Don't Touch My Moustache

New experiences are the spice of life they say. I never really knew who 'they' is. Nevertheless, in August of 2007, I was fortunate enough to recieve tickets to visit Japan for two weeks. The work I would be required to do was minimal so I would have most of the time in two weeks to simply explore and experience the culture. Let me assure you, that was quite an adventure. Language barriers go far beyond mere lingustics.
I visited Kyushu: the southern-most island of the three primary islands that make up the country. I would be working and residing mostly in the city of Kita-kyushu which is a suburb of the more internationally well-known city of Fukuoka. Its latitude is close to that of Florida and the average temperature while I was there was a stifling 37 degrees celsius. It actually got up to 40 degrees celsius one day which prompted me to say to my agent-host (Masahiro), "40 degrees is not an external temperature, man, it's a fucking oven setting. I could bake muffins out here!" He laughed and said that you get used to it. I think I single-handedly burned a hole in the ozone right over the house in which I was staying from the amount of high-powered air conditioning that I ran day and night.
While there, I visited an amusement park constructed by Nippon Steel Corp. called Space World. It had some pretty amazing roller coasters and a really cool Star Wars merchandise store. I bought a puzzle for Rory and I to do together. I enjoyed an afternoon on the beach, went spelunking in some of the most scenic and amazing caves the planet has to offer - granted, they were slightly modified for tourist enjoyment. I went shopping in malls that were built dozens of stories high, but not very wide. In fact, much of the commercial architecture is made in that fashion. As space is limited, everything goes up, instead of out as it does in Canada. I went to one of many amusement centres, that had diffferent activities on each floor: 1st was karaoke, 2nd was video games, 3rd was bowling, and so on upwards to the top floor, which was tennis. My greatest enjoyment was the cuisine which I explored both in restaurants and at Masa's home.
In fact, one of the first intersting incidents occurred at his home while I was learning some of the basic phrases that are used in Japan. I learned that there are various and very intricate levels of politeness to almost every utterance, especially 'thank you'. This, however, did not deter Masa from having a sense of humour. After trying out a version of 'thank you' following a delicious meal of ??? made by his wife, he responded with, "don't touch my moustache", and a huge smile. Of course, I did not understand but the phrase struck me as familiar. He explained that in Japanese, "you're welcome" is "doitashimashite". The phonetic similarity to the phrase "don't touch my moustache" is a joke that was played upon in the movie 'Toy Story 2' when the toy dealer was selling to a purchaser in Japan on the telephone.
We went bowling at the amusement centre several times. During any given round of bowling, occasionally the lights all go out and a very ridiculous attempt at an Americanized accent announcer comes on and shouts, "LET'S PLAY A FUN GAME!". Whomever is at their turn gets a chance to win a prize if they get a strike - one shot only. As it happens, the first time it occurred, it was my turn. Wouldn't you know it, I got a strike and won a set of bowling ball shaped speakers for my computer. The rest of the night was as much fun and we all left smiling. Several nights later, we went back for another round of bowling. Again the "FUN GAME" announcement occurred during my turn and I was lucky enough to get another strike! At this point, Masa looks at me and says, "Your butt is big!" Now this is the second international trip where my butt has unexpectedly come into the conversation so I was, of course, inquisitive.
"What!?!"
"Your butt", he says, "it has something that needs it big inside!"
"You're scaring me Masa. What the hell are you talking about?!"
"You know, . . . how you say? . . . your butt is all full of metal piece on bottom of horse leg. The shoe that horse wears."
"Ooooooooh!", I finally understood. "You mean "I have a horse-shoe up my ass, as in, I'm very lucky."
Yes, yes, that it!" He continued to grin a cheshire-cat-like/Japanese smile. I chuckled and said, "be careful with those English idioms or someone might get the very wrong idea."
He said, "Sank you, sank you for helpimg me wiss Engrish".
I politely said, "Don't touch my moustache."

See you in hell,
Shakes.

Just an Idea

God is an idea - an idea that encourages peace and love. God is an attempt to foster harmony with your fellow man for mutual gains and fulfilled living. God is NOT a tangible entity to whom one can pray or achieve heaven. God is what you make of him, primarily because you made him. Your book is not literal and ALL life is finite. God cannot save you. Only you can save you. God is merely a philosophy and mind-set that goes by many names and excludes none: Tao, God, Yaweh, Buddha, Alla, Gitchi Manitou, the Greek Pantheon, etc. The myths written about God to express philosophy have been misappropriated by religion and misinterpreted as gospel. They are not literal but rather metaphoric, and highly so: demons, saviour, hell, heaven, prophet, sin, redemption. They are all metaphors; they are all here (not after death); and they cannot be fully realized, but only experienced in the balance of life. They certainly cannot be attained as a goal or the end of a journey by following some set of proscribed and punitive rules. So the next time some christian complains that I don't know god because I won't blindly obey their misguided interpretations, I will have to say, "On the contrary. I know god very well and many of him, but you only know one. I know god better than you!"
Knowledge is the new God.
Religion is the new zealot.
The 'christian' is the new heretic. Thank GOD!
When I give a thumbs up to Bill Maher and a thumbs down to Sarah Palin, I'm not pointing at anything in particular.
See you in hell,
Shakes.

Who Said So?

You know, some people should be fathers, . . . and some people shouldn't. Like most fathers, I am totally inadequate and inept. I will never be as good as my children deserve. Nevertheless, I give myself some credit. Unlike most fathers, I try my best and would sacrifice any part of myself for their betterment. Alas, life is not so simple. I find myself still self-interested and using family budget money for my own pursuits. But where does selfishness begin and self-preservation leave off? Is this not a complex question? Indeed. Let me tell you about my kids.

Rory is 11 now. He is independent, full of leadership, and a genuinely good person; rare in an 11-year-old. He is wise beyond his years, extraordinarily mature and generous to a fault. He is interested in longboard skateboards, web-surfing, and (much to my chagrin) girls of late. He is a natural leader, and a very sensitive soul when it comes to caring for his younger brothers. He is my first son, my adopted son, and I couldn't be more proud. Here's hoping current trends hold.

Blair is 7 right now, and one of the gentlest souls the world has ever known. He is interested in movies, family, and the sunlight, of which he is a shining example. He is gentle, and sensitive, . . . and something more. There is something about him that captivates all; a serenity upon which I cannot put my finger. Nevertheless, it is there, and very powerful. He will steal your heart and like me you won't know why. He has an unidentifiable beauty which is more beautiful for its elusiveness.

Milo is a buoyant 5 years of age and has just begun kindergarten. He is a living and ever-replenishing source of energy. He is overwhelmingly inquisitive, highly independent and impossible to keep up with. Simply watching him will make you breathless. He can destroy a room in seconds and he can make more noise than a broken jackhammer. Milo can make four pounds of mess on a shirt from a meal that was only a half-pound to begin with. Milo can draw a perfect circle and understand complex emotions. Milo is heavily addicted to video games and very confident in expressing himself. Milo has a smile that will light up your heart with joy and make you remember the beauty of being a child. His energy will captivate you and draw you to him like a magnet.

If I am a good father for no other reason, then it must only be because I am smart enough to pay attention to the beauties that exist in these boys. Always remember to pay attention, lest you miss a smile or a tear. Every one is worth its weight in gold.

See you in heaven,

Shakes.

Why Was I Even In Mexico . . . again?

Eighteen months has passed since my last journey to Mexico. The interim has not been uneventful; eight months in University, a new homestead, and the loss of Alex to the Emerald Isle are amongst the activities that have passed. My good fortune as a college instructor has afforded me flight tickets south for a second time. So, with a healthy sense of self-deserving, off I went. On this occasion, I also had the good fortune to be accompanied by the ever-beautiful Amelia for the first five days. In Acapulco we enjoyed para-gliding, horse-back riding, jet-skiing, pina coladas on the beach, and the world famous cliff divers . . . and all in one day. Back near Mexico city, we visited the pyramids and a mercado and achieved some healthy sunburns. After Amelia returned to Canada, I was faced with two more weeks of work in a small town called Ojo de Agua. It has a very rural feel with a typically Mexican mix of wealth and poverty and an enormous number of stray dogs that bark and howl late into the evening. Their cacophony against the warm, bleak landscape creates a haunting ambience of skulking werewolves on a hot Mexican night in a small town. In order to break the monotony, I arranged a class party one Saturday evening with the students in my group. We decided it would be held at the house of a young woman who was married to a doctor. As such, she had ample space, an ample bar, and a karaoke machine. About half of the students in the class came, as did my hosts at the college. It was a delightful evening and we enjoyed a favourite Mexican dish called posoli. Smooth tequila lubricated the karaoke wheels and we all sang until late in the evening. At close to 4am, most of the guests had departed and I was left with my two hosts, the student and her doctor husband. As it turns out, he was a plastic surgeon. I don't know if it was a sociolinguistic barrier that lead to the somewhat awkward comment, or merely a culturally acceptable offer, but at the end of the night, just as we were finally leaving, the doc looked at me with a perfectly straight face and said, (insert strong Mexican accent here) "Ju know. Eef ju retourn to Mehico, I weel feex jour nose for only 10000 pesos. That ees only, like, 1000 canadian dollarss. And ju know what?" (He started to whisper) " For no extra charche, I'll give you a nice beeg fat ass too. Buenos noches. " He demonstrated by waving his hands in a wide berth around his rear. I went back to the college dorm laughing, drunk, . . . and a little disturbed. There's nothing wrong with my ass! I guess I could use a nose job though. Damn, those Mexicans love their 'badonkadonk'.
See you in hell,
Shakes.

Back to the drawing board

I am academically winded and educationally humbled. Apparently I am not as good at writing as I had formerly believed. I feel like I've had a scholastic enema. With marks across the board in first term that are less than satisfying to me, I am agressively poised to take on second term with teeth and vigilance. Good things come to those who wait, . . . and work their sorry asses off! I shall not retreat and I shall not fail. Bring it on!
See you in hell,
Shakes.

Almost lost until Alex's bum . . .

Well, well, well. What have we here? It would appear that my return to the academic environment in the capacity of student has taken its toll on my writing. After producing nearly 10,000 words worth of essays in only four months, I have reached a full-fledged writer's block. Inspiration is fleeting of late, if not altogether absent. I am surrounded with sameness and I see my children far too infrequently. So where do we go from here? Reaching deep into the recesses of my mind and the archives of my memory, so shall I find a gem, and in it I will revel at the writer's desk once again. Where is Alex when I need him?
Aaaaaah, Alex. Yes, of course. How could I have been so blind. His endless tomfoolery is a plethora of tales to tell. Here's one I'd nearly forgotten.
My friendship with Alex had really only just begun. I barely knew him but he struck me as a semi-boring, hyper-intellectual, brooding, Italian egomaniac. I quite liked him and, unlike most people, was not at all intimidated by him. I think that's why he liked me too. One evening, in one of his many vain attempts to entertain female cast members, we were sitting about his apartment revelling in the agricultural achievements of Columbia and Jamaica. Alex's hospitality was refreshingly entertaining and eloquent. Verbal humour peppered with intermissions of his light musical stylings carried us through several bouyant hours of revelry. However, as delightful as he was as a host, and as excellent as he was at practicing verbal wit, my opinion of him had not substantially changed. Then something unexpected happened.
His television had been idly observing our group all the while. In a moment of quiet, my attention turned towards it and I noticed that it had been tuned to the black-and-white security camera feed of the front door of his apartment building.
"Alex, why do you leave your TV on the security feed?"
"I know. It's weird, but my room-mate likes to watch it. He taped 8 hours of it last night while he was at work and then stayed up all night when he got home watching it! Don't ask me."
Alex's very reclusive and eccentric roommate is another story to be told altogether. He's an 'artist' and one of the most interesting people you will never meet.
But our story is about Alex. I must give him credit. In the much-needed humour department, he raised the stakes. He said, "Hey, you wanna see something funny?", and surely, I did. He then promptly retrieved a pillow-case from his bedroom and exited his own apartment leaving me alone with several of his unacquainted female guests. As I barely knew Alex himself, the situation was a bit odd. After a few minutes of awkward conversation, I was beginning to truly wish for his return. For all I knew, however, he wasn't coming back at all. I knew him well enough to recognize that he might be a touch idiosyncratic in his social dealings.
Just then, the black-and-white security feed caught my eye. Wouldn't you know it, there was old Alex with a pillow-case over his head at the front door of his building, with his britches at his knees and his full moon raised in pride at the camera. I did a spit-take of rye across the room and burst into uproarious laughter. But the show was far from over. While bent over, pillow-case over his head, and ass to the gods, he did a little spanky-spanky and then continued with some Jim-Carrey-like bum cheek dialogue. It was a silent feed but the image was side-splitting. It dawned on me that the security feed goes into every apartment in the building and I laughed even harder. After a few minutes, the show was over, but it was almost as funny to see him fumbling with his front door keys while peeking out from under the pillow-case in an attempt to re-enter and maintain his now much needed anonymity.
I was still wiping tears away and waiting for his inevitable return from downstairs when the show was reprised with an unexpected encore. He burst onto camera and dropped his drawers again to reveal a second hilarious viewing of his hairy nether-regions. He raised the stakes even further when he turned around and gave his eager viewers a full frontal (sans head - under pillow-case). My belly ached. It was glorious.
The climactic finale was achieved when, in the camera, we saw an otherwise unsuspecting fellow apartment-dweller arrive at the front door while he was blindly waggling his wiles. She was a conservative-looking elderly woman - perfect, hilarious. I have no idea the conversation that ensued but it looked awkward. The woman was clearly a little shocked at talking to a man with his pants at his ankles and a pillow-case for a head. My laughter continued. Then the good samaritan assisted Alex as he fumbled with his keys again. Congratulations Alex: I have never questioned your rapier wit from that brave moment of hilarious bravery/stupidity. You are still, and are likely to remain for some time, the man!
See you in hell,
Shakes.