I was kicking it with a friend about my book, Hi! MY Name Is Loco and I Am A Racist, when I got an email. When I saw that the email had come from someone named Chris I naturally thought it was from my boy, THE Bad Boy himself, Chris over at Confessions of a Bad Boy in Japan…but the last name was different…

And familiar…

In part, it read:

Hello Unique!

I just stayed up the better part of the night, and am now about three-quarters of the way through your GREAT book. Congratulations on creating such a personal, honest, and compelling piece of work. It’s a fantastic achievement, and I’m proud to have known you; proud to be in those pages. Thank you for writing that bit about me, which may be the most moving thing I’ve ever read.

All best,

White Boy Chris

For those of you who have read my book, then you’re familiar with this person and know, though brief, how pivotal a role he played in my story. So much that I dedicated a chapter to him. (If you haven’t read the book yet, don’t worry, I’m not about to spoil it. And don’t any of you who have read it spoil it, either!)

Suffice it to say that receiving this email was a moment! You know, like those times when you feel like you’ve received a Direct Message from the Almighty Himself informing you that you’ve done something great and you’re on the right path, one that leads to atonement and reparation? It was one of those moments…almost 30 years in the making. 

Still a little freaked out, to tell you the truth. 

Thought I’d share that with you guys…let y’all know how real this shit is!

For those of you who haven’t read the book yet, the above is just another reason for you to get your copy right away!

And to my old friend, White Boy Chris: your email was one of the most moving things I’VE ever read!

Thank You!

Loco

The highly anticipated first book by Baye McNeil (a.k.a. Loco of Loco in Yokohama) is now available from both Amazon and Barnes & Noble online!

The Kindle version of this controversial new book is available from anywhere in the world at Amazon.com. Just follow this link: Kindle Version. You don’t even need to buy a Kindle. Just go to the order page and download (for FREE) a Kindle Reader for your Mac, PC or smart phone.

Hi! My name is Loco… is also available on Barnes and Nobles’ Nook: Click here to download the Nook version. If you need a Nook Reader for you PC, Mac or Smartphone, you can click here to download a Nook App, also for FREE!

Me: Hey Ma!

Ma: My baby! How are you?

Me: I’m great. You?

Ma: Oh, your mother is doing pretty good these days, thank the lord.

Me: Well, guess what?

Ma: What??

Me: My book…it’s finished!!

Ma: Oh that’s wonderful! My baby is a writer!

Me: I’m an author, now!

Ma: Well, excuse me, Mr. Author. My baby is an author! I love you so much and I’m so proud of you!

Me: Thank you Ma. I love you, too.

Ma: So, when will it be published?

Me: I published it last week!

Ma: Oh My God! That’s amazing…so fast!

Me: Yeah, only 3 years LOL

Ma: Smart ass! Hrmph! So, I can go to the book store and see my baby in the window?

Me: Ummm…not quite. But, I’ll send you a copy once I get the paper version done. Right now it’s available in E-book version. You can read it on a computer or smartphone or…

Ma: Oh…well you know your Mama don’t know nothing about that stuff…but I’m still so proud of you…

Me: Thanks!

Ma: So what’s it called? Does it have a name?

Me: Ummm…yeah, it has a name…

Ma: Well, what is it?

Me: It’s Hi! My name is Loco and I am a Racist!

Ma: Say what??? Your name is what? And you’re a what???

I laughed my ass off…

Since the launch of my book, Hi! My Name is Loco and I am a Racist, TWO days ago (seems like much longer doesn’t it?) I have received quite a few accolades and some of them have, frankly, floored me!

Sometimes, you don’t know who your real friends are until you’ve been placed into a crisis with them. Usually a crisis will bring out the best and worst in people. At a minimum, you’ll have a chance to see what they’re really made of.

I’m not in a crisis now. I’m in a situation where I’m positioning myself to achieve the dream I’ve retained for many years: of being a successful writer! I don’t know how crucial this very moment will ultimately be in achieving that aspiration, but I’m inclined to believe that my first book is at least important.

And, the outpour of support from not only my friends and family abroad, but particularly from the Japan Blogosphere, has been tremendous!! I mean, with the sensitive nature of the subject matter often covered on my blog, and the reception it sometimes received, I was not fully expecting this! I was expecting some, of course, but over the past two days, I’ve been getting support from places that I had no idea it resided.

Seeing that this is the most important endeavor I’ve undertaken in my LIFE, I’m overwhelmed…I’m filled with this continuously swelling feeling of validation, vindication, and optimism encased in an expanding locket of love and respect…and what makes it more potent and amazing, is that, in MOST cases, it’s being powered by people I have never personally met nor spoken to except in tweets and responses to comments.

This deluge of support makes a powerful statement about the age we are living in, and the almost otherworldly generosity and ultimate goodness of people in general. In this apparently cynical world we live in, this is beyond refreshing to see. This is healing!! I can actually feel open wounds I’d neglected scabbing and mending as I bathe in this flood of well wishes and support!

Sorry, but I just felt compelled to try to convey what I’m feeling now. My time is tight. The iron is hot and I gotta make this thing do whatever it’s gonna do during this launch period. So I can’t tell you all individually what this means (rest assured I will) but I just wanted to take a moment and say, from that clichéd bottom of my heart: THANK YOU!!

I haven’t felt so much reaffirming love and insecurity-smashing support, at such an elevated level, coming from so many sources simultaneously, in my life! Could this all be inspired by me? By my writing? I don’t know… Wherever it’s coming from, it’s a beautiful thing! Something I feel blessed to have seen for myself.

May the Creator bless all of you, too. That you may one day feel, or feel again some day, or constantly feel this way, about anything you do!

Cuz  it’s to die for…

What’s the greatest feeling you’ve ever felt?

Share your thoughts below.

Sincerely,

Loco

PS: Now back to the grind!

And, oh yeah, make the world a better place (by saving trees, etc…) and buy my book! On Sale Now  RIGHT HERE

The wait is over!

Hi! My Name Is Loco and I am a Racist

has arrived!

ON SALE NOW!!

The highly anticipated first book by Baye McNeil (a.k.a. Loco of Loco in Yokohama) is now available from both Amazon and Barnes & Noble online!

The Kindle version of this controversial new book is available from anywhere in the world at Amazon.com. Just follow this link: Kindle Version. You don’t even need to buy a Kindle. Just go to the order page and download (for FREE) a Kindle Reader for your Mac, PC or smart phone.

Hi! My name is Loco… is also available on Barnes and Nobles’ Nook: Click here to download the Nook version. If you need a Nook Reader for you PC, Mac or Smartphone, you can click here to download a Nook App, also for FREE!

You’ll be reading this future classic in minutes! Gotta love the modern world!

The Trade paperback version is still being perfected, but once it’s available I’ll be having a book launch party and doing some signings around Yokohama, Tokyo and Kawasaki. So stay tuned for that in the coming weeks.

In the meantime, enjoy your E-version and don’t forget to leave reviews at the Amazon and Nook pages so that others can know how much you enjoyed the book–as I have every confidence you will!

Also, if you have a chance, please check out my new website dedicated to the book. It has information about the author, publisher, excerpts from the book, and more!

http://www.himynameisloco.com/

Thank you, and brace yourself for a game-changing experience!

I’m on the brink of making the transition from writer / blogger to Indie author and publisher. The countdown to my first book’s launch  has already begun, and t’s in the single digits.

I’m not religious, but I feel compelled to say a quick agnostic prayer to the Creator of all things:

Thank you for blessing me with the wherewithal to see this project through to completion, and for placing supportive and inspiring friends and loved ones in my path, like people lining the route of a marathon with bottles of water and shouts of encouragement. I don’t think I could have gotten to this point otherwise.

I won’t ask for success, Lord, cuz you’ve already given me the tools I need to bring that about on my own. It’s just a matter of my utilizing them effectively and staying focused. And I won’t ask for strength to endure the challenges yet to be faced, either. Again, I think you’ve already done more than enough in that department.

What I will ask for though is that you bless my readers with the ability to grasp and understand the purpose of this book, and not to misconstrue it. The perfect world you’ve created is filled with imperfect people– like me–but we all have something to offer, a story to tell. And that story is truth! Truth that sets both the storyteller and the listener free. Please open the minds and hearts of readers, as you’ve opened my heart and mind in the writing of these stories, so that together we may enjoy your beneficence. Let it generate goodwill, and be received with the love and courage that inspired it.

Amen.

OK, with that said, here goes something beautiful. Without further delay, we have the unveiling of the cover and title of my first book:

So, what is the answer to the question: can a book be judged by its cover? I’m gonna go with an emphatic YES! This cover lives up to the book and the book lives up to the cover, and then some! 

Later I’ll get into the artist behind this work but, as you can plainly see, he’s a pro! 

***Quick advice to you writers working with cover artists: Choose the Artist Wisely and then Trust the Artist!  Oh, and You Get what you Pay For! ***

Stay tuned! If time allows, I may post an excerpt or two this weekend…

But, in the mean time, do me a big favor and TELL EVERYONE YOU KNOW ABOUT THIS!!

I’m an indie author, y’all. No huge PR or Ad campaign or Marketing machine is behind this. Gonna need some people power! The power of Word of Mouth is still the greatest marketing tool around!  So, if you’re so inclined, put your power to work for your boy, Loco! And make those social networking tools of yours do what they do!

I’ve been grinding here at Loco in Yokohama for over three years, giving it all I got for you guys. The highs and lows of life in Japan. All the while, making the hits, taking the hits, and forging a forum where real world topics could be addressed and discussed. Sometimes I hit the mark, sometimes I missed it, but if you read my work then you know I’m always aiming for edu-tainment and truth (at least, from my perspective)!

And this book is that, and more!

In conclusion, I don’t know what the future holds for this project but if the cover and the support I’ve received thus far are any indication then the future is looking mighty bright and colorful! 

This is really happening! (I’m telling myself as much as I’m telling you guys!)  And, this is by far the scariest, most exhilarating moment of my life!

Thank you for being a part of it!

My heartfelt gratitude, in advance…

Loco

I was born at Brooklyn Jewish Hospital (I think it’s condominiums now…that’s NY for you!) And, nope, I’m not Hebrew, but the doctor who administered my first spanking was. He’s been on my hit list even since! And if I ever catch him…bang – zoom!

I wasn’t the cutest baby, my mother tells me. But I had a big head so she just knew I was gonna grow up to be a selfish, ungrateful yet fairly intelligent, ex-patriotic sonohvah philandering deserter.

All mothers are prophets, aren’t they?

My first home was in a lovely little brownstone tree-lined hamlet in Central Brooklyn known as Bedford-Stuyvesant, or if you ask Jay-Z or one of them they’d say Do or Die Bed-Stuy (Or was it Crown Heights—who the hell knows? The neighborhood demarcations changed with every administration it seemed).

Some years later a film maker would put my neighborhood on the map. His name is Spike Lee (the guy holding the pizza below). You might have heard of him. He’s the one who, from his front row seat at Madison Square Garden, taunted Reggie Miller into knocking down two three-pointers and killing the Knicks back in 1994.

Here’s a video filmed in my lovely community by a group of some renown way back when Hip-Hop actually had something to say. (Chyo natsukashii)

Did you spot Loco in the crowd? I was that black guy with the baseball cap, jumping up and down trying to get my face in the…ah, nevermind.

I was the 4th child of six. Yep, one of them happy middle kids. Look at that smile!

And I grew up to be the quintessential prodigious middle child. Here’s a photo of my graduation from University at 13. (Or was that kindergarten? Shit, I should have hired a biographer to do this.) Doesn’t matter, I was a still a virgin, I think.

I spent High School higher than Method Man, so I don’t remember much! And not a pic to show for it. Oh well. Doesn’t matter much. Wasn’t much proper education going on in there, anyway.

My mother is an artist and my father was a Jazz guitarist / truck driver. He was a handsome one, wasn’t he? I can see why mother fell for his game like a ton of bricks.

Yes, I used to wear a lot of gold. Two finger ring, a pinkie ring, and a herringbone bracelet. Must have inherited that from my father. He was a gold guy, too. I think I might be inheriting his pouch now, as well. Thanks a lot Dad!

Between graduation from HS and graduation from University I did a lot of stuff, I guess, but I can’t remember most of it. I worked here and there. Who cares? Not the one of those jobs did I like. Wait, that’s not true. I liked writing for the newspaper…no, actually I hated that, too. But, I loved the writing part (-:

I made many friends and thank god I still have some of them, and their memories are intact. Otherwise I could never fill in all the holes in mine. I could plaster their pictures all over this page but I don’t think I can handle the heartbreak of another close friend suing me (Charlene, the check’s in the mail, and no it’s not in Yen this time) (-:

Then I came to Yokohama. And y’all know the rest: Yep. I lived happily after.

Hope you enjoyed this trip down Loco’s tainted memory lane.

Loco

PS: The holes will be filled in within the pages of my soon to be released first book, so brace yourselves!

Follow me on Twitter here for updates on the release date: Hi! My Name Is Loco

Between earthquakes Tsunamis and Nuclear meltdowns, I feel so blessed to still be around to welcome in the new year!

And I have the audacity to be hopeful about what this year will bring!

I just wanted to take out a moment to thank you guys for the support you’ve given me in 2011 and for hanging in there while I put the finishing touches on my book.

Though I had planned to have this baby on the market by now, I guess it’s right that I start the new year this way. I’m not a big resolution guy, but I do like to promise myself that I will  endeavor to be as creative and productive as possible, and so once again I reaffirm that promise.

Happy New Year, everyone!

May your 2012 be peaceful, joyous and prosperous!

I love you guys and I wish you all a magnificent 2012!

Sincerely,

Loco

They’ve got a great selection and the atmosphere is mad inviting. Sick of the Tower experience, and got a taste for what record stores used to be about? Here you go!

And, oh yeah, I love the name, too (-;

 (Okay, I might be a little biased)

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9hGIYiWXq2s&feature=related

They’ve got an online Store as well! Check it out, click below (it’s in Japanese though) 

Maybe once my book is published, I’ll get a little collab on with these guys (-; Cuz I know they got soul!

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

PS: Wanna chance to win a Kindle WiFi from Loco? I bet you do! Peep the rules here: How To Leave This World Better Than You Inherited It

Friend: You’re having fruit for dinner??

Me: Yeah, I love fruit…

Friend: Do all black people like fruit?

Me:  Do, what? What kinda….? I don’t know. I guess so… Do all Yellow People like rice?

Friend: Yellow People?

 She looked at her skin like it was first time she’d ever seen it and scratched her head.

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

PS: Wanna chance to win a Kindle WiFi from Loco? I bet you do! Peep the rules here: How To Leave This World Better Than You Inherited It

Click here for part 1

and here for part 2

And now Part 3

Most everyday, by the time I get to work, I’m either a case study in apathy, nauseous from the obscenities I’d endured moments earlier or, on a good day, focused on a word, sentence or idea that will  improve my book  or make my latest post more concise.

Only, when I arrive at the gate of my school, I do so to a chorus of good mornings and ohayo gozaimasus.

The baseball team, out on the field practicing, stop practicing to say in semi-unison, “Ohayou Gozaimasu.”  One might add something funny like, “did you buy condoms?”

Some of the girls, out practicing tennis to a hail of cadences, do the same.  One might shriek “I love you, Loco sensei!”

This even before I even cross the threshold.

Once inside, the sound of the band practicing scales and various other tunes wafts through the halls. Students headed for home room notice me in the foyer taking off my street shoes and slipping on my school shoes, greet me with varying levels of enthusiasm.

It’s hard not to think of Mr. Rogers at these times. I even hum the tune unconsciously sometimes (-;

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aU079Mdkenw&feature=related

Sometime I take all the pleasantry for granted and grunt a greeting like a grumpy boss’ arrival at the office, but mostly I can’t but recognize that this warm, giggly, musical welcome is the trigger that allows me to let go of all that baggage I ‘d arrived with. The people within these gates and fences, walls and hedges, are not deserving of the animosity I bear. I’m aware of this the way you’re aware when you’re dreaming that the chirping sound that suddenly pierces your subconscious is not derived from your subconscious but from your Smartphone’s alarm.

The song of children, even teens, especially here, is sung in the key of innocence with chords of hope.

Anger, animosity, hate, bitterness, stand little chance of maintaining their hold under these conditions.

From 8:30 til sometimes as late as 5pm, on a daily basis, I’m a free man!

My school is my sanctuary. And my kids are the custodians.

Not to suggest that the kids aren’t a pain in my ass, sometimes. They’re teens. By divine decree they are. Nor do I want to give the impression that my co-workers don’t challenge my patience (as I do theirs) . Indeed they do.

All I’m saying is that whatever issues I have with life in Japan and Japanese people applies almost solely to strangers…and there are no strangers in my school.

I am not a big scary foreigner I’m not a criminal or something to be shunned, snubbed, escaped from or run off. I’m not to be dehumanized in any way.

I’m a person, as much as a foreigner can be a person here, replete with thoughts and feelings. These are attributes I took for granted until I came to live in Japan.  I will never take them for granted again.

The kids and I inspire and learn from one another. It’s almost a symbiosis, as magical as a Stevie Wonder song.

Case and point, the other day I walked in to work to find these, and many more, adorning the walls:

So, what have my kids taught me about myself?

A-That I’m a real teacher and that teaching is truly a blessing!

B-That my soul is healed by being with children

Thanks kids!

To be continued…

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

PS: Wanna chance to win a Kindle Wifi from Loco? I bet you do! Peep the rules here: How To Leave This World Better Than You Inherited It

Noam Chomsky

Sorry, off topic, but I love great thinkers who can take complex ideas and make them plain. Chomsky is one such thinker. Here are his words from yesterday on the Occupy Movement:

Delivering a Howard Zinn lecture is a bittersweet experience for me. I regret that he’s not here to take part in and invigorate a movement that would have been the dream of his life. Indeed, he laid a lot of the groundwork for it.

If the bonds and associations being established in these remarkable events can be sustained through a long, hard period ahead – victories don’t come quickly – the Occupy protests could mark a significant moment in American history.

I’ve never seen anything quite like the Occupy movement in scale and character, here and worldwide. The Occupy outposts are trying to create cooperative communities that just might be the basis for the kinds of lasting organizations necessary to overcome the barriers ahead and the backlash that’s already coming.

That the Occupy movement is unprecedented seems appropriate because this is an unprecedented era, not just at this moment but since the 1970s.

The 1970s marked a turning point for the United States. Since the country began, it had been a developing society, not always in very pretty ways, but with general progress toward industrialization and wealth.

Even in dark times, the expectation was that the progress would continue. I’m just old enough to remember the Great Depression. By the mid-1930s, even though the situation was objectively much harsher than today, the spirit was quite different.

A militant labor movement was organizing – the CIO (Congress of Industrial Organizations) and others – and workers were staging sit-down strikes, just one step from taking over the factories and running them themselves.

Under popular pressure, New Deal legislation was passed. The prevailing sense was that we would get out of the hard times.

Now there’s a sense of hopelessness, sometimes despair. This is quite new in our history. During the 1930s, working people could anticipate that the jobs would come back. Today, if you’re a worker in manufacturing, with unemployment practically at Depression levels, you know that those jobs may be gone forever if current policies persist.

That change in the American outlook has evolved since the 1970s. In a reversal, several centuries of industrialization turned to de-industrialization. Of course manufacturing continued, but overseas – very profitable, though harmful to the workforce.

The economy shifted to financialization. Financial institutions expanded enormously. A vicious cycle between finance and politics accelerated. Increasingly, wealth concentrated in the financial sector. Politicians, faced with the rising cost of campaigns, were driven ever deeper into the pockets of wealthy backers.

And the politicians rewarded them with policies favorable to Wall Street: deregulation, tax changes, relaxation of rules of corporate governance, which intensified the vicious cycle. Collapse was inevitable. In 2008, the government once again came to the rescue of Wall Street firms presumably too big to fail, with leaders too big to jail.

Today, for the one-tenth of 1 percent of the population who benefited most from these decades of greed and deceit, everything is fine.

In 2005, Citigroup – which, by the way, has repeatedly been saved by government bailouts – saw the wealthy as a growth opportunity.

The bank released a brochure for investors that urged them to put their money into something called the Plutonomy Index, which identified stocks in companies that cater to the luxury market.“The world is dividing into two blocs – the plutonomy and the rest,” Citigroup summarized. “The U.S., U.K. and Canada are the key plutonomies – economies powered by the wealthy.”

As for the non-rich, they’re sometimes called the precariat – people who live a precarious existence at the periphery of society. The “periphery,” however, has become a substantial proportion of the population in the U.S. and elsewhere.

So we have the plutonomy and the precariat: the 1 percent and the 99 percent, as Occupy sees it – not literal numbers, but the right picture.

The historic reversal in people’s confidence about the future is a reflection of tendencies that could become irreversible. The Occupy protests are the first major popular reaction that could change the dynamic.

I’ve kept to domestic issues. But two dangerous developments in the international arena overshadow everything else.

For the first time in human history, there are real threats to the survival of the human species. Since 1945 we have had nuclear weapons, and it seems a miracle we have survived them. But policies of the Obama administration and its allies are encouraging escalation.

The other threat, of course, is environmental catastrophe. Practically every country in the world is taking at least halting steps to do something about it. The United States is taking steps backward. A propaganda system, openly acknowledged by the business community, declares that climate change is all a liberal hoax: Why pay attention to these scientists?

If this intransigence continues in the richest, most powerful country in the world, the catastrophe won’t be averted.

Something must be done in a disciplined, sustained way, and soon. It won’t be easy to proceed. There will be hardships and failures – it’s inevitable. But unless the process that’s taking place here and elsewhere in the country and around the world continues to grow and becomes a major force in society and politics, the chances for a decent future are bleak.

You can’t achieve significant initiatives without a large, active, popular base. It’s necessary to get out into the country and help people understand what the Occupy movement is about – what they themselves can do, and what the consequences are of not doing anything.

Organizing such a base involves education and activism. Education doesn’t mean telling people what to believe – it means learning from them and with them.

Karl Marx said, “The task is not just to understand the world but to change it.” A variant to keep in mind is that if you want to change the world you’d better try to understand it. That doesn’t mean listening to a talk or reading a book, though that’s helpful sometimes. You learn from participating. You learn from others. You learn from the people you’re trying to organize. We all have to gain the understanding and the experience to formulate and implement ideas.

The most exciting aspect of the Occupy movement is the construction of the linkages that are taking place all over. If they can be sustained and expanded, Occupy can lead to dedicated efforts to set society on a more humane course.

Thank you Mr. Chomsky for making it brilliantly plain, as always. You’re a giant among men!

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

First, a little about the venue!

The restaurant, aptly called Biervana (meaning Beer Heaven), is like a cross between Oktoberfest and Chez Cool! The food was on point (had myself two helpings), the wine was tasty (drank myself one too many glasses) and they’ve got a beer selection that even a German would appreciate! And, one whole wall is a projection screen flashing flicks of beauties bearing beer and other tasteful sights.The owner is the kind of quick-witted seasoned veteran that you just know is gonna know your name, or your beer, by the second visit and make you feel at home

I dug the whole vibe up in there! I’ll definitely be back!

For more info, here’s  a link to the Biervana Twitter Page and here’s a link to the website Biervana.

Next, big shout out to Mark Hiratsuka, Editor of CNNGO Tokyo, for the invite! Much obliged, sir!  You can follow Mark on Twitter @Japanized.

Here I am with Don J. Anderson, Sales and Marketing Director for CNNGO/Hong Kong   (Twitter page: @D_AndersonHK) and Mark Hiratsuka.

And, if you don’t know about CNNGO, then you best get in the know! It’s a hecka resource for finding out what’s going on in and around Tokyo, chock full of news on travel, entertainment, food, drink, lifestyles, you name it! A whole slew of very talented writers, editors, photographers and other contributors (some of whom I met last night) collaborating to provide readers with informative, accurate, and timely content. Check it out for yourself: CNNGO Tokyo

I also came across a few people I knew from Twitter, like Rob Goss (@tokyofreelance) with whom I had a very enlightening chat about writing, publishing and the most interesting things in Japan (-; What a great guy! Living my dream life!

I finally got a chance to meet the great Dave Perry of In Praise of Izakaya who’ve I’ve known since the inception of Loco in Yokohama, and turned out to be even cooler than his twitter photo; the kind of guy I’d love to go hang out with and hit Izakaya sometime. You can follow his tweets at: Tokyodrinker

Some other folks I had brief chats with included:

Bikram S. Sohal, Vice president & General Manager at CNNGO

Noriko Yamaguchi of Nori Photography who does a bit of photography for CNNGO

Wes Lang of Hikinginjapan. com

Rick Martin, Editor at Penn-Olson.com

Marcus Lovitt  a content creator at Japaneats.tv

And, Alex Brooke, founder of Learn Japanese Pod

And many other good folks to know. It was actually a helluva turnout and I met too many people to mention just now unfortunately )-: (plus, I should have eaten before I got at that wine)

If you were there and  read this post, please do me a favor and drop me a line with your particulars!

Best regards,

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

PS: Wanna chance to win a brand new Kindle Wifi from Loco? I bet you do! Well, just follow my new Twitter acct: Hi_MyNameIsLoco set up especially for updates on my upcoming book!

My Facebook Page hit 500 Likes!!

LOCO IN YOKOHAMA FACEBOOK PAGE

And 1500 Followers on Twitter!!

LOCOHAMA ON TWITTER

Some wise folks have said you should celebrate every accomplishment, large or small, and I happen to agree with them!

I couldn’t have done it without the support of you guys so THANK YOU!!!

Now it’s time to Pop Champagne!

You only get one life so we gotta live it up!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0TTf8-fWkYI

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

PS: Wanna chance to win a brand new Kindle Wifi from Loco? I bet you do! Well, just follow the new Twitter acct: Hi_MyNameIsLoco

You can peep the rules for the contest here: How To Leave This World Better Than You Inherited It

I thought about what to write for her festival’s theme (Important things I’ve learned living abroad) for about all of 10 minutes before an idea jumped into my head and wouldn’t release me. It started as thoughts for a single post and expanded in a matter of moments into an idea for a whole new series!

So, without further ado, here’s part 1 of my new series: Five things I’ve learned about myself as an expat living in Japan!

*****

Japan is a wonderful country to learn about oneself. It really is! Ask most any foreigner who has lived here for a time and, with varying levels of enthusiasm, they will attest to the same. Living in this country, for better or for worse, will rock your world!

There are a lot of firsts to be experienced, especially for the westerner who sets up shop here. And, as many of those firsts back in your homeland helped mold you you into the person you are today, the firsts you experience here will continue that lifelong process.

I’m sure you remember, for instance, that first unprotected roll in the hay, right? The one that informed you that, while you did believe in the Good Book, and the Higher Power that inspired it, your faith was flexible enough  to allow some moral wiggle room when it came to self-gratification…right? Which, in turn, may have lead you to question which of its other doctrines you weren’t prepared to strictly adhere to when they conflicted with your ambitons and desires, am I right? And, of course you recall that resulting first trip to the abortion clinic…Now, tell me that didn’t help solidify your position on the Pro-Choice / Pro-Life debate. If not, I’m certain it at least had an impact.

Yeah, in my experience, firsts can be catalysts for growth and wisdom.

Japan has been the arena for a plethora of firsts for me. Some of them have had subtle ramifications while others  have been of a profound nature. Sometimes I wonder if I had known in advance what I would be subject to living here,  if I would have still come or punked out and remained in my comfy little  hamlet in Brooklyn. I’m thinking the latter.

However, now that I find myself on the far side of  these firsts,  I can say with confidence: I’m a better, stronger person, with a more comprehensive knowledge of not only who I am and what makes me tick, but of this enigmatic world we live in, for having endured them all!

So, what are these firsts that have had such an effect? Well, they are as follows:

1-My first (and last) trip to Soapland

I used to have a private student- let’s call him Hiroki- who was a really cool guy! Hiroki confessed to me at our first meeting (more like stated matter of factly) that he had chosen me from a number of available teachers in the area because I was black, and he liked Hip-Hop. Lucky for me, I liked Hip-Hop, too. He was a pretty high level English speaker from the get go, so, instead of studying English, on Saturday afternoons we’d sit around Starbucks for an hour talking about Hip-Hop; me schooling him on the old school and he bringing me up to date on the new. Easy Money!

Sometimes our conversations would wander into the area of girls. He fantasized about getting his hands on some big-booty black chick like the ones he saw in the Hip-Hop videos, and I told him I felt the same about the Japanese girls walking past us every couple of seconds, sipping on Frappacinos. Japanese girls are mendokusai (too much trouble) he’d say and I’d tell him you ain’t seen trouble until you’ve crossed one of those big-booty video chicks you’re fantasizing about. ” Just stick to your fantasies, yo!”

Yeah, we hit it off.

One day while I was admiring some of the abundant eye-candy strolling by, he told me that the girls at the Hostess clubs looked much better and were much less trouble. Just pay and have fun and go home.

“Really?” I said, like I hadn’t been hoping he’d take the conversation in that direction one day. I wouldn’t have dared do it myself. Sometimes it’s hard to tell where that line between acceptable and unacceptable is with private students, so I often follow their lead.

“Soaplands are even better! Have you ever been to one?”

“Why, no…what’s that?” I asked, thinking ‘YES! Now we’re cooking with Crisco!

He explained that a Soapland was a sort of sex-free sex shop where customers can have good, clean fun with beautiful Japanese girls…with a guaranteed happy ending within the loopholes in Japanese laws regarding prostitution.

“There’s no intercourse, sorry, but I’ve never left a Soapland disappointed,” he said, grinning broadly, like I needed a little arm-twisting.

I’d seen the Soapland process in several porno movies and it looked intriguing to say the least. And there was little chance of catching anything funky if there was no intercourse taking place, so it sounded great to me. Something to write about one day or one of those quirky Japan stories to tell my friends back home.

We met up the following Friday night and he took me to a spot in Ikebukuro he frequented, where he said the girls were top-notch.

We got to the door and I followed him into the vestibule where a bouncer- earphone in one ear secret service style and a I’m a LOT tougher than I look posture, was standing in there. As we passed the bouncer at the door, the man stopped Hiroki.

At the time, my Japanese was much more limited than it is now (which is why I had never braved one of these places alone and was waiting for a Japanese guy to offer to escort me.) But, I’d been fluent in body language for decades. And, what I heard from the Bouncer’s finger, aimed derogatorily at my face like I was a photograph or across the street, was, “this guy’s with you??”

“Yes, he’s my friend,”Hiroki said, smiling proudly. He had been giddy up til that point, just thrilled to death that he was going to introduce me, his black foreign friend, to one of the aspects of his world that made his world the envy of the world’s men.

Mr. Soap gave me another disapproving look. “I see…”

I was beginning to see, too. But, Hiroki…he’d probably never been stopped at the door before.

“Is there a problem?” he asked the doorman.

“Well, the thing is….you see,” the Bouncer began, with a pantomime mask of deep regret on his face, which failed miserably to melt the ice in his eyes. They were frozen to Hiroki as if I were merely the topic of discussion, not standing before them. “We don’t usually serve foreigners here! None of the girls can speak English and…well, they are really afraid of foreign guys.”

Between his gestures and the few words I could pick out of his explanation (gaikokujin, Eigo, syaberarenai, kowai…) I got the gist.

“I see,” Hiroki nodded. “Well, I’ve already explained all the club rules to him. And he’s a very nice guy. And he can speak Japanese a little. So, there won’t be any problems.”

“Yeah, but, you see, the club has special rules, and…you understand, no?”

Hiroki didn’t get it, actually. But, after three minutes standing in a doorway, I fully comprehended the situation. And started feeling bad for Hiroki. Especially when he turned and gave me a look that would break Hitler’s heart.

“Come on, man, let’s go!” I said, reaching for his arm. “Fuck this place! Let’s go get some brews!”

Hiroki turned once more to Mr. Soap and said, “I’m never coming here again!”

We went to a bar down the street, and ordered some beers. Hiroki was depressed as hell. I kept trying to cheer him up, trying to change the subject from “That fucking place!” which is what he kept repeating. I felt responsible for putting him in that position. If it weren’t for me he’d be on an inflatable mattress with some soaped-up  hottie sliding all over him by then.

If it weren’t for me…

And that’s when I realized that, remarkably, for the first time in my life I had been the victim of outright, Jim Crow-style racial discrimination, not so much because I was black (actually I’ll never know if my color was a factor) but because I wasn’t Japanese (or Asian.)

And, ironically, instead of feeling a victimized rage in the pit of my stomach, and an irrepressible urge to do harm to someone (which up til that point I imagined would be my reaction whenever this dark day came to be) there I was consoling a friend.

I learned something important about myself that night, thanks in part to this first. Something it would take me some time to process.

You see, I didn’t feel victimized because at that point I had been living in Japan long enough to believe that it was only a matter of time before something like that happened. I mean, it was simple to surmise that in a country where the natives routinely avoid standing, sitting or even walking near you whenever possible, that they just might have a problem “cleaning” you which would require actual physical contact. The irreverence of daily life in Japan had groomed me to look indignity in the face and say, “Fuck these people! let’s go get a brew!” I could just roll with the blows because I was already punch drunk, and one more punch wasn’t going to kill me.

Hiroki however took the blow right in the solar plexus of his pride and national self-image, and it left him reeling center ring.  You could have performed the coup de grace with a pillow after that.

The rude awakening he’d suffered for some reason overshadowed whatever humiliation I felt. He knew that his people were “shy” around foreigners, but it’s a good bet he didn’t know that that “shyness” clause in Japan’s contract with humanity had a loophole in it wide enough for blatant discrimination to slip through. Or, maybe he did but hadn’t really considered how those consequences might play out in the real world because he would never be at the business end of them.

But I’m no mind reader and that night Hiroki couldn’t really put into words why he felt the need to repeatedly curse the establishment, but I imagined that considering how he felt about his country, it must have felt like he’d gone to his a Soapland with his Japanese co-workers (as he did often) only to find out- in the worst  possible way- that his mother was Mermaid of the Month there.

As for me, in no uncertain terms, this first taught me that I had a very low opinion of the people here.

Dangerously low!

here’s part 2: Teachers teach and do the world good!

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

PPS: Wanna chance to win a brand new Kindle Wifi from Loco? I bet you do! Well, just follow the new Twitter acct: Hi_MyNameIsLoco

You can peep the rules for the contest here: How To Leave This World Better Than You Inherited It

The first phase could be called my Black Anjin-San phase.

I’d be that black guy inserting my two-yen into a Japan bashing session at a Gaijin bar, saying shit like: “Man, how can you say that about these wonderful people?” or “You know what your problem is? You think your culture is superior to their culture. You have a superiority complex. You’re the reason you feel unwelcome here. Not them.” 

I took great pleasure in interjecting platitudes and cliches like, “Be part of the solution not part of the problem,” and “be the change you want to see here!” Yep, that was me. That guy whose head you wanted to crack open with a bottle of Asahi Super Dry!

My roommates didn’t know what to make of me. They must have thought I had gone loco already. I lived with two white guys, a Kiwi and an Aussie. Both were music lovers. One, a serious guitarists, and the other a guitar enthusiast. They were two of the coolest guys you ever want to meet. However, both were heavy drinkers and a little on the “fuck that, I pay rent just like they do” tip. And here I was, a Black guy, from Brooklyn New York, no less, scolding them for being disrespectful to our neighbors and of our host nation.

I came to the defense of the Japanese in almost any situation. Although on the ground in  Japan, I didn’t see much of anything worth defending, the Japan in my head was worth dying for. It was chock-full of James Clavell and a wildly romantic image of a Japan that could be penetrated by a foreigner of some intelligence, skill, and with the right mindset; someone like, well, like me.

I felt I was in possession of the prerequisite disposition to tear through the silk kimono and say, “Heeerrre’s Loco!”

Hell, I wanted to be a Kokujin (black) Anjin-san.

Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t entirely delusional. I mean, I read Crichton’s Rising Sun, as well as Clancy’s Debt of Honor. Clancy and Crichton (may he rest in peace) were two of my favorite authors, but both I thought did a bit of Japan bashing.

And I too wasted two hours and  ten bucks on Lost in Translation. Personally I thought it was a boring, pointless movie full of the type of people who could never be Anjin-sans. They were just a couple of xenophobes abroad. No wonder they were lost.

They were the kind of foreigners I didn’t want any parts of, which is why I detested Gaijin Bars.

I felt about these bars the way Clavell’s Anjin-san felt about the place where his shipmates were being held, in the district where the “Untouchables”or “Burakumin”  lived. After he’d left from reuniting with, Anjin San shed his kimono and demanded a bath. This is how I felt about Roppongi, as well. It was the modern day version of that area, a place where Japanese allow foreigners to carry on like the barbarians they are thought to be. And where low-life skanky Japanese go to consort with and handle the contaminated flesh of Gaijin.

I felt about my co-workers the way Anjin-san felt about his crew: ignoramuses, mostly, with a crude idea of the superiority of their respective societies, whether it be America, Canada, Australia, England, France or Germany. European values, Christian morals, rigid, self-righteous, close-minded hypocrites, the majority.

I couldn’t even spend too much time with other black people.

Most were military types who held most Japanese in contempt and thus were on a mission to be as Gaijin as possible, especially those who’d been here for a while. We call it “showing your ass” back in NY, and these guys loved to show their asses.

Downright embarrassing, that Japanese would associate me, the black Anjin-san, with those malcontents!

Soapland

Most conversations I’d have with these guys would inevitably lead to a shitload of bad experiences being spewed at me. They took great delight in what they considered an imparting of the wisdom they’d acquired. Most of these guys regarded the Japanese as unblushing racist as well as proudly, inexplicably and, in most cases, intolerably ignorant of the world surrounding their tiny island.

I could understand their rage, somewhat. Here they are, told by their commanders that they are the only thing standing

between Japan and a Kim jong-il invasion, or Chinese vengeance for atrocities committed against their citizens during WWII, and as soon as they step off post they get treated by their protectorate like a disease. Any day now, that crazy Korean maverick could launch an attack, and these soldiers would be forced to risk and in some cases sacrifice their lives for people who have the audacity to refuse to serve them at Soaplands and “Fashion Health” parlors all over Tokyo and Yokohama.

But, at the time, I was all about making the most of this experience. I wasn’t about to let some disgruntled black guys rain on my parade.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ybD0KeBaK_M

Don’t Rain On My Parade

I wasn’t really a Japanophile, though. I was just being the Devil’s Advocate. Something I do to keep my mind open to the possibilities. Walking in the next guy’s shoes is a good way to do that, so to speak. It’s something I’ve found to be very useful in gaining some objectivity. Part of my motivation for coming here in the first place was to learn for myself about Japanese people and culture. Not to have it dictated to me by a bunch of disgruntled expats and haters.

But, I learned that one cannot play the Devil’s advocate for long without the Devil himself showing up.

And it wasn’t long before Japanese beat the shit out of any fantasies I may have entertained about being anything but a gaijin here.

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

PS: This is a re-post, kinda!

PPS: Wanna chance to win a brand new Kindle Wifi from Loco? I bet you do! Well, just follow the new Twitter acct: Hi_MyNameIsLoco

You can peep the rules for the contest here: How To Leave This World Better Than You Inherited It

Loco: CUT! CUT! What the fuck, A.D.???

Assistant Director (A.D.): Sorry Boss…I don’t know what…

Loco: You don’t know shit today, do you? Fuck do I need you for–

A.D. : Listen, there’s no need for–

Loco: Shut the fuck up fo’ I fire your ass! You told me she could do this!

A.D.: She can. I’ve seen her…

Loco: Didn’t I tell you to shut up? (Loco turns as the actress approaches him and A.D.) Tomomi, darling, what’s wrong?

Tomomi: I guess I don’t understand what you want–

Loco: I don’t…listen, Tomomi, I can’t tell you exactly how to react. You’re the actress., right? Well, Act! Or, I don’t know, be yourself…Imagine, hell, try to remember how it felt back in the days, before you came to L.A. and acquired that accent. Channel those old feelings, darling. The way you felt in the real situation–

Tomomi: But–

Loco: You think you can do that for me?

Tomomi: I think so–

Loco: Glad to hear it!  Ok, let’s give it another shot, ne. (Loco turns to the cast and crew) Alright everybody we’re losing light so let’s get it right, I gotta K-1 fight to catch tonight. A.D.!

A.D.: OK everyone, Take your positions, know your marks…Cue extras! Cue stunts! LOCO IN YOKOHAMA The Movie, Scene 20, Take 8…

Loco: Film, speed…action!

Loco, 6’0, brown-skinned, dressed conservatively in a Yankee baseball cap, a grey pullover California Berkeley University hoodie, blue jeans, and Timberlands, is walking along an unbusy shopping street, reading a text message on his smartphone. A Japanese woman walking a few yards ahead of him suddenly stops and looks at her reflection in a window. She spots Loco peripherally. She turns to get a good look at him with shock and fear on her face.

Then, from her perspective, we see the “other” Loco (a figment of her imagination): this one darker and humongous, with a dangerous look in his eyes, and has a pipe in his hand!

The woman suddenly turns and walks away at a faster pace, her stiletto heels tap-tapping against the sidewalk at a rapid pace seem to be saying Help me in morse code. Every 4 or 5 steps she looks over her shoulder and sees the “other” seedy Loco.

The real Loco, realizing what’s going on, slows his pace in order to ease her tension as she makes her escape.

She looks again and sees the “other” Loco with the pipe held high, gaining on her! She bolts into a Drug Store, checking to see if she’s been followed. The “other” Loco passes by the Drug Store entrance at a slow trot.

Loco: CUT! CUT! CUT!!!!! Tomomi, sweetheart…how should I put this? I need you to be more…more…A.D.! More what?

A.D.: More Japanese! He needs you to be more Japanese.

Loco: Yeah, that’s it! More Japanese! Can you be more Japanese?

Tomomi: More Japanese???

Loco: Or maybe you spent too much time in LA! Did you forget what it’s like to be xenophobic? I mean, scared shitless of your own imagination!

Tomomi: I’m doing my best Mr. Loco. I just… (Starts weeping)

Loco (turns and pulls A.D. to the side): I don’t need this shit, A.D. ! Not now, not ever! I can’t tell you where to put your dick. That’s your business. But your girlfriend’s fucking up my movie. That makes it my business!

A.D.: Sorry Boss!

Loco: You gonna handle this? Cuz if not…

A.D.: I don’t know what to say to her…I mean–

Loco: Fuck me! Ok, you lucky fuck! I wish you wasn’t the most competent person on this set. Cuz I’d fire your pathetic ass right now! (Walks back over to Tomomi) Err, Tomomi, take a walk with me. And please stop that crying…

Tomomi: I’m sorry Mr. Loco…I just try so hard and–

Loco: Listen, Tomomi-chan…you grew up here in Yokohama, didn’t you?

Tomomi: Yes (sniffling) In Higashi Kanagawa–

Loco: And when did you come to L.A.?

Tomomi: When I was 16, for high school, and University–

Loco: And when did you get your SAG card?

Tomomi: 2 years after that…

Loco: Commercial work, right?

Tomomi: Yes.

Loco: A little stage work, too?

Tomomi: Yes, I was in an Off-Broadway production of CATS and–

Loco: Have you done any porn yet?

Tomomi: What? (Sniffles abruptly stop, replaced by silent indignation and shock) Of course not–

T.T. Boy

Loco: Well, listen, Darling. Your boyfriend over there, my A.D., he told me you could do this, and you told me you could do this, so I just want you to do what you promised me you’d do!

Tomomi: I…I don’t understand

Loco: You don’t understand. Ok. If we don’t get this take, and I mean right fucking now, I promise you the only film work you’ll ever get will be with TT Boy and his friends doing Bukkake all over your pretty fucking face. Do you understand that?

Tomomi: (Shaking in fear at the coldness in Loco’s voice) Y-y-yes Sir, Mr. Loco.

Loco: Are you sure? Cuz I once broke a promise, and now I got one good kidney left to remind me not to do that shit again. The other one has a bullet hole in it. You sure you got me?

Tomomi: (Terror etched in her face) H-h-hai!

Loco: That face! That’s the one! Hold on to that feeling! That’s what I want…PLACES EVERYONE! Let’s shoot this thing and call it a night! Ok A.D.

A.D.: Hey Boss, what did you say to my girl? She looks like you stuck a gun in her mouth!

Loco: I just made up some bullshit…and gave her some acting lessons. Now, let’s get this done!

*****

I woke up laughing my ass off! What a dream! Probably cuz I was watching Hollywood Shuffle the other night (-;

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xKX4LktBI5o

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

PS: This is a re-post!

PPS: Wanna chance to win a brand new Kindle Wifi from Loco? I bet you do! Well,  just follow the new Twitter acct: Hi_MyNameIsLoco

You can peep the rules for the contest here: How To Leave This World Better Than You Inherited It 

The Japanese McDonald’s is different than the McDonald’s back home. And, the familiarity of Starbuck’s is like finding water on Mars.

Until you go inside, that is.

First, you’re struck by the cleanliness. There’s a gleam to everything. And there’s at least 1 or 2 staff people cleaning at all times, tweaking the clean, like they do in McDonald’s commercials, but you rarely see in real life.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XKR1ScQUpcA

There are two registers open with two pretty college girls, looking handpicked for counter appeal, taking orders, and three others in the prep area waiting diligently like very disciplined, well postured and well-paid chambermaids in a castle somewhere. Very “Remains of the day” looking…only ostentatiously cheery and Japanese.

You check out the menu…most of the usual suspects are there: all kinds of Lattes and Chais and whatnot. You peruse it trying not to be distracted by the patient, smiling, gorgeous co-ed standing before you. Then, you place your order: “Yeah, let me get uh grande Iced Caramel Macchiato please.” Then you remember you’re speaking English…Being in Starbuck’s just doesn’t feel like Japan.

You get ready to repeat your order in Japanese when the staff smiles and confirms your order. Then she sings it to the preparers, who are suddenly called into action, as they sing the order in response, and in unison…with prepubescent Mickey/Minnie Mouse voices.

It’s the cutest thing you’ve ever heard…and they are the happiest staff people you’ve ever seen.

You actually believe they are happy to serve you. You’ve never felt that about the staff anywhere that didn’t stand to make a sweet commission off of your purchase. (And these guys get no tips!) You don’t know it yet but it’s a routine you’re going to be enjoying on a daily basis, with the same consistent cheer, at Starbuck’s and the majority of the businesses you patronize, consistently, for the next eight years!

Welcome to Japan…

Then you take your order to a seat. Most of them are full. You see an empty seat near the door. Bollocks, there’s a computer and a cell phone on the table, and a purse on the chair. You immediately look for the owner…they must be close. That’s a lot of value sitting there by its lonesome. But, there is no one not seated anywhere near it besides you. You look around for another unoccupied table. You spot one in the back. It’s free. It’s next to the bathroom. You plant yourself and sip your overpriced drink. A couple of minutes later a girl emerges from the restroom and strolls to the table where you’d seen the PC, phone and purse, sits, and resumes doing her homework or whatever.

You think to yourself, Man, if she had done that in NY there’s a very good chance she would have come back to an empty table. A VERY, VERY good chance. Then you wonder how true that is. You’ve actually never seen anyone so stupid before and of course you’ve never left your belongings behind while you so much as looked out the window, let alone went to the bathroom. It’s simply unthinkable, anti-common sense. It almost warrants being robbed.

You imagine that if you went to the police station in NY after being robbed and explained that “…when I came back from the bathroom a few minutes later, all of my stuff was gone,” they would laugh and say, “Jesus H. Christ!! if it wasn’t for dickheads like you, there wouldn’t be any thievery in this world, would there?”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5NP8y63Ms4o

You don’t it know then, but a couple of years later you’ll be the one going to the bathroom leaving your belongings behind because you would have been living in a country where what you grew up to believe is common sense isn’t common sense, it’s nonsense, it’s almost unthinkable, and this kind of thinking eventually rubs off on you. So much that you’re almost afraid to go back to your home-world, for if you do then you will need to re-install that old paranoid software, also known as survival instincts, that it took all this time to un-install.

And you realize that you actually hated having to drag your computer to the toilet with you…not because it’s a pain in the ass, but because it indicated that no one in your vicinity could be trusted…that you lived in a trust-free environment your entire life and accepted it as the way of the world.

Well, not in this world.

Welcome to Japan…

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

PS: This is a re-post!

PPS: Wanna chance to win a Kindle Wifi from Loco? I bet you do! Peep the rules here: How To Leave This World Better Than You Inherited It

1- Well, it’s about that time, y’all!

Loco in Yokohama started out as an idea buzzing around my head. Soon it manifested itself as a free WordPress blog. Then, a year later, upgraded to a self-hosted blog , complete with a snazzy new banner and logo and other fine features…

Now it’s about to take a much more daring leap: Yep, (barring any unforeseeable delays) as early as next month but certainly before the end of the year, my first self-published book will be available for purchase at your favorite E-book dealer and via Kindle! And, soon afterwards, a paper version will hit the marketplace!

The Working Title of this non-fiction collection of stories and essays is: “Hi! My Name Is Loco… “

It is the fulfillment of three years of observation, investigation, soul-searching and  a lifetime of experience. The writings cover a span of four decades spent on two continents — North America and Asia — all with the central theme of the woolly mammoth in the room:

Racism.

Primarily, it is a memoir focused on how I perceived it around me, and more importantly how I identified it within me. Furthermore, this book will illustrate how I was able to recover from being a racist.

“Hi! My Name Is Loco…” details how I came to learn the true culprits behind racism: ignorance, envy, and (the mother of them all) fear. It is my argument that one’s personal relationship with fear is directly related to ones susceptibility to this worldwide plague. It is my hope and, frankly, my determination that by sharing my stories I can contribute to one day ending this madness which is at the root of many of the world’s ills. But before that wondrous day, when our collective desire for a better world where human beings are not “measured by the color of our skin”, can be achieved we must begin by individually acknowledging our own culpability and addressing our own fears. My stories are written to inspire just that.

Ambitious, I know. But, what can I say? I’m an ambitious guy!

The Creator has given each of us at least one gift, and I intend to use mine- meager as they may be- to leave this world better than I inherited it!

I have a story to tell and the audacity to expect to be heard.

*****

 2 -And, speaking of Kindle …Who’d like to get their hands on one of these?

Today, October 18th, Loco in Yokohama enters its third year!  That’s right, it’s our anniversary!

First, a little prayer:

I want to thank the Creator for his perpetual blessings, for helping me stay creative, motivated, and fairly positive;  to resist complacency and apathy and to seek to achieve balance within my sphere of influence; to grow as a writer and as a human being;  to attract uplifting and supportive people along the way, to believe in myself, and to inspire others to do the same.

I ask for nothing…you’ve already given me so much, not least of which was the strength to face the challenges I’ve endured and the  courage to face the challenges to come. Who could ask for anything more?

I’ll take care of the rest (-;

*****

So, yeah, like I was saying, it’s our Anniversary!

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=STC3I6SwLp4&feature=related

And as fast as blogs come and go, I’m thinking Blog Years should be measured same as canine years, seven to one. Sounds about right, right? That would mean Loco in Yokohama has reached the legal drinking age of 21! (-;

And, on that note, I’d like to propose a toast:

Praise to the folks
The folks who’ve gotten to know us
Know us when we’re up
Know us when we’re down
Praise to the folks
Who’ve gotten to know us
Know us when we’re serious
Know when we’re just fucking around

***The above toast was excerpted from a piece entitled An Ode to Loco, and composed by a follower and frequent commenter here at Loco in Yokohama, by the name of Will. Will blogs over at Reptiles and Samurai  and you should go check  out his spot first opportunity! Thank you so much, Will. Your words move me! ***

*****

In three years, Loco in Yokohama has far surpassed my expectations!

Accomplishments to date?

Locohama has climbed, post by post, backlink by backlink, tweet by tweet, from obscurity to what the website Klout refers to as a “Specialist.” In the Japan blogosphere, and in several countries around the world, Loco in Yokohama is a recognized name and brand, identified with (among other things lol) entertaining and sometimes great writing, engaging, compelling, provocative and thought-provoking subject matter, quality, integrity, and consistency!

I have poured my heart and soul into this blog and I am PROFOUNDLY PROUD of the results! As I’m typing this I just burst into tears…fuck!

OK…

475 Posts / 10,000 Comments/ 600,000 Visits

Incredible, right? Something I couldn’t even imagine happening three years ago!

Seriously. I didn’t know that I had it in me.

Blogging is about more than just writing. It’s about maintenance, building and responding to a readership, earning and giving respect, networking, sharing, caring, sacrifice, diligence, responsibility…all that stuff your parents and teachers tried to instill in you.

The only things I knew for sure at the beginning of Loco in Yokohama was that I was a decent person with a little charm and a  talented pen, and that charm often found its way into my writing giving it appeal.

But keeping Loco in Yokohama not only going but operating at a fairly high level required much more of me than I thought it would. Loco in Yokohama has put into me as much as I’ve put into it! It’s been like a friend I created from scratch, or an offspring..

Not to get too carried away…I just wanted to give you guys a sense of the gratification I’m feeling now for not only having the attention and support of thousands of readers but for successfully forging myself into the kind of human I think is worthy of it!

You know?

Anyway, I have a couple of announcements to make (ones I’m pretty sure you guys will like,) but I’ll save them for the next post later this evening….kinda hectic at the moment! For now, I just want to extend a great big cyber-hug of  thanks to all of my friends and fam that have blessed  Loco in Yokohama with your spirit and energy over the past three years.

This song is STILL my favorite song.! Still Ray by Raphael Saadiq (formerly of Tony! Toni! Tone!)

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ooz85nVYfiU

Still Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

Making Japanese friends is essential to having the consummate Japanese experience, and has the added benefit of helping you maintain your sanity.

Here are my top four reasons why:

1- If you’re studying Japanese, they are a great resource for natural nihongo.

2- Until you’re Nihongo proficient, they can help you with an array of things you need to do to improve your life in Japan.

3- If you want to experience Japan away from the typical Gaijin friendly places they’re invaluable.

4- Being with a Japanese person relaxes the other Japanese people around you.

1-Studying Japanese will help you preserve your sanity, as I mentioned in the post: Learn that Japanese. What I neglected to mention is how Japanese friends can help. They are native speakers, so obviously they can speak fluently. Duh! But that doesn’t necessarily mean they can teach how to speak it or answer all the questions sure to pop up while you’re studying Japanese. I’m an inquisitive mofo so anytime something doesn’t make sense I always ask the magic question: why? Why is a question only a teacher or someone who understands the language, culture and history very well can answer.

If you ask the average native English speaker, or anyone who isn’t a wordsmith with a thorough knowledge of etymology, to explain why, for example, in the word photograph the first syllable is stressed while in the word photography the second is stressed, I’m sure they’d look at you and say, “Why is the sky blue? Why is water wet? How the fuck should I know?” The same is true if you ask the average Japanese native speaker a why question. So most of the answers to why remain unanswered unless you put in the effort and read books on the language.

But that wasn’t exactly my motivation initially. My main reason for pounding the Japanese books was so that I could do some nanpa. Nanpa is basically flirting or picking up girls. I enlisted my first male Japanese friend, Takahiro  (not his real name) primarily to assist me in learning how to do so in Japanese.

Takahiro  and I met through an American friend of mine. He was a Salaryman, but a rock star in his dreams, so he moonlighted as lead singer and guitarist in a punk rock band. Life as a salaryman had been plan B so he had tattoos on his fingers that he had to hide every day by wrapping them with bandages. He could speak English a bit and was kind of cool, you know, for a salaryman.

He was in love with white girls, any white girl. One night, he met some white girl from Alabama on the internet and took to obsessing over her til I couldn’t stand him anymore.

He did teach me my first nanpa, though. I can hardly remember it now. Something about お茶しませんか？(Shall we have tea?) which was supposed to be code language for let’s get to know each other better right now, and 君は一番かわいい女の子なんとかなんとか(You are the cutest girl…something or other.)

Before Takahiro  the only Japanese I knew I’d learned from books like the Japanese for busy people series (which are pretty good actually) and the likes. But, were useless when it came to my new goal: getting my hands on some of this cuteness running around half-naked all around me.

I should’ve known Takahiro  was useless in this regard. He definitely wasn’t focused. While I was breaking my neck with every step at the over abundance of eye-candy, he hardly noticed. He had about as much interest in Japanese girls as I had in Japanese guys. Having seen this scene his entire life, perhaps it was difficult for him to get excited about it. What was exotic (and erotic) to me was totally commonplace to him. So, the friendship took a hit and we started drifting apart. I needed someone on the same track as me and, up to that point, those shoes were only being filled by my fellow foreigners.

Before we went our separate ways though he did school me about a few things.

I’d been seeing a girl at the time and she’d taken to helping me with my Japanese as I helped her with her English (surprise surprise, eh). I’d listen to how she spoke and I mimicked her sentence structure and what not. She’d say things like: Oohhh! You sound like a Japanese! And, I’d smile ear to ear. (I’d later learn it was Oseji -flattery) When I got with Takahiro  I’d use some of that Japanese sounding Japanese I’d learned.

“Samui yo!” It’s cold!

Takahiro   smiled. I could tell he was trying not to laugh.

“Fuck you smiling at?”

“You sound like a girl!”

“Really?” I shouldn’t have been surprised but I was. “What? My voice?”

“No, your words. Don’t use Yo like that. Girls talk like that.”

That fucked me up. In Japan, you hear “Yo” and “Ne” all the time, by guys and girls. Back in NY many people use Yo for everything, too, so I thought I had found something that I was already comfortable with using. The text-book says that “Yo” places a stronger emphasis on the preceding words so I thought “Samui yo” meant something to the effect of  ”it’s damn cold!” But, according to Takahiro  it did just the opposite the way I’d used it. It made it softer. I sounded gay, he said, and finally released the laughter he could no longer contain.

Great. Him, with his perfect hair he spent half a day in the hair salon getting done… But, he had given me a possible explanation for why I had been getting giggled at by my students and by all the girls I’d spoken to before gleaning this info from Takahiro. It’s been my experience that most Japanese won’t tell you if you’re making an ass of yourself because you’re a foreigner and the expectations are very low for foreigners. And, this illustrates my point about the value of Japanese friends: They can give you the inside dope that those textbook writers may have either not been privy to, overlooked or in some cases the usage has changed as languages do constantly.

Thanks Takahiro  -san!

2- When I first came to Japan, I came under the aegis of NOVA. They were totally responsible for me. And, as a benefit I totally took for granted at the time, they took care of everything from getting me an apartment to arranging my healthcare benefits. They even got me my first Japanese cellphone. Very convenient. Of course NOVA had relationships with these Japanese companies which gave them an advantage over the competition, but that’s how it goes. It also cost us instructors a little more for we could have gotten several of these services for less money in some cases if we could speak Japanese and had shopped around…or if we had friends who spoke Japanese. But few of us fresh arrivals had either. So, the headache / expense ratio was acceptable at the time.

After I met my first true friend in Japan, Aiko, I learned most of this. When I told her about my cellphone and how much I had paid, she laughed and took me to a another company where I got a better deal and a better phone. She handled all the conversing and I signed all the contracts. When I told her about how much I paid for rent, she was aghast and took me to a neighborhood realtor where I learned that my Japanese neighbors were paying in many cases a third less.

One day, I had taken a nasty spill off of my bicycle and had to go to the hospital. Aiko was right there beside me explaining everything to the doctor and to me like my handy translator. Another time I threw my back out. If you’ve read “ducking and Bobbing” you know my drama with my back. Aiko’s mother also used to have back problems. Until she found this Chiropractor / Miracle worker out in Saitama. Aiko brought me there and he, using a combination of Western & Eastern techniques he’d learned in China, sent me home feeling like a new man.

Aiko-Chan

I was a very independent person in New York. As a bachelor, I did everything myself for many years. Whatever I didn’t know how to do I could learn how to do or hire someone to do for me. But, in Japan, I felt like an invalid. A man stripped of his ability to see, hear and speak. A friend like Aiko took the sting out of this feeling so much. And did so without further emasculation. I wish I could have done half as much for her as she did for me but she was a totally self-sufficient person.

Now, that I can speak enough Japanese to handle some of my personal affairs, I’ve recovered some of my lost independence. But if it hadn’t been for Aiko I would have suffered much more than I did.

Thanks for all your help, Aiko-chan! You’ll always be the best!

3- I used to ask my students of a certain age for recommendations of cool places to hangout in Japan.

“You should go to Roppongi,” the majority of them would advise me. I’d already been to Roppongi, of course. Not a foreigner in the Tokyo area hasn’t. But, I wasn’t keen on the place, for a number of reasons. It’s a dodgy place, first off; the Tokyo version of Sin City, only much more expensive and you get less for your money. Secondly, it’s full of foreigners and the Japanese girls who prey on them-usually pretty skanky. If I wanted to hang out with Americans and skanky girls I wouldn’t have come to Japan to do it. There are plenty in NY.

“Why Roppongi? Do you like Roppongi?” I’d ask them. “How often do you go there?”

“No,” they’d invariably say. “I don’t go there.”

“Why?”

“It’s so crowded!”

“Oh, I see.”

“Abunai, deshou?” Dangerous isn’t it?

“Why would you recommend that I go to a place you don’t like and you don’t go to?”

“You are foreigner, deshou? Many foreigners go there. Foreigners like Roppongi! And many beautiful girls go there to meet foreigners!”

I’d let it go…sometimes. These conversations were my first insight into the mindset, especially when it comes to foreigners. The fact that the person didn’t see any problem with sending me to a place they thought to be dodgy spoke volumes.

Sometimes, though, I wouldn’t let it go at that.

“So, you recommend I go to a place you think is dangerous? Do you think I like dangerous places?”

“Eeetooo.” Well…..

“Oh, wait! I understand now. Because there are other foreigners there, and beautiful girls, I won’t mind a little danger…is that what you mean?”

“Eeetoooo” Well….

I refrain from getting confrontational with Japanese about their bullshit these days, because maintaining a smile while discussing something like this is still a struggle. Some kind of emotion peeks from behind the smile and spits at them. I wind up unintentionally showing some feeling or putting an edge on my words that tend to make some people uncomfortable.

But, if you make a friend, then you can get some solid recommendations.

They’ll hip you to some places that’ll bend your ears back. Every onsen I’ve ever been to was recommended by a Japanese friend (who usually accompanied me). Every cool bar or club, not located in a gaijin-friendly zone ike Roppongi, I was directed to by a Japanese friend (often accompanying me.)

Case and Point: Satoshi:

He was the coolest mofo you ever want to meet, of any race. I was looking for a cool ass nihonjin- male for a change- that I could hangout with. Someone who could hip me to some cool places to hang out (I’d had it up to here with Roppongi, Kabukicho, Shibuya and the other so-called gaijin-friendly places.)

There was a beauty salon next door to my school. Sometimes when I’d go out to the smoke area there’d be this guy who worked at the salon out there puffing his Seven Stars. He had bleached dirty-blond hair, a goatee and big smile with a slight edge. One of them cool guys I’d see around Tokyo who’d whisper to each other like girls whenever I pass by them. When I’d see him through the salon’s main window, massaging conditioner into some cutie’s hair, I’d say to myself, “Now there’s a job that’ll- if he isn’t gay- turn any man misogynistic after a couple of years. Chances are he’ll have an edge.” I like people with an edge. Most New Yorkers are edgy in every sense of the word.

It wasn’t long before we bumped heads in the smoke area and he said what’s up. And, over a smoke, he asked all those typical When nihonjin met gaijin… questions, or rather, When Nihonjin met kokujin… (When Japanese meet black men) cause he seemed to zero in on what seemed to be race-related inquiries. I’d gotten used to it. It’s my selling and repelling point in Japan. No way around that.

He couldn’t speak a lick of English, though, which was good.

I’ve found that most of the Japanese people who can speak English tend to be overly arrogant. Like their English speaking ability makes them special (which, unfortunately, it does in Japan) and that having been exposed to the West (which is, I’ve found, the only way a Japanese person can learn English to any significant degree) they feel obligated to show you in an overt way that you don’t intimidate them at all. Perhaps to compensate for all the years they’d felt intimidated by English speakers before they’d gone bilingual. And, God forbid, their exposure to the West was in England. FORGET ABOUT IT! You want to throw them thru a fucking window, they’re so goddamn arrogant! (No offense to my British readers…gomen ne!)

“You like Hip Hop?” He asked. I smiled outwardly and grimaced inside.

“I guess so. You?”

“Of course.”

“Who do you like?” I asked, bracing myself to hear Eminem or Shaggy or Ne-Yo or some shit like that. At that time, I’d spoken to several Japanese Hip Hop heads who knew Eminem very well but couldn’t tell me who Biggie Smalls was if I’d shoved my I-Pod up their asses.

“Rhymester. Do you know them?”

“Rhymester? Nah, never heard of them…”

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iqHq9BHPWUc

He whipped out his handy I-Pod and plugged me in. It was in Japanese- to my surprise- with a lot of English mixed in. And, My God, the shit sounded tight, like old school Hip Hop! It actually gave me visions of rapping in Japanese myself  someday. He obviously had decent taste in Hip Hop but I still had one question I asked of any Hip Hop head; a kind of litmus test that tells me all I needed to know about their knowledge and appreciation of Hip-Hop.

“Who do you think is the best Hip Hop artist of all time?”

I told myself, even if he says Tupac, which I would whole-heartedly disagree with, I’d give him a pass.

“Nas,” he said without hesitation. My jaw dropped. We were going to be friends.

“No, make that Rakim!” he said. Make that good Friends, I thought.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fl5omN6jYQc

The next weekend he invited me over to his crib. His roommate, Takuto, from Hokkaido, was a DJ. They had an impressive music collection, two turntables, a mixer!

Make that REALLLLLLY good friends I decided then and there.

We got lifted listening to some 80′s Dancehall reggae I’d hipped them to. Just like I used to do with my friends back in NY. Sometimes they come over to my spot and we just hangout, bungle communication and laugh.

I love these guys!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jz9MgEsj8Wk

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bFTa9WpJrvo

At a time when I was coming to think that Japan, though replete with kind, friendly people, it  just didn’t have any cool people, cool places (that would let me in the door) or anything worth listening to, I meet Satoshi and Takuto and they prove me wrong. If you hang around long enough, Japan will surprise the hell out of you!

Big shout out to my boys, Toshi-kun and Tak-kun!!!

4- I was kicking it with Satoshi one day on the train to his apartment. He was standing against the door. A women beside him was writing a text message. A subway television above his head was showing this commercial:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QTVTj3HqQhM

The man beside me on my right was not flinching. The woman on my left was standing against me, actually touching me, and wasn’t looking freaked out about it.

Satoshi noticed me looking around and nodding my head and asked me what was I thinking about.

“My life in Japan,” I said.

He then asked me, for the first time, what did I think about Japan, so I told him quite frankly, since we’d become friends and all, that Japan would be great if it weren’t for Japanese people.

He laughed out loud. The woman besides him smiled, too, revealing that she was listening to our convo though she appeared to be engrossed in her cellphone. Satoshi likes my sense of humor and he’d gotten to know me well enough to know when I’m fucking around and when I’m serious.

He knew my answer was half both.

“What’s wrong with Japanese people?” he asked.

I didn’t know how to say, “nothing a little waterboarding couldn’t fix” in Japanese, so I said “Nothing right now, because you’re here.”

“Eeeeee!”

Something was happening at that very moment that he couldn’t notice because it was way below his radar. But my antennae are always up and alert like a cockroach’s.

When you’re with a Japanese person Japanese people react differently to you. Mind you, it’s no less offensive because of the contrast with how they behave when you’re without an Japanese escort. It’s like by virtue of your being with a Japanese person, it suggests to the Japanese in your vicinity that you’ve been vetted, appraised by a trustworthy authenticator (one of their own) and found true. Actually, I’m trying to be nice. More accurately it feels more like you’re some type of animal that if allowed to roam free is dangerous but in the hands of a master trainer (one of their own) you’re safe to approach and in some cases even pet. I’ve noticed this phenomenon hundreds of times over the years. If you can forget the statement this change in behavior makes and just luxuriate in these moments of normality, it will do wonders for your sanity.

I couldn’t express any of this well enough in Japanese, either so I just told my friend, “You’re so ugly you make me look good.”

(-:

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

PS: This is a re-post

However, Japan has one dish that’s simply to die for.

Yeah, you guessed it:

Ramen! 

Some ramen is better than other ramen. All Japanese ramen is better than that crap that passed for ramen back in the States (which I used to love but now wouldn’t even give to my dog if he sat at my foot panting for it.)

And, yes, I too have my favorites.

As far as Yokohama is concerned I can recommend two places:

1- First and foremost, I must recommend my favorite all-time Ramen spot. It’s called Yoshimura-ya and it’s located about 10 minutes from Yokohama Station. If you know the area, walk from the station past Vivre, past Tokyu Hands, and turn left at the corner. You can’t miss it. It would be the Ramen shop with the benches out front filled with eager future patrons waiting upwards of 30 minutes outdoors just to get at the delectable dishes within. Yes, the lines can get pretty daggone long. But, I assure you, it is worth the wait. The flavor is worthy of the hype, the price is right, and even the portions never disappoint!

There’s a whole crew of guys slaving over meats and veggies. Usually, watching how food is prepared for a mob of people is not an especially pretty sight. When I was in the Army and drew kitchen duty the experience almost turned me off to eating altogether. I mean, watching some guy stir 100 pounds of pork in a roiling vat of grease, watching pink turn to gray, is not very appetizing.

But, watching these guys do it, with all the zeal and professionalism of their trade, is another story. 1500 customers come through this place a day (and most of them seem to be waiting whenever I come here for some reason) and they relish the business in typical Japanese style.

And then there’s the final result:

おいしそうだよね

I have what is known in Japan as Nekoshita. Nekoshita means a cat’s tongue or a sensitive tongue. So Japanese-style slurping is not something I can do easily. Sometimes I still have to blow first.

But, nothing, least of all a slightly stinging tongue, can stop me from digging into some Yoshimura Ramen.

2- Okurayama’s Nanashi Ramen Shop: It’s across the road from  Okurayama station on the Tokyu Toyoko line.

Though the larger-than-life sign out front screams, “RAMEN!” at pedestrians, it’s a small place and if you blink you might miss it… so don’t blink! Because if you do you’ll miss out on one of the tastiest ramen you’ll ever have the pleasure of slurping.

If you’re wondering, Yep, it’ s as good as it looks. I’ve been coming here maybe twice a month for the past two years or so and it hasn’t let me down, yet. You can expect to leave here 1500 yen lighter (which is a little steep for ramen and a brew) but I’ve never felt bilked. Also on the menu is some great gyouza and their rice side dish (donburi) is ALL that.

If you’re in the area try them both out when you get a chance. You’ll be glad you did.

If you’re not in the area, well, you can add these spots to your Bucket List!

Anyone ever try either of these two Ramen-Ya? Got any other spots you wanna recommend? I’m all ears!

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

PS This is a re-post

Almost.

Have you ever spoken to a Japanese person about China or Chinese? Have they ever uttered a single positive thing about either, or something that didn’t have a big ass BUT attached to it? Chinese food is delicious, but…. China has an incredible history, but… Chinese people are clever, but… If you have, please let me know in the comments. I’d be curious to know what it was.

Once I told this guy I met in Shibuya, who happened to be from Spain, that he reminded me of a friend of mine who just happened to be from Puerto Rico. He’d have liked to kill me if his face was any indication of what was in his heart. While I was in China, I mistakenly asked one of my tour companions, who happened to be Irish, which part of England was he from. If looks could kill… I learned early on in my time in Japan that a good way to get under a Japanese person’s skin (if you were so inclined) is to suggest that they looked like, behaved like, or reminded you of anyone Chinese.

Think I’m kidding? Try it!

I was a Chinaphile before I came to Japan.  China was actually the place I wanted to end up. Japan was supposed to be just a pit stop… A place to get acclimated to life in Asia before I made the big leap of faith. I was  a little afraid to go to China, to be honest. Afraid a visit might tear down the pedestal I’d erected and placed it atop.

Like admiring a famous actor or a historical figurel; you don’t really want to meet them. I mean, what if Jamie Foxx is a real prick? Or Malcolm X wanted to take you to titty bar in Harlem? That would just fuck me up. I didn’t want China to fuck me up, so I came to Japan first.  I wasn’t infatuated with Japan before arriving,  so I haven’t been disillusioned so much by the reality here.

And, part of that reality is I’m forced to endure the atitudes many Japanese have towards Chinese.

Some of my Japanese friends, students and co-workers talk about Chinese people the way Nazis talked about Jews. No, I don’t want to overstate it. More like the way snobby, benevolent rich people talk about shiftless, ungrateful poor people. No, I don’t want to understate it, either. But, there’s a clear undercurrent of contempt in most everything people say. Only it’s said, I don’t know, politely…sometimes.

For example, this conversation took place a week before I left:

Me: Did I tell you? I’m going to China next week! I’m so excited!

Student: Really? Why?

Me: What? What do you mean why? Why am I excited?

Student: No, I mean, why are you going to China? Is it for business?

Me: No…it’s my vacation.

Student: Oh. Ohhhh. That’s nice. But, why China?

Me: Why? Have you been to China before?

Student: Oh no. I went to Hong King and Taiwan, though.

Me: Okayyy. Is China very different from Taiwan and Hong Kong? Wait a minute…Isn’t Hong Kong in China?

Student: Hong Kong people are not like Chinese people. And, Taiwan people love Japanese people.

Me: I see. Chinese people don’t like Japanese people?

Student: China is a very poor country and Chinese people are…very different from Japanese people, I think.

Me: I should hope so.

Student: Huh?

Me: Nothing

Student: China is very dangerous. So take care.

Me: Is the whole country dangerous? Or, are there certain places I should avoid?

Student: I don’t know. Maybe everywhere is dangerous.

Me: Maybe I shouldn’t go? Maybe I should go someplace else…like France…or Australia maybe?

Student: Oh, yes! France is soooo beautiful! Very great atmosphere and beautiful people and… (Commence gush-fest)

That was one of the nicer conversations…

*****

There are a number of Chinese students in my school, only I can’t say much schooling is taking place because most of them are from China (not born here in Japan) and cannot speak Japanese (nor English) and only a couple of teachers can speak Cantonese (which is the Chinese language spoken by most of the students.) Most of these bilingual teacher’s efforts are spent trying to drill the Japanese language into obstinate Chinese brains. So, mostly, the Chinese students sit in my English class amusing themselves or sleeping, totally ignored by the Japanese teacher…and the Japanese students.

Back in the teachers office we’d meet to discuss the lesson. I’m always trying to figure out ways to include them in the lessons, to get them more involved, mingling with their Japanese counterparts. The Japanese teacher would listen to my ideas, politely and patiently, and then respond with something to the effect of: They don’t have much in common with the other students, do they? Or, they aren’t very bright, are they? Or, some of them are troublemakers, aren’t they? They have a whole slew of excuses. Being Chinese is treated like a handicap.

Personally, I think it’s unacceptable but I’ve learned from experience not to muck with Japanese school policies and office politics too much. I’ve had a knife thrust into my back by a polite and patient co-worker before and it hurts more than when it’s done by the person who makes it clear they’re out to get you. But, nevertheless, during class, I’d go up to a Chinese student and try to engage them, get him or her to participate in the lesson, and, to my dismay, they’d look at me like: what’s your problem? Save your energy, pal! You think I want to learn English? Hell, I don’t even want to learn Japanese!

Of course, what they are really thinking and feeling I have no way of knowing. The true reason they appear to have absolutely no interest in being in that class room beats the hell outta me. I believe, however, it has as much to do with the language barrier as it does with the low expectations of the teachers. I mean, if they were expected to do well, I know they could and I believe they would. I suspect my negative assessment of their facial expression and behavior has been heavily influenced by the over-abundance of negative critiques they’ve received from my co-workers over the course of the past three years.

But, that’s just one aspect of how my trip to China was affected by my life here in Japan. And, to be honest, it wasn’t a very impactful one at all. I mean, the same reason Chinese students aren’t excelling in Japanese schools can be said about African-Americans in public schools across America (except for the language barrier, of course). I grew up in schools where some of the teachers had similar attitudes about me, and little to no effort was made to incentivize or inspire…I think students pick up on the attitude of their teachers and schools. If the teacher doesn’t care why should they? So, I didn’t go to China thinking they were stupid, or lazy, or shiftless, or troublemakers, per se. No, my trip to China was impacted more by something altogether different.

As a non-Asian foreigner living in Japan, the one thing you slowly begin to take less and less notice of is ironically the most obvious one: Virtually everyone around you is Asian. Seems silly, right? Of course they’re Asian. Duh! This is Asia. And, more specifically, and importantly, they are Japanese. Don’t get me wrong. You never forget you’re in Japan, and trust me the Japanese will never let you forget you are not Japanese. They are simply incapable of doing so.

But, slowly and surely, (and if you’re like me and don’t get around Asia much) you start to think that this is life in Asia. You think you’ve learned a great deal about Asians and about yourself…and, it’s true…you have. You’re a genius with regards to Asia compared to your friends back home who’ve never left the West, and maybe even compared to some of your friends here in the East. You’re a friggin’ connoisseur. You’ve been there, and you’ve done that. You’ve seen it all.

So, what happens? You get off an ANA flight in the China you’ve been waiting a lifetime to see and you’ve been hearing so much (negativity) about from your Japanese friends, and you step into the cleanest, most spacious, most beautiful (and emptiest) airport you’ve ever seen…

…and somehow you just know: You ain’t seen nothing yet.

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

PS This is a re-post

This time, though, Five-O rolled up on me- NY-Style. Very impressively. A short, sharp-looking undercover cop, dressed in Jeans and a rugged jacket, looking every bit the NY DT (detective), stepped in my path about 2 paces from the turnstile and whipped out a wallet, flipping it open to reveal a gold police shield.

I had a flashback to years upon years of turnstile jumping in NY. I could spot a detective, black or white, at 50 yards back home. Most teenagers could. And, naturally, if you were an habitual jumper like I was, it was a useful skill to have. But, in Japan, detective spotting had never crossed my mind. In fact, for years before I even came to Japan I’d been a law-abiding citizen, so whatever skills I had were long since rusted.

He was a pleasant enough fellow, this detective, and politely asked me what did I think I was doing.

“Excuse me sir but are you aware that you did not pay? That those gates, and that alarm you heard, means you were required to pay a fare?” he asked me in very polite Japanese.

I was still so stunned that I couldn’t speak for a moment, and the whole natsukashii-ness (fondness) of the scene almost brought a smile to my face.

Just then another DT came up on my other side looking similarly conspicuously nondescript, only he was not pleasant at all. He was waiting for my answer impatiently. Good feeling gone. It was the good cop/bad cop routine, I ascertained. I didn’t know whether it was in my best interest to know Japanese or not but instinctively I went with not.

“I’m so sorry, I was in a rush!” I said like I understood the situation but not his words.

The other DT, the unpleasant one said, “Where’s your gaijin card?”

“I’m sorry…what did you say?” I asked in English.

“Stop acting like you don’t know how to speak Japanese…I’ve dealt with enough of your kind to know the difference…Your ass understands Japanese just fine!” *This is of course not a strict translation. He didn’t use those words, but this was the impact of what he said and how he said it.

I caught myself before I reacted to the “Omae” (the rude way to say “you”) and the other impolite Japanese words he’d used and said, “I’m a teacher and I was in a rush to a lesson.”

The asshole let out one of those Japanese gasps of exasperation and turned to Mr. Nice Guy, who proceeded to use the limited English he knew to ask for my Gaijin card. I whipped out my wallet and they peeked inside it while I fished for my card.

“Here you go,” I said and handed it to him. The other one reached for my wallet and I yanked it away and without thinking gave him a look like, You want to keep that hand? Better keep it away from me and mine!

Barney Fife

He gave me a Yappari (Just as I thought…a wise ass) smile and said, “Alright, come with us!”

But he didn’t touch me. Just pointed towards the Police Box.

In the police box a third undercover joined in. This one looked like a street bum, and I was  impressed, again. I had no idea the police in Yokohama had their shit wired so tight. I actually had no idea they even had a need to, with the amount of lawlessness I’ve seen over the course of the past 8 years: next to none. I kind of thought of the police department like a couple of Andy Griffiths or Chief Wiggums and a bunch of Barney Fifes, harassing people over bike ownership and headlights; the causes of my two previous and only encounters with law enforcement.

I was wrong.

The third guy started patting me down, frisking me, ever so cautiously, and with a great deal of courtesy. It was kind of cute, compared to the assault and battery NY cops put on you in the same situation. I had to resist laughing.

“Where do you from, Mr. Loco?” Mr. Nice Guy asked, in English, looking at my card throughly like there had been a rash of counterfeit gaijin cards and they were hot on the trail of the ring.

“I’m from the US, from New York,” I said like it was a badge of honor. Like it meant something in a room full of real badges.

And, unfortunately, it did.

“Should have known,” the tough guy said in Japanese. “Think you can do whatever you want to do don’t you? Think you can just ignore all our rules, right?”

Are those the stereotypical traits of a New Yorker or all Americans I wondered as I stared at him blankly.

Mr. Nice Guy cut him a look, and tough guy’s harangue turned into angry mumbles.

“You not pay, but you have money…” he said flashing the few thousand yen bills I had in my wallet. “Why no pay?”

“I was in a hurry…I’m very sorry. Why don’t I pay now, and go,” I said slowly while using hand gestures.

“We should keep him for a while, and teach him a lesson!” said the tough one, menacingly. I thought he was gonna crack his knuckles. but he just scratched his wrist. 

I felt his words in my gut, though. I tried to remember my rights; but I knew that was a waste. I had none, really. I’d broken a law, busted in the act even, and with all the cameras around train stations, probably video recordings of it from every imaginable angle.

I was in their hands, to do with as they pleased, I realized with a jolt.

“Hora!” (See!) Mr. Tough Cop said pointing. “He knows Japanese. I told you!”

“Only a few words, ” I whimpered in halting Japanese, now that the cat was out the bag. “I used to study, but I gave up…too difficult.”

I made sure my Japanese was broken textbook stuff, which wasn’t hard.

“Listen,” Mr. Nice Guy said, in Japanese now, a little disappointed at having lost a little face before a Junior, I presumed, taken in by my ruse. “Next time I catch you not paying your fare, we won’t be so accommodating. You understand?”

“Wakarimashita! Sumimasen,” (Understood, and I’m sorry) I said, deciding it wasn’t in my best interest to give him a hard time any longer.

“Here’s your wallet and Gaijin card,” he said, handing my belongings to me, looking tempted not to. “…take care.”

I walked out of the box a free man. The air of Yokohama smelled fresh and clean. I turned back and the three of them were watching me. The tough guy had a look like, “I’ll see you again…”

Not if I see you first.

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gOj3ePf_rwk&feature=related

PS This is a re-post

Me: …I thought it was a very interesting article! What do you think?

Yoko: Of what?

Me: His argument that both Gaikokujin and Gaijin essentially mean the same thing: Not so much foreigner, but not-Japanese.

Yoko: You think so?

Me: Well, yeah, actually, I agree totally.

Yoko: Why?

Me: Let me give you an example. I had an experience recently. I was in Hawaii, in Waikiki, and I overheard two Japanese guys talking about a party they’d gone to the night before. Both agreed that the party was ok but would have been better if there were less Japanese there and more Gaijin. It rubbed me the wrong way, being referred to as a foreigner in my own country. Hell, I’d taken the vacation to get away from that for a spell. So I took issue with it, and told them as much.

Yoko: Really? What did you say to them?

Me: I told them that this is America, and that they were the foreigners, not us!

Yoko: That was rude!

Me: A little, I guess, but I guess I am a little sensitive about that kind of thing, for obvious reasons. But, no more rude than they were. Presuming if they spoke in Japanese none of the Americans sitting in their vicinity would understand they were calling us foreigners.

Yoko: But, if you feel that Gaijin means not Japanese then why did you say anything?

Me: I hadn’t really thought it through until I read that article; which was after the fact. And even if I had, the way Japanese were behaving in Waikiki, I was already pissed anyway.

Yoko: How were they acting?

Me: Like they owned the place! Like they were in some Japanese resort, not guest in a foreign country, in my country. I feel like if I can be on my best behavior in their country they can certainly be on theirs in mine!

Yoko: I see. (Sad expression on her face)

Me: What? Was I wrong?

Yoko: ….

Me: Seriously! They were behaving the way many Japanese do in Japan. I mean, in Japan I have to accept the excuse that Japanese are not used to foreigners so they are shy around me, to put it nicely, but if you go to foreign country that excuse because invalid. No?

Yoko: I see…

Me: And I think I know the reason why.

Yoko: Why?

Me: Because, some Japanese don’t even know Hawaii is America! Maybe they think it’s in Japan.

Yoko: That’s ridiculous!

Me: Seriously, Yoko. I ask my students…and this has happened many times…I ask them, have you ever been to the US? And they say no, but they’ve been to Hawaii! Hawaii is America, I say. And they get this look like…”Oh yeah, that’s right.”

Yoko: You don’t understand Japanese people…

Me: Tell me something I don’t know…(said sarcastically)

Yoko: Eeee?

Me: Nothing. Listen, I don’t claim to understand Japanese. I don’t even understand Americans, sometimes.

Yoko: Of course we know Hawaii is in America. We’re just being humble.

Me: Humble??? You mean ignorant!

Yoko: …

Me: I mean, come on, if a Japanese person on vacation, say, in NY, asked me had I ever been to Japan and I answered, “No, but I’ve been to Okinawa,” would they think I was being humble or that I was an ignorant American?

Yoko: But, you’re not Japanese.

Me: ….

Yoko: America, the mainland, is…expensive to visit. Plus, you have to know some English to get around. Hawaii is cheap to visit, and you don’t need much English.

Me: Ok…

Yoko: So, if we say we’ve gone to the US, then that’s just like boasting that we have money and we can speak English. We are humble so we don’t say such things.

Me: But, like you said, I’m not Japanese. And, presumably, I don’t know the rules of humble etiquette. So, why, at the risk of appearing painfully ignorant with no benefit, would Japanese be humble with me?

Yoko: Habit.

Me: I see…

Yoko: I don’t think you do. Because you are Gaijin. (Smiles) I mean, gaikokujin.

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

PS This is a re-post

Then, some time later- much, much later- it just happened, quite unexpectedly, for I was no longer stressing about it happening. I’d already conceded. I was convinced my brain could no longer perform the feats it once did, that I’d deep-fried so many brain cells over the course of my 35+ years that fluency in a new language, especially one as utterly different from my mother tongue as Japanese is, was impossible.

I was at work. I’d come in at 8:35am, a little late, which is fairly unusual. The Japanese are nothing if not punctual and I’d learned the hard way that when in Rome you had better make like the Romans…even if the reason you are rushing to work every morning is to attend a daily meeting you’ll likely emerge from having understood little to nil of what was said. Every morning this staff meeting takes place, 8:30 sharp. Sometimes the principal of the school says a few words, sometimes he doesn’t. I hadn’t really been listening for a while anyway…I used to strain my brain to the limits to catch what he was saying but a word or two per sentence was the best I could manage…hardly enough to claim comprehension.

But, this day, I came in whispering Ohayou Gozaimasu and Gomen Nasai…no excuses, just apologize is the Japanese way. The principal hadn’t even paused from his speech. He was talking about how one of the students, a third year student (all of 15 years old), had run away from home and how her parents were very worried about her and how if she should come to the school to be some kind of way- probably careful- around her because she’s been known to get some kind of way- probably violent-with teachers; even last week she’d done something to a teacher- I think struck or verbally assaulted- a teacher. And, unlike everyone else, I took a peek over at the teacher that had had the altercation, and she was nodding her concurrence with everything the principal had said…

And that’s when I realized, with the suddenness of a crack of lightning, that I had surpassed some threshold of competency. Like a 4th grader listening to a Barack Obama speech, I had been able to follow most of what had been said…stumped only by a handful of vocabulary words. After the meeting, I was useless for the rest of the day. All I wanted to do was speak and be spoken to in Japanese, which is not such a good thing for an English teacher (-:

That feeling…that surge of competency, that orgasmic thrill of having accomplished something that you’ve been told by everyone is very difficult, that you’ve even told yourself was not possible, is one of the greatest feelings that a person of a certain age, and a certain disposition, can have. Imagine Micheal Jordan dusting off his Air Jordans and coming out of retirement today, once again, for a one-on-one with Lebron James, trying to put them, now, old school moves on LeBron…the same ones Lebron was weened on, devoured and mastered by Junior High School. It would probably get pretty ugly. Well, my efforts at learning and speaking Nihongo were pretty ugly too initially (Not that I’m the Micheal Jordan of language arts. Hell, I barely know English good) (-:

I mentioned in 10 ways NOT to go loco in Yokohama #3: Learn That Japanese that my motivation for studying Japanese had gone through several phrases. Allow me to expand upon that a little.

First I wanted to impress people back home. I know…silly, right? But, I did. Where I grew up you could count the people who could speak Japanese, that weren’t Japanese, on one hand, maybe even one finger. Sure, since the bubble burst over a decade ago Japanese ability in America had become about as useful as a Doberman with dentures, but I imagined it would give me a certain je ne sais quoi. The way I’d imagined French would which is why I had studied it for from JHS through University. But, as far as French is concerned, Je ne comprend pas was the only useful French I ended up retaining (-:

So, on my first trip home from Japan after a year of intense study, I was determined to put my newly acquired language skills to practical use and show-off a little in the process. I re-connected with my long-time friend with exceptional benefits to see what she was up to.

“Hey, you back from Japan? Let’s hang out!”

“Ii yo! I mean, sounds good!”

“Oooh, you speak Japanese now. That’s cool!” She’d said. I faux-blushed. “I’m hungry. Let’s go get something to eat!”

I saw an opening and made my play. “Have you ever had sushi?” A sushi bar was one of the two places I could think of where my Japanese ability might find the light of day without seeming like an overt effort to impress.

She looked at me cross-eyed. “Ain’t you had enough that shit yet? Stop playing and take me to Dallas BBQs! Fucking sushi…you funny!”

Okay, so that didn’t work out so well…

So the next night I wound up going to my favorite sushi shop alone, over in Park Slope. I rarely eat-in there. I usually go through and pick-up my order to go. The owner had gotten to know my face and even what I liked to order. But, it had been over a year since he’d seen me, and only at the window, not at a table, so the warmth I’d been accustomed to wasn’t forthcoming. One of his staff, a cute Asian, approached me, pen & pad in hand.

“May I take your order please?”

“Yeah…I mean, hai.” I said and smiled. She didn’t. I started pointing at my favorites on the menu…”Kore to kore to eeeeto, kore wo kudasai.” This and this and this please. She looked at me like I was a patient that had escaped from the local asylum.

“Can you speak English?” she asked. Not like she hadn’t understood me but like she wasn’t about to respond to me like I was Japanese.

“Nihon-go dekinai no?” Can’t you speak Japanese? I asked in response.

“I don’t know Japanese well.”

I thought it was a bit of Japanese humbleness but I let it go and placed my order in English. A little later, while I was eating, I overheard the owner talking to a member of the staff…it was NOT Japanese…nor Cantonese or Mandarin. I was quite familiar with both. He walked past my table and I said hello! He turned, looked at me, squinted a bit like he recognized my face, or ought to, and said,” Yes, sir. Long time no see…”

“Hisashiburi desu yo ne.” It has been a long time hasn’t it.

He stared at me blankly…I was used to this. Even the Japanese in Japan tend to stare at me blankly when I speak Japanese. I think it’s because in their minds foreigner equals English so even if you speak Japanese they are anticipating not being able to understand anything that comes out of your mouth and thus, more often than not, they don’t. So I pressed this issue.

“Genki datta?” Have you been well?

He looked mildly surprised. “You speak Japanese?”

“Chotto ne,” A little, I said modestly, feeling pretty proud of myself.

“I’m Korean, but I can speak a little Japanese,” he said, like it would mean nothing to me that he was not Japanese. But it did. It meant…well, it meant he was a kinda fraud. I mean, his restaurant has a Japanese name, there are Kanji (Chinese)characters all over the menu (Koreans don’t even use Kanji) and he even had a Sake menu.

It also meant that I’d made an ass of myself.

The next stage of my nihongo development was fueled by Nanpa (picking up girls). Not being able to speak Japanese in Japan pretty much relegates you to a rather limited range of girls…not that learning Japanese expands your opportunities significantly, but every little bit counts here.

The English speaking Japanese girls are usually not so desirable, from my experience. They are usually pretty westernized which is a turn off to me. If I wanted a western girl I would have stayed in the west. Which is ironic because many of them learned English so they could meet guys like me. So, when you go to a bar or a club, the girls that gravitate your way or are open to your advances can usually speak at least adequate English. Adequate to the task of making their intentions known and understanding yours, at least.

But, if you set your goals higher, like i did, and go for the girls who don’t know a lick of English, well you had better know your Nihongo. Unfortunately, I learned the hard way that, as a foreigner, when it comes to speaking Japanese you fall into two and only two categories: You either can or you can’t. In other words, your Japanese is fluent and you can pera pera (Japanese onomatopoeia for fluency) your ass off. Or, you’re an English speaker. There’s no middle ground to hold…not in a conversation with a Japanese person, anyway.

I’m told they’re this way to avoid causing you any embarrassment. They’ll test your level, a trial by fire where they’ll speak naturally. If you don’t get it they might give you a second chance and repeat it in formal text book nihongo, but still at a level that you would have to have been well versed in the language to understand. If you don’t get it then, well, it’s official: you’re an English speaker! And every conversation you have with that person from then until you prove yourself otherwise will be stilted and awkward, filled with their efforts to convert every friggin’ word they say into something they believe your mind can digest. Basically the English rubbish they all learned in school, or a whole lot of Katakana English and/or Japlish where words you know well are pronounced with such atrocious disregard for their proper pronunciation that you don’t stand a chance of recognizing it.

…So, with Nanpa eliminated as a motivating force for study I moved on to the motivation that has given me the lowest level of gratification. Nevertheless, the hope of doing it effectively someday still springs eternal: Retaliation!

In English, I have a whole arsenal of expletives at my disposal for use in those situations where I need to let some jerk know verbally that they’ve trespassed upon my good nature and crossed some line I’ve drawn that represents the boundary of what is acceptable and what isn’t. It happens from time to time here, to put it mildly. I mean, I’ve moved the line here several times to compensate for Japanese ignorance, but some transgressions I feel are, or should be, universal and thus unforgivable regardless of cultural differences. Like if a parent grabs their child and pulls them away from me shrieking “Abunai” (dangerous). Or if some asshole in an effort to push me without actually coming in contact with me uses his briefcase as a buffer, etc, etc, etc.

The Japanese version of profanity is often formed by simply dropping the politeness, using the informal version of words, and maybe dragging out some of the tones and rolling the “R”s a bit. “Baka yarou” means stupid or fool. “Baaaka Yarrrrrou!” means something akin to “You stupid motherfucker!” “Urusai” means “Noisy.” Uruse!” means “Shut the fuck up!” That “ai” to “e” transition to strengthen the potency of words is used a lot. “Yabai” which means something like dangerous or inconvenient or damn becomes “yabe” which can either mean great or super cool or seriously fucked up depending on the situation! “Osanaide kudasai!” means “please don’t push me.” “Osu na!” means “Push me again motherfucker and I’m liable to break my foot off in your ass!”

There are a shitload of bad words, of course. But, I’ve found they are not nearly as effective as the dropping of politeness! If you use the bad words, the assumption on the part of the listener is that you are a stupid foreigner, incapable of managing the subtleness of the Japanese language and only capable of being as rude as you were back home. But, if you show the listener that you are well aware of polite and formal Japanese as well as colloquial and informal ways of speaking, that you understand that the formality or informality of your words is the key to truly making insults that will linger, then you can cuss effectively here.

Even something as simple as the way you say “you” can be more potent than saying fuck. “Anata” is the formal way of saying you. More commonly the person’s actual name is used. which westerners will probably find extremely weird and it took me quite a while to start doing. “Ohashi san wa genki desuka?” “Genki desu, okage sama de.” “Is Ms. Ohashi feeling Well ?” Yes, I am, thanks to you and the powers that be!” But, if you substitute “Omae” which also means you, usually reserved for friends, then it’s a spat in the face to a stranger, totally disrespectful. Yep, profanity can be just that simple in japan. The downside is if you are unaware of such things, and most foreigners are, then there’s a potential of your being profane every time you open your mouth and Japanese are being tolerant because of your ignorance. Like Eddie Murphy said about foreigners in America, that only learn how to curse:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SpGM2fbevDI

But, like I said, this is the least gratifying. I rarely use it. I don’t even cuss people out in NY that often unless they’re friends or family.

But, the ultimate motivation and feeling of satisfaction comes from using Japanese to accomplish everyday task I had no dream of accomplishing previously. From giving directions to a taxi driver, to ordering a pizza on the phone, to joining a health club, to conversing with my co-workers about something other than the weather: The hits just keep coming and they’re music to my ears! For all you uni-lingual people out there…bilingualism is a friggin’ high that keeps on keeping on (so far anyway) I remember when i was a kid and most of my friends were bi-lingual. I was so friggin’ envious of them. Mostly Spanish, but there was also French and Jamaican Patois, and that Trini language, and other kinds of unintelligible broken English. I even envied them.

Now, I’m practically one of them. (-:

Loco

PS: this is a re-post

What the hell was he up to?

At the next station the doors slid open and more people filed in. I am accustomed to being surrounded by what has come to be known as the “Gaijin Perimeter” (a perimeter Japanese tend to place around some foreigners in their effort not to come into contact with them) whenever I ride the trains. Sometimes this perimeter is gaping, sometimes it’s pretty tight. The size varies from day to day but it’s generally there, and I’ve learned that anyone who dares to enter this perimeter usually has an agenda.

This guy certainly did.

Once the perimeter is breached, I’ve observed, then others will follow suit, as if the initial breacher had informed them using some secret Japanese masonic-like code, “come on in…the water’s warm!”

And, that’s just how it went this morning. People filed in, glimpsed me, in all my conspicuousness, hesitated (or froze causing a logjam) then, noticing the breacher’s rather close proximity to me, decided I must be relatively safe and bounded for any available space even if it brought them within the perimeter.

To my left was a High School girl, traditional uniform, skirt hiked up rather high but no higher than can commonly be seen on any given day during any season. She favored one of the kids who had graduated from my Junior High School a couple of years ago, but it definitely wasn’t her. She was writing a text to someone, her thumb a tiny blur. The space to my right, previously vacant, was now filled by an office lady, one of the Women in Black, the uniform for freshmen office workers here. My rear was occupied by the breacher.

As the passengers boarded, I could feel increased pressure on me. A couple of commuters wanted to get by the breacher to the vacant space on his left, but his hand was holding the strap over my shoulder with a grip that would impress an undertaker. So, they had to squeeze around him.

The red flag became a fire alarm! With not only the option of moving but the insistence that he do so coming from his fellow nihonjin, he wanted to stay close to me?! What the hell?!

I turned around for the first time to glance at this guy. In sync with the turn of my head, he upturned his face and took a closer look at the train’s ventilation system. It fascinated him. He’d never noticed before how intricate yet practical its design is…at least his expression said as much.

He was your typical salaryman, dark suit, striped tie, a little shabbily groomed but decent enough, 50-ish. He had a briefcase in his right hand and nothing in the left. Could he be a pickpocket? I couldn’t even imagine that if he were he would mark me as a target.

I turned and faced forward as the train pulled away from the station. I could feel his breath on my neck. It’s a very unusual feeling here, for me, to be breathed on. It smelled like this morning’s Nattoo, Miso soup, rice and fish…and I counted my blessings that I’m spared this torture most mornings (thank God for xenophobia…)

The school girl beside me suddenly almost dropped her cellphone. She caught it, glanced at me kind of coyly, brushed the hair out of her eyes, and went back to thumbing her message. Which reminded me I need to send a text to my student to confirm our lesson that night.Then, suddenly she jerked, slightly, like she’d been pricked with a needle she’d been expecting. She sort of half glanced behind her, like if she were checking the shoulder of her blue jacket for lint.

Suddenly it all fell into place. His position behind me, slightly to my left, and his resistance against being moved from the position he’d coveted. I had a pretty good idea what he was up to now. At least I thought I did.

At the next station, a good number of people got off. Some from my left headed by me for the door to my right. I watched peripherally as the breacher made way for them, actually exiting the car and standing on the platform. After the last departing passenger had exited, he let a few new comers board before him. Without him there within the perimeter attesting to my civility, the first few people of the new swarm hesitated then fled to available spaces as far from the perimeter as possible. Once he re-boarded and headed back to his position behind / beside me, attesting to the safety of the area within the perimeter, the swarm behind him closed in. Again he grabbed the strap over my shoulder and let the swarm push its way by him, like a man holding a tree branch just before the edge of a cascading water fall.

That was enough confirmation for me. He was Chikan…definitely.

The high school girl was still thumbing away apparently oblivious to the efforts this Chikan was making. I had actually been pushed closer to her so that now, involuntarily, I was up against her too. My left hand, which held my briefcase, was against her thigh. Once the train started moving again, I tried to switch my briefcase to my other hand so as not to be mistaken for the one enjoying this ride too much, but it was tightly wedged against her…as was his. Judging from his height and hers, his hand had to be wedged in the crack of her ass. And with the shortness of her skirt he was probably wedged under it. How convenient for him.

I glanced down but all I could see was her navy blue skirt…then, when the train jolted a little I caught a glimpse of her white lacy underwear and a yellow hand on or in them. I couldn’t tell which it was so quick.

I had to make a decision. How much did I want to be a good Samaritan? (It has become an issue since I’ve been living here and treated in a manner that makes me actually pause and question whether I should get involved or syougannai it and mind my business…)

The train braked  hard and I thought to use this opportunity to switch my briefcase to my other hand…but before I could another idea just popped into my head. I decided to get involved.

Pretending to be thrown off-balance I thrust my briefcase between the guy and the school girl, knocking his hand away from its position. Then I grabbed the strap above the school girl and held on as tightly as he had. I could feel his effort to get me to shift back to my previous position so that he could do the same and resume, but I held fast. A few moments later the train jolted again and I felt a strong, sharp, determined elbow against my ribcage telling me, “move motherfucker, this is my catch of the day!” There was nothing passive about this guy.

The train was pulling into the station at that point so I relinquished my grip on the strap. As it slowed, sharply, the elbow that was against my ribs thrust into me…purposely, I suspect, but it could arguably have been an accident. It hurt, though! Hurt like it had been done by someone familiar with how to disable people with a blow. I turned around to face him but,as I did, he realized he hadn’t finished studying the ventilation system yet.

Motherfucker!

I took a strap again, urgently, like I’d lost my balance, only this time it was a strap on the other side of him, and in doing so I just missed elbowing him in the back of the head by inches. He’d ducked when I reached across him.

Fuck!

The doors opened and I watched him get off. I turned to check on the school girl, but she had queued to get off the train through another door. By the time I got to the platform the Chikan was nowhere in sight.

I see these guys maybe two or three times a week, here. It’s a plague on the trains. And, if I’m in the vicinity I usually intervene.

But sometimes if I’m feeling especially dehumanized, or so disgusted with the Japanese men on the train who are pretending to be unaware that the girl standing beside them is being flagrantly groped or molested, but ultra aware that they’ve maintained minimum safe distance from me…shit like that makes me wanna leave the Japanese to their own devices (Women-Only cars and Cameras on the trains…) which amount to mere stop-gap measures.

I think my cure works better! If these guys knew that any random commuter, male or female, Japanese or not, might make this day one they’ll regret, they might think twice.

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

PS: This is a re-post!

Yeah, it was a mouthful for a 10 year old.

Here in a Japanese JHS, there’s a protocol, too.

The teacher’s office here is considered holy ground. At least the teachers feel so, and would like the students to respect that notion. So, there is a protocol students must follow in order to enter or speak with a teacher. A humbling one, of course. And depending on the anal retentiveness or slackness of the teachers there, does this sanctity depend. For example, at one of my schools, if a student comes to the office to speak with a teacher he must follow, “to a T”, the following protocol: They must first knock, then beg forgiveness for having disturbed the honorable teachers within. Then announce themselves by name, year and class. Then, even if the teacher they want to speak with is standing before them or is in clear view, they must ask whether or not that teacher is currently in the office. And then they must wait for an official response.

It sounds something like this: (knock knock!) Shitsurei Shimasu (Please forgive my intrusion / rudeness). Ichi nen, ni kumi no Kawasaki Hideki desu kedo. (but, I am Hideki Kawasaki of the 1st year 2nd class,) Takahashi Sensei Irrashaimasuka? (inquiring after Takahashi sensei. Might she be in this exalted space?)

Some teacher would bark in response: “Inai! ” (Nah, so get lost!) or “Imasen!” (I’m afraid not…) Or, if the teacher were there they’d go to the door to speak with the student. Once their business is completed, the student would then take their leave but not before saying, “Shitsurei shimashita!” (Sorry to have disturbed you!)

This is a mouthful for Japanese students, as well. So, until they get it right, at one school, the teacher will stand at the door with the student having them repeat it over and over. This is usually done to the 1st year students to establish who’s running the show around here.

By the time the kids are 3rd year students, the protocol is rote and they’ve injected their own personalities into the protocol. They might replace “Irrashaimasuka?” with the less formal “Imasu ka” or even with the informal “inai no?” if they’re one of the knuckleheads / wiseguys. But every student goes through some variation this protocol…or else!

However, there are two students from every class whose responsibility it is to come to the teacher’s office and aid the teacher of the next class with whatever supplies they may have to tote. We often use a boom box, so the two students would carry the teacher’s bag with our lesson materials in it and the boom box up to the classroom (I think this duty rotates but it always seems to be the same students to me).

I guess this duty must have rotated around to Matsui-kun and Satou-kun.

I was sitting at my desk trying to not look like I was writing a book, when the sliding door to the office slammed open with the racket of a iron security gate on a Bodega in Brooklyn, followed by a high-pitched voice at the highest possible volume, screaming: “SHITSUREI SHIMASU!” filled the office.

Some teachers actually jumped out of their seats like a gun had gone off, while others whiplashed their necks turning for the door. I was accustomed to this yelling, and so were the other 1st year teachers sitting over in their section near the door, my beleaguered co-worker, Takahashi-sensei among them. But, the other teachers were totally alarmed. Which tickled Matsui senseless. He started laughing in the doorway.

When he noticed me he screamed, walking into the office, “OI! LOCO SENSEI, BABAA UZAI DESHOU? HA HA HA!!!” (Yo, Loco Sensei! Takahashi is an annoying bitch isn’t she?) This has become his greeting…this or some other insult of Takahashi. I’d made the mistake of laughing once at a joke he made one day in the hall. So, now, whenever he sees me, he lets them fly. “BABAA HA DOKO? INAI NO?” (Where is that bitch, anyway? Aint she here?) Then he turned where he knew she was sitting and said. “BETSU NI, MITSUKECHATTA! (Nevermind, I found her!) KORA, TEME ISOGE!” Listen here, hurry the fuck up!”

I can’t tell you how much of an aberration this is from the norm. He might as well had pulled a Columbine and started spraying the faculty with an automatic weapon.

The teachers were sitting around in various stages of shock. At the head of the office, the principal and Vice principal were witnesses, too. The principal came from behind the front desk and all heads turned.

This was to be a moment.

He walked towards Matsui, carrying his girth like an ex-jock, his authority gathered all up around his chest and shoulders. Matsui turned and saw the principal approaching him. I almost thought I saw something in his eyes that might have been intimidation, but it was only there for a micro-second, and I think it had more to do with the principal’s height (he’s actually taller than me, at about 185 cm) than any threat he actually posed.

Joker and Bob the Goon

“Daijoubu???” (Are you ok?) The principal asked, in a way that conveyed the question, ‘what’s your problem??’ or ‘Are you outta your mind?’

“Daiiiijoubu da yo ne!”  Matsui responded with a tone that said flat out,”I don’t have problems, Mr. Man- I MAKE problems! You looking for problems? You came to the right place!

All of this as Satou-kun came creeping into the scene, sidling up beside him, like a shadow taking form. It was as if he’d sensed the tension brewing and decided, seemingly independently, that if something was going to go down  he wasn’t going to let anything happen to Matsui. It would be someone else’s misfortune.

He’d make a great secret service agent…if Matsui were Prime Minister.

The principal suddenly noticed the arrival of Satou-kun next to Matsui, looking evil, and took an unconscious step backwards. He really didn’t know what to make of this furtive maneuver.

But, I did. In NY we’d call that gangster. Straight Gangster.

Reminded me of  Joker and Bob the Goon in the first Batman movie. Joker was a crazy, ruthless, genius, but Bob the Goon got shit done, and was ever-ready to bust a cap in someone’s ass. Joker didn’t even have to reach for his gun, and in one scene in the movie he had actually been unprepared for an assault; but Bob the Goon…he never slept. I’d always wondered what Yakuza Cats might have been like in Junior High School.

Now I know…

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U70p8VHxWZM&feature=related

Takahashi was standing there like she had been hoping and praying that the principal would do something on her behalf, maybe expel the boy, or at least scold him for blatantly disregarding the protocol in the office; something no other student in the school, other than the mentally challenged cases in the Special Cass, has done. Something which if not aggressively discouraged could certainly undermine discipline and bring chaos.

But, he didn’t.

The principal turned to Takahashi, and, without words or even body language, conveyed the message, ‘You heard him: get a move on, Missy! Get this little menace outta my office. Can’t you see he’s embarrassing me in front of my staff?!’

It was all in his eyes.

Then, as if to amplify the sound in the principal’s eyes, Matsui yelled. “ISOGE BABAA!” (Move your ass, bitch!) 

Mission accomplished, Matsui headed for the door. At that door, he spun around on his heels, scanned the room like he’d forgotten something, smiled and screamed, “SHITSUREI SHIMASHITA!!!”

And he left. Satou-kun slowly followed him out, covering his rear. His eyes cut from teacher to teacher to administrator, almost hoping for someone to try to play the hero .

He never said a word.

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

PS: This is a re-post!

I’ve touched on it several times. I’ve discussed why avoiding gaijin is in your best interest but in that post I focused primarily on the haters. The hex that Japan tends to put people under has long since worn off of these folks (assuming they had been enchanted in the first place) and they have become like dope fiends after the dope is all gone, only once it’s gone- this spell- it’s gone. And there’s no methadone to replace it with. Most turn angry. Angry and bitter! Angry at the people still under the spell (high) or in the process of being spellbound, angry at the people they hold responsible for putting the spell on them (the Japanese mostly), and angry at themselves for being weak enough to be taken in by what amounts to an obvious delusion. Some were that way already and just reverted to form.

Yep, I said it before and I’ll say it again: Avoid them!

But there are other types of foreigners here, and sometimes they’re just as relentless as the haters. I won’t try to categorize them because in the end I’ll just look like a fool because no one fits nicely into any category, not even Japanese people. So, for the purpose of this entry, I will focus primarily on why they have given me pause- these others.

Yes, just like on that island on “Lost” we have us some “Others” here, too.

“Lighten up, Loco!” says one of these Others. “We’re all in this together.”

“Stop behaving like a petulant child,” says another Other. “That’s so old hat.”

“You are the problem!” says yet another Other. “Japanese fear of you is warranted. You’re creepy!”

Some of the comments were in response to entries like those under “acts of retaliation” or any entry in which I express any negative thoughts about Japan or Japanese people, or, god forbid, retaliate in any way. The responses seem to be designed to make me feel ashamed of myself, like somehow I should know better (I guess due to my long tenure here or the aptitude or potential for good thoughts and deeds I’ve demonstrated in other posts I’ve written, or because I come from another planet where tolerance for impertinence and irreverence and unfair treatment is a virtue), chastising me for behaving and responding as I do to Japanese disrespectful behavior. Some of them are just hate-filled because, well, let’s face it, some people are just fucking hateful.

Some of them seem to be pushing towards my enrollment in the Kneel and Suck it like a Good Gaijin and Stop your Miserable Complaining Already College of New Hat Thinking. Their school motto is: Japanese, regardless of their behavior, are not the problem at all! You, and pissing moaning malcontents like you, are the Problem. My retaliating and, in some cases, my very presence here is the problem and if it weren’t for gaijin like me, gaijin like them would be 10 times better off…so I should join their ranks or, better yet, go home.

The other option is the Whisper Words of Wisdom, let the Japanese be University. Their school motto, which has a similar goal but slightly different tone as the other, is: Passive Aggression and Patient Positivity Produces Incremental Improvements…they maintain that  near total cultural immersion and fluency in the language are key. That these  will reduce misunderstandings and make Japanese more likely to accept your application for acknowledgement as a full and complete human being. These gaijin believe that the main reason foreigners have a tough time here is they don’t accept  life as it comes, and are unable to love Japan as it is regardless. And, like the Kneel and Suck it Posse, they suggest that if you don’t agree you should go back to your den of multiculturalism, or whatever rock you slithered out from under, and leave Japan to much wiser folk who’ve managed to survive here for decades, without going Loco- thank you very much…

I ain’t mad at either of them, really. They both make good, if not, great points, and I value their feedback. I’m serious, I really do. And if you read my responses (and I do try to respond to everyone…I rarely censor unless it’s just noise or nonsense or blatant lies I’ll have no part in distributing) you know that I take my time and try to be as thoughtful and thorough as I feel the comment is due.

But, sometimes…

There are foreigners here (no names…you know who you are) whose comments have lead me to believe that they think of Japan and Japanese as a country, people and culture to be protected, the way parents protect children…like they’re some kind of child race, or mentally challenged people. The benefit of the doubt is extended a little further for them due to their lack of exposure to the outside world (whatever the fuck that means in this day and age). Their inexperience with dealing with westerners entitles them to commit all kinds of indiscretions and transgressions…all excusable under the umbrella of inherent ignorance. An umbrella hoisted and held by some of the foreigners here.

And, if they feel that way, then what does that make me? That parent who spanks or slaps his children in the supermarket? The guy who walks through the streets with his mentally challenged daughter on a leash? The Special Ed teacher who kicks his students in the gut when they get out of hand? Yep…that’s the tone of some of the responses. I should be ashamed of myself. I’m almost criminal.

If my child acts out in the supermarket…you know what? I might pop him upside the head. My moms sure as hell did… And I learned. I won’t spoil my children and I won’t spoil the Japanese, either, by pretending their ignorance is ok because they live on a tiny island cut off from the rest of the world by the Pacific Ocean and the Sea of Japan….because it simply isn’t true. Not anymore. They need to stop trying to convince me that that is a valid excuse for treating me like a creature devoid of feelings.

And the foreigners here who echo that malarkey, who buy that baka banashi (drivel) need to cut that shit out, too.

Trust me…I understand…I live here, too. I know how you feel. Day after day after day, you hear the same shit and pretty soon they wear you down, and you give in to the preponderance of ignorance around you. It’s overwhelming. You start to say shit like ‘They are a homogeneous people’ and ‘they are unaccustomed to foreigners’ and blah blah blah fucking blah and you really start to believe that these are valid excuses for dehumanizing foreigners… simply because 10000 Japanese have told you so.

On my blog I try to illustrate to the best of my ability what it is like for (and in no particular order): 1) a black man in Japan 2) A New Yorker in japan 3) A foreigner in japan.

I think the experience of being a foreigner in Japan is shared by every foreigner here, to some extent. I think being a black foreigner has a significant impact on that experience causing it to be much more, well, let’s just say it’s a different type of intensity than the experience of some other racial designations. And, I think being from New York, that multicultural den of dens, an environment almost antithetical to the one I currently live in, is also significant. These factors are at the heart of most of my entries.

But, not at the heart of the responses.

Firstly, I need to point out some things that may or may not be obvious. If they are please forgive me.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HRfjLfyXYlA

While the above has happened to me a number of times in New York, it is a regular occurrence in Japan, both men and women, on streets, in shops, elevators, trains, anywhere and everywhere, repeatedly throughout the day, every day without fail. In fact, if it doesn’t happen I’m shocked and I wonder if nihonjin are sleeping on the job. But, I’ve de-sensitized myself as much as one can to such behavior. If you’ve never experienced it then you have no idea the rage that shoots through you, to be insulted and humiliated in that way… like adrenalin on adrenalin. Nor would you know the effort required to suppress it, to keep yourself from taking the offender by the neck and squeezing until they are quite dead…(mild exaggeration) The fact that I don’t is a testament to my good will toward humankind, even Japanese.

But, make no mistake about it, it is still an ordeal. Every friggin time!

I know some of you are (still) saying / thinking: get over it! or Focus on the good things. Or why don’t you just ignore them? They’re just ignorant. They don’t mean anything by it. Or, why don’t you just go back home if it’s so bad? Well, what would you tell that guy in the video? Would you tell him: Why don’t you stop riding elevators with white people? Why don’t you move to another city where that kind of thing doesn’t go on?

Where would that be? Where is this place where I can live without dealing with this or a related issue? Fantasyland?

No, like that pseudo-PSA, and like Richard Pryor, Chris Rock, Dave Chappelle and many others, I tend to deal with serious issues utilizing humor. Moreover, as I’ve mentioned in previous post, I’ve decided to draw the proverbial line in the sand, right here in Asia.

However, not to disregard my readers who appreciate my giving them a prospective of Japan that isn’t devoid of the darker side of life here, I’ve decided to lighten up a little…for my own mental maintenance  I will endeavor to write lighter and brighter entries and keep my venom to a minimum.

…but I’ll never kneel and suck it!!

Loco

PS: This is a re-post of a post I did two years ago

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A0pCA4N0L9c

I think one of my favorite writers, Frank Herbert, said it best in one of his best known books, DUNE:

I must not fear.

Fear is the mind-killer.

Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.

I will face my fear.

I will permit it to pass over me and through me.

And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.

Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.

Only I will remain.

Not to suggest that fear is a Japanese issue. That would be asinine. It’s indeed a human issue and we all suffer from it. Yes, even I. Every day, in fact. And this is why I’ve decided to write about this.

I fear fear. Let me say that again. I’m afraid of fear. They say there’s nothing to fear but fear itself…well, that’s what I fear: Fear itself!

A patrol car, patrolling the streets of Bedford Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, one evening receives an alert over the radio that two black youths have held up a bodega at gunpoint, pistol-whipped the owner and made off with a everything in the till. The cops race to the scene, per their job descriptions. When they arrive they see two black kids running. Both cops are a little edgy. A cop was killed a year ago just around the corner near the projects and several have been wounded in gunfights with teenage drug dealers over the course of the past summer…

I don’t even have to finish this scenario, do I? Y’all already know what happened. This kind of thing happened way too often where I grew up. The cops are scared. The kids are scared. And the streets are watching. Not that I have it in for cops. I don’t. I truly believe that most of them are good people trying to make the community safer. But, a good number of them are afraid, too afraid to do their jobs effectively, to think clearly in a crisis, to make critical decisions, and their fear causes mistakes to happen.

I’d never been feared, at least not directly…not until I came here.

I remember in one my favorite movies, The Godfather, Don Corleone tells an Undertaker who comes to him for help: “…And if by chance an honest man like yourself should make enemies then they would become my enemies. And then, they would fear you.“

Yeah, The Don ruled by fear, and I admired the hell out of him. So did my older brothers. They were both feared in the ‘hood where I grew up. Fear was always easier to achieve than respect. My oldest bother used unpredictability and sociopathic tendencies to become fearsome. My other brother utilized devious cleverness and ferocious prowess to shake folks up. People feared his mind and his hands. No one was afraid of me. I was just protected because the fear of them placed me and anyone with me within a sphere of safety. In the Godfather, I would have been Micheal before The Don got shot. The college boy, soldier boy, lover boy, good boy…

Then I came to Japan!

I must admit, at first it was an exhilarating experience, awesome and corrupting. Fear is power, a power I had only known vicariously until I came here. I was always more of a ‘you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar’ kind of person. I would much rather have people respect me than fear me. But, here, without my consent or complicity, I’m suddenly notorious. I’ve got a rep. I’ve got a gun. I sell drugs. I assault people at random. I rob people. I’m a bad boy! (at least that’s the impression I get from a good number of Japanese -both male and female- based on their behavior.)

Only, I’m none of these things.

The idea of being feared is a delicious one and my brothers savored it…But, I have always been wary of it. Even within that so-called sphere of invulnerability I grew up in I could feel the fear of those around me. I worried that the enemies my brothers were making on a regular basis would eventually find their weak point-me- to retaliate against. The fear they generated could have very well made me a target. Fortunately everyone knew I was a “civilian” so to speak, and my brothers went out of their way to make it clear to all that I was not in the game.

But the fear I inspire here…well, sometimes it really scares me.

Perhaps because I was spoiled, having grown up in a protective sphere; a defensive perimeter that, I realize now, was mostly imagined anyway. And even if it were real, my brothers’ influence didn’t expand much beyond the confines of my community. Moreover,  as random as life and death in the ‘hood tend to be, everyone, myself included, basically walked around with a bulls-eye on their person. My imagination had freed me of that kind of thinking back then. Strange that only now, thanks to my current environment, I can see the truth: That I lived within a sphere that had been projected by me as much as it had by my brothers.

And, that this sphere hadn’t accompanied me to Asia.

I can feel its absence way too often here. Particularly on the trains. Being on a train with Japanese people is like being locked in a cage with rabid, blind, defanged and declawed Chihuahua. Their sheer number is oppressive. And, even though they can’t bite, maw or even see the real me, they can smother me or–I don’t know– lick me to death.  Sometimes I’m afraid the smothering and death by licking is occurring mentally.

*****

Cockroaches, honestly, scare the shit out of me. I am seriously afraid that one may very well cause my death someday. I will be minding my business and walk into a bathroom, turn on the light and there will be one right before me on the wall and, startled by my sudden entrance and lightening of the room, will alight and land squarely on my person or, god forbid, my face or skin, and I will beat myself senseless trying to kill it, or have a heart attack right there in the toilet.

It is, seriously, one of my biggest fears. So much so that every time I enter a room, especially in this old ass house I presently live in (and by old I mean by Japanese standards which means about 20 or 30 years…the brownstone I lived in back in NY was over a hundred) I enter cautiously with that horrific scenario in the back if not the front of my mind.It’s an irrational fear. That bug can do me no harm. I’m not ignorant of that fact, either. I KNOW it cannot harm me, only cause me to do harm to myself, and yet and still I am terrified.

Best case scenario: This is how many people (including Japanese) feel about black people. A fear and /or hatred that they have no conscious control of…

Worst case scenario: The belief that dark is truly evil and light is ultimately good and so the closer one is to white the better one’s humanity, and the closer one is to black the more inclined to do evil one is, justifying and rationalizing the fear and hatred.

Yes, it’s beyond ridiculous…

Even among black people this phenomenon of skin color/tone connoting goodness or wickedness exists. Due to some very serious psychological damage (beginning during slavery days no doubt and persisting even to this day) even some black people unconsciously gravitate towards lighter skinned black people (or white people)…and consider darker skinned black folks to be…let’s just say less. Less something. Less cultured, less civilized, less educated…less trustworthy.

And definitely more fearful.

Maybe it’s just some aspect of human psychology, dating back to primitive man, that associates black with night, and night with fright and danger…maybe it’s just that simple.

I don’t know. But it persists like a motherfucker, and it’s maddening. Maddening to see people unable to do the one thing that separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom and compels us to do things that animals would never do to each other. We have this intelligence, and this will power, and this culture and memory and sense of history, and we still, many of us, are afraid.

Sometimes when I see a cockroach, I stop myself, and I take a deep breath, and I catch a whiff of the fear-sweat spewing from my pores…and I can hear Frank Herbert’s Litany against Fear in my head…Fear is the mind killer… And then I see those long antennae and those many hairy legs, and the wings that want to spread, and the intelligent way it seems to be scanning the room for danger or food…yes, I imbue it with intelligence that makes it even more fearful…I create the monster with the power of my mind. I create my nemesis. Meanwhile Herbert is still pissing in my ear, pleading, trying to reach me…I will permit it to pass over me and through me…But, I block it out again because, well, because I hate that cockroach now! I hate it because it has made me so goddamn afraid that I stink with fear funk. I hate it because it has exposed my weakness as a human being. I want to kill it! I feel a blood lust! Does it matter if the blood is red or green or white? No! I want to overcome my fear just enough to utterly destroy it and in doing so I will feel some sense of accomplishment…I will convince myself afterwards that I have overcome my fear of it because instead of taking flight from something that bore me no ill will or in any way could do me harm, I killed it.

And sometimes when I see the Japanese fear of me it reminds me of my fear of the cockroach…in all of it’s irrationality and insanity. And I think of what I did to that roach once I was able to muster up the courage to do so.

I wonder if they are doing the same thing…creating monsters in their minds. Creating a nemesis to challenge them so that they can feel courageous.

And maybe they’ve made me out as that monster.

That scares me!

Loco

PS- This is a Re-post of a piece from two years ago

Here are the results.

http://locointraining.wordpress.com/category/super-models-on-the-subways/

All the above were taken with my iPhone (in need of repair at the moment) so please don’t judge them too harshly. Though a little post-production was done, no fancy apps were used for the pics that made the final cut above. I’m sure a seasoned photographer could do a far superior job, but the Lady’s got something;  something that is a joy to look at!It was a pleasure spending time with her, trying to capture it.  Hope I was sucessful to some degree.

Thank you, CJ!!  I really don’t know what to tell you…except to say I feel blessed that I put out the kind of energy that attracts positive, creative, beautiful and intelligent people into my life. And you, Love, are most definitely one of them!

Always,

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!
PS: Caroline Josephine tweets as @innocencewalker  Do yourself a favor and follow her! She also keeps a couple of great blogs. Click  here for more info:  http://www.carolinejosephine.com

She’s also been featured on Loco in Yokohama previously:

Spent The Day With A Supermodel and Spooning With Carolline Josephine

Check these posts out! They’re both like wow!

This was only my second Tweet-up. Both at the invitation of  their “organizer” Frank @silverstar22b the fearless founder of the Gaijin Heroes tribe, of which I’ve been a proud  member since its inception.

If you missed this event, after you’ve cursed yourself out (Fuck me!! I don’t deserve to live!) get over it, cause yours truly doesn’t forget his handful of readers and viewers…not ever!

That’s right, I Twitcasted it! (A bit of it, anyway) Just click here or on the pic below.

http://en.twitcasting.tv/locohama/movie/2609078

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Exciting stuff , right? It was an amazing turnout and how cool was it to attach faces and actual physical memories to all those Tweeters I’ve been socializing with for weeks and months! People like Shogannai , @billyj41,  @zhanglizhen , @rekishinotabi ,@shochusucker , @mma323 , @ShanaGraves , @kimiecat  , @tokyorich @ReddKlaw ,@JackOnSkates , @vincentdtok , @graigrussell , @radorii @ploysr08   @warpedgaijin , @ameseys  @matadon ,@remino , @jljzen , ShanaGraves , @poofymarshmello , @loveartblues  , @lifeyoutv , @bernarde , @Tokyogunz , @CamargoCarla , @havill, zhanglizhen

 

 BTW, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll follow each and everyone of these folks! (Just click on their names)Because, (and here’s something I don’t have a chance to say very often:) I can PERSONALLY tell you they are all Good People to know!

 

Here are a few pics taken last night with some of the good folks above!

 

The Master of Ceremonies and Tribal Chieftain Frank

  

Rekishi no Tabi

 

Shochusucker

 

Vincent

 

Ploysr08 and Warpedgaijin

 

 

Remino

Matadon

 

BillyJ41

LifeYouTv (Quiet as kept)

A real New Yorker, Masafumi Matsumoto and Zhanglizhen

Kimiecat (meow)

Shogannai

Shana Graves

Thanks guys! I had a great time! We MUST do this again some time!

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

[youtube=

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jTXbgaqwPdM

Mr. Debito even compared Mr. James to Stepin Fechit.

I don’t know about that.

I thought it was ironic, though. A former American, white, not having much or any racism, bigotry or negative stereotyping aimed at his own race to cite used the experience of African-Americans as a reference.  God bless America. Being a minority and the target of racism or xenophobia is something most white people, American or otherwise, will never experience.

The same can be said of Japanese.

I feel hesitant to go here.

Fuck it…

Yesterday, while printing out photos of my China trip to show my students I printed out and placed on my desk at work the following photo:

The Gospe*Rats have been around for years. I’ve seen them on posters and billboards around Shibuya and other places in Tokyo. They were and are very popular. They are very talented. They are very cool.

They are also a Japanese minstrel act.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qdccZ92bFWM&feature=related

They seem like really nice guys, though. I feel pretty confident that though they are no doubt aware by now that their black face offends black people (and most any person with a respect for the dignity and humanity of all people) they don’t wear it to be offensive. They simply feel that our offense is not their intent so we need to get over it, or something to that effect.

So, why did I put the photo on my desk? I’m not really sure. I know it’s connected to the McDonald’s thing, though. I had asked my co-workers what they thought about the Nippon All-Stars ad campaign the other day. Most had never heard of it. A couple had but didn’t see anything remotely troubling about it. So, I guess I just wanted to see their reaction to the photo. Would they find it troubling…I guess part of me was hoping they would.

One teacher walked by my desk, glanced at the picture and stopped.

JT: Loco-sensei, what’s that?

Me: It’s a singing group called the gosperats. Do you know them?

JT: I’ve heard of the name but I don’t know their music.

Me: Mostly soul music and doo-wop…American music…African-American music.

JT: Is that right? Why do you have their picture on your desk?

Me: I just thought it was interesting. Don’t you?

JT: I guess so…

And she walked away. Another teacher came by.

JT2: Loco-Sensei, good morning. How are you?

Me: I’m fine, thanks for asking.

JT2: Oh my. What’s that picture on your desk?

Me: It’s a singing group. They call themselves Gosperats. Do you know them?

JT2: Yes! They are great! Do you like them, too?

Me: Not especially.

JT2: I see. Why do you have their picture on your desk?

Me: I just thought they looked interesting. Don’t you?

JT2: Yes. Their makeup is a little strange, but I love their costumes.

A little strange, she said. Just a little?

I rarely get into race stuff with my co-workers, unless they initiate it and won’t let me escape the conversation; with questions that begin with, “do black people…” this and “do black people…” that. But, if it is avoidable I avoid it.

I learned the hard way long before I began working at this school, back in my NOVA days as a matter of fact, that the Japanese (and to be honest, that of some of my Western co-workers) level of ignorance in all matters related to race is at a level where a discourse with them on the subject will invariably, at best, leave me frustrated and / or shocked. As for my fellow English teachers, what is said about Japanese can easily be said about many other countries and even parts of the US: homogeneous, xenophobic, ignorant, insensitive, intolerant, etc…

Not to suggest black people are immune to any of the above. We aren’t. Not by a long shot. I mean, Stepin Fetchit was a black man (as were many black face performers) after all and he didn’t perform at gunpoint (at least I don’t think so) (-:

No, these are indisputably human issues.

I’ve never mentioned The Gospe*rats (nor the other black face groups in Japan) before on my blog because, well, they’re like low-hanging fruit, you know. Like talking about how beautiful Mount Fuji is or how there are no Ninja in Tokyo nowadays, or how crowded the trains are…just too friggin’ obvious.

I mean…in my eyes, it is so blatant. But, I know it isn’t. Not to everyone. Somebody reading this is thinking of rationalizations and/or justifications. Just dying to come to the defense of what I feel to be the essentially indefensible…they’ll say: Most Japanese don’t have experience with other countries so they have no idea what is offensive or racist. They are a naive people and culture, isolated from the rest of the world etc, etc…blah blah friggin blah.

Of course, they’re right. These Gosperats (and the fans who adore them) are not in the know. The idea to paint their faces black and dress up like black performers just occurred to them while watching old footage of black pop idols like Little Richard, Sam Cooke, The Platters and others from the 5os…they’ve probably never seen footage or photos of minstrel shows, which date back to slavery days. They just loved the music and loved the style.

They’ve probably never seen or read anything that dealt with the history of the style of entertainment they’ve undertaken…I mean, who does research about the field of endeavor they intend to spend a great deal of time and energy pursuing and presenting to people anyway? Most people just get what they imagine is a good idea and run with it, right? It goes without saying that they probably never saw Spike Lee’s brilliant take on the black face, called Bamboozled.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EMZ6zp-3oGY

They wouldn’t know how painful and negative this kind of thing was, nor how ultimately detrimental to mutual cultural respect this kind of thing currently is.

They are a homogeneous culture and people. There is no history of racism in Japan. I’ve been offered such platitudes over and over and over, by Japanese and foreigners alike, rationalizing and/or justifying the prevailing ignorance.

So, they’re innocent by virtue of ignorance. Ignorance is indeed bliss profitable.

So, what you’re saying is, if they saw a black girl band in New York dressed up in Kimono with Geisha (or yellow) makeup on singing J-pop tunes in broken Japanese they would say,”Oooohhh Kawaiiiii, (wow, cute!)” right? Or 4 Chinese guys in Beijing dressed up like Samurai with ninja masks on singing Enka songs they would say, “Kakkoiii jyan! (mad cool!)” Right? These acts would be viewed by the racially ignorant, innocent and naive Japanese as simply another culture paying homage to their own…not degrading in the slightest. Not even on the wink-wink tip.

I find that hard to believe.

But, it’s all innocent, right? I mean, the whites who did this kind of thing…even some of them were innocent, weren’t they? Just products of their time. If you were a performer, whether child or adult, black or white, Shirley Temple or Judy Garland, Al Jolson or Stepin Fetchit, this was how the money was being made. This was the kind of entertainment in demand. White people wanted to see black people, but not real black people unless they were acting like fools or doing something amazingly entertaining.

Is there a vestige of minstrel-ism in Bob Sapp, or Bobby Olugun? Perhaps. I certainly cringe when I see either of them on TV (one of the main reasons I don’t watch it). But I won’t get into that right now.

Today in class, the Japanese teacher asked me, in front of the class, what Japanese TV shows did I watch. She’d caught me off-guard. She hadn’t mentioned in our pre-class meeting that she was going to ask me that. I answered, automatically, almost as if she were asking a ridiculous rhetorical question, “none!” She looked shocked, as did the class. And after hearing the echo of the vehemence in my own voice I immediately donned a smile. Before she could ask me why as a follow up I added, “actually I catch Crayon Shinchan and Dragonball sometimes, but I usually watch American shows like CSI, Heroes and Lost.”

The truth is every time I turn on Japanese television I have to sit through the crucible of a food show (oishii deshou? Sou desu yo ne!) or a talk show (nande ya ne!) or worse, a comedy show. The comedy shows often have someone making fun of foreigners, and there are a few that even get specific and make fun of blacks with the ubiquitous Afro wigs and whatnots. I realize that the same can be said of American TV, especially when I was growing up, but the PC level in the States is so high now even mildly goofing around at another race’s expense is taboo and done at the producer’s considerable risk.

I really don’t want to delve too much into this. Like I said, it’s low hanging fruit, but I do think that Japan had better realize that their claims of naivete and isolation are wearing thin. I mean, god forbid, the Gosperats go on a world tour and encounter an audience that does not see the compliment they must imagine they’re giving by minstrel-ing. If they came to NY doo-wopping in black face…I don’t even want to finish that thought.

I think many here (Japanese as well as some foreigners) would benefit from a film like Bamboozled becoming required viewing.

The following montage from Bamboozled speaks volumes, but maybe for Japan to hear it the volume would need be turned up a notch…you know, due to their isolation and what not.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C45g3YP7JOk

Loco

Who is Loco?

PS: This is a re-post of an essay I wrote in 2009…

If you’re not a twitter buddy of mine, Vaporflower, then you probably didn’t. fret not! Here it is in its entirety! Just click pic!

If you have any suggestions for future guests, let me know below!

And thanks again to Vaporflower! Follow him!

And stay tune for more episodes with Tokyo’s own DJ Ronin! The cat is mad nice!

Unless your Twitter name is: Shibari Blaqq (@shibarithablaqq) you probably did. But fear not. Here it is in its entirety. I opened the broadcast to questions and Shibari asked a couple of poignant ones. Check out the conversation here!

Have questions you want answered now or on future episodes Loco Live? Drop them below and I’ll do my best to respond!

Thanks in advance!

PS: Good looking out Shibari!! Follow Him y’all! (Shibarithablaqq)

Osaki City

Musashi Kosugi Shopping Street

Impromptu Bike Park in Kikuna

Kikuna Valley

Kikuna Street

Osaki City 2

Couple in Cafe

Starbucks in Jiyugaoka

Well, that’s about it for this week. Cast your vote in the poll below! And drop me a line, let me know why you dug it. Any tips would be appreciated as well. All you pros out there, show an amateur some love!

BTW Last week’s winner was: Hirama Crossing

Thanks for voting everyone!

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

PS: Check out my previous shots…some are pretty damn good. The rest are magnificent (-;

Best shots of the week #1, Best shots of the week #2, Best shots of the week #3

Best shots of the week #4, Best shots of the week #5, Best shots of the week #6

Best shots of the week #7, Best shots of the week #8, Best shots of the week #9

Best shots of the week #10, Best Shots of the week #11, Best shots of the week #12

Best shots of the week #13, Best Shots of the week #14, Best Shots of the Week #15

Best Shots of the Week #16

Since childhood I have had a deep and abiding love for the trains. I practically grew up on the NYC Subways and I know the lines and stations probably as well as the train staff. Learned many a life lesson aboard the trains. (Maybe I’ll write a book about my life on trains someday!)

Even many of the posts on this blog, beneath my notice (and readers of Loco in Yokohama have probably noticed this) take place on the trains.

To me, the trains have always represented power, mobility, escape, sanctuary and, most of all, peace of mind. I’ve gotten some of the best sleeps of my life within the lulling embrace and comforting confines of a subway car.

I had a interesting thought yesterday that’ gave me a “What The…” pause for the cause: Perhaps the reason I lose patience with our hosts is because they, in a sense, commit what I consider to be sacrilege! When they commit their acts of “terrorized-ism” in the one place in the world my soul has sanctified as Holy Ground, the offense is compounded. Like spitting on a Mosque.

So, with this new nugget of knowledge of Self, I can see why a good HALF of my photos are connected to the trains here. At least now that I know where this is coming from I can focus properly and not haphazardly on what is clearly STILL a passion of mine.

I wouldn’t call myself your typical Trainspotter or one of those Densha Otaku you see running around here in Japan (generally looking strange as all get out). I think my passion is not so much on the trains themselves- their styles and vintage and all that stuff- (though I do love the history of trains) but more with the everyday life on the train and in and around the stations. Not so much on the train and station staff but on the commuters themselves. Not so much on routes and timetables but on the human interaction with these machines. I do get off on the architectural design of stations, though, and the way most stations here in Japan are the heart of the town, with all veins and arteries of the area leading to and away from the station.

I wonder if those distinctions were clear enough. Gotta work on that. The pictures below illustrate it though, I think.

I also want to continue shooting other stuff, as well.  I’ll figure it out, but if you have any suggestions I’m all ears.

Below are 12 shots I took this week. Gonna pass on the poll this time around but comments are welcomed.

Thanks in advance.

Tsunashima Station

Kikuna Station

Kikuna Station Gate

Jiyugaoka Crossing 1

Osaki Station 1

Yokohama Station

Jiyugaoka Crossing 2

Toyoko Line

Jiyugaoka Crossing 3

Kikuna Station Bus Stop

Jiyugaoka Crossing 4

Osaki Station 2

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

The woman I rented from was the mother of my best friend and I had known her since I was a child. My best friend also lived there, on the ground floor. I had a great relationship with both of them, and they were both very supportive of the changes I had set in motion in my life.

I had quit my secure and fairly well-paying job of 6 years a few months earlier in order to have more time to do revisions on the book I’d written- and had secured one of the most prominent black literary agents in the country on the strength of-and it was one hell of an undertaking. For example, I had changed the entire 340-page manuscript written in third person to a 250 or so page first person narrative, so you can imagine all the work involved. But, this was soul work, the kind of work you wake up in the morning to with the eagerness you might wake up with on the morning of your big vacation to Jamaica or some Caribbean island off the grid.

I’d also secured a consulting job where my main responsibility was to raise awareness in Bed-Stuy of funding available for corporate sponsored beautification measures, as well as scouting locations and securing the contractors necessary to convert empty lots into awesome gardens.

I was also volunteering (again in my community) with a neighborhood home owners association to go door to door and to give talks at Block Association meetings to residents bringing to their attention the efforts of predatory lenders to separate them from their property through shady loans, and the complicity of certain government agencies in this.

On top of that, I was working freelance for a local newspaper raising awareness of the above issues, writing articles and editorials on the players involved, for which I had gained a certain amount of notoriety and respect in the community, viewed as a “comer” or a person to be reckoned with.

I was high on life. It was an awesome time to be Loco.

That all changed, or at least began to, on 9/11/2001.

It was a beautiful day. Blue skies, warm breeze and sunshiny. I was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with a light Polo jacket. I had an Afro then and it was freshly braided tight to my scalp in cornrows ornately and uniquely designed by a woman I paid 20 dollars plus tip to do every other week. I had a little money in my pocket and a lot of joie de vivre in my heart as I descended the stairs from my apartment.

As I was opening the door to walk out into the glory of another day being me, I heard my best friend call my name.

“You seen the news?”

“Nah, what’s up?”

” A plane crashed into one of the Twin Towers!”

“Say word!” and I came back in and joined him in front of the TV set. And, sho nuff, one of the buildings had a cavernous hole in it coughing flames and smoke. “Shit!”

While it was most certainly news, it was merely the kind of news that would make for semi-interesting conversation for the next week or so, by NY standards. Just another saga in the ongoing saga of life in the most major of major metropolises. Seasoned New Yorkers can roll with just about anything.

I basically made my own schedule as a consultant so I wasn’t stressing over being late to the office or anything. So, my best buddy and I were sitting there watching this scene play out, listening to the reporters’ speculations while speculating ourselves about the size of the plane and the chances of survival of the people above the floors now aflame, when the next plane hit right before our eyes.

“What the fuck was that?”

We found out a few minutes later…along with the rest of the world.

While the CNN guys were talking about more planes being expected I remember grabbing and holding myself, like a mother might hold her child…kind of protectively, and thinking aloud, “my God, we’re at war!”

And not that Smart-bomb-down-a-chimney in some Muslim country Wag-The-Dog kind of war, but the kind of war other countries have all the time. The kind of war the US always wages on others had, after a 60 year lapse since the Japanese pimp slapped Pearl Harbor, had finally come home. The kind where the enemy is dropping bombs (and planes) on US cities!

The kind of shit you never imagined happening.

And, I was living in ground zero, apparently.

My friend and I looked at one another and a new fear, not unlike a fear of God, was in both of our eyes. More so in mine than his, though, I think. He was always better able to compartmentalize and rationalize than me, something I’ve always admired about him. He was also more cynical than me, I think.

Or, rather, I felt. Thinking had been put on hold for longer than I like to remember. All I could do at that moment was feel. Feel my own mortal vulnerability, and that of my family.

I feared for the safety of my sister who took the subway to work, her train passing just beneath the towers. I snatched my cellphone from its holster at my waist. No service. The Land lines were out, too.

No communication only exacerbated the rising panic I felt.

Back to the TV. Back to the talking heads talking Doomsday scenarios, end of the world as we know it shit while in the backdrop of their prognostications the symbols not only of American financial might, but of pride for us New Yorkers, burned, and people leaped to their deaths live on TV.

This can’t be real…

I felt myself shaking, trying to process my place in this new paradigm, if I should survive!

“Let’s go up on the roof!” I shouted and was headed that way even before I finished the sentence.

From the rooftop, the two towers were clearly visible, the smoke from the fire was drifting over our heads (and would be in the air for days), a metallic chemical taste to it. I was breathing in the incinerated lives of hundreds, and God knows what kind of chemicals. Then, we heard a rumble and looked around. What looked like Fighter jets were flying overhead. But the rumble continued even after they’d passed. I looked back to the two towers, and realized there were only one and a half left. The other was falling from view like some kind of house of burning cards.

“Ohhhhhh Fuck!!!”

My heart was jumping all over the fucking place…there were screams from other rooftops.

I remember thinking I might as well jump off this fucking roof. Change doesn’t happen this fast…something is wrong with the world, with life. Everything I believe is wrong. Everything is wrong.

Everything.

I was pacing around the roof, looking for something to hold on to. It felt like the ground was shaking, was going to open up and take me at any moment, the same way it had just taken one of the world trade buildings. The roof was the worst place to be. I climbed back down the ladder into my home. It took much longer than the climb up to he roof had taken. My legs weren’t sturdy. The ladder felt shaky. I didn’t feel safe.I felt helpless as a baby minus that carefree-ness of not knowing that danger lurked everywhere, that fire burns and water drowns and plastic suffocates. There was no mommy and daddy to protect me. There were people dying, jumping from a burning building into the debris of a building that didn’t exist anymore.

I couldn’t walk or talk…I just had to get back to the TV. I don’t remember how I got back to it. Did I crawl? I got back though and I just stood there watching that building crumble to the ground in a sandstorm of dust and debris that swarmed through the air like it was in possession of intelligence of a limited variety, like a plague of locusts swarming down streets I’ve walked thousands of times. I covered my mouth watching on the news terror-confused people running hither and thither through roads I rode upon often on my mountain bike, shocked people standing on corners I’ve frequented, holding their mouths.

I don’t know how long I stayed that way. Maybe until the second one dropped.

Somehow, though, the collapse of the second of the twins snapped me out of it. It had a certain finality to it, like a crescendo had been leading up to that moment. I was almost relieved to see it go. Like maybe this had been the goal all along by these forces that sought to change the world as I and everyone I knew saw it, and now that they’d accomplished that they would cease and desist, pull back and let us collect our wounded and fallen, pick up the pieces of our shattered images of safety and delusions of superiority and invulnerability and, at some point, god willing, use our brains to think again.

That this force would show mercy.

It would be a few hours before I could think, again. Before I realized that the fear I had experienced, and the shock, had traumatized and paralyzed me. It would be years, two years in fact, before I got sick- sick to death- of living in a city and a country still traumatized so much that it actually supported a man who told them (among many ridiculous notions) to go shopping to show the terrorists that they haven’t destroyed our way of life.

Such flagrant stupidity and gross negligence from our supposed leadership made it easier to cast my good life aside, turn my back on the Loco of my dreams, put my soul work on hold, pack up my shit and move abroad.

And it would be nine and a half years until I felt anything even approaching that level of fear again.

I didn’t even think it was possible until 3/11/11, here, in Yokohama.

click here for pt.2

Loco

PS: This is a re-post of a piece I did earlier this year

Since then, I have done several shows, but, aside from today’s episode, only one  was anything to write home about. That was on Thursday night. I had my biggest audience to date and the conversation was upbeat and fun.

Here it is:

Loco TV- Live from Yokohama- A walk home with Loco / A trip to the Seven Eleven

 Which brings us to today!

If you missed today’s riveting episode of Loco Live from Yokohama, this time, slap yourself silly! SIlly yet? Good! Now, check it out below. I posted it in its entirety (two parts) Enjoy!

 Loco TV- Live from Yokohama: Scenic bike path, death-defying biking, music I listen to- Gnarles Barkley

Loco TV- Live From Yokohama: Tobacco shop, Starbucks and Street Fashion in Jiyugaoka

Street Fashion in Tokyo

 Stay Tuned for programming upgrades. More interviews. More “On Locations” More More More!

Any suggestions / requests? I’m open as a Seven-Eleven.

Holla!

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco?

PS: BIG shout out to Tiffany (Year of the Rat) my Twitter Buddy and Loco Live’s biggest supporter thus far. Thanks Tiff!! You Rock. Follow Her!

PPS: Haven’t figured out how to embed Twitcast video in a WordPress blog, yet. Anyone capable of explaining how to do it in laymen terms, I’m all ears.

Hirama Crossing

Kikuna Morning

Kikuna Hills

Kids Through Curtain

Kashimada Station

Flower / Church / Kikuna

Couple On Train

School Garden

Cool Tattoo Guy

Kikuna Sign / Church

Shin Kawasaki - Clouds

From Shinjuku Station West Exit

 Well, that’s about it for this week. Cast your vote in the poll below! And drop me a line, let me know why you dug it. Any tips would be appreciated as well. All you pros out there, show an amateur some love! (That means you Fernando (-; )

BTW Last week’s winner was:Three Girls 

Thanks for voting everyone!

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

PS: Check out my previous shots…some are pretty damn good. The rest are magnificent (-;

Best shots of the week #1, Best shots of the week #2, Best shots of the week #3

Best shots of the week #4, Best shots of the week #5, Best shots of the week #6

Best shots of the week #7, Best shots of the week #8, Best shots of the week #9

Best shots of the week #10, Best Shots of the week #11, Best shots of the week #12

Best shots of the week #13, Best Shots of the week #14, Best Shots of the Week #15

If you missed it, here’s a link to the parties!

To everyone involved, guest bloggers and Loco supporters, my heartfelt thanks!

Well…the party is over!

It ended the other day when, for me, another earth-shaking event occurred.

It’s not an easy thing to explain, so bear with me for a moment.

If you follow Loco in Yokohama, then you know that over the past few days, and as many posts,  I have been focusing on something that I really had been trying not to focus on…at least as far as my blog is concerned. A subject that always leaves me feeling troubled.

Yep, the subject of race.

If you’ve read my most recent posts, then you know how much this incident in South Korea with the guy on the bus going postal on a Korean couple, and, in particular, the responses to it spewed in comment sections across the web, have disturbed me. (as I describe in a post I’m pretty proud of “A Man of our Time”)

This event was exacerbated by several conversations I’ve had with Japanese friends and students on the matter since then. It seems that this event in Korea has had some ramifications here in Japan, as well. Not that feelings about black people have changed. The effect seems to be a willingness to drop previously held reservations and discuss freely their true feelings on the matter.

It’s happened several times over the past three days during discussions of this  incident in Korea.

And in each case, with varying levels of disclosure and frankness, I’ve been told by Japanese that most of their fellow countrymen and women hold strong racist feelings against black people. One student even elaborated on the matter extensively, stating that, in general, (in that way that many Japanese have of speaking on behalf of their entire race,) Japanese look favorably upon whites and dis-favorably upon blacks.

I don’t know why it shocked me so to hear these things. I mean, I have felt it and pretty much had long since drawn these conclusions based on an overabundance of evidence. But, to hear it said directly really upset me.

It made me feel…blacker, in the derogatory sense of the word.

I realized, during this prolonged period of shock, that I hadn’t really considered myself  black all this time. Of course, in a cultural and ethnic sense, I did. But, this derogatory sense of what being black means, that black that is replete with all that is fearful and  loathsome, the one  that too many people for some reason seem to embrace…I never associated myself with that. I’d simply written off the people who saw that black when they looked at me, as lazy, ignorant, spiteful or afraid. And, if they ever really sat down and thought about how and why they’d come to hold these beliefs about black people, as I have for other races over the course of my life, then they’d probably see the error of their ways.

The blackness they see, I surmised, is the blackness in humanity.  Not me. That Japanese Salaryman who killed a NOVA teacher and buried her body in sand in his bathtub…he was black. Not me. The white kids walking the hallways of their school with AK47s, pumping rounds into their classmates, were black. Not me.

And, yes, that black guy who assaulted an elderly Korean couple on a bus was black.

Not me.

But, with “we, Japanese, are racists” ringing in my ears, for two very long fucking days I was as black as those people I mentioned above. I was capable of anything. I was worthy of every epithet ever hurled at a black person based solely on skin color. I could kill.

I felt scared. I wasn’t myself. I was everything the people around me feared. I had to close my eyes to keep their  hateful, fearful eyes out of my mind. I walked the streets of Yokohama like a somnambulist on a tightrope. The rope guided me to the third of five private English students I teach on Saturdays.

One of my faves.

He asked me what was wrong with me. He’d never seen me so upset. I told him about the  incident in Korea, and the hateful reactions to it that I’d read. I told him about the things some of my other students had said, about most Japanese fearing/hating black people and such. I told him everything.

And,  he, too, concurred.

“Yes, it’s true, we are racists!” he said.

And then he began to give me that whole spiel I’ve been listening to for over 8 years now, that same old hackneyed excuse, the Japanese lack of experience with blacks. I was about to shut down and drone away for the remainder of his lesson- half there half elsewhere- when he expanded his answer to include that the media- in particular the News outlets in Japan- support this thinking with biased reporting and the sensationalizing of negative stories about foreigners, in particular Chinese, Koreans and of course blacks.

“Same thing in America,” I sighed, feeling deflated and defeated, set upon by an international pack of dogs. I ran off my own spiel about not understanding why, when all races have an abundance of examples of people doing despicable, ignorant, and fearful shit, most even worse than blacks have ever done. When you think of the worst atrocities in the history of mankind, and even in this day and age, surely blacks do not come to mind.  “…I mean, sure, street crimes generally have a black face in the media, but nuclear bombs, biological weapons, hate crimes, organized crime, pedophiles,pederasts, priests raping boys, child pornography, political corruption, corporate greed depriving millions of their hard earned savings and investments…rarely do these have a black face, and these are the ills that really tear at the fabric of what we call civilization, are they not?”

I was almost hysterical.

“Doesn’t matter…” he said. And, he was right. Black skin apparently taps into something that deprives people of their ability to think rationally…something primal.

It reminded me of the previous night when a Japanese friend had asked me, if I could come back as a member of the race of my choosing, which would it be.

I felt so vulnerable at the moment she’d asked that, for about a solid 30 seconds,  I hated her…

Vindictively, I had answered “I’d come back as Chinese,” (knowing the contempt most Japanese, including her, hold for Chinese people.)

But, sitting there with my favorite student, I realized, that if I could I’d choose to come back a member of the same race I am now: Human.

That’s why I’d never felt black, I said to myself, feeling my spirits rise a bit. I’d been too busy trying to be a better human being to focus on the limitations of being a better black man.

My student noticed the change in me and asked me what was I thinking about.

I smiled, and told him that I was thinking that I was a human being, a writer, a thinker, and a dreamer, sentenced  to life confined inside of this brown skin…with no possibility of parole or escape.

And, regardless of the challenges- in fact, because of them- that there was no place I’d rather be.

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here

PS: I will be starting a new series in the coming days so stay tuned!

He’s done a video response to my post and to the video I posted the other day (that I’m sure most of you have seen by now) of a guy in Korea going postal on a couple of Koreans over what, by some accounts, was a misunderstanding.

Here’s the video response he made below:

First off, I want to say thank you, Gimmeaflakeman, for the shout out!

A few phrases jumped off the screen at me and, when time allows (perhaps this evening), I will respond to them, for I think they are crucial to a true meeting of minds (if there wil ever be one) among human beings regardless of skin pigmentation, nationality or  any other agent of divisiveness.

They are as follows: 

“Easy way to refer to someone”

“Why did you mention that he was black?”

“I’ve heard of people being spit on…”

“Whatever you do is going to reaffirm any biases about you or your country, or it may be a great opportunity to dispel them…”

“I kinda can’t really blame everyone for judging blacks in this case because people are stupid. That’s the way it is, and you gotta know that…”

“Cultural misundestandings are a bitch, but they come with the territory.”

Very provocative stuff here.

I’ll get back atcha directly! Gotta go peddle some English.

to be continued…

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

Nice Tattoo

ABC Staff

Yet another Typhoon Approaches

Park in Yokohama

Tsunashima Matsuri 1

Tennis Club Practice

Tsunashima Matsuri 2

Musashi Kosugi Construction

 

BTW last week’s winner was “Birds in a fog” 

Thanks for voting everyone!

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

PS: Check out my previous shots…some are pretty damn good. The rest are magnificent (-;

Best shots of the week #1, Best shots of the week #2, Best shots of the week #3

Best shots of the week #4, Best shots of the week #5, Best shots of the week #6

Best shots of the week #7, Best shots of the week #8, Best shots of the week #9

Best shots of the week #10, Best Shots of the week #11, Best shots of the week #12

Best shots of the week #13,  Best Shots of the week #14

Watching this video, and reading the comments people have left in response to it, makes me sick.

Black men, particularly African American men, have been “losing it” for centuries, and the result has generally been death or incarceration.

“Losing it” is tantamount to a surrender, at best, and a suicide attempt, at worst. It’s especially troubling for me because I could feel every emotion that guy felt. Every single one!

Make no mistake about it: Loco is an angry black man, too, that has come this fucking close to losing it my damn self on many occasions. Both here in Japan and back  in the US.

Only difference perhaps between that guy and me is, rather than let that pressure build up to a combustible level, I’ve learned to open the valves and release it, little by little. Sometimes I do so here on my blog. Other times I read. I might release it in conversation with my students or friends, or in the bedroom, or even in the gym with a basketball.

Sometimes I breakdown and shed tears when none of those other measures will alleviate the stress of keeping it together.

They say men aren’t supposed to cry. I don’t subscribe to that foolishness. I could put up a tough front if I need to but inside I’m sensitive and vulnerable. I’m moved to tears by the heroic, and by the tragic, by the courage of humanity, and by its wickedness. I absorb it all for not only is it fertilizer for creative thinking, but I believe it’s what the Creator intended for humanity.

Days like today are tear-worthy.

Like war, events like this bring out the absolute worst in people, and they say and do the most god-awful shit. It’s like the sun’s energy focused through a magnifying glass at a colony of ants…only we’re the ants and there is no sun, only a pervasive all-encumbering darkness, rich with hate.

To these hate-mongers, whether they’re aware of it or not, I want to say something.

To the people that think that this MAN is an animal cuz a misunderstanding lead him to let his emotions get the best of him, well, you’re in good (so to speak) company. Thomas Jefferson, a slave-owning rapist and one of the forefathers of the US, would agree with you. He said:

“To our reproach it must be said, that though for a century and a half we have had under our eyes the races of black and of red men, they have never yet been viewed by us as subjects of natural history. I advance it therefore as a suspicion only, that the blacks, whether originally a distinct race, or made distinct by time and circumstances, are inferior to the whites in the endowments both of body and mind. It is not against experience to suppose, that different species of the same genus, or varieties of the same species, may possess different qualifications.”

Yeah, I know, he was highly intelligent, a man of his time, but doesn’t it make your skin crawl to know that a rapist with thoughts and actions like these had anything to do with designing a multicultural society in a brave new world?

Hitler, another man of his time, had similar ideas.

And, just so my point isn’t lost: any person of ANY RACE  is capable of committing crimes against other people, and justifying them with some ill-conceived notions. And if you think men of our time (of all races, yes, even Koreans and Japanese) are not capable of doing what this man did or the equivalent or worse, then you have been walking through life with blinders on, baby! Try reading the Newspapers, books, or even the sick thoughts of our fellow men and women on Youtube and many other places on the net.

Mankind hasn’t evolved much, and sometimes I think we’re a handful of incidents from sanctioning yet another holocaust / ethnic cleansing.

And to those folks out there who like to place all the blame on blacks for our current status, here’s a letter I often think of when I find myself doing the same (as I’m prone to do occasionally.)

The letter is dated August 7, 1865, and was written by Jourdon Anderson, once a slave in Big Spring, Tennessee, to his former owner, Colonel P.H. Anderson, who had written to the ex-slave in Dayton, Ohio, where he had resettled with his wife and children. The colonel had written to persuade Anderson to return to Big Spring and work for him as a free man:

Sir: I got your letter, and was glad to find that you had not forgotten Jourdan, and that you wanted me to come back and live with you again, promising to do better for me than anybody else can …

I want to know particularly what the good chance is you propose to give me. I am doing tolerably well here. I get twenty-five dollars a month, with victuals and clothing; have a comfortable home for Mandy, – the folks call her Mrs. Anderson, – and the children – Milly Jane, and Grundy – go to school and are learning well … Now if you will write and say what wages you will give me, I will be better able to decide whether it would be to my advantage to move back again.

As to my freedom, which you say I can have, there is nothing to be gained on that score, as I got my freedom papers in 1864 from the Provost-Marshall-General of the Department of Nashville. Mandy says she would be afraid to go back without some proof that you were disposed to treat us justly and kindly; and we have concluded to test your sincerity by asking you to send us our wages for the time we served you.

I served you faithfully for thirty-two years, and Mandy twenty years. At twenty-five dollars a month for me, and two dollars a week for Mandy, our earnings would amount to eleven thousand six hundred and eighty dollars. Add to this the interest for the time our wages have been kept back, and deduct what you paid for our clothing, and three doctor’s visits to me, and pulling a tooth for Mandy, and the balance will show what we are in justice entitled to …

Please send the money by Adam’s Express, in care of V. Winters, Esq., Dayton, Ohio. If you fail to pay us for our faithful labors in the past, we can have little faith in your promises for the future. We trust the good Maker has opened your eyes to the wrongs which you and your fathers have done to me and my fathers, in making us toil for you for generations without recompense … Surely there will be a day of reckoning for those who defraud the laborer of his hire …

Say howdy to George Carter, and thank him for taking the pistol from you when you were shooting at me.

Of course, Colonel Anderson, a Man of his time, never paid Jourdon Anderson what he owed him for his labor.

Multiply that by the millions of African slaves (my great-grand parents, grandparents and to some extent my parents as well, for slavery’s progeny- peonage and prison labor- went on well into modern times) that were similarly robbed of everything (culture, language, religion, history and labor) and you have the true birth of a nation, and the true birth of a nigger, and the root of this black anger that these hatemongers like to attribute to the nature of black people.

Nature played no role in these crimes against humanity. Unless it’s being suggested that such crimes are the natural inclination of the criminals in question.

When one race strips another race of all the things that make a people a people over the course of several centuries, and then deny them recompense (while handing it out to other groups,) then it stands to reason that that people will have some issues that will take some time to iron out.

Right now, we’re ironing them out, slowly but surely…but it’s an ugly process, just as the process of birthing a nigger was ugly!

When I watch the behavior of the black guy in this video, as well as other issues African Americans bring to the world stage, I think of this ironing out process which undoubtedly will go on for several more generations, at least. What keeps me hopeful that, someday, as Martin Luther King said, we shall overcome, is the promise I see in some of the youth of today, youth born with the knowledge that they too could be President of the US, or ANYTHING they put their minds to. Also, in the fact that this wild man left the confines of his homeland and went abroad to become a citizen of the world and to share his wealth of experience and knowledge with peoples of other nations. Even the inclination to do such a thing is an improvement against what I’ve seen in my lifetime.

I’m sure he regrets his behavior, and though this violent outburst may (and probably should) cost him his livelihood and perhaps even his Visa, I don’t think that this should reflect poorly on any other black person living in Korea or anywhere else in the world, no more than the Columbine murderers, George Bush (another murderer) or Sarah Palin should reflect poorly on white people everywhere in the world, or Subway Perverts (Chikan) or gya-ru (Japanese girls in black face makeup) should reflect poorly on Japanese people…the inclination to do such a thing is the true ugliness that even I am guilty of at times.

Personally, I think he probably just got fed up with people harassing and disrespecting him when he’d done nothing but show them respect and tolerance. But, I like to give people the benefit of the doubt.

We’ll probably never know, but at least one fact should be unquestionable:

He is a MAN of our time!

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here

Anyway, so I’m going through my Stats and I see that I’m getting pings from a site frequented by foreigners living in Korea.

A recent article on this site is about the altercation in the video below:

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gu_uD11SIDg&feature=related

The consensus, as I read through these comments, was that this guy ought to be deported (at least).

Here is a link to the site: http://www.rjkoehler.com/2011/08/30/black-guy-on-bus-explains-what-set-him-off/

The man in question says he believed the Koreans in question to be saying derogatory things about him. And he kind of lost it.

I think I want to post on this more in depth. Not so much at the guys ill-advised response to a racial slur in a language he admittedly can’t understand so well. I mean, that’s low-hanguing fruit there. He was wrong. He overreacted, retaliated to something he perceived that may or may not have been real.

This from a man that knows exactly how he felt/feels.

I want to address the responses by some of the commenters both at the website I provided a link to as well as the Youtube commenters. But first I gotta get this knot outta my stomach…

Here’s just a sample:

SMH

Here is a follow up to this piece: A Man of our time

This Post was submitted to the latest J-Festa 2011 Special Edition featuring the Most Popular Japan Related Articles of 2011 sponsored by the legendary website: Japingu and the .  Here’s a link to read more: J-FESTA

Musashi Kosugi / Birds in Fog

Kanagawa Earth Plaza 1

Kanagawa Earth Plaza 2

Sunshower 1

Jiyugaoka Station- Front, Morning

Shin Kawasaki 1

Shin Kawasaki 2

Sunshower 2

Jiyugaoka Station Platform

Sunshower 3

Musashi Kosugi Tracks

Jiyugaoka Crossing

Musashi Kosugi Night 2

Well, that’s about it for this week. Cast your vote in the poll below! And drop me a line, let me know why you dug it. Any tips would be appreciated as well…all you pros out there, show an amateur some love!

BTW last week’s winner was “Lovers Festival Bound.”

Thanks for voting everyone!

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

PS: Check out my previous shots…some are pretty damn good. The rest are magnificent (-;

Best shots of the week #1, Best shots of the week #2, Best shots of the week #3

Best shots of the week #4, Best shots of the week #5, Best shots of the week #6

Best shots of the week #7, Best shots of the week #8, Best shots of the week #9

Best shots of the week #10, Best Shots of the week #11, Best shots of the week #12

Best shots of the week #13

Here’s a link to the guest post

Below you’ll find a thoughtful and incisive post she wrote a couple of days ago on her blog, 1000 things about Japan, regarding stereotyping!

Enjoy!

Random Thoughts: Relativity Theory

Sometimes I have thoughts about living in another culture which I’d like to incorporate into blog posts here, but due to the format I have chosen, I can’t really flesh them out effectively in any brief individual post. Rather than simply keep them to myself, or worse, forget about them entirely, I’ve decided to occasionally make a “random thoughts” post. This will be the 1000 Things equivalent to my “Variety Friday” posts on my other blog. This will in no way be a regular feature, but such posts may crop up from time to time, and reveal my naturally verbose nature. I hope they are of interest.

 Recently, I was having a discussion with a student about stereotypes and whether or not they tended to reflect reality to some extent. Because she has been to France several times, I chose to ask her about the oft-cited stereotype of the rude and arrogant French person. Note that I am not endorsing this as anything other than a concept that exists in some minds. I’ve never been to France and am not sure I’ve ever even met a French person, so I’m in no position to evaluate the veracity of such a statement. She, however, was. My student said that in her experience, French folks didn’t seem particularly rude, but also that they didn’t seem especially helpful. She didn’t really embrace the stereotype, but she didn’t entirely reject it as ridiculous.

 As we discussed this topic, one thing became clear to me which I have been aware of superficially for quite some time, and that is how all experiences are filtered through ones own culture based on a variety of factors. My student is a born and raised Tokyoite, and as such, she is accustomed to the cool, detached demeanor of many people here. People are mechanically polite in most service positions, but rarely authentically warm or overtly helpful. They rarely chat to strangers on trains and infrequently engage in chitchat at the check-out register. If a stranger attempts to strike up a conversation, most Tokyoites become uncomfortable to varying degrees depending on the circumstances. This is the norm in this particular area, but it is not the same in other parts of Japan. This isn’t especially surprising because people who reside in big cities (all over the world) often respond to the overstimulation of city life by being reserved and detached. It’s a way of coping with the stress on their nervous systems, not a choice to disconnect from other people. It’s absolutely unconscious for most people.

 When my student goes abroad, she is going to react to behavior from the perspective of someone with this sort of lifelong experience. French folks who are not especially helpful are not going to strike her as rude because their behavior isn’t far from what she has experienced everyday of her life in Tokyo. For me, as someone who grew up in a rural Pennsylvania town in which people would stop to help a stranger with a broken down car, or go out of their way to strike up a convivial conversation with customers at shops, the cool nature may seem like overt rudeness. To me, they would seem to be deliberately holding back their friendliness from me, because I would see that as the norm. What they are truly doing is something that no one, save the involved party, can ever be certain of.

 The bottom line is that no one, no one, can view life from a perspective other than their own. You can’t objectify human behavior perfectly because you have to gauge things like rudeness, politeness, friendliness, etc. from a baseline and everyone will set that baseline according to primarily personal cultural norms and to a lesser extent broader cultural ones. If you think that you can set a “proper” baseline that everyone should reasonably work from, then you’re not only ethnocentric, but arrogant as you demonstrate the belief that your notions of such things are “correct” and others are not. People in your own culture may not even agree on such norms, let alone those outside of it.

 One of the reasons why I labor so hard (and rather pointlessly, it seems, based on some of the e-mail I get) to say that this blog is subjective is that I have been aware of this for such a long time. One of the reasons I tell people there is no one “truth” about Japan is that I am aware of the way in which cultural relativity affects responses to life abroad. Certainly, there are objective measures which can be used to suggest certain things, but the conclusions to be reached are dubious in most cases. For instance, is saying, “welcome” a good indicator of friendliness? The frequency of issuing a greeting is something which can be objectively measured, but in cultures in which people are trained and absolutely required to say “welcome”, such as in Japan, is it an indication of friendliness or merely rote repetition of a phrase they must utter based on the rules of their employer? In Japan, it’s absolutely the latter. So, even when you can establish objective criteria, how such results are to be interpreted and what they say is hard to determine, particularly without a strong cultural context.

 From the discussion I had with my student, I found a good example of how our background and expectations affect our perceptions of a new environment. Some may argue with me that we can distill all behaviors into some sort of “average” from which we measure deviations and reach quantifiable results about cultural characteristics. It would be possible to derive some sort of scale on which to measure things, but how meaningful would such a scale be? A bunch of sociologists, psychologists, and anthropologists could create a consensus about such matters and pat themselves on the back, but the results wouldn’t mean anything to the average traveler who would still be measuring the positive or negative sense of an experience from subjective criteria. Such a scale would be meaningless in any circle outside of academic ones. In the end, I think it’s best just to accept that we are all going to see the world a little differently, and stop expecting to do otherwise, and what’s more, stop telling others that they are “wrong” because they respond differently.

Orchid 64

Wow, right? Thanks Orchid for “Keeping it Real” in the truest sense of the phrase!

Orchid 64 has two blogs…click on the banners below to check them out!

Comments are disabled on her blog (and she has very valid reasons for doing so) so if you have a comment about the above post, feel free to leave it in my comment area. She passes through here occasionally and, who knows, she may even respond if she isn’t too busy.

(-;

Loco

Who is Loco?

Lovers festival-bound

Girls sitting in Starbucks window

Osaki City 1

Osaki City 2

Osaki Cty 3

Colorado Cafe in Kikuna

From Musashi Kosugi station

Shin Okubo Station

Jiyugaoka Station from tracks

Alley in Hiyoshi

Well, that’s about it for this week. Cast your vote in the poll below! And drop me a line, let me know why you dug it. Any tips would be appreciated as well…all you pros out there, show an amateur some love!

BTW last week’s winner was “Kashimada Crossing|”

Thanks for voting everyone!

Loco

Who is this guy, Loco, anyway? Click here!

PS: Check out my previous shots…some are pretty damn good. The rest are magnificent (-;

Best shots of the week #1

Best shots of the week #2

Best shots of the week #3

Best shots of the week #4

Best shots of the week #5

Best shots of the week #6

Best shots of the week #7

Best shots of the week #8

Best shots of the week #9

Best shots of the week #10

Best Shots of the week #11

Best shots of the week #12

Enjoy!

Click on pic above to watch the 1st Loco Live interview!!

Loco

Who is Loco?

PS: Wanna see more stunning photos from this amazing day? Click here!

Click on this photo