bar near my apartment, which is owned by a guy named Hiro that drives a loud motorcycle and marks the end of summer as the day that it’s too cold to pass out in the street. An hour or so after I got there, Hiro came over with his co-owner to give Greg a bottle of champagne. But before they gave him the bottle, they made him stand up in front of everyone and bend over a chair while Hiro shot the cork at his ass and the co-owner held his face forward so he couldn’t see what was going on (Call the American Embassy!). After the cork struck, the bar broke out into polite applause, Hiro handed Greg the bottle, and everyone went on like nothing had happened. When I finally could muster up some words, they came out as “He bent him over a chair and shot a cork at his ass! And then you people acted like that was the same thing as a handshake! How is that not a noteworthy event? How did a fight not break out?” I wasn’t even talking to anyone in particular; I just needed to talk my feelings out. My friend told me that it probably wasn’t the weirdest thing that would happen that night. As we were leaving, a group of fifteen gay Japanese men insisted that we sing the Backstreet Boys’ “As Long As You Love Me” while they snapped pictures. So I guess she was right.


On Sunday, I saw Pirates of the Caribbean at a theater in Mito. A few notes:
-When we bought our tickets, we got to pick our seats. That’s right: It’s reserved seating. It’s also eerily silent in the theater from the moment the previews come on.
-Seeing the “Snakes on a Plane” trailer in Japanese? Hilarious. Seeing the preview for the upcoming movie about Iwo Jima in Japanese? Awkward.
-I'm pretty sure Pirates of the Caribbean 2 would have been more enjoyable if I didn't speak any English. In fact, it's so bad that I wish it was dubbed in Japanese. With that said, listening to people speak English for two and a half hours was suprisingly relaxing.