tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70462424102897901022024-03-14T03:37:04.653+09:00Crouching Beaver, Hidden BonsaiP-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.comBlogger64125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-52604766069151628262010-06-22T21:00:00.004+09:002010-06-22T21:07:54.602+09:00Pymp My Ride<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfXWywwzhHcKz7QbAxBQISxhdwHqDhvBdquMO-HS2wUHkvl68ib5diUtNLCBdUxFaKKPApjmepnJVk-4uLiA4MjILEVnWE9ugdaUCnrxBDZg-n0koabonB7VPm4mogjc8Et_9oZEBoRxo/s1600/015.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfXWywwzhHcKz7QbAxBQISxhdwHqDhvBdquMO-HS2wUHkvl68ib5diUtNLCBdUxFaKKPApjmepnJVk-4uLiA4MjILEVnWE9ugdaUCnrxBDZg-n0koabonB7VPm4mogjc8Et_9oZEBoRxo/s320/015.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485568181305387522" /></a><br />*First of all, I would like to apologize for my long absence, an unfortunate incident involving a pack of rabid pandas made me have a creative brain cramp. So yeah, sowwwwy!*<br /><br />In an unprecedented turn of events, I went from having 3 bicycles to no bicycle at all in a two week period. Seeing that it’s my only way to go from Point A (usually my house) to Point B (usually my job or a place that sells alcohol) this situation was a bit troublesome. Let’s see what happened:<br /><br />Bike number 1 was a mountain bike. My love. My precious. In fact, we did an estimated 3000 KMs together through bamboo forests, rice fields and snow… he almost never let me down. Well… problems started not so long ago when Bike number 1’s pedals were going crazy and it led to a total breakdown last week. I’m not gonna go into detail here but it almost killed me. Now it’s probably being recycled into a robot. A robot like this I hope: (Watch this!! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ag-29NaVA0o) Fuck you Bike number 1.<br /><br />Bike number 2 was a bike I ‘found’ at the train station after my station (Iwanuma-YEAH) because I (once again) fell asleep on the last train. Seeing that it was one of those community bicycles and that it was safer then bike number 1, I decided to keep it. It was a Japanese bike, complete with basket and a full set of 1 speed. It was a very feminine purple and on my first day riding it to work, the whole baseball team laughed at me, which made me question my manhood. Nonetheless, I felt some kind of attachment to bike number 2. Well last weekend, I was paid to encourage kids to play sports. I went to the basketball gym for an hour an when I came out, all the bicycles were silver. I played ‘where’s Waldo’ for 10 minutes before coming to the conclusion that someone had stolen my unlocked ‘community bicycle’. Now I guess I know what karma is but knowing someone sober would steal such a piece of crap really makes me wonder about the direction this country is going in. The worst part was walking back to school and telling my principal my bike was robbed and then, having to give a description of a bicycle that was not mine (Hmm officer, it was… orange, no basket and a unicorn sticker on the frame!). Anyways, fuck you Bike number 2.<br /><br />Now Bike number 3 is my own Japanese style bicycle, it has been rusting under my stairs for more than 7 years, unlocked and motionless. It comes with a basket, 2 completely flat tires and rust on pretty much every vital part of the bike. No need to say it was a dangerous thing so I decided to tell my supervisor about my whole ordeal. I basically said: ‘Yo dogg, can you pimp my non-existant bicycle so I can get to work’? He told me that it was too bad. ‘I hope things will get better soon’ were his exact translated words. Thaaaaanksss….. But I guess they realized that without a bicycle, I’m a bit useless because they brought me a new Japanese style bike the next day. <br /><br />I wish there was something to learn from this flabbergasting ordeal, so I will leave you with these words of wisdom: Bicycles come and go, but love from a panda, lasts forever. Thank youP-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-65509983288633186762010-03-12T13:02:00.001+09:002010-03-13T10:37:50.870+09:00Inside look on : The Sendai drinking clubToday, in the first segment of the INSIDE LOOK series, a fearless reporter goes behind the scenes of one of the most secret and underground institutions in Sendai. Let’s see where it takes us:<br />
<br />
SENDAI - (AP) Let me give you an inside look into the Sendai drinking club. A very exclusive club that was formed by 3 men who like drinking alcohol, 2 legendary South-Africans and a simple man that grew up on the mean streets of Montreal-North. Before the drinking club was founded a little more than a year ago, Sendai, aka the city of trees, was home to: a book club, a dying soccer club, a cricket club, a knitting club, a poker club and maybe even a freaking spoken word club. A random visitor of Sendai might have been tempted to call Sendai: the city of boredom. That was until the 3 alcoholics found themselves on a boat at the same time and discovered that they have a common passion: getting completely crunk. <br />
<br />
Quickly, the rules were laid out and the drinking began. Every Thursday, the members would meet and engage in a 2 hour nomihodai (all you can drink) and consume as much alcohol as it is possible in that short period of time. Needless to say, a member who would happen to fall behind and drink slower than the others would get his manhood questioned and would eventually be considered unworthy to be a part of such a beautiful gathering of drinking aficionados. <br />
The choice of Thursday seemed natural, as it is a way to start the week-end early. The members say that the lack of productivity on Friday is never questioned by their Japanese co-workers as Japanese people seem to have many other things to do before they worry about the productivity of foreign teachers of English. <br />
<br />
In addition to the ‘drink as fast as the others or you’re a moffie rule’, there are 3 other rules:<br />
<br />
1- Every member is allowed 1 week off… in the year.<br />
2- Every member can call an automatic nomihodai anytime, as long as it is announced 24hrs before<br />
3- You must be annoying, disrespectful, ungrateful, irritable and basically a despicable prick<br />
<br />
The club now has 4 regular members, as an Australian was added to the mix. When listening to the member’s conversations, one can really see that this club is made of refined, educated and classy gentlemen from very different countries and backgrounds. The night where we were granted permission to observe the group, the topics of conversation mostly fell under one of the following: <br />
- Sports <br />
- Legal age of consent <br />
- Different sexual acts that may or may not involve transsexuals <br />
- The sexual orientation of the French-Canadian member, who is apparently known for wearing V-necks<br />
<br />
There is also a semi-regular Japanese member, who comes when he isn’t busy cutting the hair of Sendai’s rich and famous. The Sendai drinking club also had some guest stars here and there. An Aussie, a Canadian, a couple women, but it became quite clear that this club will remain what it is and what it always has been: an exclusive, highly secret club revolving around the 4 guys who can maintain a level of drinking never heard of in the Tohoku region. Their pursuit of excellence in the field of drinking is comparable to the domination that the legendary Tiger Woods held onto his sport before word came out that he was a freaking pervert. These men, considered by many as men amongst men, have graduated Magna Cum Laude from the Suntory University and are part of what must be, the best ALT club that exists in Japan. <br />
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A.Nonymous.P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-38576784534681099902010-02-17T19:10:00.000+09:002010-02-17T19:10:31.537+09:00Tranche de vie, slice of lifeMonday I had the day off. I had lots of stuff to do you know, had a productive day (aka watched the Olympics and had 4 breakfasts). After watching the guy who won the first Canadian medal on home soil (also known as the guy who studied at my High School, Collège Jean-Eudes REPREZZZENT) I went to the post office to send a package to a foreign country which has to remain secret for many reasons. I forgot to mention it wasn’t a ‘domestic’ package. So the girl weighed the package and charged me 640 yens, which sounded reasonable for an overseas package. I left and scratched that off of my LONG list of ‘to do’ things (2 things: <b>1</b>- Go to post office <b>2</b>- Buy yoghurt) and pressed on. At night, I’m eating the yoghurt (Achievement unlocked, <b>2</b> out of <b>2</b>, I’m a grown man now) and the door bell rings. You see, now whenever this happens, I face a dilemma:<br />
<br />
<b>Option 1</b>: Open the door and be confronted by:<br />
<b>A</b>)a person who will feel awkward because here is a white man in his boxers and with whiskey in hand in a random suburb of Japan so he will say sorry and leave quickly<br />
<b>B</b>)a person trying to tell me very politely that I must pay some bill I’ve never heard about<br />
<b>C</b>)a freaking Jehova’s witness (These people are everywhere, don’t try to run away, it’s useless)<br />
<b>D</b>)a friend needing shelter because he is too drunk<br />
<b><br />
Option 2</b> (aka what I do 75% of the time): Shut the lights, the music and play dead and leave the door shut<br />
<br />
It must have been the whiskey, I felt strong and confident and opened the door. To my surprise, I see the girl from the post office and her supervisor, they look like something terrible happened, you know the look of the kid who just smashed his dad’s car… They start bowing super low and I know something weird went down and then they explain that they didn’t charge me the price of a ‘Par Avion’ package and I didn’t fill out the customs paper. Here is the rest of the conversation (translated from my crap Japanese to a nice gangsta English):<br />
<br />
<b>Me</b>: ‘<i>Damn, I’m sorry, let me fill it right now, come in guys</i>’ <br />
<b>Supervisor</b>: ‘<i>No it’s ok, we’ll freeze our asses off outside</i>’ (didn’t wanna get contaminated by the gaijin floor I guess)<br />
<b>Me</b>: ‘<i>Aiiight here is the customs paper. I’m really sorry again, you could have called me, I would have went back</i>’<br />
<b>Girl</b>: ‘<i>It’s my fault</i>’<br />
<b>Supervisor</b>: ‘<i>Here is an envelope containing money for the trouble</i>’<br />
(At that point I’m already puzzled but… wait for it…)<br />
<b>Girl</b>: ‘<i>Here is a kitchen set to let you know that we are sorry for the inconvenience</i>’<br />
<b>Me</b>: ‘…… (sound of me being speechless) <i>Well thanks guys, I mean, this is too much…. Sorry, I mean thanks, sorry, sorry, thanks</i>’<br />
Then the dude closed the door and I just stood there with the kitchen set and the envelope containing 2000 yens (!!!). This, to me, represents everything that is beautiful about this country. And at the same time a bit weird. Beautiful, but weird: Japanese culture. <br />
Now I wonder what they would have done if the girl lost the package, maybe the supervisor would have given me the kitchen set AND the girl?! Wow, now that’s a thought, she was quite cute. Anybody need anything???P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-31475356340750379592010-01-14T22:23:00.000+09:002010-01-14T22:23:24.559+09:00Man vs. ColdSo I’ve been back in Japan for more than a week now, after two weeks in paradise. (<i>wait let me check the definition of Paradise in the P-Y dictionary… Paradise: land of perfection where you can eat cheap lobsters and prawns and steaks and drink like a madman for a fraction of what you would pay in another land. Additional perks include: 1- Girls walking around in bikinis and sporting actual breasts 2- Perfect weather and absence of rain for the whole duration of the trip 3- Six hour long happy hours 4- Cheap medication 5- Friendly people with nice teeth</i>)<br />
Yep! That’s the word. I’m back after two weeks in paradise. It was always warm and nice. Upon my return, my body didn’t get too long of an adaptation, it’s still between 5 and 9 degrees when I wake up in the morning. After heating for an hour or so, it’s usually 12 degrees but as soon as the heater stops, I lose a degree every 15 minutes. <br />
<br />
Falling asleep in this kind of situation is an art, just like juggling. I start the electric bar heater in my bedroom and shut the door while I use the computer in the other room that is being heated by the kerosene heater. I boil water and shove a hot water bottle (<i>shaped like a panda</i>) in my bed sheets to warm up the bed. I return to the kerosene room to make sure the kerosene numbs my brain. I drink a tall whiskey-water to numb the rest of my body and then I shut the lights, brush my teeth and run to the bedroom. Now, the bedroom is warm but the electric bar heater makes the air super-dry. So I down a bottle of water, shut the heater and jump into bed. I basically make love to the hot-water bottle that is shaped like a panda and fall asleep pretty fast helped by the perfect balance of cold-hot-dry-moist. Voilà! That’s how you fall asleep in extreme situations.<br />
<br />
Ok so... I always wake up crying two hours later, cursing this country and the bad insulation and lack of central heating but you know, at least I sleep well for two hours. I know it’s a free apartment and a secure job, but there is no way in hell I’m going to live through this one more year. So long Japan, next stop : ____________ .P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-72539669672368973392009-12-21T15:54:00.002+09:002009-12-21T16:01:41.710+09:00How do you say Merry Christmas in afrikaans?My two best friends this year are South African. It’s a bit of a cultural clash. A lot of things get lost in translation but we have also a lot in common. It’s funny how two dudes from South Africa can remind me a lot of my friends back in Quebec. When they talk cricket, I imagine a bunch of Pakistani dudes playing hockey. But I can actually kind of understand the whole sport now. Because it is an actual sport. We are not talking about Ultimate Frisbee or bowling here. Cricket is serious shit. But yeah, the passion they exude for their sport is the same as a Habs fan that bleeds bleu-blanc-rouge. But yeah, at first, I didn’t understand a word they were saying. ‘Hey Bru, kak lekker whatever Raah Rahh Rah Rah’ I just nodded and asked for precisions when they were done screaming to each other. <br />
<br />
When we came to Japan, we were told this was also for internationalization. Well I’m internationalized now. And for the sake of cultural exchange, we decided to create a club to celebrate our one true love, drinking. Every Thursday we drink and change the world, we talk about how to save the planet and discuss poetry and Renaissance music…. (well at least that’s what I remember on Friday morning). I’m going to Vietnam and Laos with these two clowns for Christmas. As offensive and annoying as they can be, these dudes are really good people. When I go back to Montreal next year, I’ll surely be looking for some guys who have as much drive and determination (for drinking) and hope that my friends will still have what it takes (to tell me how metro I am with my V-necks). If they don’t, I might wanna climb in there (on a plane) and go back to my life of nomihodais and Genie.<br />
<br />
(To get a sample of the South African accent, click on : <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qLPSo86NZDI&feature=related">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qLPSo86NZDI&feature=related</a> )<br />
<br />
MERRY CHRISTMAS! <br />
HAPPY NEW YEAR!<br />
PP-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-63857229468598382742009-12-03T21:58:00.001+09:002009-12-03T22:05:13.470+09:00LibertéWhen we got here they asked us to teach American English, which pissed me off a bit. I mean, colour, favourite, centre, right? Well, always being the model employee that I am, I obliged and kept my mouth shut (except for the times where I wanted to talk, eat, drink and you know, breathe and stuff). Whatever, today I get to elementary school and I have to teach English words that the Japanese use in everyday life but massacre. In Japan, a radio is a ra-jio. A TV is a terebi. A lemon is a remon. And salad is saladaa. So yeah, I’m going through the flash cards and then I get to ‘Parfait’... as in parfait the dessert. Well I first said ‘par-fay’ like a dumb American trying to speak French. The next flash card was ‘Gratin’. So I said gratin like an American tourist walking around Paris and acting fancy (with ‘tin’ pronounced like in ‘tin foil’). And then I realized what I was doing. I was denying my roots, yo! Parfait and gratin are French and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna teach them the wrong thing to say. So I came back to those two French flash cards and I said: ‘Look, when you say parfait and gratin, you actually say it better than the Americans, so please, never ever ever change that’. And then I made the flash cards into giant paper planes and threw them out the window. It was a beautiful moment. I felt very liberated, like a girl taking off her bra (Not that I would know how that feels because… you know, I would never wear a bra… except on half moon, Tuesdays and the 2nd and 3rd Mondays of every month).P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-88688273204219604972009-11-10T21:15:00.001+09:002009-11-10T21:17:28.531+09:00Night VisionFall is a great season. In Quebec, as well as in Japan, you can witness a real spectacle when the trees start turning into 3D works of art. Red, yellow, brown, green… The sound of dead leaves crushed by the sole of your shoes is like music to my ears… The cold nights where you can enjoy the warmth of your bed with the window open. Watching hockey with your friends. Unfortunately, the fall also has its down sides. In Quebec, you can witness the people getting ready for winter. As soon as Halloween is finished, you can see Santas and Rudolphs on many lawns of the south shore. But the most annoying thing is the shortness of the day. The suicide rate hikes up in these dark months and I can understand why. It’s depressing to come home from school or work under the street lights. You sometimes start contemplating which street light you should pick to install your rope and hang yourself (don’t worry I’m not gonna hang myself people). Unfortunately, my school (well it’s actually 100% of the schools) is too poor to get lights so I could fully enjoy my second job: soccer coach. Japan doesn’t believe in changing the time twice a year. So it’s dark at 4:45 (That’s today, December should be closer to 4). You would think that they would stop playing soccer but no. I play soccer in the dark. <br /><br />I’ve been in hostile conditions in my 20 year soccer career. I’ve played soccer in PEI with winds strong enough to make a baby fly. I’ve played in snow in Québec city. I’ve played in hail, during floods. I’ve played in front of hostile crowds waiting for me off the field. But seriously, playing in the dark is the dumbest thing. For an hour I chase an orange ball that ceases to exist as soon as it’s 10 meters away from me. Then it reappears and I start running around with it and then it disappears again. I was sure my night vision was getting better and better everyday… until today. I just got hit by that stupid orange ball right in the nose and got my first nosebleed in… forever. So I came back to my desk and Ms. Nakamura laughed at me and I told her that the first thing I will buy when I win a million dollars is lights for the soccer field. Clever as she is (she’s a clever one) she asked me: 'But Pierru, what will you do if you don’t win a million dollars?' (I told you she was clever)<br />So I told her… (In a performance that would have won a world championship of Guess-tures) 'I’ll just buy one light and hang myself from it'<br />She almost choked on her coffee... always have the last word people. It’s the first rule of life.P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-90982732111588780932009-10-20T09:46:00.002+09:002009-10-20T09:49:19.014+09:00The Japanese Lions<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAahbopoYvT_tvA1DY7o3BYyO6w_aLbcU1l5bthM8Ga5pQbauu2yRnwCoT016vkrK6Xz4Ti5957jad98VvaMPAg66Fr9RGmvexrH9DMKOTq0uJ96qSfaTz4czBYksZqai_AwCrkCXrs-c/s1600-h/lion2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAahbopoYvT_tvA1DY7o3BYyO6w_aLbcU1l5bthM8Ga5pQbauu2yRnwCoT016vkrK6Xz4Ti5957jad98VvaMPAg66Fr9RGmvexrH9DMKOTq0uJ96qSfaTz4czBYksZqai_AwCrkCXrs-c/s320/lion2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394477850844026770" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSQKOTIp3UCMJ512-_7vxIMy5ib8eLHOqOHqc6aS7gFNLnRK5F94hf4z8Il8G69wIJRZIkZ_qySOy9IukTWg1dGp_ksEqiNHZwMfmBc47FV-Hf-vLCDAG2JHhF1qWUdGOaaQc2gwjq-X0/s1600-h/lion1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSQKOTIp3UCMJ512-_7vxIMy5ib8eLHOqOHqc6aS7gFNLnRK5F94hf4z8Il8G69wIJRZIkZ_qySOy9IukTWg1dGp_ksEqiNHZwMfmBc47FV-Hf-vLCDAG2JHhF1qWUdGOaaQc2gwjq-X0/s320/lion1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394477706960451730" /></a><br />The lions of Japan don’t rule over the savanna as they usually do where they normally live. The lions of Japan rule the street. They walk around, dressed in black, wearing shoes 5 sizes too big, and they hunt for prey. Like most of us single males, they hunt for women. Their biggest weapons are the cans and cans of spray net that they put in their hair, and their questionable fashion sense. I’m not a lion, I had hair that made me look like a lion at some point, but I have other weapons then cans of spray net. On the street, I’m a nobler animal… I would say I’m something like a drunken leopard. A panther wearing a v-neck. A really classy hyena. <br />Like many animals looking for easy prey, The Japanese lion walks around in a pack. Two or three lions walking around the nightlife district, using their radars to spot wounded, (really) short skirt wearing Japanese chicks. When he finds such a thing, the lion then separates from the pack and starts following the girl around with, (most of the time) little to no success. <br /><br />Let’s not kid ourselves, the Japanese lion exists because of the success it has had sometimes. If some dumb girls want to date a really awkward looking dude, whose hair could maybe hurt her in intimate situations, it’s her problem. But it really makes you wonder: who the hell decided such a hairstyle was acceptable, and also, should we be afraid that people like this might appear on the streets of Europe and America someday??? <br /><br />Be afraid of the Japanese lion, be very afraid… Wouldn’t you want to punch one in the face today?P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-30375649510673093032009-10-01T22:19:00.003+09:002009-10-01T22:24:42.699+09:00Maturity<span style="font-weight:bold;">version 1 AKA : The Conscience conversation</span><br /><br />When I got home last summer, some people told me I was more mature. It felt quite good to be lauded as a person of great maturity, for the first time in my life. I felt like a respectable individual, you know, the type of guy you could lend your car to and not worry that I might send it to the bottom of a lake (If that type of guy had a driver’s license, which I don’t!!!). So what happened?? I guess that when I turned to the glorious age of 2_ last year, I might have just gone over the ‘maximum age to get mature’ point. I guess I had a conversation like this with my brain:<br /><br />(Brain): ‘<span style="font-style:italic;">Alright big boy, you are now 2_ in physical years and 15 mentally, maybe it would be time to grow up and become mature eh? What do you say we start acting like grown men</span>?’<br />(Me): ‘<span style="font-style:italic;">Fuck No dude!!!! 14 ‘til I die!!!! Woo Hoo! Where’s my beer? Yeah! You can’t spell Party without P-Y!!!</span>’<br />(Brain): ‘<span style="font-style:italic;">Listen up you little hoodlum, you’ve been making me insane with all your partying… You do realize that you have been a bit of a partyboy for almost half your life now? Do you know what the life expectancy is for people with your lifestyle???</span>’<br />(Me): ‘<span style="font-style:italic;">Life expectanWHAT?... Brain-dude, are you making up words again???</span>’<br />(Brain): ‘<span style="font-style:italic;">Life ex-pec-tan-cy… If you keep this up, you won’t make it passed 35. Race car drivers have a better chance to see a Montreal team win a Stanley Cup than you do… Is that what you want?</span>’<br />(Me, realizing the fatality of the Brain’s last statement): ‘<span style="font-style:italic;">Woah, I guess you’re right. Maybe I have been going a little overboard. Where should I start?</span>’<br />(Brain): ‘<span style="font-style:italic;">Well for starters, you could start wearing your pants like a normal person, everyone can see your ass!!</span>’<br />(Me, complying): ‘<span style="font-style:italic;">Alright DONE. I feel like a new man! Where is the closest museum so I can go look at paintings and pretend to see the true meaning of it, you know, like a grown-up, boring person?</span>’<br />(Brain): ‘<span style="font-style:italic;">Shut up and have one more beer</span>’<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Version 2 AKA The actual story behind my new-found maturity</span><br /><br />During my vacation in Montreal, some people told me I looked more mature. For the first time in my life, I felt some pride about being a mature guy. I felt like a respectable individual, you know, the type of guy you could lend your truck to and not worry that I might use it to go pick up a prostitute on Ontario street (If that type of guy had a driver’s license, which I don’t!!!). So what happened??<br />Well yeah, some people told me I ‘<span style="font-style:italic;">looked</span>’ more mature…<br />I guess these people have never heard about JETLAG!<br /><br />Woooo Hooooo!!!! 14 ‘til I die!!! You can’t spell PARTY without PY!<br /><br />Later, I’m off to my weekly Thursday night all you can drink party!P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-73979019834483078162009-09-18T13:01:00.005+09:002009-09-18T13:18:36.940+09:00Under the bridgeI didn’t want to tell you this because it probably is a low point of my life but here it goes…<br /><br />The week after I came back fom Canada, I went out with some people and we went to 2 or 3 bars in Sendai. We were quite the group and I’m usually never the last one to leave because I have to take the stupid last train. But that night, everyone left before me, a good 90 minutes before the last train. So I stayed at the standing bar. There was a good crowd, some ghetto ass folk I never met before so I said ‘Fuck It’ I’m staying’. Ernie, the owner of a bar in Sendai (Aptly named Ernie’s bar) was doing a good job of convincing me to miss the last train and continue partying. But, as I do 90% of the time, I came to my senses and decided to run and catch the last train. <br /><br />I got a seat on that train, which is quite the feat, because it’s usually full. 5 stations to my station, 18 minutes. I tried reading my book, but I was quite drunk and I always hated reading on moving things (Ok, I was drunk). So I closed my eyes and fell asleep. I woke up a minute later and decided to put an alarm on my phone in case I fell asleep again. Closed my eyes only to we woken up by a train driver in an empty train at the end of the line. This being the last train, I quickly realized that I was in trouble. I was in a town called Shiroishi, often called Shiroshitty. It would cost me a good 150$ and up to go home by taxi. So I did the only thing a person like me can do when they get stuck in a situation like this: I stole a bike. It took me a long time but I finally found a bike that was unlocked. I rode around and discovered the darkest corners of Shiroishi, testing this new bike to see if it could survive the long ride home (about 2 hours, on a good bike). When I realized that this bike wasn’t locked for a good reason (It was as shitty as Shiroshitty), I decided I would shift my priorities. I had to spend the night somewhere horizontal. I looked for a love hotel: None. Not even a bench. Not even a park. So when I crossed the bridge I came to the conclusion that for a GHETTO event, I might as well sleep like a ghetto boy: Under the bridge.<br /><br /> I slept on the sidewalk, under the bridge. For an hour. Then I laughed for an hour, thinking my mom would be proud. Then I rode the shitty bike for an hour. Then I spent 40 minutes in a convenience store because it was cold outside. And then it was time for the first train. The moral of this story? <br />A moral? What do I look like? Hans-Christian Andersen? Just don’t fall asleep on the train like an idiot.<br /><br />Yours truly, the village idiot<br /><br />ps: I returned the bike… but in a different place. Beware. You never know where Montreal-North ghetto boys might be walking.P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-1327856714253653772009-09-04T08:23:00.002+09:002009-09-04T08:31:10.573+09:00TY-POON<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzxrEFd3fN14e3kVlL_3S94qst1qqbeVh5BXuw06rKztFVqh_gsu8dTUaxwTMxh2A456T3BuY6Ob3byXwkLa71AhPIEgmS3VwwpqoX_J1Q7ONCDGmkIhoPUUJS6zfIfByH_PfULx0Rtxw/s1600-h/TyphoonTokage_2004293.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 316px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzxrEFd3fN14e3kVlL_3S94qst1qqbeVh5BXuw06rKztFVqh_gsu8dTUaxwTMxh2A456T3BuY6Ob3byXwkLa71AhPIEgmS3VwwpqoX_J1Q7ONCDGmkIhoPUUJS6zfIfByH_PfULx0Rtxw/s320/TyphoonTokage_2004293.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377387753369182706" /></a><br /><br />It is in my nature to be interested by freak natural phenomenon. Probably because of my university background and the interest I’ve always had for anything remotely resembling a natural disaster. I remember freaking my friends out when I told them I couldn’t wait for my first earthquake. Just when they thought I couldn’t be stranger, I go and tell them I would enjoy having survive to a ‘Big One’. One where I could help with the rescue of my poor neighbors trapped under the rubble. And then they would give me the keys to the city, and then I would go on the Today show and marry Carmen Electra. You know what I’m talking about, right?<br /><br />Anyways, we are indeed in typhoon season now and the typhoon number 11 (Goldorak or Morrdakk or some stupid name) promised to be a big one. The TV people kept talking about it, my teachers were talking about it. I started to get pretty excited! <br /><br />‘Man, a typhoon! And they say it will come in around Sendai… And I live near the coast! Yes!!!’<br /><br />My excitement only got better when I got an e-mail from the Canadian embassy telling me to be careful, to stay away from coastlines and to expect pouring rain and high winds and to watch out for landslides… YEAH! Kickass, a landslide! I wasn’t asking for so much!<br /><br />It started raining at like 2 pm. When I left school at 5, they told me to be careful and that they might call me if the typhoon makes too much damage and that I might have to come in later than usual. <br /><br />‘My oh my!! This all sounds like a great time… I can’t wait!’<br /><br />So I told my friends I’d be on my balcony looking at the spectacle, waiting for the disaster to happen! Well at 10 pm I got bored, it was just steady raining since the afternoon. I went to bed and woke up at every hour, on the hour to maybe witness the end of the world. At 2 am, it wasn’t even raining no more. What a load of bullshit. Woke up at 6, everything was… normal. I went to school under the sun and asked my teacher (Mr. Shoji): <br /><br />‘Hey, what the hell happened with that typhoon?’ <br /><br />His answer: <br /><br />‘It went away’<br /> <br />AWAY???!!! What the fuck man? It’s not a stray cat. It’s not a cold sore. It doesn’t just GO AWAY! <br /><br />‘It flew away’, he repeated.<br /><br />Well I’ll be damned, I guess that in Japan, a typhoon is just a weird bird or something. After the FIASCO that was the solar eclipse, I get screwed over with a typhoon now. Bring on the earthquakes, because last time I checked, I still wasn’t married to Carmen Electra.P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-33643076611939588802009-08-27T22:32:00.001+09:002009-08-27T22:36:57.483+09:00MontréaaaaaaalMes vacances à Montréal n’étaient pas relaxantes mais elles étaient si agréables. Il y a des gens que j’aurais aimé voir que je n’ai pas vu (Joëlle, Maria-Elisa, mes tantes, oncles et cousins) mais je reviens dans 11 mois. <br /><br />La prochaine fois, ce sera moins une ‘<span style="font-style:italic;">course contre la montre</span>’. Il y a aussi beaucoup de gens que j’aurais aimé voir davantage mais j’espère qu’ils comprennent que je ne suis pas un super-héros. <br />Donc après les très populaires statistiques lors de mes vacances avec Ben, voici mes …<br /><br />STATISTIQUES DE MON PÉRIPLE MONTRÉALAIS :<br /><br />Animaux tués pour me nourrir: 30 et plus (Merci special au Pied de cochon)<br />Nombre de rondes de golf jouées (et gagnées): 3 (C’est pas grave Ben)<br />heures de sommeil en moyenne: 5<br />Nombre de fausses boules pongnées aux danseuses : 13 (J’ai amené ma bière à l’isoloir pour la dernière)<br />Argent donné à l’osti de dentiste: 775$<br />Argent perdu au casino: 80$ (C’aurait pu être pire)<br />Bixis empruntés: 4<br />Jours de pluie: 1<br />P’tits P’tits P’tits spectacles : Eh Boy… Who knows?<br />Nombre de fois où j’ai dit à ma nièce que c’est la plus jolie : au moins 80<br />Pourcentage du staff féminin qui à de fausses boules au Boston Pizza de Mascouche : 100% (Je recommande)<br />Nombre de fois où j’ai entendu ‘Pis le Japon?’ : Au moins 60<br />Nombre de Bud Light Lime consommées : 3<br />Nombre de Bud Light Lime que je vais avoir dans le reste de ma vie : 0 (déguelasse)<br />Argent dépensé : Beaucoup trop<br />Note générale sur 10 : 18<br />Merci, ce fut parfait<br />One LOVE<br />P<br /><br />___________________________________________________________________<br /><br />My vacation in Canada was nothing relaxing but it was a great time. There are some people I would have liked to see that I didn’t see but I’ll be back soon enough to see them. <br /><br />Also, there are some people I would have liked to see more but 16 days was a short time. I hope all of them understand that I love them and that I’m not a superhero. <br />So after my Golden week vacation stats, I give you my <br /><br />CANADIAN VACATION STATS:<br /><br />Number of animals killed to feed me: over 30<br />Number of rounds of golf, and number of rounds won: 3-3<br />Average hours of sleep: 5<br />Number of strippers touched: Secret<br />Money spent at the (FUCKING) dentist: 775$<br />Money lost at casino: 80$<br />Poker games: only 2<br />Bixis ridden: 4<br />Rainy days: 1<br />Times telling my niece she is the cutest thing ever: at least 80<br />Times I’ve unintentionally pissed of my best friend Maryann: 3<br />Number of girls that have fake boobs at the Mascouche Boston Pizza: ALL OF THEM (I recommend)<br />Number of times I was asked '<span style="font-style:italic;">So how is Japan?</span>' : at least 60<br />Number of Bud Light Lime I’ve had: 3<br />Number of Bud Light Lime I’ll have after this: 0 (its seriously bad)<br />Money spent: Waaaay too much<br />Overall feeling: BEST. VACATION. EVER.<br /><br />Thank you all, it was Perfect!!!P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-54679967467598138282009-08-01T21:13:00.004+09:002009-08-01T21:28:14.709+09:00This VIDEO... is a video of me making a good bye speech in Japanese. I had to say good-bye to this school even if I love this school a lot more now. I wish I could have stayed...<br />It's a pretty cool video. <br /><br />I am going home for 2 weeks so to those who read this shit... I'll either see you in 3D soon or I'll see you when I get back<br />1 Love<br />P-Y<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q1RcIzj1MKQ">CLICK HERE</a>P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-9334784866078003482009-07-17T00:29:00.003+09:002009-07-17T07:09:28.641+09:00Rilakkuma<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqqdNOBdxMbM1VoRN4VDC8JgDdw2stpXvQcgDic6Hd1eyCo6UpqwOHMXX-5r5tS2j4Hw_4jtCUPL7D4dTC03yXJxhEa7KVG_jlQUgnOLkvSkSUxEikoZA0DZHeKgywZi4hh8ae20-Jfqk/s1600-h/rillakuma.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqqdNOBdxMbM1VoRN4VDC8JgDdw2stpXvQcgDic6Hd1eyCo6UpqwOHMXX-5r5tS2j4Hw_4jtCUPL7D4dTC03yXJxhEa7KVG_jlQUgnOLkvSkSUxEikoZA0DZHeKgywZi4hh8ae20-Jfqk/s400/rillakuma.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359081036014797874" /></a><br />Dans un pays come le Japon, axé sur le travail et la performance, il est normal de voir certains phénomènes crées pour compenser le stress que vivent ces gens qui travaillent des heures impossibles. L’hôtel capsule est un de ces phénomènes. Mais il ne s’agit point de ce que je voulais aborder ici. J’ai eu le privilège d’être initié lors des derniers mois à Rilakkuma. Vous connaissez tous Hello Kity mais Rilakkuma est définitivement en train de rattraper Kitty dans le cœur des jeunes Japonais. Kuma veut dire Ours (Bear) en Japonais et Rilak est une merveilleuse traduction de relax. Rilakkuma est donc un Relaxing Bear. La plupart du temps, il nous est montré en train d’écouter de la musique, de dormir ou même en train de manger. Il à un acolyte, Korilakkuma (qui est blanc et un peu plus petit) et ils se tiennent avec un oiseau jaune. La plupart de mes étudiants ont quelque chose à l’effigie de Rilakkuma et j’ai commencé à trouver que cet ours avait une bouille sympathique et je dois dire que j’ai quelques trucs Rilakkuma. J’ai visité l’appart d’une amie l’autre jour et sa ‘chambre’ (je connais des gens qui ont de plus grosses salles de bain que cet appart) est un sanctuaire rempli de Rilakkuma. Oreillers, draps, oursons, tapis. TOUT! C’est elle qui m’a fait comprendre le paradoxe de Rilakkuma. Elle travaille 10-12 heures par jour et elle a 6 jours de congé par mois. Elle dort 5 heures par nuit et trouve le moyen de jouer au handball et de sortir un peu. Elle devrait être cliniquement morte mais elle trippe sur cet ours qui relaxe. Je crois donc que les Japonais (et surtout les Japonaises) aiment cet ours parce qu’il vit la vie qu’ils aimeraient avoir. Mais aucun Japonais digne de cette nationalité ne pourrait se permettre de passer ses journées à dormir, manger et écouter la télé (Bonheur Social) donc ils se réfugient dans des sanctuaires dédiés au Relaxing Bear. <br />Bon…si c’était moi, je deviendrais probablement fou et je lui crierait ‘Criss d’ours sale, t’aurais pu faire la vaisselle au moins, BOUGE ton CUL.. Fais de quoi! Ah pis t’es encore avec ton ami Korilakkuma et cet oiseau de merde!’ avant de tout brûler et de virer fou. Mais bon, c’est des Japonais et ils aiment ce genre de conneries. <br /><br />____________________________________________________________________<br /><br />In a country like Japan, based on work ethic and performance, it is normal to se some phenomenon created to compensate the stress that live people who work over 80 hours a week. Capsule hotels are one of those things. But I wanted to talk about. I wanted to talk about Rillakuma, the ‘relaxing’ bear. Hello Kitty is the champion with kids but Rillakuma is quickly gaining up on the cat. He’s a relaxing bear cuz he doesn’t really do much aside from eating, sleeping and watching TV. He has a best friend, Korillakuma (white and a little smaller)and together, they chill with a small yellow bird. Most of my students have something representing Rillakuma and I know that a lot of bedrooms are plastered in Rillakuma gear. I think that Japanese people like this bear because it lives the life that they would like to live. But no Japanese people could live such a life so they go home and sleep 4 hours a night in their relaxing bear sanctuaries.<br />I know that if it was me, I’d totally become schizo about it and I’d go home and be like: ‘What you looking at you stupid bear? I look tired? Well you’d look tired too if you worked 12 hour shifts just to come home and have you, your stupid white bear friend and that bird, eating all my food and watching TV!!! DO SOMETHING! I Hate you you fucking relaxing bear’ (And then I’d grab a knife and stab them all and burn them)<br />But Japanese people love that kinda crap!P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-40716109268489437382009-06-29T17:27:00.002+09:002009-06-29T17:47:18.999+09:00Meena can go to WellI really think I’m going to stay here only one more year. <br /><br />Then again, you never know what can happen. I could get married and have a truckload of babies and never come back home. But I have been teaching from this book called ‘NEW HORIZON’ which is what most of the Junior High schools use in Japan and now, I have just come full circle and I’m pretty sick of it. The first lessons I gave when I arrived were about a girl named Meena, she’s from Nepal. Because of the money from her foster program, they built a second well in her village and all that crap. It’s exactly the kind of stuff that they want to hear over here. Some people just want to be told how awful it is elsewhere to make sure that they never move from their comfortable little lives. Well last week, I started telling Meena’s story again and teaching infinitives.<br /> <br />I must have said the sentence : ‘<span style="font-style:italic;">Thanks to your help, our village has another well</span>’ 150 times since last August. I surprise myself daydreaming about Meena falling to a painful death after an unfortunate ‘<span style="font-style:italic;">accident</span>’ in her Nepalese village. It would spice things up. Make my life more interesting. The target sentence now is: '<span style="font-style:italic;">We are glad to have a chance</span>' Well it could now be: <span style="font-style:italic;">'We are sad to see that Meena is at the bottom of the well'</span> <br />The kids would love it. They don’t even understand 75% of what we say anyways. Who are these clowns that wrote this textbook? I should be one of them, even if I have a clown phobia. Here is what I would do:<br />Unit 1: Let’s learn Braille <br />My idea: Let’s go to the peep show<br />Unit 3: Our sister in Nepal<br />My idea: The Nepalese accident<br />Unit 6: Family rules<br />My idea: My first hangover, or how I lost my virginity in a campground at 12.<br /><br />I’m telling you, It’s GOLD. or maybe I just need a vacation! Well Hot Damn I'll be in Montreal in a month and 3 days!P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-80535512837337548132009-06-22T22:44:00.000+09:002009-06-22T22:45:23.815+09:00Health check<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CPY%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><link rel="themeData" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CPY%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx"><link rel="colorSchemeMapping" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CPY%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> 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mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:shapedefaults ext="edit" spidmax="1026"> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:shapelayout ext="edit"> <o:idmap ext="edit" data="1"> </o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--><span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif";">I’ve heard many horror stories about city employee health tests and Daniel and I, we were kind of not happy to receive the news that we had to go get tested on June 22nd. Stories about impatient doctors with quick fingers and undressing with uncomfortable co-workers were plenty, so I would have liked to pass. But, being Daniel’s mentor (haha bitch!) I had to show the young one that it was indeed going to be all right, even if was pretty sure I’d get anal probed real quick! Well it was a really pleasant morning in fact. Got to confirm that I have good hearing and perfect vision (Take that heredity!) and my pee seemed to have a nice Ph. My pressure is good and I can still run with the best of them. I was smiling and happy. But when I got to the scale I went Oh-Oh… My 79.3 kilos on my 170.8 cm frame give me a 27.1 Body Mass Index. It’s not bad but I do fall in the ‘Overweight’ category. (On a side note, how bad is this BMI thing, who’s the idiot who invented that?)
<br />
<br />The doctor assessing my results was talking to me about tattoos and all before he broke it to me. He scanned his head to find the best possible English to tell me the straight facts: ‘You… are a little fat’. Well what do you expect? You guys feed me rice and bread like there is no tomorrow. You take me out drinking all the time. You force feed me all this stuff and I try to sweat it out by biking every day, rain snow sleet tsunami doesn’t stop me. <span style=""> </span>‘A little fat?!?!’ Pff. We all gained weight here but I’m seriously out of solutions. A west coast cleansing diet maybe. What’s that you say? Stop eating bread? NEVER! Try telling Amy Winehouse to stop smoking crack! I’ll go on a salad diet maybe. I’m open to suggestions. My friends back home can call me Doughboy, it’s ok. My students telling me I’m ‘chotto metabolic’, it can fly. But this was the last time a Japanese doctor would tap me on the back before telling me I’m a little fat. I’ll start throwing up if I have to! </span>P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-36001666504981040212009-06-10T15:49:00.002+09:002009-06-10T15:53:04.879+09:00LE MONDE EST petit<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Mai 2009, 9:45 am.<br /><br />Moi et Ben, à la station Akebonobashi, une station mineure parmi les 168 stations de métro de Tokyo. (N’oubliez pas que par-dessus tout ca se trouve 141 stations de train)<br /><br />Ben – <em>J’ai faim, on va manger où?<br /></em>PY – <em>Shinjuku? Shibuya?<br /></em>B - <em>Shibuya, ça me tente…<br /></em>PY –<em> Man… tu vois le black là bas, je pense que je le connais. Parle moi comme un vrai québécois en passant à côté de lui.</em><br />B - <em>T'es malade man, pourquoi tu penses ça? C'est pas parce que tu viens de Montréal-Nord que tu connais tous les noirs P-Y<br /></em>PY - <em>Je te le dis maaaan, just do it.<br /></em>B – (à la Elvis Gratton) <em>Ok, Faque les breaks ont pété sur mon char avant que je parte, ça m’a coûté une beurrée…<br /></em><br />C’est à ce moment que nos regards se sont croisés… ‘<em>P-Y?!?!</em>’<br /><br />Ooooh oui mes amis, le monde est petit, on est à Tokyo, une ville de 12 millions de personnes, et je croise un mec qui habitait en bas de mon ex-blonde : Myrrha. Faut le faire.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">En plus, j’ai vu mon amie Isobel 3 fois en deux jours, par hasard! Une dernière : lorsque nous étions au camping dans le sud du Japon, une fille m’accoste en me disant que je lui semble famillier… Nous étions dans le même avion qui nous a emmenés au Japon.<br /><br />De deux choses l’une :<br />1 - Je suis vraiment beau et populaire, et tout le monde accourt me voir n’importe où sur la planète.<br />ou<br />2- Le monde est vraiment VRAIMENT petit…<br /><br />je vous laisse choisir</span>P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-48262222648039215562009-05-29T14:54:00.002+09:002009-05-29T14:58:52.087+09:00School lunch<div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">All school children in Japan, from kindergarden to junior high school, are provided with a school lunch. The Japanese word for this lunch is kyushoku.<br /><br />Some days, kyushoku means ‘best thing EVER’ and some days I wouldn’t feed this stuff to my dead dog Porthos (RIP mon chien). It usually consists of some kind of meat (or fish), a soup (often miso based), a salad (or ‘salad’), rice (or bread on Tuesday and Thursday) and a milk. On special occasions, we get some form of dessert and some dry seaweed to put on our rice.<br /><br />So here is an example of a good kyushoku: a nice piece of salmon, some cole slaw type salad, and chocolate chip bread. Here is a bad example of kyushoku: an entire small fish, complete with skin and eyes, looking at you like it just came out floating of the Exxon Valdez spillage, a konyaku salad (*BARFS*), a soup with 5 quail eggs in it and hot milk.<br /><br />If they really want to make me sick, they will throw in some natto in there.<br /><br />The picture seen here is my lunch for today. Shrimp gyoza, some noodle type salad with cucumber, rice (in the metal thing), a weird texture soup and some nuts mixed with small fish. A 8 on 10.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341121284857940706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0E_U4WlYB1uCHycbrjvjW53qOAzXJ1k1BZ1ziv-ib5e5CocmRM5cwCPuJw-qR0jAB7wnvzX_SMDFViCq0wDCS4uDltAw37V_jDpI2zxWCQ-h640QYgB52G9rGs3_-dBRVblyR466xJnU/s400/066.JPG" border="0" /></span></div>P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-5563913878746431932009-05-19T15:29:00.000+09:002009-05-19T15:30:59.465+09:00Carnets de voyage<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Ben, aka le gros cochon, est venu me voir et me tenir compagnie pendant mes deux semaines de vacances. Je peux difficilement expliquer le feeling que l’on ressent quand on revoit quelqu’un qui était si proche de nous et qui soudainement, réapparait. C’est difficile à décrire. Ça m’a fait un grand bien. Nous sommes donc partis sur un périple qui nous a emmenés de Sendai à Yakushima, dans le sud du Japon.<br /><br />Au total, plus de 4500 km de route (aller retour) que nous avons fait pour nous rendre jusqu’à Yakushima. Nous avons été ensemble pendant 16 jours et il a pu me mettre à jour à propos de tous les derniers potins concernant mes amis et la vie en général. De mon côté, j’ai essayé de lui prouver que je pouvais parler un japonais de plus en plus fonctionnel. Je vais le revoir dans 2 mois et qq jours, ce qui sera encore une fois très plaisant.<br /><br />Le voyage en chiffres<br />Heures passées dans des autobus de nuits : 49!!!<br />Nuits à l’hotel : 4<br />Nuits en camping : 4<br />Nuits dehors dans un buisson : 1<br />Piqures de moustiques sur un seul avant-bras et main : 16<br />Nombre de Hummers aperçus a Kyoto : 1<br />Nombre de cerfs agressés à Nara : trop<br />Nombre de belles filles à Osaka : beaucoup trop<br />Poutines : 1<br />Nombre de fois ou Ben a dit ‘SUMIMASEN’ : 673<br />Nombre de combinis visités : 127<br />Tortues géantes qui pondent des œufs apercues : 1<br />Nombre moyen d’œufs : 50<br />Prix d’une douche froide et sale dans un camping : 100 yens<br />Références au roi heenok : 1258<br />IPods : 1<br />Chargeurs de IPod : 0<br />Heures de musiques : 2<br />Heures d’impertinence : (24x16)<br /><br />Thanks le gros, c’était parfait. T’étais même pas dans l’avion que je m’ennuyais. T’as tenu ta promesse, je l’oublierai pas<br />One Love!<br /><br />P-Y</span>P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-76289479651350330522009-04-22T23:23:00.003+09:002009-04-22T23:25:28.751+09:00A gifted student - Mon meilleur étudiant<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>Je vous présente Miyagima, mon meilleur étudiant:<br /><br />Here is Miyagima, my best student<br /><br />I can't be an english teacher, I'm from the street!<br /><br />69 Gouin!<br /><br />Check this: </strong></span><a href="http://www.wimp.com/japanesebeatboxer/"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>http://www.wimp.com/japanesebeatboxer/</strong></span></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>ps: Merci MAX!</strong></span>P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-47899916856947813682009-04-15T15:05:00.004+09:002009-04-15T21:44:46.430+09:00Historical Tourism... in my apartment!<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Some people do eco-tourism, some do culinary-tourism and some-people love history-tourism (I like to call these people:<strong> NERDS</strong>!).<br /><br />So Japan, with its rich history and culture, is the perfect place for these people. Imagine visiting a country that was closed-off from the rest of the world for so long; everywhere I go, I can witness history. Sometimes I close my eyes and feel like a samurai in the 14th century:<br /><br />- I visited temples with impressive architecture, some made of wood that is older than my own country.<br />- I visited remnants of the American bombings during the 2nd World war.<br />- I visited castles that once protected whole villages from other tribes.<br />- I visited mausoleums where entire families of samurais and nobles are buried.<br />- etc<br /><br />Well I am lucky to have, in my own apartment, a piece of Japanese history. YES! I’m not kidding. Someday, I will start charging people to come and take a look at it. But it is a secret, do not tell anyone. It is so PRECIOUS, that some people have tried to steal pieces of it.<br /><br />All right, I know you are dying to know what I’m talking about sooooo...<br /><br />Well people, I give you: <strong>My shower</strong>.<br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324796293149370578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht-PHzNVSiA3y80YCbQOuEASq7gzLifgL5GTLTEKEwhpMnvjSJyY_9lvUtXGodMHV4_Z3btlzFq6_w_x4u_ZFrqSD78tyRb8CK-Zkr4q2tySshZ-Kn8q6kt8ei2ObnQKtsyCNTjIXtEQg/s320/008.JPG" border="0" /><br />This sorry excuse for a shower is really the most aggravating thing about my apartment. It’s a big apartment, a free apartment but LORD JESUS, I have NEVER seen such a crappy shower. The rumor says that Marco Polo once took a shower in there on his journey on the Silk route. To start it, I have to push a button and rotate it anti-clockwise. At the same time, I rotate another lever clockwise until the red gauge goes in the red matter (to make sure I have enough gas to heat up the water)..... Then, I have to turn and push two more buttons. Look, I’m not going to lie, it took me one month to start doing it without the paper telling me how to. It’s a really really bad shower and sometimes, I dream that my apartment catches fire and that I’m actually pleased because it means I can have a decent shower. I have seen better showers in CAMBODIA. I spent my entire winter naked, pushing and turning knobs (not my knob, of course) while freezing my ass off.<br />Sometimes, I wonder why on Earth I would want to live in this country for another year. Especially when I know my brother is probably taking a shower in a 10 jet, rain sensation shower that may or may not involve robots.<br />It’s just a really shit shower. Thank you, I feel better now.</span></p>P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-74900115998616096992009-04-06T08:45:00.002+09:002009-04-06T08:48:32.945+09:00Filling it up<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It is party season here in Japan. In the past two weeks, I have drank more than I should... Goodbye parties, welcome parties, and let’s not forget the ‘let’s drink a bottle of wine in the park and then go for Nomihodais where a robot from the future will try and take your money’ parties.<br />So now that I am sitting at my desk and my liver is failing me, I feel it is my duty to tell you about a Japanese custom. When having dinner or parties, you cannot, under no circumstances, fill up your own drink. EVER. Usually, if the people sitting next to you are efficient, your glass will always be full. You need to be a good neighbour too. I have developed a sixth sense, I scope the table and look for glasses that are less than 70% full and BAM, I get up and serve people like a trained waiter. And when I get back to my place, my drink is full too. It’s a great system because it gets the party going and it’s super-polite. But also, it’s a bad system because you can be responsible for getting people drunk. My co-worker was sleeping before the end of the party because of my efficient service, and when he woke up, he looked like a cooked lobster with really really blood-shut eyes.<br /><br />This is the conversation we had in japanese:</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br />‘Are you alright?’<br />‘Pierre-sensei, you made me drunk’<br />‘Well I was just being Japanese’<br />‘Well maybe you should be more Chinese (?!?! I don’t get it, drunk talk, he was laughing)<br />‘...hmm... ok. You want another drink buddy?’<br />‘haggushsgavgagva’<br /><br />And he fell asleep again... I win</span>P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-8849085295391837172009-03-25T07:51:00.001+09:002009-03-25T07:53:59.641+09:00The curious case of the vanishing vacation... button<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">In Japan, the school year ends today.<br />This being Japan, the next school year begins in 13 days. I had to sit through countless farewell ceremonies and speeches. Pretty interesting on a cultural point of view, but it was pretty boring actually...<br /><br />Anyways, my predecessor and Daniel’s predecessor used to get these two weeks off... Vacation. Free time. Spring vacation. <em>Haru yasumi</em>. Do whatever you want. Don’t come to school, it’s useless. You would just sit around and be a waste of air and space. Go and live, discover Japan and get paid while you do it. Well we have just been royally screwed, because this vacation just vanished in front of our eyes. Apparently, they think we can be useful in some way. I don’t know what the deal is but it’s ridiculous. I should set up a webcam and show you. I have to fight not to fall asleep. My desk will be spotless. My computer is clean. My computer!! I don’t have internet so it’s stupid. I play Minesweper and Hearts and Solitaire. It’s aggravating because they know I have nothing to do, but because they are Japanese, they will never come up to me and tell me to go home because they are masters at pretending to look busy when they aren’t.<br /><br />I think they want to force me to take paid leave but it’s like a challenge to me now. I want to keep as much as I can. I might need them:<br />I already know I need two days for my national holiday: 1 to get drunk, 1 to deal with the arrest and post bail.</span>P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-55016285949659171132009-03-11T19:13:00.000+09:002009-03-11T19:15:00.876+09:00White day...<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">No it’s not a ‘Québec white day’, where students go and play in the snow all day. It’s actually a holiday.<br />Yeah, I know you’ve never heard of it. It is simply the biggest scam ever. In Japan, Valentine’s Day is on February 14th, and it’s a day where women buy something to all the men they care about. So men don’t have to buy anything and just receive. I was very happy when I heard that. I’ve never been the kind of guy who goes out and buys stuff for Valentine’s back home. In fact, my mom has been on the ball every year, buying me chocolate at every occasion. She even sent me some good Lindt choco-crack to Japan... I love my mom! But when I started seeing signs advertising White Day a week after Valentine’s, I was puzzled. ‘What is White Day?’ I wondered. ‘Maybe it’s a day where they can bash on white people, better stay at home on March 14th...’ And then I wondered: ‘March 14th...hmmm’.<br /><br />You got it folks: White Day is the opposite of Valentine’s Day, where men are supposed to give back (x2) to the women who gave them presents. So let’s say a teacher gave me a box of chocolate containing 30 little hearts, she should get 60 from me. Some girl buys me a Porsche, I buy her a Lamborghini. A girl gives me a 10 inch pizza, a Golden Retreiver, a key chain, a 6-pack of Sapporo and tickets to the Icecapades, I give her the keys to my apartment. It’s just simple math really. HAHA<br /><br />Man I hate White Day. It sounds so pure and pretty, when in fact, it’s so evil and nasty...</span>P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7046242410289790102.post-69617341156147522892009-03-07T16:13:00.001+09:002009-03-07T16:15:16.330+09:00It's a skill, just like juggling!<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Look I’m not going to lie, sometimes, I don’t have much to do, but I’m paid on a yearly basis so I can’t just ask to go home, it ain’t my style yo! So I came up with this thing, it’s really great, check it out:<br /><br />Of all the things I have learned in Japan, the skill we call ‘pretending to work’ is the one I have practiced the most so far. Especially at some of my schools, it is truly... an art. I see real experts here, just walking around, with paper in hand, grumbling at the copy machine or cutting and rolling pieces of paper. At first I couldn’t do it, I just stared at them and wondered what the hell they were busy doing, especially since I had absolutely nothing to do myself. But then I started feeling bad, so I started doing it too.<br /><br />You should see me now; I get people telling me I work too hard. The first trick is (now listen carefully children): wherever you are walking, walk fast, but always with something in your hand. I use my agenda or anything written in French so that if they trap me, they won’t understand. The next trick is: if you are sitting at your desk, always look as if you have the biggest of headaches, with a pen in hand (or better yet a pen AND a highlighter!) and always have as many papers and books in front of you. Every 10 or 15 minutes, pretend you are looking for something for 5 to 7 minutes and breathe a sigh of relief when you find the ‘paper’ you had ‘lost for a second’. Now the two next steps involve computers. First, if you have Internet access (lucky you) the trick is to open a Word document or two, and to leave them open all day long, on top of other windows. Next, put your laptop screen as dark as possible, so that people can’t creep up on you and check out what you are doing from those nasty blind spots behind you. Make your Internet windows smaller and always have that Word document taking up the majority of the space. It sounds crazy but I’ve had MSN messenger webcam sessions because of that trick! If you don’t have Internet (like me right now at this school), start a blog and write some posts when you are dying of boredom... Also, write your e-mails in text so that when you get home, you only have to copy and paste them, which gives you more time to play online poker or watch Lost while eating ice cream (now you know what I’ve been doing during my winter weeknights!). Anyways, it sounds crazy but I’m actually applying all those things right now... it’s MAGIC!<br /><br />I feel bad because I could have used this skill before. Instead of building castles of boxes at the Adidas store in order to block the camera view so I could just chill and sit for hours, I could have ‘pretended to work’. Instead of calling in radio shows and flirting with any girl with a pulse that worked with me at Urban Outfitters, I could have ‘pretended to work’...I’m telling you, it will save your life, and make your day go by faster! Thank me later<br />P-Y</span>P-Yhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06922410548794085223noreply@blogger.com4