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.
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.
(To get a sample of the South African accent, click on : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qLPSo86NZDI&feature=related )
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
P
Monday, December 21, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Liberté
When 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).
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Night Vision
Fall 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.
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)
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'
She almost choked on her coffee... always have the last word people. It’s the first rule of life.
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)
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'
She almost choked on her coffee... always have the last word people. It’s the first rule of life.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
The Japanese Lions
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.
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.
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???
Be afraid of the Japanese lion, be very afraid… Wouldn’t you want to punch one in the face today?
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Maturity
version 1 AKA : The Conscience conversation
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:
(Brain): ‘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?’
(Me): ‘Fuck No dude!!!! 14 ‘til I die!!!! Woo Hoo! Where’s my beer? Yeah! You can’t spell Party without P-Y!!!’
(Brain): ‘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???’
(Me): ‘Life expectanWHAT?... Brain-dude, are you making up words again???’
(Brain): ‘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?’
(Me, realizing the fatality of the Brain’s last statement): ‘Woah, I guess you’re right. Maybe I have been going a little overboard. Where should I start?’
(Brain): ‘Well for starters, you could start wearing your pants like a normal person, everyone can see your ass!!’
(Me, complying): ‘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?’
(Brain): ‘Shut up and have one more beer’
Version 2 AKA The actual story behind my new-found maturity
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??
Well yeah, some people told me I ‘looked’ more mature…
I guess these people have never heard about JETLAG!
Woooo Hooooo!!!! 14 ‘til I die!!! You can’t spell PARTY without PY!
Later, I’m off to my weekly Thursday night all you can drink party!
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:
(Brain): ‘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?’
(Me): ‘Fuck No dude!!!! 14 ‘til I die!!!! Woo Hoo! Where’s my beer? Yeah! You can’t spell Party without P-Y!!!’
(Brain): ‘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???’
(Me): ‘Life expectanWHAT?... Brain-dude, are you making up words again???’
(Brain): ‘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?’
(Me, realizing the fatality of the Brain’s last statement): ‘Woah, I guess you’re right. Maybe I have been going a little overboard. Where should I start?’
(Brain): ‘Well for starters, you could start wearing your pants like a normal person, everyone can see your ass!!’
(Me, complying): ‘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?’
(Brain): ‘Shut up and have one more beer’
Version 2 AKA The actual story behind my new-found maturity
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??
Well yeah, some people told me I ‘looked’ more mature…
I guess these people have never heard about JETLAG!
Woooo Hooooo!!!! 14 ‘til I die!!! You can’t spell PARTY without PY!
Later, I’m off to my weekly Thursday night all you can drink party!
Friday, September 18, 2009
Under the bridge
I didn’t want to tell you this because it probably is a low point of my life but here it goes…
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.
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.
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?
A moral? What do I look like? Hans-Christian Andersen? Just don’t fall asleep on the train like an idiot.
Yours truly, the village idiot
ps: I returned the bike… but in a different place. Beware. You never know where Montreal-North ghetto boys might be walking.
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.
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.
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?
A moral? What do I look like? Hans-Christian Andersen? Just don’t fall asleep on the train like an idiot.
Yours truly, the village idiot
ps: I returned the bike… but in a different place. Beware. You never know where Montreal-North ghetto boys might be walking.
Friday, September 4, 2009
TY-POON
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?
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!
‘Man, a typhoon! And they say it will come in around Sendai… And I live near the coast! Yes!!!’
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!
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.
‘My oh my!! This all sounds like a great time… I can’t wait!’
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):
‘Hey, what the hell happened with that typhoon?’
His answer:
‘It went away’
AWAY???!!! What the fuck man? It’s not a stray cat. It’s not a cold sore. It doesn’t just GO AWAY!
‘It flew away’, he repeated.
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.
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