As you may or may not be wondering what the title of this blog means, I will force you to view the answer to this non-question (even if only from your peripheral vision). K-1 was a kickboxing league of sorts in Japan (it is no longer). The fights would be aired on television much like boxing matches in the US before pay-per-view stole all the fun. These matches were quite popular when I first moved to Japan in 2002. That's the end of the preamble...now on the story.
I lived in the prefectural teacher housing in a small 1-bedroom apartment on the first floor, but that is, of course, another story. Several other foreign ALTs (Assitant Language Teachers) lived in the same housing development, in the same building, and in the same stairwell as I did. The guy who lived above me was a Kiwi named Pike, who is a really great guy and still a good mate of mine. In about my second month in Japan, I entered a Judo tournament and wound up getting tossed on just shy of my head, which would be my right shoulder. For my efforts, I was carried away in true VIP style with flashing lights and sirens. The result of my one and only Judo tournament was a permanent trophy that took its shape in the form of a dislocated collar bone. To showcase my trophy, I walked around with my arm in a sling for about a month.
Around the same time, Pike injured his hand playing basketball and had to wear a brace of some sort. One evening after work, I went up to visit my mate, Pike, and as I knocked on his door, I noticed that his apartment number was 204. Even thought I had looked at his apartment number numerous times before this one, I had a eurethra moment. His apartment number was 204, and since I lived below him, mine was 104! Now for those of you not familiar with Chinese and Japanese culture, the last few sentences have no meaning at all, so I will explain it to you. In China and Japan, the word for the number 4 sounds like the word for death; therefore, it is a very unlucky number and most apartments and buildings do not have any floors or rooms with the number 4 in them. Back to the story, so I had a eurethra moment and shared my new discovery with Pike while exclaiming that this must be the reason that the two of us had been inured. Upon sharing this information with him, he looked up at me, grinned and said, "Yep. It's a long, hard road on the path to becoming a K-1 fighter."
As both of us were also studying Okinawan karate at the time, his statement had a unique significance and humor, and it has stuck with me ever since. We're all on our own individual paths to becoming K-1 fighters, or experts in our fields of choice, and every experience that finds us helps to shape, train and push us one step closer to that ultimate destination. These experiences, or our everyday lives, are the path, and how we walk it is seen in our reactions and the choices we make.
Unfortunately for you, the reader, this blog is mainly focused on my path, so you may or may not find it of interest, unless of course you are on the path to becoming a K-1 fighter.
Friday, February 13, 2015
The Meaning of Life, or This Blog, At Least
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Not By the Hair on my Chinny Chin Chin
About 5 years ago, when I was living in Japan, I decided I would let my hair grow out to about shoulder length. I thought it would be good to have a change. Plus, it just seemed like a part of the island lifestyle. It was a bit of a slow process getting it long enough. There were several phases involved: 1.) time for a haircut phase, 2.) awkward, goofy looking phase, 3.) your hair’s getting long phase, and 4.) comfortable with my long hair phase. Phase 2 is the toughest and, unfortunately, longest phase. Anyway, after 5 years, I decided that it was once again time for a change. Enjoy the photos.
Before After
The DifferenceSaturday, May 30, 2009
Sassified Sushi Singer
The Rocky Mountain JET Alumni Association (RMJETAA), which I am involved with, had its annual Sing Into Spring event last night. The event gives people, including former and future JETs and friends of JETs, a chance to sample the flavors of raw Japanese cuisine and then demonstrate their vocal stylings, usually after imbibing generously. I spent the months before the event in much anticipation as I hadn’t partaken in karaoke since I had returned to the US. My excitement to get my sing on was mixed with a bit of anxiety because I knew that karaoke in the US was not quite the same as in Japan or China. Japan and China take it upon themselves to protect innocent bystanders from the screams and yells of ordinary people trying to make, or at least imitate, music by enclosing the would-be singers in a room that could well become their own audio prison. In the US, however, karaoke is set up in an “America’s Got Talent” atmosphere where singers perform for, or force into submission, the entire bar. I had sung US karaoke once before in Florida. I was there to introduce a couple of friends of mine who were both musical artists and somehow got pulled up to the front of the restaurant to sing Backstreet Boys’ “I Want It That Way”. I learned quickly that singing in the car with the radio does not always equal being able to sing a song on your own. In Japan, I was a big proponent of karaoke, always joining friends and colleagues at the karaoke box. I was looking forward to reliving my karaoke experiences 
Jessica getting down
This year’s Sing Into Spring was held at a quaint little place in Denver called Sushi Hai. Leading up to the event, I wondered what the Hai in Sushi Hai meant, and after spending the evening there, I still don’t know what it’s supposed to mean. Anyway, the restaurant has a nice atmosphere and even gives an air of prestige, and no not the Hugh Jackman and Christian Bale type, to those who enter as their entrance signifies that they know the geographic location of the restaurant. However, finding the restaurant is not the entire trick. Navigating the labyrinth that composes the full restaurant/bar to find your friends is the icing on the prestige cake. The RMJETAA function was strategically located in a VIP-like section of the bar around the billiards tables and in front of the restrooms. This location must have been chosen to ensure that any people desiring to attend the event who got lost in the labyrinth would find it upon locating the restrooms. The “VIP” area was also strategically located slightly above the rest of the bar no 
doubt so that we could look down on the masses of people trying to fight their way in, if we so chose. Ok, maybe it wasn’t that prestigious, but it was a great choice of venue.
Can you find the VIP in this picture?
Several trays of sushi and sashimi supplemented by edamame, gyoza, and tempura were elegantly laid out on a table for people to drool over until the invisible barrier holding them at bay was removed by RMJETAA President, Stephen Cacciatore, who opened the ceremony with a brief explanation of the event and a thank you to the attendees (I would love to give a detailed description of the sushi and sashimi, but whether it was due to the low lighting, my place near the back of the line, or the dizziness caused by my severe hunger pangs, I can’t really remember too much about how the food looked. I can verify, however, that it was delicious). Once it was clear that it was open season on the food, the people lined up to set the Guiness Book of World Records on how fast they could make several hundred dollars worth of sushi disappear. Thankfully, especially for the people at the back of the line, RMJETAA collected $5 from each person attending so that more sushi 
could be ordered if the initial offering was insufficient. This was inevitable, but Jessica was able to fend off the hungry hoards long enough to put in the second order.
By the time the sushi was gone, half-empty stomachs and pints full of ale had put most people into the mood of carrying on conversations with people they knew, and even people they didn’t know. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. The bar staff were setting up the karaoke booth. The time had come. I managed to procure a karaoke book of songs from one of the billiards tables. Unfortunately, it was organized by song title, so I had to arrange a trade with another table that had a book organized by artist. They had a list of demands, but I promptly ignored it, took their book, and deposited mine. I think everything happened so fast that they didn’t realize how they had been duped. Back at my table, I scoured the pages of the book looking for a song that would please the crowd. Celine Dion? No, this wasn’t the usual Japanese crowd that would be transfixed by the Canadian diva’s lyrics. Oasis? No, there weren’t any Brits that would appreciate it. Michael Jackson? I didn’t want to find out if anyone would appreciate that. I finally settled on Hootie and the Blowfish, which was my warm up at karaoke nights in Japan. The song doesn’t traverse too many octaves, which makes it easy on the vocal cords. I quickly jotted my selection down on a slip of paper and handed it to the karaoke dj. She informed me that my song was about 20th on the waiting list. I was shocked, but I’m a patient man, so I grabbed a seat and prepared to wait it out. I passed some of the time by playing billiards with Sam, some of it playing games with my used chopsticks, and most of it by cheering on my fellow karaoke-ers. A trick I learned in Japan was to cheer and whistle for people singing when they were struggling or their sound was getting lost among conversation. Apparently, this is one of those things that is trans-cultural as it seemed to spur others in the crowd to do the same and encouraged the singers. As the night wore on, people from the party gradually made their way out of the bar in groups of twos and threes. After saying goodbye to a few of the people that I came with, I realized that I was one of the last people from the party left to uphold the RMJETAA reputation, luckily for those who left. When I checked with the karaoke dj, my song had jumped from 20th to next in line. The people who left had either just missed out on the greatest performance of their karaoke lives or had just escaped with their eardrums intact. The rest of the night was a combination of karaoke songs and dj grooves that turned the bar into our own private dance party. As I walked out of the bar and into the light of a new day, the bar staff said, “Thanks for coming”, but in my mind I heard “Arigatou gozaimasu!”
