Since leaving America August 2006, I have traveled to sixteen countries. A great deal has happened. This site is to share my thoughts, photos, music, writings, travel experiences, and developing political/social commentary with you. I hope you find it interesting and informative.
Until her untimely death in a freak accident at a lesbian orgy island resort in 2009, Dr. Joy Smothers revolutionized modern psychology!
Her songs, her books, her uncanny insights, her unique and powerful healing methods are as relevant today as ever.
It was the early 90s. The usual number of people were suffering from plunging self-esteem. For the past decade, the book shelves had been bursting at their pressboard seams with every conceivable fix.
Psychiatrists were booked up for months. Gurus were turning them away at the door. Lifestyle coaches were rolling in dough from workshops, book sales, self-help tapes, videos, tête-à-têtes, seminars.
High priests, low priests, monks, ministers, astrologers, palmists, psalmists, phrenologists, hypnotists, aura readers, astral pocket jockeys, harmonic wave surfers, all were the rock stars of a new age of enlightenment.
But the zaniest of all of the obvious signs that the world had gone completely mad and people would embrace just about anything or anyone in a desperate attempt to conjure up the NEW YOU, was the lady we will meet in this book. Unorthodox? How about Alice in Wonderland strange. Weird. Off the charts. Barking mad. Totally whack. We’re talking about … Dr. Joy Smothers, the folk singing psychologist.
The thing is, you can’t argue with success. And tens of thousands of people whose lives were in shambles, whose ability to understand the world around them and relate in a holistic, positive way to others, swear by this lady. They believe in her gifts for healing, embrace her unorthodox teachings and methods, and unquestioningly ascribe to her almost supernatural powers.
So . . .
This is her story.
This is how it all began!
You decide . . . was Dr. Joy a genius or con artist?
[ Author’s Note: Granted, this is a slight change of tone from my previous posting. The point is, the literary merits of my book are not relevant to discussing the emergence of one of the most controversial individuals in the history of psychology — a woman no less, in a field as patriarchic as the National Basketball League. It’s only fair that you judge for yourself both Dr. Joy Mania and her putative impact on individual and family therapy. Of course, this begins with your buying at minimum ten copies of Sex, Lies & Coffee Beans and sharing them with family, friends, even passing strangers. Then think about it, talk about it, write about it, make this the core purpose of your life for the next six to eleven months. I personally can’t see any other possible course of action.
My insanely weird short story “Outside the Box” is featured in the most recent anthology from SCARS Publication. Apparently they liked it, since they named the entire collection after it.
It’s written in the first person, very unusual for me. I’m not sure why but I typically feel more comfortable writing in the third person.
I can’t say what inspired it. I’m not using hallucinogenic drugs. As it says on the back cover of my book on life here in Japan, which just came out, I feel like I’m living in a fairy tale. Other than the complete disintegration of my homeland, the prospects that climate change will make the Earth uninhabitable, the class warfare being waged on the vast majority of us by the sociopathic ultra-wealthy — which apparently now even includes mass extermination to “cull the herd” — and what is increasingly looking more than likely, the annihilation of all life on the planet via a nuclear war, I’m as happy as a butterfly in spring on Bora Bora.
Here’s the real skinny on “Outside The Box” . . .
This is how my brain sometimes works. I make no excuses, offer no apologies, and certainly lose no sleep.
Celebrate it, condemn it, put out a call for intervention or institutionalization, whatever floats your boat . . . it’s what I do.
It’s what I like to do!
While I recommend you buy the anthology itself, if for no other reason than supporting independent publishers like this seems like a good idea and truth is there are some other great pieces in this collection, I’ll save you a few dollars. Yes, you can read my story below.
Have fun with it! Or skip it and go rollerblading. Your choice.
I was surprised how easy it was to find the grave, and that it was unguarded.
I dug up the body, dragged it to just the right spot.
Then I kicked the shit out of Hunter S. Thompson.
He didn’t stand a chance. I punched, pounded, kicked, scratched, twisted his limbs, applying the most excruciatingly painful wrestling moves.
I kept this up until I literally fell over from exhaustion.
After resting a while, I rolled Thompson back into the grave, then shoveled the dirt back over him and left.
Of course, no one could know. And without it being public knowledge, I wasn’t sure exactly what advantage my cathartic corpse thrashing might achieve.
I guess I was thinking more spiritually – you know, big picture.
And let’s face it. We really don’t know how these things work. Sometimes we just have to let fly and hope for the best.
I have always felt a strong connection with Hunter S. Thompson. Especially when I was vomiting from too much to drink.
But it was deeper than just binge camaraderie.
I could feel his giddy acid in my veins. I guess my arteries too. I can’t imagine him without a sneer. And I can’t stop sneering.
So what was with the need for my posthumous pugilism?
Simple. The old bastard was becoming a thorn in my side. Holding me back. He was like having a brother with elephantitus. Or a sister who fucked the whole football team.
I didn’t stand a chance. My karma was like belly button lint in an ancient mummy.
People didn’t ignore me. To ignore someone, you have to know they exist.
Luckily I figured out exactly what had to be done.
I needed to settle the score. Level the playing field. Credit where credit is due.
I needed to beat the shit out of Hunter S. Thompson.
Think I’m crazy, right?
Well, suck on this: It worked!
It was like the Beatles … the fall of the Berlin Wall … MTV … 911 … Trump.
Everything changed!
Well, for me personally it did anyway.
I stopped at the dry cleaners to pick up my laundry. A shirt and a beach towel. I gave the lady a ten. She gave me change for a twenty. I kept it. Not my problem.
I noticed in my rear view mirror I looked conspicuously more handsome than usual. Others noticed too. A pretty girl, maybe mid-20s, pulled up next to me at a stop light. She looked over, smiled, winked, then made a jacking-off motion with her free hand. A come on. I just laughed. I would have loved to but too many STDs around these days. Never know where something like a simple hand job might lead.
Then I got a text message. Aunt Elizabeth – poor old soul – finally kicked the bucket. We’d been waiting forever. I already knew I had over $23,000 coming to me from the long-past-her-expiration-date spinster. She’d been in the hospital for over a year-and-a-half. What a relief!
The real game-changers were in the inbox of my gmail account. I could see on my iPhone I had messages but waited to read them on my computer at home.
Holy shit!
Three literary agents were interested in my novel, 50 Shades of Pubic Hair. They even attached contracts to their messages.
Granted, I have much better novels than this gratuitous piece of garbage. But you go with the flow. Maybe a little commercial success would grease the skids for next year’s Booker or maybe even Pulitzer.
I’ll skip all the rest of the glory details for now. It’ll just make whoever is reading this envious.
Besides, I’m running a little late. I’m speaking tonight at the Washington Press Club comedy roast of Julian Assange.
Never saw that coming. But why not?
All thanks to you, Hunter S. Thompson. And my taking charge of the situation.
Sorry about caving in your eyeball socket. Not that it should matter.
I’ve put the finishing touches on the worst book ever written.
Scheduled publication date is December 18, 2020 — a day that will go down in infamy.
This book will offend everyone.
The woke crowd will find it so politically incorrect, they’ll only stop gagging long enough to upchuck screechy memes about gender bias, misogyny, and homophobia.
Normal folks will find it beyond rude and insulting. They’ll see themselves in the story. It’s not a flattering picture.
Critics will resist even pretending to look at it. The plot is one long flat-line, the characters one-dimensional, the premise facile and implausible, the message superficial and without any redeeming qualities.
I’ve warned my friends and relatives to stay as far away from this piece of literary garbage as possible. If curiosity gets the better of them, I accept no blame and take no responsibility. They were warned.
Why would I write something like this?
That’s easy. In the world of digital publishing, in this age of internet mania, click bait, and mindgame porn, the #1 priority is to separate yourself from the crowd, stand out, get people talking. As an author, there are only two ways to do this. Either write the best book in the world or the worst. I took the easy route.
I’ve achieved what no other author has achieved, or even tried to achieve. This book is so bad, it’s in a class by itself.
It’s a sure #1 at Amazon in …
Literature / Contemporary Fiction / Psychological Dystopia / Euthanasia / Brain Freeze / No Refunds
I’m asking each and every one of you out there to immediately buy this book. I don’t know most of you personally but I want your money. And you don’t know where I live. Don’t come looking for a refund.
Come on! Get on the bandwagon. Sex, Lies & Coffee Beans will give you something to talk about with every one else standing in the checkout lines at Walmart or waiting to get tested for Covid-19.
Tondo Matsuri festivals are held all over Japan, the second weekend of the new year, at all levels. There are major festivals with thousands of people, as well as more modest local celebrations. The central feature of the Tondo Matsuri is a bonfire, much appreciated since it tends to be cold in January, thanks mostly to the sub-zero winds that blow our way from Siberia.
This year Tondo Matsuri was held on the same day as Coming of Age, a national holiday celebrating every person turning 20, a welcome to full adulthood. Thus most people had the day off from work, making attendance convenient. Of course, the coronavirus “crisis” is cautioning people across the globe against large gatherings, sneezing on one another, licking door handles and one another’s eating utensils, and the most notorious disease spreader of them all, French kissing.
My village of Noma here in Tambasasayama wasn’t daunted by the threat of viruses. We got together, and granted, our bonfire didn’t leap 20-30 meters into the sky, as is common practice the major festival sites, but we still managed some truly heartfelt camaraderie and warmed ourselves against the winter chill in splendid fashion. Our bonfire was next to Benten Shrine where many similar get-togethers take place.
Once the Tondo bonfire is going, there are two key rituals.
One is burning the decorations, talismans, rakes, arrows, amulets, wreaths, blessings, and other votive goods, from the previous year, to be replaced over the new year with new ones. Many of these are items bought from local shrines and temples to bring good fortune and health. They are tossed onto the fire. After they are incinerated, each family collects some of the ashes, which are then taken back home. These ashes are called shimenawa — しめ縄 — and are considered sources of good luck and positive developments for the coming year.
Very light paper banners, with sayings and wishes written in beautiful calligraphy, are thrown onto the fire as well. They instantly burst into flames, then are caught in the updraft of the bonfire, soaring heavenward as they turn to ash. This takes the messages they contain up up up, and makes them part of the invisible energy of the universe. While this probably is more just silly superstition than a serious spiritual exercise, it reminds me of the prayer wheels of Tibetan Buddhism, which in a parallel fashion send into the divine ether the thousands of prayers the wheels contain on scrolls hand-written by the monks, usually pleas for peace and harmony in the world.
Once the Tondo bonfire is going, there are two key rituals.
One is burning the decorations, talismans, rakes, arrows, amulets, wreaths, blessings, and other votive goods, from the previous year, to be replaced over the new year with new ones. Many of these are items bought from local shrines and temples to bring good fortune and health. They are tossed onto the fire. After they are incinerated, each family collects some of the ashes, which are then taken back home. These ashes are called shimenawa — しめ縄 — and are considered sources of good luck and positive developments for the coming year.
Very light paper banners, with sayings and wishes written in beautiful calligraphy, are thrown onto the fire as well. They instantly burst into flames, then are caught in the updraft of the bonfire, soaring heavenward as they turn to ash. This takes the messages they contain up up up, and makes them part of the invisible energy of the universe. While this probably is more just silly superstition than a serious spiritual exercise, it reminds me of the prayer wheels of Tibetan Buddhism, which in a parallel fashion send into the divine ether the thousands of prayers the wheels contain on scrolls hand-written by the monks, usually pleas for peace and harmony in the world.
The second ritual is cooking mochi — 餅 — by placing it near the fire. Mochi are rice cakes and there’s absolutely no equivalent to them in the West. When grilled, they are thick and gooey with a crispy exterior, and incredibly delicious, especially with sweet red bean soup or soy sauce.
Yes, the food is very unique here, for sure.
So . . . that was our Tondo Matsuri. There were no fireworks, parades, or 21-gun salutes. The Blue Angels aerial acrobatic team didn’t fly over. No sign of a marching band or baton twirling cheerleaders.
No, we didn’t have baked ham and mashed potatoes for our New Years celebration meal.
In fact, Masumi-san cooked for THREE DAYS, preparing absolutely amazing traditional Japanese foods for our feast.
Usually, we have a huge feast at Masumi’s mother’s house, with sisters, in-laws, cousins, grandchildren, aunts and uncles. But this year, there were only six of us for the annual feast, and it was held at our house. Still it was a phenomenal way to start this new year. Perfect company and excellent food. Yum!
Above is the annual sports festival at a local junior high school here in Sasayama. These much-anticipated events take place at every school in the country around the middle of September — even pre-school and kindergarten!
To say they’re popular is an understatement. They are as much part of the fabric of social life here as eating rice and fish.
The events at a Japanese sports festival include some “normal” sports contests, e.g. relay races, tug-of-war, team rope jumping. But they as well have quite an assortment of unique, and I have to say, quite amusing activities I wouldn’t expect to show up in the Olympics anytime soon. There’s the hacky sack basket toss, the three-legged kick-the-ball then shoot-a-hoop match, a relay race carrying a tennis ball on a tennis racket while running at full-speed around the circumference of the field.
Sports festivals are not restricted to just students. Villages compete against one another, meaning full-grown adults also participate in the action. I can’t say the village I live in does very well in these competitions. We may have the most geriatric team in all of Japan. But we have a great time, which is mainly what these all-ages competitive events are all about.
Here’s a mercifully short video of my legendary performance at a recent community sports festival. If it’s not entirely obvious, my challenge — for which I trained with the best coaches east of Nagasaki — was to inflate a balloon, pop it by sitting on it, then scramble back to the starting line, tagging my next teammate in line, who we hoped would repeat my gold medal-level performance, and lock in first place for this epic showdown.
What can I say? It seems no matter what the season is, there’s always something going on here, and whatever it is is typically is built around some excuse for people to get together, have a good time, and simply enjoy the company of those living in the community.
The sub-title of my newest book begins “Anecdotes on the People and Culture of Contemporary Japan …”
Here are a few anecdotes which will give you phenomenal insights into the remarkably high ethical standards and general character of the Japanese people.
• • •
A friend of mine, originally from New Zealand but who lives in Japan, left her latest model Macbook Pro in a train station ladies room. For two hours! She had left it on the counter while she washed her hands and forgetfully walked out without it. By the way, this was one of the busiest hubs in Japan, the Umeda JR Station in Osaka. That restroom has hundreds of people going through it every hour. She got quite a ways along on her trip back here to Sasayama, remembered, jumped off, and immediately got on a train back to Osaka. She found her laptop right where she left it. Yes … two hours later!
• • •
Every year in October, we have here in Sasayama the Festival of the Portable Shrines. It’s one of my favorites!
A gentleman arrived here from Kobe, which is about an hour away. He came to purchase black beans, an item my home town is famous for, but when the moment came to pay, he discovered his wallet was missing.
There are no pickpockets around here, so obviously he had dropped his wallet somewhere in town.
He went to the nearest Koban. There are several here in Sasayama, as there are all over Japan. A Koban is a mini-police station. In Japan, it’s considered an integral part of a functioning community. The Koban is to make sure there are friendly cops in the neighborhood to address problems which come up in the local area, situations just like this.
The policeman on duty took a report, then got on the phone. He called all the other Kobans in the immediate area, anywhere close to where the gentleman had parked his car, before walking into the main part of town for the festivities.
He passed along the man’s name and a description of the wallet. Now get this …
While the officer was on the phone with another Koban, someone walked in with the wallet and handed it to the policeman on duty there.
The gentleman from Kobe then walked the short distance to the other Koban, and retrieved his wallet. The contents — credit cards, ID, cash — were intact. Not a single item had been taken.
• • •
One Sunday many months ago, we went to, Rurikei, our favorite local onsen. This is one of the great joys of living here in Japan and we try to go often (see next section).
Anyway, I left my hair brush in the mens locker room. This was not a family heirloom. This was an 89 cent piece of plastic, dirty and full of my hair from use over many months. The only thing it had going for it was that it was a pleasant shade of lavender.
Five weeks later, we returned to the hot springs. On some impulse — my synapses tend to fire randomly at times — I asked at the counter if they had a purple hair brush in their lost-and-found box. Stupid me. I was thinking they had a cardboard box behind the desk. The clerk asked when I thought I had lost it. That was easy. Maybe four or five weeks ago? He stepped into the facility’s main office, consulted with someone, then returned with my 89-cent hair brush, safely contained in a sealed plastic bag with a label. On the label was the date I left it in the locker room.
• • •
Masumi reminded me of this story, one I had forgotten. One day we went to Japan Post to mail a package to the U.S. — I think it was one of my novels, sent off for a review. Shortly after we returned, the phone rang. It was the clerk who had waited on me at the post office. She first apologized. She had made a mistake and overcharged me. She was so sorry this happened! It was an honest mistake and would be happy to refund the money. How much was it? 10 yen. Unbelievable! Do you know how much 10 yen is at current exchange rates? 9.44 cents!
What did I do? I did what any red-blooded American would do in the face of such incompetence! I went to the post office with my AR-15 and shot the place up. I didn’t kill anyone, though obviously I could hardly be blamed if I had. But when I got done, the place looked like one of the Twin Towers on September 12!
Okay. Obviously, I made that up. The truth was, I was speechless. 10 yen? After I stopped laughing — pleasant, joyful laughing — I had Masumi tell the clerk all was forgiven and she could keep the 10 yen. I think you can probably buy a lollipop somewhere for 10 yen.
• • •
I could go on and on. For example, in the news several months ago, there was the story of a person who had found a satchel on a park bench with over 5 million yen (that’s $50,000 cash) and no identification of any kind in or on the bag. It was promptly turned into the police.
I’m not going to moralize. Draw your own conclusions.
But by seeing such extreme honesty here, I see what has happened to my own country. I’m not pointing fingers. I see it in my own thinking. It’s been quite an adjustment for me. After all, I grew up in a tug-of-war between what I was taught at home, school and church, and real world a prioris: ‘Finders keepers losers weepers.’ ‘It’s every man for himself.’ ‘If I don’t take it someone else will.’
As a kid, often it wasn’t a question of right or wrong, but a question of whether we’d get caught.
I will say that dishonesty, regardless of how minor or seemingly insignificant, is a slippery slope. The Japanese have chosen to avoid taking even the first step.
I openly admit, it’s resulted in a huge paradigm shift for me. It’s required an enormous adjustment. But an extremely rewarding one. Just imagine … being able to trust other people. What a concept!
Understand: This extreme level of honesty and respect for the property of others I’m describing here is not an anomaly. It’s the norm. And it’s nothing new.
My American friend, Scott Burley, recently emailed me about his brief but rewarding experiences visiting Japan. He included this story:
My girlfriend who I met sophomore year … went on a student exchange program to Tokyo for her junior year and went to school over there. She was 1/2 Japanese and 1/2 Czech and her parents were both Japanese — her mother must have married a Czech before her step father. So around Christmas I flew to Tokyo when she had Christmas break and we spent three weeks traveling by train … my girlfriend left her purse at a bus stop. I went back to look for it and it was gone. After we got back to Tokyo, one day her purse arrived in the mail. Only in Japan!
That was back in 1973. Some things don’t change here.
