Nakamura-san was careful to close the windows before he left for work, in case it rained. And because break-ins are all too common in Japan, he made sure to close and lock the sliding veranda door. On his way out, he patted his pockets, checking for wallet, keys, and phone, then grabbed his briefcase and headed for the train station.
It would be four hours before a locksmith opened the door to his apartment, where he’d locked his wife out on their tiny third-floor balcony. She’d been watering small pots of basil and tomatoes. Fortunately, it wasn’t too cold, so she waited until she heard a neighbor moving about downstairs and then banged furiously on his balcony with a laundry pole. He called the locksmith who ultimately let her back in. When Nakamura-san came home, he and his wife had a brief argument about whose fault it was and then never spoke of it again. From then on, she took her phone with her when she watered the plants.
Continue reading “Why You Shouldn’t Marry a Japanese Man Either”
This is the Tree Test: Look at the picture above, and if it’s not immediately obvious why you shouldn’t marry a Japanese woman, then you shouldn’t marry a Japanese woman.
The moment Erick With-a-K saw it, he proclaimed, “That’s the most Japanese thing ever.”
“Close enough,” I said, “you pass.”
Don’t worry if this makes no sense. We’ll come back to it later, until it makes even less.
Domestic Violence in Japan
But my buddy Erick’s not the guy whose Japanese wife punched him in the stomach while he was sleeping on the couch. That’s Dave.
Continue reading “Why You Shouldn’t Marry a Japanese Woman”
Last month, I went to Doctor Matsuda at my local Japanese clinic, because my shoulder was killing me.
“My shoulder,” I said, “is killing me.”
“Did the pain begin gradually,” he asked, “or all at once?”
“Rather suddenly,” I replied.
“Were you doing anything in particular when it began?
“Not really,” I said, “just carrying this girl to bed. And maybe I kind of tripped.” Continue reading “Are Japanese Women Stealing Our Testosterone?”
Uh, sure you do
I made a lot of mistakes with Saki, my first Japanese girlfriend. The most notable of which was attempting anything resembling a conversation.
“So you said you’ve got a sister, right?” I asked. “Does she live in Tokyo too?”
“I think so, maybe.”
“Well, when did you last see her?” I continued.
“Huh. Okay…well, um, does she live by herself? Does she have a boyfriend?”
“Mmm,” she said, “I’m not sure.”
“So you don’t know where she lives then, your sister?”
“Mnnnn,” replied Saki, “maybe Chiba?” Continue reading “I want a Japanese Girlfriend”
Japan’s a never-ending list of woulda, coulda, and shoulda’s. And chart-topping that vertical-ruled kanji notepad is: Shoulda remembered how I felt about Disneyland.
But hey, hindsight’s 20-20, Mickey Mouse. Go on wit’ yer oversized hands.
Living in Japan
When I first got to this nation, everything was amaaazing. I sat in Starbucks overlooking Shibuya scramble and marveled at the 4-way confluence of humanity weaving its way across Tokyo. Somehow I found myself talking to a cute girl with orange hair from Korea and we took polaroids together. Then a couple of beers later, the bronze statue of Hachiko the dog, a random hostess bar, dancing in Gas Panic, weaving drunkenly through seas of neon and Chinese prostitutes until finally eating bowls of glowing ramen in some ramshackle late-night noodle shop. It was brilliant. Continue reading “Living in Japan Forever”