Marketing Japan

Japan Has Heaviest Snow in Five Years - At Least 52 Dead - One Steel Bridge Collapsed

2012-02-02T20:01:00.002+09:00

The news about the worst winter storm to hit Japan in five years with a still rising death toll has hit Japan.

Photos taken within last 24 hours

ABC News reports in "Japan Snowstorm Kills 52, Crushes Steel Bridge"

Heavy snowfall has crippled much of Japan’s western coast, killing more than 50 people and injuring nearly 600. The worst snowstorm in six years has dumped more than 10 feet of snow in the hardest-hit regions, causing at least one bridge to collapse and forcing school closures across the region.

Western Japan has been battered by one snowstorm after another since the beginning of the year, overwhelming cash-strapped cities struggling to keep up with cleanup efforts. In the Niigata Prefecture, officials said nearly half of their 30 cities had run out of funds set aside snow removal. Further north in the Aomori Prefecture, the government had already applied for additional funds from Tokyo, after draining its budget.

UPDATE: Three more killed in avalanche. Death toll now at 56 and over 750 injured.

The important point to note is that this fierce winter storm is not just limited to Japan. It is stretching across all of Asia, China, Korea and Eastern Europe.

In the Ukraine, the cold was 33 degrees centigrade below zero (-27.4 F) the coldest it's been in six years. More than 40 people have died there along with Eastern Europe and the cold weather strikes. In Ukraine, which killed more than 40 people. In Rumania 14 have died and there are 8 dead in Bulgaria as well as deaths reported in Serbia and Bosnia Herzegovina. At least 80 people have died and authorities in Europe, as well as Japan, expect more cold and snow in the coming days.

That huge snowstorms hit all across the world in wintertime should not be a surprise nor even newsworthy. But this coming just after the snowstorms in the USA and now today's storm in East Europe and Asia, should cause those of us who can remember what we were told more than ten years ago to scoff.

To refresh your memory, let us not forget the Monday March 20, 2000 article that ran in the Independent UK that was entitled: Snowfalls are now just a thing of the past:

Britain's winter ends tomorrow with further indications of a striking environmental change: snow is starting to disappear from our lives.

The first two months of 2000 were virtually free of significant snowfall in much of lowland Britain, and December brought only moderate snowfall in the South-east. It is the continuation of a trend that has been increasingly visible in the past 15 years: in the south of England, for instance, from 1970 to 1995 snow and sleet fell for an average of 3.7 days, while from 1988 to 1995 the average was 0.7 days. London's last substantial snowfall was in February 1991.

Global warming, the heating of the atmosphere by increased amounts of industrial gases, is now accepted as a reality by the international community.

Average temperatures in Britain were nearly 0.6°C higher in the Nineties than in 1960-90, and it is estimated that they will increase by 0.2C every decade over the coming century. Eight of the 10 hottest years on record occurred in the Nineties. (emphasis mine)

However, the warming is so far manifesting itself more in winters which are less cold than in much hotter summers. (again emphasis mine) According to Dr David Viner, a senior research scientist at the climatic research unit (CRU) of the University of East Anglia,within a few years winter snowfall will become "a very rare and exciting event".

"Children just aren't going to know what snow is," he said.

Oh really? Interestingly enough, just two days ago, without much fanfare, the the climatic research unit (CRU) of the University of East Anglia released information that showed no global warming in 15 years. Some people will claim "cherry picking results" but I wonder how measuring the nineties (ten years) versus the last 15 years wouldn't also be considered said "Cherry picking"?

Intelligent people on either side of the argument (believers and disbelievers) should like to have an answer to that question, I would imagine.

Why Having Compassion for the Handicapped and the Mentally / Physically Ill and Less Fortunate in Our Society is So Important For You and Me:

2012-02-02T18:03:00.003+09:00

Why I write about having compassion for the handicapped, the mentally ill, the unfortunate in our society...

My third daughter at 10. She is now 18. Some say she is "handicapped,"

I say she is "beautiful and perfect!"

I have received a mail asking why I write about the recent episodes concerning time spent in drug rehabilitation in a mental institution in Japan... Well, I have, in the past, written much about sharing our time, money and lives with the less fortunate like children with incurable diseases and about my own daughter's fight with a deadly childhood cancer. The episodes on drug rehabilitation begin in Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 1 (Life in the Cooler) Upon Arrival to Rehab Everyone Must Detox in the Feared Cooler

At first, the goal of these posts was to place "on paper" what had happened as a record before time completely destroyed the memories. It was also a sort of purgatory for my soul and to cleanse myself of some of my past deeds. On a more mercenary note, the stories, I think, are great stories and exciting and make a fascinating read (if I am able to write and do justice to what I witnessed). I wanted to, and still intend to, do something with this material whether it is a book or a screenplay.

I do that for posterity and for money... If I could get those...

As I began writing the episodes for Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital at first I wanted to make people laugh at the absurdity of the entire thing... I still do, but there is also something that I think needs to be said about it all. As I began writing more there is something to be said that is, of course, just not funny about this situation and how these poor folks are treated like outcasts. I also want people to understand a few very simple and important things about hospitals and people in them.

First off there is a fine line between what is insane and sane in our society. I'm certainly not the first to ever say that. We need to show more compassion, humanity and kindheartedness to people who are sick and in hospitals whether those people are there for physical or mental handicaps, incurable or terminal diseases...

Secondly, there are a very many of us who are quite fortunate in this world. We need to give back some of our good luck to those less fortunate. There are also those in this world, the vast majority who don't wish to admit their illnesses who also need our compassion and understanding.

Thirdly, even though they are not in a hospital now, there are so many right next to us who have all sorts of problems and addictions. There are families right next door to ours that are suffering from children with illicit drug problems or parents who have the same with over-the-counter drugs and pain medicines. There are many who are living secret lives of shame by having affairs or gambling or drink problems. There are many who do, or are on the receiving end of, domestic violence. There are many who have small children who will fall to the devastation and unfortunate occurrence of an incurable disease within the next 24 hours!

Living a happy a productive life in this mixed up confused world is more and more difficult as the days go by. Let those of us who can and do live good lives show the world that we do care by our actions and not just by our words.

They say that "What goes around, comes around." I know the shock and devastation that comes with having your healthy child one day stuck down with a deadly disease. I also know the struggles and life shortening battles that come with.

I hope by reading some of these blog posts that you can become more thankful of what you have.

But that's not everything and don't think that I am such a magnanimous guy. No. Even though I went to war with a childhood cancer and have a loving daughter who is wheelchair bound for her entire life; and even though I have suffered through terrible drug abuse and all sorts of marital problems... Even though I have been through these things. I am lucky. I am fortunate. I am thankful.

As they say, "It is not happy people that are thankful. It is thankful people who are happy."

We need to share what good we have. We need to spread hope. A little kindness and compassion go a long way. We need to be thankful and we need to share that in the short time we are here.

Mr. Cool, Chocolate Addictions and a Paradox of Insanity in Today's World - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 4

2012-02-02T13:44:00.003+09:00

(Part three of this series is here: Sexy Japanese Female Nurses? Schizophrenics and Jail Breaks! - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 3)

So now I realized that my plan to break out of the hospital ward was a wash out. I had to abort the mission. But was it too late? Was I about to be caught and sent back to solitary confinement at the cooler?

I had five teaspoons that I had to quickly find some way to put back into the cafeteria dirty dish tray for washing without getting caught. For every tray of food, the cafeteria staff gave each patient one spoon, one fork, one butter knife. That meant after washing, they should have, for every tray they had washed, one spoon, one fork and one butter knife. It's pretty basic math. But suddenly, over the span of a day or two, five teaspoons had suddenly gone missing. Surely, they had noticed. Of course they did! Because the next day when they put out the same number of trays, bowls and utensils for the same number of patients (it wasn't like people were coming in and out of that place) they'd notice that something was missing.

The first day, when two spoons were missing, they might think it was just a coincidence, like socks missing in the dryer. But when it happened repeatedly, after a couple of meals and for more than a day, they had to have become suspicious. Especially when the number of missing spoons was increasing. Now I'm sure that would be a real head scratcher for the cafeteria staff (or as they do in Japan, cause much air to be sucked between teeth!) and they'd report strange goings on to the doctors and nurse station.

"One million dollars...."

I had taken those spoons to use as shovels in my own version of the Great Escape in order to dig through 2 feet of solid concrete and reinforced steel. It was a brilliant plan excepting for the fact that it wouldn't work. Why wouldn't it work? Well, being the criminal genius mind that I was, I had thought through the plan from beginning to end. Every little thing was considered. In the scenarios run through my mind, everything went perfectly like clock-work; we'd tunnel under my cot in my room, through the floor; we'd take the extra dirt we took from the tunnel and "do something" with it (we'd figure out what exactly later on - minor detail); We'd take care not to get too dirty tunneling because we could only take baths twice a week; we'd then tunnel out across the hospital compound grounds and out to freedom at last.

Like I said, it was a brilliant plan created by the mind of a marvelous, yet dangerous intellect. A tribute to my genius. A virtual triumph of the will! And, on top of all that, it was an okay idea! But, it wouldn't work. Why? Because I realized that I had no idea where we were in the hospital compound and most likely neither did any of the other patients that I'd have to depend on. If we were to tunnel our way out, who is to know that we wouldn't tunnel our way out onto a busy freeway lane? Or out into the middle of the doctors lounge? Or even out into a cooler holding a patient who really was violent, deadly dangerous and had the strength of a grown male baboon?

Just your typical friendly neighborhood baboon

No, that wouldn't be good at all.

So realizing that my idea probably wouldn't work also made me realize that I had to get rid of incriminating evidence! I had to get rid of the spoons quickly! Instead of returning them one by one like how I took them, I decided that I had to get rid of the booty all at once. At the next meal time at the cafeteria, I had the spoons in my pocket ready to dump them at the first good chance I got.

Usually at meal time, the doctors didn't sit with us when we ate, but today, there were 4 or 5 doctors sitting around the cafeteria. They were watching us and taking notes.

I began to get nervous. Why were they here? Were they watching us to see who had taken the spoons? Was the sting on? Surely they didn't suspect it was me? I watched them as they watched us. I tried to act nonchalant, as they tried to act nonchalant back.

Three of them seemed to be peering out of the corners of their eyes watching me. I'll bet their notes said:

Doctor 1: "Patient Rogers seems fidgety"

Doctor 2: "Patient Rogers seems nervous about something."

Doctor 3: "Call the wife and ask about groceries."

I kept my eye on Mr. Halloween sitting right in front of me and tried to time my eating to finish right when he did. The very second he was done, I stood up and said to him, "Oh? I'll take your tray for you!" He smiled and showed me all those teeth he used to have but were now a periodontal black hole. "OK!" he said as bread crumbs flew from the holes in his mouth. I grabbed his tray with the hand that had the five teaspoons in it and quickly threw the trays and the spoons into the dirty dishes tray in front of the cafeteria window and gave out a hearty "That was delicious!" to the ladies. They looked at me smiling and said, "You're welcomed!". With that, I was two steps out of the cafeteria and two steps away from any definitive proof that I had ever stolen the spoons.

I was lucky actually, the timing was very good, the lady that usually watched the return of trays and utensils took her eyes off the return tray for the moment I stepped up there.... I'll bet it was because they thought that it certainly couldn't be that nice Mr. Rogers who was stealing those spoons!... It had to be one of the other evil doers in D-41.

Guys! Former D-41 patients! Sorry about that. Sorry about making the doctors and nurses suspicious of you! I promise that it will never happen again! Honto ni gomen nasai!

I suppose here in the story, I should take a moment to explain about the rules and schedule of D-41. It is because of these rules and schedules that one is able to make plans such as escaping, stealing and then returning spoons. It is that way because everything is so scheduled that it is predictable down to a few minutes. Everything has a schedule and a time limit... Even brushing your teeth...

I will try to state the schedule as I best remember it at D-41:

Lights on at 6 am in the morning.
6:00 ~ 6:15 am get up make your bed
6:15 ~ 6:30 am line up for medicine

6:30 ~ 6:45 am medicine

6:45 ~ 7:00 am line up for cafeteria

7:00 ~ 7:45 am breakfast

7:45 ~ 8:00 am clean up detail (Cafeteria & living area, ashtrays, etc.)

9:00 ~ 10:00 am Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays, shower time

10:00 ~ 10:30 am Free time

10:30 ~ 11:00 am Walk in enclosed compound (surrounded by a extremely high wired 20 meter fence like a soccer field)
10:45 ~ 11:00 am line up for medicine

11:00 ~11:15 am medicine

11:45 ~ 12:00 am line up for cafeteria

12:00 ~ 12:45 pm lunch

I think you get the picture. The schedule above would just basically repeat until lights out at 8 pm sharp; no ifs and or buts. After lunch, there would be doctor & patient consultations but that was only for some patients. The ones without consultations had to watch TV or read books (hard to do when you're doped up all the time) or play chess to pass the time. I'd spend all my time climbing the walls trying to figure out a way out of that place.

The other thing that I looked forward to every day was the daily visitation by my wife. Visitation hours were from 2 pm ~ 4 pm daily. They were the highlight of my day.

You may notice in the above schedule that there are times set out for lining up. Yes, they did that. The patients lined up for everything; we lined up for medicine time, we lined up for meal time at the cafeteria; we lined up to take a shower; we lined up to use the bathroom at night so that we could brush our teeth; we lined up so that we go get in line to line up for whatever it was that the people in front of us lined up for. I asked a doctor why they made us line up for everything and he told me that,

"Rogers san, most patients here cannot even do the most basic things like close doors after they use them or close the lids to toilets after use (hell 95% of all guys on the outside can't even do that!) We require lining up as a way to start to teach simple rules." He then went on to tell me how most patients stay for several months, and if they are deemed, "better," they go to stay for a weekend at their parents home. If, while at the home, they show proper manners like being able to line up their shoes correctly at the front door (a strong traditional Japanese custom and basic manners) and closing doors, closing toilets after use, cleaning up after themselves, then after consultations with the parents, they may be allowed out of the hospital for more than a weekend. If they keep improving then, the times are extended until one day they can be released.

Nevertheless, before the doctor had explained this to me (it made sense upon explanation) It always struck me as odd why it was that we had to line up for the cafeteria. At the shower, yes. There were 60 of us and only six shower stalls. To brush our teeth? Yes. Only four sinks or so... But the cafeteria? Why? There were always a set number of meals for the exact number of patients. Not one more, not one less. Why did we have to line up? Most of the patients would be lining up for food at the cafeteria, as scheduled, fifteen minutes (or more) beforehand. I did line up sometimes too, but only because I was so hungry most of the time and I wanted to eat as soon as possible. It soon became apparent to me why Mr. Halloween was almost always first in line and always taking so much sliced white bread back to his room; at about 190 + some centimeters the guy must have been starving all the time.

Still, there were times I wouldn't want to line up for cafeteria. That was when I wasn't hungry. When that happened, then I'd hear my name called from the nurses station, "Rogers san! Rogers san! Please get in line for the cafeteria." Oh, I hate waiting in line... If I am starving and there is no other choice, well then, okay... But otherwise, no way. Still, at the hospital you had to line up. It was the way it was.

The hospital was very careful about our meals health wise. The food wasn't greasy or salty. It was very much like "hospital food" bland and healthy. They monitored our calorie intake as, of course, they didn't want us getting fat while we were there. They (and we) already had enough trouble with our lives without obesity being one of them. Even so, while in the hospital, I think I gained 7 or 8 kilograms... Probably from the chocolate I ate while I was there.

I got so fat from eating chocolate because my wife would come to visit me like clockwork everyday at 3 pm. Everyday at 3 was visiting time whereby loved ones could visit patients. It soon became apparent to me that most of the poor guys in D-41 rarely, if ever, had anyone visit them. Maybe it was because they had been in there so long that their families had moved on with their lives or maybe because when they were high or drunk, they had done something really bad and their families had disowned them. Poor sods.

My wife would come to visit and I'd pester her to pressure the doctor to let me out of that place. Sometimes the doctor would stay in on the visit and I'd try to reason with him.

"Look, doc. These people are all nuts. I shouldn't be in here. These people can't even hold a conversation. You gotta let me outta here, doc." But it didn't work. I think the more I begged, the more I pushed myself away from the door.

For these visits, my wife would, at first, bring a reward for me for being a good boy; she'd bring a few chocolates for me. Chocolates are a big favorite for former drug and alcohol abusers as chocolate, like chemicals or alcohol, cause an unnatural release of Dopamine in the brain. Dopamine is the natural "feel good" chemical that your brain produces. Do lots of drugs or alcohol? Your brain releases an inordinate amount of Dopamine. Stop doing drugs or alcohol? Then you can get almost as good a high with massive dosages of chocolate.

Take that to its logical conclusion and you'll know why some obese people who are chocolate fiends actually have an addiction problem. Chocolates don't just taste good, they release addictive chemicals in the brain. So when some people jokingly tell you that they are "chocolate junkies" they might laugh, but they probably don't realize just how close to being a junkie they really are!

My wonderful wife would visit daily. She'd bring chocolates daily. As I mentioned, most of the guys didn't have anyone visiting them so I really felt sorry for them. I started asking my wife to bring party bags of chocolates instead of just a few pieces. She did and, soon enough word spread around the ward that Mike had chocolates to pass out to everyone and they would, as if it were written on the schedule for daily activities, all be lined up at the exit of the visiting room where I would return to D-41.

As they stood in line, I'd walk down the line handing each one of them a piece of chocolate. Poor guys. I really felt very sorry for them.

When many people say that they are "Addicted to chocolate"

it probably isn't a very funny joke.

I didn't pay so much attention, but I didn't really see too many people sitting in the visitation room at other times. My wife came everyday so I noticed. I think I saw other folks only three other times. Of course, there must have been more. But the lack of visitation demonstrated to me just how lonely these poor folks in D-41 were.

Daily, I'd get my chores done and visit with my wife and eat my chocolates. I got to where I felt very safe at D-41. Oh sure there were some scary looking people there, but that was it; they were just scary looking; they weren't dangerous in the least bit. Once you got to know most of them, they were an alright bunch of guys... Some from rich families, some from poor... One guy that I got to know pretty well was the son of a guy who was the president of a very large and extremely well-known video and CD rental chain!

That was one of the big problems I suppose; one couldn't really get to know these guys all that well; everything was so transient and temporary it seemed. The reason for that is because if you were in that place for drug rehab, you'd know that the mental patients and the rehab patients were all thrown into the same wards, so you couldn't really tell by looking at any of them who were the crazy ones or who weren't. Either way no one knew how long you'd be in your ward. In just a few days I went from the cooler to D-40 to D-41. Was my next stop D-42?

I thought it was amusing that the former drug, and now recovering, addicts looked the craziest of them all due to their loss of teeth from sniffing glue or their full body tattoos all the way up to the sides of their heads.

There is this fine line, you see....

Doesn't that seem like a contradiction to you? The supposedly healthy individuals who became druggies did stuff like get tattoos and piercings all over their bodies and faces and huffed paint thinner so that their teeth and gums fell out and looked like a regular freak show; while the mental patients didn't do anything to destroy and vandalize their mind and bodies and looked normal. Of course, I am an old fuddy-duddy, but it seems that there something wrong with that picture: the "normal" people look like they are crazy and the "crazy" people look like they are normal? Don't you think that is a curious situation to say the least? I do.

Thank god for the modern world!

So you couldn't tell the crazy people in the hospital from the normal people or well, I should say, you couldn't tell the crazy people who were in the hospital because of some sort of physiological or psychological disorder from the crazy people who were in the hospital because of some sort of addiction problem just by looking at them.

As, on the outside world, you can't tell the crazy people from the normal people just by looking at them. But the paradigm on the outside world is different. I am reminded of two very astute and clear-eyed sayings about insanity in our supposedly "normal" society:

"Be normal, and the crowd will accept you. Be deranged, and they will make you their leader."

And;

"Every great man was thought to be insane before he changed the world. Some never changed the world. They were just insane."

Not being allowed to sleep through my days, I sat in the lobby. I sat and waited. I did that everyday for most of the time like everyone else did. Since I was like everyone else, I didn't know if the other patients around me were crazy or recovering drug addicts. And, in turn, they didn't know if I was crazy too. I realize now that, because of this lack of confidence and fear, very few of us would have the courage of any sort to strike up a conversation even with someone we'd seen everyday. Usually, it seemed to me, that the people who would walk up to you and start speaking to you and showing you some sort of human kindness were the mental patients.

"Once again, a curious note." I thought. The particular point that it seemed the people with the mental disorders were the ones who would show more care and concern towards others than the supposedly normal people would was most certainly a cruel indictment of how indifferent and lacking in compassion people are to each other in today's modern so-called "civil" society.

Are these people inside or outside of an insane asylum?

There were two large areas to sit on comfortable chairs and sofas. One area was in front of the television. About 15 or so people could sit there comfortably. The other area was by the ashtrays in the smoking area. I couldn't stand the incessant noise and prattle of TV with the game and cooking shows so I always sat by the smoking area. That shows the disdain I have for TV; both TV and smoking are bad for you and, at that time, I had never smoked cigarettes yet even so, I still chose to sit by the ashtrays.

While the rest of us patients, myself included, might have seemed calm and collected on the outside, inside we were tearing ourselves apart. We were always climbing the walls trying to figure out when and how we could speed up our release - if even by one day. It was a massive frustration that engulfed our entire being and it seemed to grow longer by the second... It grew longer by the moments, by the seconds - that we spent counting them go by... And go by extremely slowly they went.

I had a few conversations with some of the other patients and those invariably would always turn to why we were there; how long we had been there; how much we had messed up; and when, if ever, we expected to get out. Even the topic of our conversations in order to pass time would lead us back to the cause of our frustrations. Everything was a cycle that returned to D-41 in some way.

For most patients, not knowing when they would be released seemed to be very good for a sort of Buddhist training as many of the patients meditated in their rooms or in the study area often... The ones who didn't "meditate" per se did their meditation through smoking cigarettes.

It was there near the smoking areas that I met a guy who I called, "Mr. Cool." Mr. Cool looked like he played guitar for the Japanese Rolling Stones. He was about 40 some years old, skinny and had long hair. I was to find out later that he worked in a pachinko parlor and was an alcoholic.

Mr. Cool always hung around with one of my room mates and smoked cigarettes. I liked him because he never seemed to be upset or worried about getting out of D-41. He never seemed in a rush for anything. This dude took it all in stride. He was way cool. Hence the name.

And after all, why shouldn't he be cool? Why be in a rush? He wasn't going anywhere, I surmised. Neither was his food or his time to brush his teeth, wash or whatever was scheduled. Mr. Cool was always the last one in line. He was last for everything. So, of course, he was last to the cafeteria to get his food too. Even so, the nurses would never get mad at him or call his name on the loudspeakers. I thought that was strange because they'd always call my name and there'd still be a few guys standing in line. I'd find out soon why they never called his name on the loudspeakers too.

Even though the nurses would get frustrated at Mr. Cool at times, they would never get angry and speak loudly at him because, when push came to shove, Mr. Cool would always do as he was told, in his own good time, of course.

Watching Mr. Cool helped me to greatly calm down and to realize that worrying about getting out of D-41 was a total and complete waste of time. I needed to grow more spiritually for myself and for my family to get out I thought.

One day, when Mr. Cool was standing by himself at the smoking area, I decided to get some wisdom from this wise and great enlightened priest of D-41. I said to him,

"May I ask you a question?"

"Sure!" He drawled as he toked on the cigarette.

"You know, everyone here is going crazy in this place wanting to get out of here as soon as possible. But you! Look at you! You seem so calm and collected and at one with the moment. You don't mind it here?"

He paused as he took a drag on the cigarette, "Sure, I want to get out of here too."

I was surprised that he said that! I never expected it. I reiterated, "But you seem so calm and collected. How do you keep from going crazy? Don't you want to get out of here?"

He said, "What's the point of getting out of here? You're just going to wind up back in here in no time anyway."

Now that answer really blew my mind and frightened the hell out of me!

Why get out? You're just going to wind up coming back?

Later on I'd find out from my doctor that the chances of going into Matsuzawa hospital for drug or alcohol rehab and fully recovering and being released and becoming a productive member of society was about 3 in 100... If you were readmitted after being released after the first time, your chances of a full recovery were about 1 in 10,000. If you were readmitted again, a third time, your chances for a full recovery are nearly zero.

Mr. Cool had been in and out of Matsuzawa hospital's D-41 ward a total of nine times up until that time. He was truly a "regular customer." I knew that I never wanted to be like him.

Part three of this series: Female Nurses, Schizophrenics and Jail Breaks! - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 3 http://bit.ly/xkitom

Sexy Japanese Female Nurses? Schizophrenics and Jail Breaks! - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 3

2012-02-01T14:46:00.000+09:00

(Part two of this series is here: I Was an English Teacher in a Japanese Insane Asylum - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 2 (Life in D-40))

I was transferred to D-41 early in the morning and made it there just before breakfast. The orientation for D-41 was very short as most of the rules were the same as D-40. I was so relieved to be away from Tanaka and his incessant pestering me about teaching him English.

Posing at D-41 in order to case the joint...

I walked into D-41 with the purpose of getting a feel for the layout of the joint. That sounds like I was cool and tough, but it was more like I was a nervously shaking and shivering with fear chihuahua dog frightened out of half his piss looking for a place where he could stand where people wouldn't kick him so much. D-41 was much larger that D-40 and had many more patients than D-40 did. I looked for the hot chicks that I was told about and found them. They were two very plump middle-aged women in their late fifties. They looked like someone's kind old grandma. You know, the kind that likes to look at old photos of when we were little and bake stuff for us kids? These two ladies were very sweet to me during my stay at D-41 so you won't hear me saying anything bad about them. They were real sweethearts. As opposed to the white uniform worn by the males nurses, the female nurses wore pink with the typical nurses cap on top. They were cute... I mean, as far as old ladies go.

Slide shows of uncle Harry and baking sh*t and she's fine!

I took my clothes and personal belongings into my room where I was introduced to my three room-mates who didn't even bother to look up from their slumber. Nice guys. After that, I heard my name being called,

"Rogers san! Rogers san! Please report to the nurses station." I walked over to the nurses station past a couple of guys who were dancing in the hallway and one guy who, everyday, from morning until night-time, would march back and forth up the halls in a sort of military precision. He looked angry. I always tried to stay out of his way when he came by. He looked like he rather punch you than say "Hello!"

There was a group of twenty or so patients at the nurses station and they were all getting their daily dose of medicine. I got in line. When I walked to the front the nurse looked at me and, said, "Mr. Rogers? Right. Here is your medicine." She handed me a small paper cup with a few pills in it. I grabbed it and started walking off. One of the males nurses barked at me, "No! You have to take your medicine right here where we can see you!" I was taken aback. It wasn't necessary to be yelling at me like that! "Of course," I thought. I took the medicine and drank it down and then chased it with a cup of water.

If you don't cooperate, we may have to do a very

thorough rectal examination, Mr. Rogers... Your call!

"Stick out your tongue!" The male nurse grumbled. I stuck my tongue out and got the feeling that, while D-41 might be better than D-40, this was not going to be a picnic. In D-40 there were some very sick individuals. Of course, there were sick folks in D-41 too but they weren't as bad as D-40. I also gathered that the male nurses were more sympathetic to the mental patients than the druggies. It made sense. The mental patients couldn't help being in the hospital, but the folks in drug rehab? They were total f*ckups. Completely and totally useless. And I was one of them.

They were such washouts that they didn't deserve to be treated nicely or even with one iota of respect.

And you know what? That's right. They don't. Here's a hospital full of mentally ill people who should and would probably love to lead normal everyday lives but they can't. And, on the other side, guys like me, who had all they could possibly want going for them and they throw it away with chemical or alcohol abuse! Think about that! What a bunch of losers! Talk about spoiled brats in a consumerist society! What low-life scum!

I realized this and pondered about it often. I also realized that I wasn't getting out of this place in the next few week, hell, next few months? I didn't know for how long I would be there, and I became depressed. I slumped over to sit by myself on the sofa and wondered how it was that my life had come to this?

Sexy Japanese Nurse! Nothing to see here. Move along, folks. Move along...

Me? I had everything. A great job, a wonderful family, I made lots of money... What a worthless piece of sh*t I was! Think about it! My baby daughter had just spent nearly two years of her life in the hospital for incurable diseases and she defeated a rare and deadly childhood cancer. You wouldn't know it to look at her. She was the happiest most positive kid you could ever hope to meet and was always smiling and bright. Me? Look at me. In pajamas and unkempt and unshaven in a mental asylum. I was in drug rehab and felt that I didn't have a friend in the world who would even talk to me... Excepting Tanaka in D-40, of course. He'd talk to me all I wanted as long as I traded him English lessons for it.

I was the lowest of the low. What a waste of a human life. Dejectedly, I sat on the sofa in the communal area. Just then a tall lanky Japanese kid of about 25 came up and stood next to me. He benevolently smiled at me for what seemed like 30 seconds. Then he leaned over and said,

"Excuse me, Are you a gaijin (foreigner)?"

"What?! Duh! Do I look like a foreigner?" I thought. But not wanting to make a fuss or bad feelings, I answered very politely. I smiled and said, "Yes, I am a foreigner." He smiled back and then looked down to his feet. He paused for a few seconds again, seemingly like he was collecting his thoughts, then he looked up to me again. He said,

"Excuse me, are you a gaijin?"

Author's self image at D-41

"Yes. I am a gaijin." I answered again. I looked down and my eyes grew wide. He stopped and pondered. I stopped and pondered. He shuffled his feet then he looked at me and said,

"I was wondering if you are a gai-gai-gaijin?"

"Yes. Yes, I am a foreigner." I nervously responded. Beads of sweat began to form on my forehead. Was this guy the psychotic Japanese slasher who hated all foreigners and wanted them to die? Is this the guy who thinks, 'The only good foreigner is a dead foreigner?' He continued with urgency and panic became apparent in his voice; the volume growing by the second,

"Are you a ga-ga-ga-ga-ga-gai-gai-jin?" His stuttering became uncontrollable. As he was trying to fight the stutter, he did it by raising his voice and made his face into grotesque twisted contortions. I didn't like that one bit because all the people around were dropping what they were doing and started staring right at us; and all I wanted to do was keep a low profile while I was in D-41. I didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention towards myself. His voice grew louder and louder... The stuttering became a scream!

"Are you a ga-ga-ga-GA-GA-GA- gainjin?"

"Yes!" I sqeeked like a little mouse.

The trumpets in my head were blaring! I put both hands over my ears and to cover my head!

"Ga-ga-ga-ga-ga-GA-GA-GA-GA-GA-GAIJIN?" He warped his face into comical but frightening contortions (kind of like the singer of a punk band would do - they're all crazy too) as he nearly screamed at me. His fingers were pointing towards me yet they were all twisted up in every which direction like a sort of disheveled and broken Japanese Edward Scissorshands.

I was trapped in a madhouse with insane people!!! I jumped from my chair and said as calmly as I could, without showing fear or panic on my face, "Excuse me, won't you? I'm not feeling well. I think I should go and have a lay down in my room. Pardon me, won't you?" not waiting for an answer I shot from that place and into the mad safety of my cot in my cubicle protected by the invisible walls of rules constructed by male nurses in white suits and ladies in pink suits and caps.

I had definitely fallen into a sort of Twilight Zone. I was an extra, with no escape, on the set of the movie One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

Oh the pain! I pulled the covers over my head and hid from the monsters lurking outside. I knew it! This time I had finally done it. I had f*cked up REALLY big time this time and there would be no mommy or daddy or anyone to save my ass. I was doomed.

Later on, I'd ask my doctor about what had happened and he told me not to worry. He said there were a very many schizophrenic patients there and that most of them couldn't remember what had just transpired a few seconds before hand. He told me not to worry about seeming like I was rude because that guy probably doesn't remember it all all. Wow! A forgiving guy!

Oh, if only supposed sane people could be so forgiving about minor transgressions within a few seconds in the outside world!

It was about this time that I think my body had basically flushed out all the chemicals and drugs that caused me to have bizarre delusions of grandeur and wild ideas. I could tell that I was getting back to normal.... Well, almost back to normal. Why? Because I started having a very wild imagination again.

In my mind, I kept seeing myself and this entire situation as a movie. Or perhaps, that was a survival mechanism for saving my sanity? I thought it best if I viewed this entire mess as some sort of twisted cinema that would someday win me the Academy Award for Best Script of the Year award. Here I was, the hero of the film, trapped in an insane asylum with a bunch of crazy people. Why was I here? Well, of course, it was all a mistake. I shouldn't have been put here in the first place. Just a little misunderstanding, you see. It would all become clearer and clearer why I shouldn't be there as time passed.... In the end, I get the girl....

Unfortunately, my imagination didn't matter to the masters of this sick experiment. They wanted torture and I knew that I had to get out of there before it was too late. "The evil ones are never satisfied," I thought.

I knew that I had to get free before, before... Well, before I became one of them! A few days before, one of the patients in D-40 had pulled me aside to whisper to me that the doctors of the entire hospital were completely insane. Of course, I didn't believe him at the time. But, when he told me the reasons for his thinking, I thought about it and it made sense. I couldn't argue with the logic.

He told me that all the doctors at the hospital were insane because all the patients were insane too and, it follows reason that it is impossible to stay sane when you are working with insane people all day. Even Nietzsche wrote:

“He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”

I knew that if I stayed there too long, I'd become like

my captors.... I'd become one of them!

Now, for me, the seed had been planted. I was beginning to suspect everyone's sanity at D-41; the patients, the doctors, the nurses (excepting the two nice grandma types); I even began suspecting the ladies in the cafeteria. Everyone was possibly stark raving mad at this place and, before I became like them, I had to escape. I had to plan a Great Escape.

Soon the theme song from the sixties cinema thriller starring Steve McQueen started running over and over in my head. And, it kept getting louder and louder as the hours went on. For the first four days in D-41 all I did was plan and consider different methods of escape. But how?

I kid you not! Planning my escape engulfed my first four days there. Sometimes the theme song of Great Escape would be playing so loud in my head I began to worry that other people might hear the music bleeding through my ears! And, if they heard me, they'd ruin my plans. Or I'd worry that I might be humming the tune so loud that a patient might recognize the song and report me to gestapo, er, I mean, nurse station.

This is where this particular episode really gets out there, folks. I investigated every way of escape: I sat and watched the delivery and cleaning people. I looked at what time and when these chores were performed. I had checked out where the deliveries came in, where the cleaning lady opened the door to take in and out her cleaning supplies. Could I have jumped in and hidden in the trash dumpster and been dumped out with the trash outside of the hospital? Or how about strapping myself to the underside of a delivery truck that would be driving out of the compound? Those seemed pretty tough to me. I also considered the possibility of a mad dash out the door... You know, fastest distance between two points and all that.

I decided that the mad dash idea was no good because I found out that the nurses remove the shoelaces from every one's shoes. So, even if you got your shoes on and you got outside of the door, it's pretty hard to run a 100 meter mad dash with no shoelaces on. Try it sometime and you'll see.

I also figured that idea was no good because if I were running around on the hospital grounds like a lost chicken asking for the exit, some doctors or nurses might see me and ask, "Excuse me, Mr. Rogers? Where do you think you're going?" And, if that happened, I know that would mean another week or two back into the cooler. No! I needed a better idea! I needed to use my American cunning! After all we did win the war against the Krauts and the Japs, right? I figured that I'd escape by outsmarting these guys.

That was it! Genius! I knew there was a reason that the theme song from Great Escape was playing over and over in my head! I decided that the best way out of D-41 was to dig a tunnel through the concrete floor, under my bed and out across the hospital grounds and into safety! Brilliant!

I could see myself and the other patients chuckling as we lifted the escape on the other end of tunnel and dozens of us fleeing into the night on a daring midnight escape. Why, my picture would even be on the front page of every major newspaper and network in Japan. I'd be famous! My first's wife's parent's would see that and certainly say to my first wife, "See? I told you you shouldn't have married that crazy foreigner!"

I would be a star. Like Jessie James or Ronald Biggs....

"Last one out is a rotten egg!"

To make my plan work, I knew that I would need some dependable accomplishes and decided that I would start to ask around at the "talent pool." I decided that I needed to talk to just about everyone just to see if I could find out which ones were in the proper mental condition to want to break out of this joint with me.

I figured we could do it just like the in the movie: We'd set up some sort of pulley that would lift up my cot. Under the cot, would be the tunnel, covered by some well placed stuff. The tunnel would be dug during the afternoons when most of the nurses weren't around. Two guys would dig. One guy would be on lookout at the door of the room and two guys on lookout all up and down the hall.

Finding five guys who would be dependable and keep their mouths shut while we tunneled out of a mental hospital? No problem! There was also the problem of what t do about having dirt all over you when you were only allowed baths 3 times a week, but I figured we'd worry about that later.

Being a guy who is quite able to multi-task, I also decided that I would start to accumulate the tools we would need to dig out of the ward. I stomped on the floor of the hospital and it seemed pretty clear to me that the floors were your typical, tile covering one ~ two feet of concrete reinforced with steel mesh. It would take a lot to dig through that! I figured I'd need at least 4 or 5 teaspoons.

I'm not kidding. I really thought that.

At breakfast, lunch and dinner, the cafeteria gave each patient one spoon, one fork, one butter knife and one tray. When you were done with your food, you had to return the tray and utensils and the cafeteria ladies would check to make sure that there was nothing missing.

From watching Hollywood movies you'd think they wouldn't give out butter knives but, at this hospital, they did. Though they were very strict with the utensils. It was simple; you were given the set, you were expected to return the full set. I knew that I would have to be sly in order to steal the tools that we'd need to tunnel through 2 feet of solid concrete: I knew I'd have to have quick hands if I were to steal the teaspoons we'd need for that back breaking job.

I knew that if I took the teaspoons from my tray, they'd notice them missing and then they'd probably call me to the nurse station for a debriefing. I could see it now, the gestapo nurse would be blaring a bright light into my face and demanding "Ze location of ze allied teaspoons!"

"I don't know! I don't know! And even if I did know, I'd never tell you!" I reply in exhaustion....

Come to think of it. Don't want that! Nope. I didn't want to draw attention to me, so I decided that I'd steal the teaspoons from other people's trays so the nurses would think they were the ones planning something. Pretty smart, eh?

So for the next three days, I stole five teaspoons from other patients trays. I overheard the cafeteria people talking with the nurses about the missing spoons and began to get nervous.

What if the doctors or nurses were to call a sudden inspection to locate the missing spoons? What if the doctors were to call a meeting with all the patients and demand that the person who stole the spoons give them back? What if some of the other patients saw me stealing the spoons?

Suddenly, I realized I had dangerous contraband hidden in my cot. If there were an unannounced inspection of our rooms and cots, then they would surely find the spoons and then I'd get grilled on the reasons for having the spoons.

I was in a now in a no-win situation. If I told them that I was planning on digging out of the hospital through underground tunnel using teaspoons instead of shovels, they'd surely think I was nuts and want to keep me there longer. If I didn't tell them about my plan, they'd think I was a Kleptomaniac with a teaspoon fetish and that would probably add another six months to a year on my internment.

No matter what, I told them, I knew that I was doomed. I had to do something to get rid of those spoons as soon as possible. (cont'd).

I Have the Flu. "Deadly" Hong Kong Type A. Booga Booga Panic!

2012-01-31T12:43:00.001+09:00

The flu is out in Japan and the mass media and big pharma are doing their best to scare us all about this horrible new scourge! Oh my god! Some people have even died this time! Whatever shall we do? In fact, I now have the flu. My lips are bleeding and I have been coughing up blood....

Nah. Not really. But if I were that would make a great movie, eh? I just came back from the doctor and when I told them that I think I have the flu, they all stood at attention and put me in a different room from the other patients!

Wow! I didn't know I was so bad. I just thought I was tired and probably catching something. Didn't have a fever or anything either.

On Saturday I started feeling very tired. I took a few naps that lasted for 3 hours. That's quite unusual for me. I haven't been drinking any alcohol and been on the Raw Food Diet since Jan. 6. I plan on losing weight this year and getting down to the same weight I was when I was 25. I figure that I can do that in six months, no problem. I've done it before!

It's actually quite easy to do, really. With the Raw Food Diet, you don't eat any cooked foods so of course it eliminates breads, pastas and rice... Oh and fermented grains like booze. Of course booz is a no-no.

The Raw Food Diet is a great diet that I recommend to anyone because you don't have to suffer; you can eat all you want! Just as long as it fresh fruits and veggies that you are munching on.

I've done this diet before and, when I did, even though everyone around me got sick or the flu, I didn't. But, darn it, looks like this time I did. I don't feel so bad, just a cough sometimes and a fever. I just came back from the doctor and he ordered me not to go outside and spread the flu to others. He said that I have to stay indoors for five days!? Can you believe that? Five days!

At first, when I heard this, I wanted to go on a vacation somewhere or use the extra time to finish my blog stories about drug rehab, but darned if I'm just not exhausted all the time. I get up and do some work and 15 minutes later I feel like I'm about to pass out and I go back to sleep!

I'm sure that, had I not been on raw food, I'd have felt much worse; As eating cooked food tires your body out and your body needs energy to fight off colds. But, if this keeps up, I won't be doing anything but short posts like this.

Damn you flu virus!

The Daily Yomiuri reports:

The number of flu-stricken patients reached about 1.11 million in the week ending last Friday, an increase of about 400,000 from the previous week, according to figures compiled by the health ministry. In the week starting Jan. 16, the number of patients suffering from influenza reported to the Health, Labor and Welfare Ministry from about 5,000 medical institutions was about triple that of a week earlier. The number of patients per medical institution during that period was 22.73 persons, up from 7.33 persons the week before, according to the ministry.

Even so, this year I have a mild cases of the influenza, folks do not get flu shots for your babies and small children. They are not safe. This having a headache for a few days and not feeling well is a hell of a lot better than having a child with Autism.

People this age are the only people who should have flu shots

Here, below, the mass media tries to scare people because two ninety some year old folks died from complications associated with the flu. Why is this news?

It used to be that catching the flu, while a serious sickness, did call for patients to be quarantined. I was. Chuckle!

If I can live to be 90-years-old and then get offed by the flu virus, I'd consider that a pretty good deal.

I Was an English Teacher in a Japanese Insane Asylum - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 2 (Life in D-40)

2012-01-30T21:06:00.000+09:00

I should have entitled this blog post, "I was a Teenage Monster English Teacher in a Japanese Insane Asylum..." But, nah. That would have sounded like I was teaching at public school.

(This is part two of a series about my experiences in drug rehab in Japan. To read the first part, please refer to: Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 1 (Life in the Cooler) Upon Arrival to Rehab Everyone Must Detox in the Feared Cooler.)

Lots of good folks teach English is Japan. I did too many years ago. I did it during the heyday of the bubble when English teachers were earning $50,000 (USD) a year doing that job.

Not only have I taught English to kids, businessmen and office workers. I have taught English at insane asylums. There's not too many English teachers in Japan who can make that claim.

.......

Maybe thirty minutes or an hour or so after the doctors left my padded cell, three males nurses came in to see me. Two of them were carrying hard rubber batons and standing. Even though they towered over me, they were not in a threatening position or stance at all. The one in the middle crouched down to me and said very kindly,

"Mike san! We are going to take you to D-40 now; the ward with the other patients. Now, like the doctor told you, if you fight or cause trouble, we'll have to put you back in here. Do you understand?"

"Yes. I understand. I won't cause any trouble."

The two male nurses with the rubber batons helped me up from my seated position as it was difficult to stand since my legs were numb form all that sitting or laying down the entire time I was there in the cooler. Then, arms under both my shoulders, they helped me stagger out of the cooler. My wife would tell me later on that I was in the cooler for a total of four days. I have repeated in this blog every recollection of my time there.

We exited the cooler and I could see that there were two other coolers next to mine. I could see into them but couldn't see any other patients.

The walk to D-40 was a very short one. In fact, it was just up the hallway, perhaps not 10 meters. There was a glass sliding door like you'd see in front of a shower room and there we stopped for a second. The nurse repeated, "Now, don't cause trouble or we'll have to take you back to the cooler. You don't want to go back to the cooler, do you?"

"No!" I mumbled.

They opened the door. After days in the cooler, it was like a window into another world. I was standing in a black and white world and, across the threshold was a world in color. There I saw several people walking around and talking. There was a TV set on in the distance and several men were watching it. A group of other men were huddled by the window smoking cigarettes. A cleaning lady was mopping the floor. I took it all in. Humanity! Civilization!

THX exited the tunnel and came out into the natural world above ground

Have you ever seen that movie, THX1138 when, at the end of the movie, THX1138 escapes from the underground city and exits through a massive tunnel up to the surface world? Underground, There is no emotion; the civilization created by man is cold and everything is white and black. It is a suffocating environment. But when THX exits the tunnel, the bright sun is there and all the colors of nature. Birds fly by. You get the feeling that THX is Adam of the Old Testament's Genesis.

That's how I felt. I had just come from a place that was completely white and deadly silent with no life at all and just on the opposite side of a door not a skip from where I being held, life was buzzing. I was awestruck how these two seemingly totally opposite places could be so close together. When they told me that I'd go a ward called D-40, I expected a ten minute walk, through several locked gates and up and down stairs, more hallways and through guard posts. But no! It wasn't an 8 second walk.

I was back with normal people and others like me who had a drug or alcohol problem. I was back with people who I thought I could talk to and relate to....

Normal people, right? Normal people...or so I thought.

Soon after, my doctor and some nurses came to see me and they gave me orientation. They explained everything about Matsuzawa hospital and the ward, D-40, that was to be my home for the foreseeable future. They told me the rules for eating, socializing, cleaning up duty, everything. I was totally blown away when the doctor mentioned that "drug and alcohol rehabilitation patients are here together with patients who are suffering from schizophrenia and other mental disorders." I made a double-take. "What, doctor?" He confirmed what I thought I had heard.

Now that scared me to death. I was thinking of that Stanley Kubrick movie the Shining where Jack Nicholson chops his way through the door and yells, "Here's Johnny!" I almost peed my pants.

"Schizophrenic people? Crazy people*? Doc, you're kidding, right?" I knew lots of crazy people back home in Los Angeles, some of them were my friends and they were the scariest people you could know. But the doctor reassured me that it was alright. (*I was probably the craziest one there.)

"There are no violent people in this ward. Don't worry. Just mind your own business and follow the rules and everything will be fine." He said as he wrote something down on a clipboard.

I was relieved, sort of. It was better than the worst case scenario that I had envisioned. In my mind I had feared something like you see in American prison movies. You know, the new guy comes into the prison and every single prisoner suddenly stops what they are doing and silently stare at the new prisoner. Some want to kick the new boys a*s, others want him to be their sex toy; still some others want him to join their skinhead gang... But first, of course, he has to prove his worth by killing somebody. You know how in America different gangs are always joining up with each other to fight it out for territory, even in prison? That's what I feared. But it was nothing like that. No one seemed to care that the door had opened and someone new came in. They were all preoccupied with whatever it was they were doing.

Besides the sound of the TV and people talking and smoking in the distance the only other movement was the cleaning lady. I surveyed the scene and thought, "Oh? This looks alright." Then, I looked to my right and there he was. Standing there was the guy who was going to make my life miserable in D-40. I would find out later that his name was Tanaka (not his real name).

Tanaka wasn't a particularly big guy. He just looked like your typical Japanese salaryman. He didn't wear any glasses and he didn't smile. Actually, he looked like he was scowling all the time or that he was unhappy. I thought I could tell by his face that he was plotting something. But what?... Or was I being paranoid?

"Kill! Kill! Kill!"

Tanaka stood there, expressionless and stared at me. He didn't move. He just stared. I tried to act like I didn't see him and, looked right through him. As the nurses were taking me to the shower area, I sneaked a look back over my shoulder and saw Tanaka following us and staring straight at me, stone faced and not blinking.

My heart and mood sank. Tanaka took a great interest in what I was doing. "I knew it! I just knew it!" I thought. What it was that I knew wasn't too clear to me at the time, but I was convinced that this Tanaka guy was going to make me very uncomfortable. Hell, he was making me extremely uncomfortable just by staring at me. I decided that I'd best ignore the guy... If I could.

D-40 wasn't an especially large area. There were about 40 inmates there, er, I mean 40 patients. It was a dormitory type of setup; the was a central nurse's station where patients were given roll call and daily drugs were administered to the patients. There was also a large living room area that could comfortably seat 25 men with a TV (that was constantly on) and that the patients sometimes fought over which channels to watch. If there ever was a Tokyo Giants baseball game on then the two 66-year-old guys got to watch that and no one argued with them.

That was a funny side note about those two old guys; they were like brothers. In the mornings or afternoon, they'd be fighting like little kids (they were like little kids as they had been interned since they were sixteen so they had no chance to grow mentally). Nearly everyday we could hear them fighting about this or that and really getting seemingly angry (well, as angry as old Japanese people do). But by the time the game was on air at night time, they'd be sitting side by side in front of the TV watching their favorite team, the Giants, play baseball... Just like kids. Just like brothers.

Besides the TV area there was a smoking area. This might strike westerners as unusual but, in Japan it is not. Whereas in the west, rehabilitation services might try to replace and addiction to alcohol or drugs with an addiction to god, Japan, a non-Christian nation, had no qualms about replacing drugs abuse with, well, drug abuse; namely tobacco.

I asked a doctor about this seeming contradiction once and he said to me, "Well, both smoking cigarettes and do drugs are bad for your health. But smoking cigarettes won't land you in prison." Most definitely. "Can't argue with that logic," I thought.

Aside from the smoking areas and the living room was a small cafeteria. It was just like a school cafeteria excepting each patient had an assigned seat and it was forbidden for them to move their chairs. I had the scariest looking Yakuza guy sitting in front of me. I called him "Mr. Halloween." He terrified me. He had tattoos all over him and was extremely tall and lanky like a human skeleton. The other patients seemed to be afraid of him too. He'd bark out someone's name and they'd immediately hand him all their bread every morning and he'd take it all back to his room and eat it. By the end of breakfast, Mr. Halloween would have a mountain of white bread on his tray. It seemed strange that this guy could be eating a whole loaf of bread everyday yet be skinnier than a rail! He was even more frightening when he smiled as he had lost all of his teeth excepting two and I guess that was from huffing paint thinner.

He looked at me and then looked at my bread and smiled and gave out a grunt. "Oh, sure. Here you go!" I handed my two slices of bread to him too. Like I said, for one, he scared the hell out of me and; for two, I hate white bread. It wasn't even toasted! Yeech!

The guy wouldn't say much. Just bark out people's names. I never saw him hold a conversation but when he opened his mouth, I saw he terror of paint huffing. Huffing paint thinner will cause all your teeth to fall out. Even though everyone seemed afraid of him, he was very kind to me as, it has been my experience, that Yakuza in Japan are generally kind to foreigners. It might be the brotherly love of being an outsider in society. I was happy withe the situation and one time, when someone made a disparaging comment about foreigners at breakfast, he angrily turned around and barked at them and then he turned to me and smiled and, waving his hand, he said to me,

"Ok! Don't mind! Don't mind!" I could see those crevices and holes in his teeth. Couple that along with his brightly colored tattoos and entire bizarre atmosphere of the place and this guy looked like he just steeped out of the set of Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas

Mr. Halloween really was a nice guy I'd find out later. But I'd wager a half a donut that the doctor's put me in front of him and asked him if he'd look out for me. I was too dopey and incoherent to understand what he said to the others, but he laid down the law and, when he did, the chickens ruffling in their coops suddenly grew silent. I was saved. No one was going to bully me. Thank god.

And, now, back to Tanaka. Like in real life, in this blog post too, I've been trying to avoid this guy, but, I can't. He is always hovering around somehere where you least expect him. After I had entered D-40 and quickly was allowed to shower and shave I went back out to D-40. There the nurses showed me my room. I didn't see Tanaka and felt a bit relieved.

The rooms were like a university dorm set-up. Four guys were in one room and there were all sorts of rules that we had to follow: Lights on at 6 am and everyone out of bed and to the cafeteria for breakfast. Lights out and everyone in bed at 8 pm (I had no problem with that!) Also, no one could enter someone else's room unless they were invited. There were many others rules but those were the three most important.

I put my stuff in my room and then laid down on the cot for a few moments. I tried to sleep but couldn't. I got up and decided that I'd explore D-40. That was a mistake. Because as soon as I walked into the public area, there was Tanaka waiting for me. He was upon on me like flies on a pile of sh*t.

I saw him as he hurredly came towards me. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a business card. He then bowed to me and handed me the card and said, "I am Tanaka something-or-other." He then went on to tell me that he had graduated from Meiji University a very prestigious university and he "proved" it to my by showing me where that was written on his card. Confused, I accepted the card and acted like I was checking my pajama pockets for business cards and said, "Uh? I don't have any cards." He assured me that this was quite alright.

This business card exchange business really had me wondering. "Who is this guy? Does he work here or something? Is he a doctor or a doctor's assistant?"

Tanaka then invited me over to the living room where there was a table to play chess. "Would you like to pass the time by playing chess?" He asked me. I didn't really want to play chess. I didn't want to do anything. I just wanted to sit and vegetate but here was this guy trying to be nice to me so I said I'd play.

He was a terrible chess player. It wasn't even a contest. I beat him within 15 moves or so. After I said, "Checkmate!" He sat there for a good several minutes motionless and studying the board. With suddenness and abruptness he wiped the pieces off the board and proclaimed. "Okay. You won that time. We will play again. And, after the next game, you will teach me English."

"What!?" I thought. "No, man. I can't teach english Mr. Tanaka. I have no energy for that." I said.

"Why can't you teach me English?" he demanded, "I played chess with you."

"Okay," I said in a flippant manner, "Here's today's English. Repeat after me: I don't want to teach English because I'm too f'ing tired."

Tanaka scowled at me and didn't repeat the sentence. Instead he said, "Why don't you teach me proper English?"

"Look," I said, "We're in a hospital, I'm sick. You're sick. I haven't the energy to teach you anything and we have no materials or anything. I'm not going to teach English. I am here to recover not get stressed out."

Tanaka would have none of it. He became more and more demanding. "I played chess with you and now you are not going to teach me English? You are an unfair person!"

This sort of conversation went over and over. For days he kept trying this tack. I wanted to say, "OK, Tanaka san, here's today's lesson: Why don't you get stuffed?" and left it at that. But this guy was insistent that I teach him English and he even mentioned that he was going to complain to the nurses about me. He said he was going to complain that I took advantage of him.

Finally after going back and forth for about ten minutes with this nonsense, I said, "Look, Tanaka san, I taught English for a few years in Japan. I hate teaching English. I just got out of the cooler. The last thing I want to do is to teach English to people in drug rehab at an insane asylum! Forget about it."

That didn't work either. He scowled more and became more demanding. This guy was nuts! He said, "Teach me English and I will pay you!"

"How are you going to pay me? You don't have any money!"

I can pay you after I get out of this hospital. You have my business card, don't you?"

Arrrggghhhhh! It was like arguing with a wall. I got up and said, "Sorry" and then raced back to the safety of my room. Tanaka was hot on my heels but, as soon as I got to the room, he knew the rules: No entering unless you are invited.

This sort of thing went on my entire time in D-40 for the five days I was there. Tanaka was as persistent as hell! He just wouldn't leave me alone. Every third sentence out of his mouth was, "Please teach me English." Tanaka kept trying to get me to teach him and I kept saying, "No!"

I must have said, "No!" 50 times a day everyday.

He would pester me in the mornings, then give up for a few minutes but be right back at it soon after. He'd try all sorts of different ways to trick me (?) In the mornings he'd ask me if I wanted to play cards or watch TV or share a snack. I'd say, "You promise you are not going to ask me about teaching you English, right?" He'd promise.

But sure as the sun would rise in east every morning, as soon as what it was that we were doing was over, he'd turn to me and say, "Please teach me English" or "If you teach me English, I will give you my white bread at breakfast" or "Okay. I won't ask you to teach me English after we play chess. So why don't you teach me English first and then we'll play chess after that."

The guy was nuts and he was driving me nuts. It figured. I was in a mental hospital. I guess it comes with the territory.

Like I said, this went on a hundred times in the short week I was in D-40. I often got so frustrated and almost angry that I wanted to complain to the doctors or the nurses but judged against it. I figured that the doctors and nurses were watching us (they were) and judging to see how we handle ourselves. That I was able to put up with Tanaka asking me the same dumb question hundreds of times without strangling him or raising my voice probably showed them that I was okay to be transferred to another ward.

On the fifth day in D-40, I woke up and all the other patients were complaining to the doctors. Word gets around fast; I was being transferred and I didn't even know about it. The other patients complained and wanted to know why they had to stay in D-40 while the new gaijin was getting transferred out so soon. They thought it was unfair!

I was happy to be away from Tanaka and English Lessons for Lunatics Book One as soon as possible.

I was told that I was to be transferred to D-41. That was a much better ward because, get this, I was told that there were "Women there!"

Jeez! What good is that going to do me? I'm a drug addict trying to recover in an insane asylum and I should be happy that there are women in my new ward!? Well, whoop-de-doo... I could imagine it then: Wild Sex Party and Japanese Insane Asylum!

Sounds like classic Japanese cinema!

Part three of this series: Female Nurses, Schizophrenics and Jail Breaks! - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 3 http://bit.ly/xkitom

Forget Global Warming - Met Office and East Anglia Climatic Research Unit Show New Data: No Warming in 15 Years

2012-01-30T09:38:00.001+09:00

Recent revelations on the weather have cast serious doubt on the Man-Made Global Warming theory or even if the earth is warming at all. In fact, new data just released from the London Met Office show no warming in 15 years.

The Daily Mail has the story:

The supposed ‘consensus’ on man-made global warming is facing an inconvenient challenge after the release of new temperature data showing the planet has not warmed for the past 15 years.

The figures suggest that we could even be heading for a mini ice age to rival the 70-year temperature drop that saw frost fairs held on the Thames in the 17th Century.

Based on readings from more than 30,000 measuring stations, the data was issued last week without fanfare by the Met Office and the University of East Anglia Climatic Research Unit. It confirms that the rising trend in world temperatures ended in 1997. (emphasis mine)

Abraham Hondius: Looking down the river to Southwark Cathedral. The Thames is frozen in winter and people are walking on it. Signed and dated 1677.

Couple this news with the recent report on Jan 19, 2012 of the coldest day globally in ten years (something that warmists claimed would never happen again after 2003... They also claimed in the year 2000 that snow would be "a thing of the past by 2010) along with the recent Wall Street Journal report of 16 of the world's top scientists also going public to denounce AGW polemic, and you have a Climate science in disarray.

Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 1 (Life in the Cooler) Upon Arrival to Rehab Everyone Must Detox in the Feared Cooler

2012-01-30T00:30:00.000+09:00

Today's blog post is the first in a series of articles about events that happened nearly 20 years ago; my time in drug rehabilitation in Japan. Today will be my first day - well, first few days. I want to write down my experiences for the five weeks total I was in rehab.

This isn't a real alcoholic, I can tell. Real alcoholics don't

bother tearing the labels off their bottle of booze

I entered rehab because of a serious addiction to speed. My daughter had just recovered from a nearly two year fight against cancer and it was a victory for me. During that time, not only was I paying well over $5000 a month for hospital bills (private hospital and my insurance company wouldn't pay for that), I had to support two other daughters by holding down several jobs at once. I look back now and do not know how I managed it all. I certainly could not do it again. The hardest part to admit about all this is that I was a speed addict. People think that speed addicts do that drug for fun; well, it may be fun at first but it soon becomes a habit like coffee or cigarettes. Towards the end of my ordeal, I was doing about $2000 a week in speed.

I didn't do the speed to get high. If I didn't do the speed, I'd fall asleep. I had gotten to the point whereby, if I didn't do any speed, I couldn't just function normally again. What a miserable existence it was.

Usually, drug rehab in Japan is, at the least, a three to six month ordeal. Many people are there for a year or two. Some people are in there for many years. There were two guys in the hospital that I was in that had been there since they were 16. They were 66 when I was there. Why they were there for so long is that, in Japan, if someone won't agree to be your guarantor and look out for you after your release, then the state won't let you go. These guys had probably caused their families so much misery that no one wanted to see them again. They were guests of the state for more than 50 years. If they haven't died, they are still there.

There were many other people who had been in an out several times. One guy, who I called, "Mister Cool," told me that he had been admitted, released and readmitted a total of nine times. I'm sure he isn't the record holder either. Mister Cool was very cool, calm and collected. Everyone else was going crazy and climbing the walls to get out of that place, but not Mister Cool. He took it all in stride. I asked him if he wasn't anxious to get out of the hospital. He told me that he was. But he also added, "What's the point of rushing to get out of here? In no time, you're just going to wind up back inside."

I was in and out in five weeks. That seems short but when I was in, it seemed like an eternity. That I got in and out so quickly was because the doctors deemed that I wasn't so bad (I thought I was and I thought they were crazy) and, the longer one stays in rehab, the more difficult it is to return to society as a productive member. So the doctors wanted me out of there as soon as possible. Once in, I wanted out of there immediately and wondered why in the hell I ever volunteered to go in in the first place.

I would have written down my experiences at that time but I was too messed up and couldn't see any future past the end of my nose. The only future I was looking forward to was my wife visiting in the hospital and bringing me chocolates everyday (former drug abusers usually get addicted to chocolate as chocolate gives a Dopamine rush like drugs do); eating food at the hospital cafeteria everyday and getting the hell outta that place.

This is what I looked like at that time

At that time, I was a proud new student of life in the most famous drug rehab hospital in all of Japan: Matsuzawa Hospital. In fact, Matsuzawa Hospital was the most famous drug rehab center in all of Asia. It was said that if you went to Matsuzawa and "graduated" (meaning were released back into society - never to return) that was the same and just as difficult as getting into Japan's prestigious Tokyo University and graduating.

There are lots of "funny" things about Matsuzawa. To me, the funniest part of Matsuzawa Hospital is that they put people who were recovering drug and alcohol patients into the same wards as people who were patients due to having mental disorders such as schizophrenia and the like or being mentally disturbed (uh, everyone is mentally disturbed to a certain level). Me? I was a former druggie about to go straight. I was looking forward to it. Why was I looking forward to it? Because I had voluntarily admitted myself to this madhouse. I was sick of my life. I knew that I only had three choices: Go to prison, die, or go to drug rehab. Being a coward, I took what seemed the easiest route. When I later told the other patients in my ward that I had volunteered to enter drug rehab, they all thought that, surely, I must be the craziest one in the entire insane asylum.

I don't know about today, but in Japan at that time, if you voluntarily entered into drug rehab, unlike the USA, you don't leave until the doctor says it is OK. I didn't really understand that when I went in.

You kiddin' me? If the doctor looked like that, I'd never want to leave her behind

When I was admitted into the hospital, I had no clue as to what to expect. I was asked to lay on a stretcher. The next thing I knew was I was being strapped in. I didn't fight it. I thought strapping people to a stretcher was for safety as, "Maybe they are going to carry me and I don't want them dropping me!" The next thing I knew is the doctor pulled out this massive syringe and was about to give me an injection that looked to be the size of a can of Coke.

The doctor began injecting the liquid into my arm.

"Ha!" I laughed. I knew I was tougher than this. I was a hard core druggie and I was a foreigner. My body size was much larger than these puny Japanese! "This pharmaceutical grade stuff is for woosies! I've been doing the best!" I thought...

I said to the doctor with a laugh, "Doc, you're going to need stronger stuff... That's not going to work on me, my friend!" The doctor just smiled at me and nodded in agreement as he continued injecting me....

I was determined to stay conscious. I repeated to the doctor, "I'm............ made of..... much tougher..... stuff...than... ZZZZZZ.... zzzzzzz >snork!<... zzzzzzzz......."

Out like a light. Off to baby bumpy nigh-nigh land....

As I said, I would have written these experiences down on paper and pencil when I was first admitted but I was too screwed up and I think they didn't allow people to have writing materials (for reasons that might become obvious later). Perhaps writing materials were forbidden because people would have figured out a way to stab themselves or someone else with the pencil or maybe they'd commit suicide by hanging with a pad and pencil? Or maybe they would have been slipping notes under the nurses' station window that said stuff like, "Get me outta here!" or "How about calling out for a delivery of a quart of Jack Daniels, eh, sugar tits?"

Gratuitous photo of sexy girls dressed like Nazi guards

When one first goes into rehab, they are put into "the cooler." The cooler is like what you see in these World War II movies; Allied soldiers captured by the Germans who make trouble at the prisoner of war camps are sent to detention in "za kooler" by the camp kommandant. People who were in the hospital for drug rehabilitation are put into the cooler because, I was told later, that many of them get really violent and so they are placed there for a few days, under heavy sedation, until they can get some of the chemicals out of their bloodstream and calm down.

The cooler was a small room not tall enough to stand up straight in and just barely large enough to lay down in. I supposed two or three people - or maybe four could be squeezed into one room. All four walls and ceiling and floor were padded. Of course, like in a movie, the room was completely white. There were no windows and there was a connecting segment that had a toilet in it. There was no door on the toilet nor any way to flush the toilet. It reeked. The door was heavy steel with a small window that had bars on it and there was a slot at the bottom of the door for food to be passed through.

The Goon Tower at Matsuzawa Hospital

After getting my injection of sedative, I passed out dead to the world. One day later, I awoke. I had no idea how long I was out. I had no idea what time of day it was. Was I out a few hours or a few days? I'm still not sure to this very day. I awoke in the cooler. I was laying on my side and, even though I was conscious, I couldn't move. Not just my body, I couldn't move my head, my fingers, anything. I was no longer in a straight jacket, it's just that my motor functions had completely stopped due to the elephant tranquilizer they gave me. By golly those sedatives did work! My faith in big pharma had been restored!

There was a jangling at the door which was above my head and, since I couldn't turn my head, I couldn't see the door. Suddenly I was witness to the black shoes and white pants of 4 or 5 medical doctors and male nurses. They were all mumbling about something. They crouched in front of me and one doctor pried open my eyelids and flashed a flashlight into my eyes. First right, then left. He held the back of my neck. Another doctor was checking my pulse. The doctor said, "Are you okay?"...

This must be a luxury cell. For one, you can stand up in it and

it is at least 5 times bigger than my cell was.

I wanted to say, "Yes, doctor. I am fine." But I couldn't. My brain was processing the information but there must have been a problem in the synapse department because when my brain ordered my mouth to say, "I'm ok" all that came out was "Gurglllkkkkdxxx" and a heck of a lot of slobber... I couldn't respond. I had become human jello like the blob in those 1950's science fiction movies.

The main doctor looked at me for a moment and then, with a sigh, said to the other doctors, "Not yet." With that, they all stood up and walked out of the cooler their farewells were the jangling of the keys locking the door behind them.

Slam! Echo. Silence....

My brain was shouting like a lost trapped teenager screaming to his friends who were searching for him yet walking right by as they couldn't hear his cries. "Hey guys! No! Wait! I'm okay! Come back, guys!" I was jumping up and down against the door railing in my mind, but, in all actuality, I was still laying there on my side unable to make even the most basic motor reaction. "Maybe they could read Morse Code if I blink my eyes correctly?" I thought.

Drool... "Come back guys!" But I was tired... So tired... Close my eyes and then back to wonderful sleep...

This situation continued for the next day or two. It got so bad that since I could not move myself, I soiled my clothes. My wife tells me that she came to the hospital and visited the cooler while I was out cold and cleaned and changed me. I guess that is typical and how things are done in Japan. I do know that it is true at Japanese hospitals that family will often come and give invalid family members baths and change clothes. That my wonderful wife did this for me I will always be thankful for even thought I don't remember it at all. My wife would later tell me that I was in the cooler for at least "4 days or so."

The next day, the doctor's came back in. In their previous visit I was so angry at myself because I was still unable to respond coherently to their questions. I promised myself that the next time I saw them, I'd be able to respond and show them that I was okay. I wanted desperately to get out of the cooler as soon as possible. And it was obvious that if you couldn't at least say, "Hi doc!" they weren't going to let you out of the cooler. So I began practicing talking and saying words. Kind of like a self-enforced linguistic rehabilitation.

After a while, I guess a few days, I was finally able to sit up by myself.... Or, at least, what I thought was close to sitting up. I tried to listen to the door so that I could hear the footsteps of the doctors before they came to my door. I figured that this holding area where to cooler was has at least three or four or five other coolers next to mine filled with occupants who, like me, were unable to control any of their motor functions or their bladder. Maybe that's why the place reeked so bad.

At length, the jangling of the keys woke me from my trance. I tried to sit up very straight and I shook my head to try to sober up. The doctors came in and went through their ritual.

The doctor said, "How are you doing?"

This time I really made the effort to speak clearly but I still even had trouble just lifting my head. I gathered up every bit of strength I had and yet, all I could do was mumble and drool. Again my brain was saying the words but my mouth couldn't do the movements. "Urgh..gxxsnyxxx..."

The doctor looked at the other doctors and to my horror said, "Not yet" and they all stood up and walked out again.

In my mind, I panicked, "No! I'll be okay in a minute! Just let me get dressed and splash some water on my face, guys! Come back!"

Slam. Jangle. Clink. Jangle. They were gone in a flash. I was alone again in hell. Still, exhausted. Once again, I fell to sleep.

After a while I was awoken again by noise at the door. "The doctors!" I thought, "They've changed their minds and have come back to let me out!" I was so happy! But it wasn't the doctors. It was the sound of food being pushed through the slot under my door. I grew angry at this. I went over to look at the food they had given me. It was some sort of rice gruel. In Japan and China, rice gruel is often given to sick people as it is easily quite digestible. I hated rice gruel.

That they'd walk off and then serve me rice gruel started me off to getting even more angrier the more I thought about it. I started to work myself into a huff. I think about that now and that was a sure sign that the tranquilizers were wearing off. The more I thought about my situation, the more pissed off I began to get. "Who do they think they are putting me into the cooler like this? What is this rice gruel, crap? Don't they know I hate rice gruel?" I decided that I wanted, no demanded to speak to the doctor. How dare they do this to me! I demanded my rights.

I pulled myself up to the door and tried to peek out through the bars at the top (like Steve McQueen did in Papillon) to see if I could see and doctors or nurses running around. But I couldn't see anyone. I began to loudly proclaim all the typical things you see people in the movies say when they are in incarceration:

"Hello! Hello! Anyone there? Hey! I need to talk to the doctor. There's been some sort of misunderstanding. I shouldn't be in here! Hello!" But I couldn't see anyone and the area outside of my cell was silent. I kept speaking, out, louder and louder, almost shouting for awhile, but it was no avail. I considered really screaming bloody murder at the top of my lungs, but didn't. I thought there was no use. There was no one there. I figured that no one could hear me. Thank god I didn't throw a temper tantrum and start banging on the bars and doing stupid things like throwing my food around or banging the bars with the food plate like a caged ape. I'd find out the next day that they could hear me but allowed me to say and do as I pleased. I was under observation.

I gave up and sat back down. I was still mad though. I looked over to the rice gruel and decided then and there that I was going to show them. I was going to turn the tables on these wicked people. I was going to gain my release through the peaceful protest methods of the greats like Mahandas Gandhi: I was going to go on a hunger strike and then, next to death, I'd become a world famous celebrity and they'd have to release me.

Been there. Done that. I figured this guy and I had a lot in common!

Yes. That's the ticket! I'd starve myself out of there. I wouldn't eat anything until those doctors came back and started begging me to eat something... I could see it all. Imagine, me! Me as the serious and devout man with a cause and those stinking doctors begging for mercy! They be begging for me to eat. I'd be on the covers of Time and Newsweek magazine! I'd be the world leader of an entirely new protest movement! (I think about that now and realize that the sedative must have been wearing off because I was back to having crazy thoughts of grandeur and delusion!)

"Hmph! That's fix them!" I thought. So I sat there having decided that I wouldn't touch the food. That warm food that, actually smelled pretty good. I began having conversations in my head. There was an angel of my good conscious on my right shoulder and the devil sitting on my left. The three of us began to argue.

"Come to think of it, I am pretty famished as I hadn't eaten anything in three or four days!"

"No! You coward! You'll never get out of here if you give into their tricks!"

"He's right, you know. For all you know that food is laced with more sedatives and mind control drugs. They want you to eat it. That's part of their 'plan.'"

"But, you know, my wife really likes that rice gruel stuff. I've never really cared for it. But it does smell pretty good."

"What? What kind of thoughts are these? You've just started a hunger strike and you've lasted maybe 15 minutes and you're giving up already? Don't you have any respect for yourself."

"Yeah? Don't you have any respect for yourself?"

I knew it. Those guys were right. So I stuck with the two out of three guy's opinion and decided to stick it out with my hunger strike. For one, I wanted out of there. For two, I hated rice gruel. If it had been something like fried chicken I think I might have listened to whoever it was who wanted food (I think the wimpy one was me).

So I gave up again and, determined to go on hunger strike, at least until the doctors came the next day, I laid back down in an attempt to sleep and forget about my troubles and the food. When the doctors came in the next day and saw that I hadn't touched my food, they'd become alarmed and, I figured, then we could negotiate on even terms.

I tried to sleep but damn if my stomach didn't stop growling. I was starving. I went back and forth with myself trying to fight the urge to eat, but, after several hours I was so famished I couldn't stand it no more. I had to eat.

I felt like that guy in Midnight Express who was so hungry that he ate a cockroach to survive. I was so hungry that I could do the same! ER, not eat a cockroach, but to eat rice gruel which was almost as bad (at least in my book!)

I jumped to the door and grabbed the spoon and wolfed down a huge bite of gruel. "Yeech! This stuff is cold!" I thought. But it tasted pretty good! "Dammit! I thought, "Why didn't I eat this when it was hot?"

Within a few seconds I had downed the food. I even licked the plate. I put the plate back at the door and tried to peer through. "Thank you! Anyone! That was delicious! Hello! That was delicious!" There was no one there.

A stomach half full and nothing to do, I fell back asleep. I don't remember how much time passed but I do remember later thinking that there might have been sedatives in the food, but, no! That would be a quite inefficient way to administer drugs. They had me locked up. I wasn't going nowhere. They could come in and give me pills or injections and there'd be nothing I could do about it. Why would they lace the food with drugs?

After a while I had to go to the toilet so I saw the spartan settings for the first time. There was only a wash basin and toilet. As I mentioned, after using the toilet, I had no way to flush it so the room stank even more. I tried to yell for someone to flush the toilet out through the bars in my door, but there was no one to hear my cries. Again, I fell asleep.

The next day, the doctors came back. This time I was determined to shape up so that I could ship out.

The doctor looked at me and said, "You look better today. How are you doing?"

I sat up as straight as I could and drooled out a weak but recognizable, "Fine, doctor.... Thanks to you!"

I thought I needed to add a, "Thanks to you" to show that I was coherent enough to know that I needed to show some appreciation to get myself outta that place. I figured I'd do some a*s kissing now and play my aces when the time was right. I was satisfied that I was able to give the answer I had planned.

The doctor then said to me, "Mike. We are going to take you out of here today and put you in a ward with other patients, But if you get violent, you're coming right back in here, do you understand?"

"Oh stay my beating heart!" I thought but "Yes, doctor." I answered. "I won't be violent."

"We are sending you to unit D-40 where there are other patients. You'll be able to take a shower, shave and have your own room that you will share with other patients. If there is any trouble at all you will be brought back here. You'll be able to eat in the cafeteria and if you have any questions, the nurses will help you. Okay?"

"Okay. Thanks." I said.

"We will give the order to bring you out of here to the male nurses and they will take you out before lunch time. Please immediately wash and get ready for lunch."

"Yes. Thank you."

The doctors got up and walked out. I was so happy! Freedom! I was going to be free from this wretched place! But I wondered what kind of place D-40 was? Was it like a regular hospital where I could walk in and out as I pleased? Or was it more of a military style place much like the World War II prisoner of war camps that things like the cooler were known to accompany?

I grew a bit anxious. Suddenly D-40, while sounding better than the cooler, struck fear in my heart. What if it were like a prison where the inmates have their own pecking order and boss? What if I were thrown into a place with a bunch of drug addicts and former Yakuza who didn't like foreigners?

Was I about to become the whipping boy and someone's bitch in D-40? Was I going to be waking up every morning with an empty bottle of baby oil knocked over near my head, a sore a*shole and an ashtray on my back? What horrors were awaiting me?

I had a few hours to find out.

It was in D-40 and my next experiences that I was to find out that my next ward was not so much like a prison in the movies or like a gestapo prisoner of war camp, but much more like an insane asylum ala the classic film, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. Why? Because in Japan, drug addicts and mental patients are co-mingled in the same hospitals and in the same wards.

I didn't know that when I checked in. I was about to go from the frying pan into the fire.

(Continued... in I Was an English Teacher in a Japanese Insane Asylum - Drug Rehab at Asia's Most Famous Hospital - Part 2 (Life in D-40)

Blogging About Being in Drug Rehabilitation in Japan and More

2012-01-29T09:54:00.003+09:00

I have been having correspondence with another friend who I have never met, yet correspond with, just like Charles Bukowski and Gary North. My friend's name is Jp (I'm not sure he would want me to write his full name down. He seems a very humble person). Jp seems to be very well known in Hollywood. He is an artist, creator and producer.

That's about all I know about him. Seems like a guy who enjoys his privacy and has just a few friends but those are strong relationships.

Jp has been around Hollywood for a very long time. He has seen what went on there in the sixties and knows Sunset Strip and the entertainment area well. It also seems that everyone in the so-called "Hollywood In-Crowd" knows Jp but I also gather he is not a part of that "in-crowd." (People like me think that is a good thing). Jp has been inspiring me, unbeknownst to him, to move into a more creative realm of writing. I think I am going to do that.

I've decided that I was going to start writing more about the many true and bizarre things that have happened to me in my life. I have been arrested a few times, should be dead (more than once); the lead singer of a one-hit wonder rock band, a drug addict, a witness to an exorcism; I won $100,000 at the lottery in '81 or was it '82? I've been divorced twice (not so special); I fought and defeated a rare and extremely deadly childhood cancer, met and worked with many famous people, been on TV; and I have the bragging rights of being the only DeeJay in Japan who has been fired from every FM radio station in Tokyo at least once (Bragging? That's right. If you knew how crappy these Tokyo FM stations are, then you'd agree) ....

All in all, I've lived a charmed life. I want to write it down while I can.

My 54th birthday party

There's much material to cover, so first, I'll want to write about my true adventures in drug abuse and drug rehabilitation. This, inspired by Jp, but also inspired by Charles Bukowski of whom Jp is also a fan of. I will be posting some of these stories starting today or tomorrow (I am 1/2 way through the first one).

Before I do, though, I think I need to explain another reason why I do this. Of course, I'd like to be a famous writer someday too. But, if I get so lucky to be so, I also know that it would most certainly happen after my death, if at all. That's why I need to post these things. This blog is sort of my notes.

These stories will all be true stories to the best of my recollection and follow my writing style like the following two examples... But they will be even more raw and scary (I hope). I hope that I have the guts to write it down as it was and not to hide facts and sugar coat:

My Life is Like a "B" Horror Movie

"All I wanted was one little drink, yet I couldn't have it." I said as I lay down on the sofa. The friend snorted the cocaine and rubbed his nose. Through his gasps he looked at me and said,

"Mike! This is a dry county in a Christian country in the Land of the Free. Why is it you have a problem with that? Why do you hate the baby Jesus!?" He laughed sarcastically at the absurdity of it all and handed the straw towards me. I refused. After a 24 hour flight, snorting cocaine was the last thing I needed.

On the left of me, here's a guy breaking the law by smoking marijuana. On the right of me, a guy breaking the law doing cocaine. Me, in the middle, I cannot even buy a glass of wine or a beer just because it is a Sunday? What is this? Enforced Christianity? Didn't Jesus drink wine?

John Belushi, Japan and Me - Or How the Movie Animal House Changed my Life

If you want to be special and do something really different, then you can't do what everyone else is doing. You have to go for the "gusto!" Watching John Belushi taught me to do that... Sometimes, it got me in big trouble with bosses, but the results have always been good. Like Francis Ford Coppola once said, "The things you get fired for at 20-years-old, are the things you are celebrated for at 50-years-old." I want to be celebrated. Who doesn't? Life is short.

Anyway, this inspiration to write these things down all-of-a-sudden. How did it come about? Well, as I wrote yesterday, first I decided to give up forever working with some clowns I know. Then Jp inspired me to watch some Bukowski videos. They caused me to remember how I felt when I was 30. Then Jp wrote about his work and frustrations.

So I decided that I am going to write these things down in the ext few days and here was my letter to JP explaining my motivations:

"Jp, I need to learn more from you. You have so much to share. Now, today, I am inspired by you and Bukowski to finally write down my experiences in drug rehabilitation in Japan. And I am doing that right now (taking a break). My thinking is that my blog writings are my notes (as well as a pocket notebook that I always carry). This year, I may get lucky and get a good sum of money from a business venture that I made a few years ago. I pray so. That allows me to have more freedom. Either way, I know that people create their own reality through self fulfilled prophesy so I am expecting the best and want to live my life.

I want to write my experiences as I remembered they happened. I think it might make a good (maybe funny) collection of stories or even be good for a script (whether that script becomes movie or not is besides the point). Several people who know me well have read articles and posts when I admitted that I went drug rehab, divorced twice, was arrested a few times, etc. etc.

They tell me, "Mike! Don't write that. People won't want to work with you!"

I think, "Yep. Probably true. But so what? It is what it is. That was a long time ago and, in today's society, things (and people) are so f*cked up anyway. If they can't handle someone who is honest about their past, then I don't want to work with them anyway."

There are so many people full of sh*t who are living plastic lives with plastic faces. Like that Roxy Music song, "In every dream home a heartache." That's the way it is. Our society is so sick because in every dream home there is a heartache; kid's a drug addict, father an alcoholic and having an affair, mom's addicted to pain killers, an unloved person relying on what a doll represents for love... On and on... Yet people want to keep the facade that they are "normal healthy and happy individuals." They don't want to admit their human failings. They want to live a life that is merely a show...

I don't despise those kinds of people. They need to be pitied. If those kinds of people don't want to work with people like me who want to reach higher ground by telling the truth and admitting their faults, then why would I want to work with them?

Who is the really sick person in this picture?

I want to be happy. I want to be closer to God, Buddha, Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva, the big electrode, nature, peace, earth, the Sun, Bob, Tony, whatever-you-want-to-call-it. I want to reach the higher ground. I don't have any problem admitting my past.

Maybe I am wrong, but the best way to be happy and to reach that higher ground is to admit one's own problems and then, by doing so, you'll be able to be more accepting, understanding and less judgmental of other people's problems.

And, so, with that, my next posting will be about going into drug rehabilitation in Japan. Japan is well known for a no nonsense policy on drugs. Japan will put you in prison even if they find a tiny bit of marijuana on your possession. It is world famous and a well known fact that Japan doesn't mess around with drug abusers.

Now, I can tell the story to you as it happened to me. Sounds scary? Well, it was, but that was a long time ago. Today? Call me crazy but I have very fond memories of drug rehab in Japan... It was much like my days in a university dorm.

The funny part about drug rehab in Japan is that they put the former drug abusers into the same hospitals as people who have been interned for mental disorders such as insanity or schizophrenia, so, when you are there, you never know why the person next to you is in the hospital. They could look completely normal but be unable to hold coherent conversations. On the other hand, they could look like a crazy mad scientist with their hair sticking out all directions and unshaven, seemingly barking mad crazy but be quite the well mannered gentleman... That sort of gentleman, that would be a normal person; a former drug addict, like me. I always looked like hell but had good manners and respect for people.

Of course I had respect for them, they scared the living daylights outta me. I didn't want them to kill me in my sleep.

The other tougher part about drug rehab is that you don't know when you'll ever be released until a week or a few days before release.

You'd look like this too is you only were allowed showers and shaves twice a week.

Compared to Matsuzawa Hospital, the hospital I stayed in, the movie hospital in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" was pretty realistic in many ways. The difference between that hospital and mine? Not much. Everyone wanted desperately to get out of that place yet couldn't; and both hospitals had people dancing in the hallways. At least the hospital McMurphy (Jack Nicholson) was in had background music playing. My hospital had none... Yet they still danced.

I also kept thinking of ways to escape and couldn't get that theme song from the movie "The Great Escape" out of my head.

The guys in the halls are still there dancing today, I'm sure. I am glad I am out and can talk about it. It is funny in parts and sad in others. I hope you will enjoy it. And I hope I don't come off as a pompous ass.

ROXY MUSIC - IN EVERY DREAM HOME A HEARTACHE

Thanks to Jp

More Today on the Collapse of Global Warming Belief

2012-01-28T12:50:00.000+09:00

This just out today and signed by sixteen of the world's top scientists.

Here's a snippet from Wall Street Journal:

In September, Nobel Prize-winning physicist Ivar Giaever, a supporter of President Obama in the last election, publicly resigned from the American Physical Society (APS) with a letter that begins: "I did not renew [my membership] because I cannot live with the [APS policy] statement: 'The evidence is incontrovertible: Global warming is occurring. If no mitigating actions are taken, significant disruptions in the Earth's physical and ecological systems, social systems, security and human health are likely to occur. We must reduce emissions of greenhouse gases beginning now.' In the APS it is OK to discuss whether the mass of the proton changes over time and how a multi-universe behaves, but the evidence of global warming is incontrovertible?"

In spite of a multidecade international campaign to enforce the message that increasing amounts of the "pollutant" carbon dioxide will destroy civilization, large numbers of scientists, many very prominent, share the opinions of Dr. Giaever. And the number of scientific "heretics" is growing with each passing year. The reason is a collection of stubborn scientific facts.

Perhaps the most inconvenient fact is the lack of global warming for well over 10 years now. This is known to the warming establishment, as one can see from the 2009 "Climategate" email of climate scientist Kevin Trenberth: "The fact is that we can't account for the lack of warming at the moment and it is a travesty that we can't." But the warming is only missing if one believes computer models where so-called feedbacks involving water vapor and clouds greatly amplify the small effect of CO2.

Read more here.

Here are the names and positions of the people who signed this document:

-Claude Allegre, former director of the Institute for the Study of the Earth, University of Paris;
-J. Scott Armstrong, cofounder of the Journal of Forecasting and the International Journal of Forecasting;
-Jan Breslow, head of the Laboratory of Biochemical Genetics and Metabolism, Rockefeller University;
-Roger Cohen, fellow, American Physical Society;
-Edward David, member, National Academy of Engineering and National Academy of Sciences;
-William Happer, professor of physics, Princeton;
-Michael Kelly, professor of technology, University of Cambridge, U.K.;
-William Kininmonth, former head of climate research at the Australian Bureau of Meteorology;
-Richard Lindzen, professor of atmospheric sciences, MIT;
-James McGrath, professor of chemistry, Virginia Technical University;
-Rodney Nichols, former president and CEO of the New York Academy of Sciences;
-Burt Rutan, aerospace engineer, designer of Voyager and SpaceShipOne;
-Harrison H. Schmitt, Apollo 17 astronaut and former U.S. senator;
-Nir Shaviv, professor of astrophysics, Hebrew University, Jerusalem;
-Henk Tennekes, former director, Royal Dutch Meteorological Service;
-Antonio Zichichi, president of the World Federation of Scientists, Geneva.

Emphasis on individuals and titles that should cause alarm for believers in AGW are mine. Follow up counters and rebuttals (Youtube links, etc.) from readers referring scientists who earn their income in studies that obtain grants and financing from Global warming Studies not welcomed (for obvious conflict of interest reasons).

Read more here: http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052970204301404577171531838421366.html

When People Stop Caring - Stop! Quit and Save Your Life!

2012-01-28T10:36:00.000+09:00

I wrote yesterday that artists and writers need to know that love and hate are the two sides of the same coin. It is great if many people love and adore your work. It is good also if people hate your work. If people love or hate your work, that is much MUCH better than if they don't care either way about your work.

If people don't care, that is death. If people don't care then you should stop. I've always believed that everything happens for a reason. It's like the advice a wealthy friend gave me once about a dysfunctionate company we were both at when he realized that that company was a waste of time and he quit. He said to me as he was leaving, "Save your life and stop. Start doing something else."

Then he walked out the door.

These last 3 days, I have had a feeling of depression somewhere deep in my heart and been under great stress. It's because of that letter I received from the president of the major Japanese broadcasting corporation that I wrote about the other day. This morning, I have decided that I have to take my own advice to stop working with poor management and dysfunctional people and leave that place of business forever.

I had to make a decision. I've made it.

I should have done it long ago. That ridiculous letter from the president was just another in a long history of absurd things that have happened to me at that company over the years. When you read the story and understand the roots of the problem, you'll know why, as I said, that company loses so much money every year.

And don't think I am merely being bitter about this one station. That is not true at all. I have worked, and still do, with many other stations. I have never seen an organization run as ineptly as today's topic... (Gee, when I put it that way, I must be stupid to have stayed there so long, right? Agreed.)

I have worked in TV and radio since 1985. I have "worked" (in a sense) in the music business since 1978. If you wonder what that means, let me say that I have played music and, while not getting paid enough to support myself, I used to get checks and I was paid to perform. The most I ever received at once was about $1,100 in 1979 or so. Not bad.

When my son was born, I threw away my TV set. It was soon after the Iraq war had started and I was so fed up with the lies on TV. I had to work with TV people because of my job. But I decided that I didn't want to bring these people into my house (and in Japan you have to pay a monthly licensing fee if you own a TV) so I threw them out. I don't want to pay to bring liars into my home.

Soon after that, I quit having anything to do with TV. Even though I own a company that makes TV and radio programs and TV commercials, I do not do that myself anymore but, my staff have families and mouths to feed, I won't stop them from pursuing their chosen career.

Over the years, I have made many radio programs. By far the vast majority have been at a FM radio station in Tokyo. I have a love/hate relationship with this radio station and its people.

Fact is that there is only a couple guys there at that station who are kind and honest. Just a few. Sad.

I don't want to talk about that station too much (anymore) but allow me to spill my guts this time. Please let me give you an example of how people at that station operate. This one example is like many that have happened to me while working for that company. This event happened at least 12 years ago... But, today, it is the same. The names have changed but the way the station operates doesn't.

At the end of the nineties, I produced and co-hosted one of the most famous late-night radio shows in Tokyo. So popular was that show that sponsors approached us and asked if they could become our sponsors! That is extremely rare! The Program Director at that time told me that if I could bring in sponsors, then he would pay me a sales commission. So I did. I brought in the largest record chain in the world as a big sponsor.

The station was doing poorly and losing money. But I wanted to be a part of the "team" and to help out wherever I could so I decided that, after the record store chain became a sponsor, I didn't need a commission. I didn't need extra pay. I wanted to show that I was part of the family - hell, I wanted to be a part of the family - so I wanted to forfeit my commission and give it to the station to show them my heart's feelings.

When I went to see the Program Director to happily tell him my decision, before I could get a word out of my mouth, he rudely snarled at me, "We're not paying you any commission!" And with that he turned around and stormed away without letting me say anything.

I was shocked. I didn't want commission. I just wanted the satisfaction and happiness of telling someone that I was giving them something they wanted. I felt like the small dirty faced boy who looked up and handed the single yellow flower that he had picked to a lady and that person took that flower from him and crushed it under the heel of their shoe in the dirt. As doing so, the evil in their eye showed through, cursing from the snarl of their lips...

I was speechless... "Why was it so necessary to hurt my feelings?" I thought.

It's a really sad situation when people are so dirty and despicable that they cannot allow people a small moment to share happiness. Have these people no compassion or self-respect?

Like I said, that was many years ago. I feel like this sort of thing has happened many times. I have brought in many sponsors and yet, I am treated rudely. Forgive me for feeling sorry for myself....

Two days ago, I wrote about a president of a company who wrote me a letter that was just shocking. This isn't sour grapes. His letter wasn't really worthy of an adult and certainly not worthy of one written by a person in an executive position at a large company. I had been writing professional business correspondence to this president, but he wrote back to me a letter that looked like it was written by a 14-year-old complaining about his companies past inter-staff squabbles and fighting. I'm writing about business and he's airing his families dirty laundry out in public - and I hardly even know the guy!

I couldn't believe it (you wouldn't believe it either. Refer to: Be Professional! Working at a Japanese Company - Any Company - Filled With Low-Quality Dysfunctional People and Management - Don't Do That to Yourself).

I didn't add to that article one very important point; that this company president would write such an amateurish letter to me is even doubly more astounding when you realize that my company is a sponsor to that station and, while not a massive sum, we spend ¥900,000 (nearly $12,000 a month) on commercials at that station.

Astounding!

Well, perhaps not so incredible when you look at the past record. I have to be one of the few who have brought sponsors, some huge ones, to that station and yet, whenever I hand them flowers, I feel like they crush them in the dirt in front of my face

Now? What can I do? If I go to war with this child-president, I have every right to cancel all the commercials immediately and without penalty. The story will come out what happened and this president will most likely get into big trouble at his company for writing such an idiotic letter. He could even lose his position if the news got out to famous advertising companies, which it would if we go to war.

But does that do me any good? No. Why?

Because, I can't act like a child like he does or they do. I have to act my age and control my emotions and not seek revenge. I have people working at that station who work for me. Those people are good people and they have wonderful families and mouths to feed. I can't do anything to hurt those people.

There are people on my side, at my company (and inside of our investor - one of the most famous companies in Japan) who are furious about this mail and they want me to take that company president to task. They have every right to think that. After all, if you were paying nearly $12,000 a month and then found out that the person you were paying that money to stated that he didn't want your business and said he didn't want to work with you, wouldn't you want to quit? Of course you would. It is natural and common sense that anyone would. Most people would cancel their cellphone or cable TV service for more minor infractions than that.

But, I can't act like a child like the broadcasting company president. I cannot be like that. So, like I said, I must take my own advice. And, at the same time, this is Japan, I must take personal responsibility for this problem.

When a business dies or when a team or marriage ends, it is, in a way, a sad day. But, it is also a day for celebration. It is a day of freedom. The chains are removed and you are released. For me, that day has arrived. It is hard for my heart to let go, but let go is the only choice I have.

The other choice is war and war will hurt too many people I care about. I cannot go to war and damage this president; a pyrrhic victory isn't a very good victory at all, is it? The best choice is to be a mature individual and to quietly bow out.

Therefore, I hereby resign for ever doing any work with that company ever again.

If you ever find yourself in this sort of situation, then take my friend's advice. Walk out the door. There is a better opportunity waiting for you.

"Save your life and stop. Start doing something else."

There is a reason for everything.

This was written for T.U. Thanks for everything you've done for me. I won't forget!

Charles Bukowski, Gary North and Me - The Best Writers Don't Care What People Think

2012-01-27T14:50:00.001+09:00

They don't care what you think. The best writers, I mean. I read the famous ones a lot. I think, sometimes, I read new, young ones that could be really good or great someday.

Charles Bukowski

Alas, I am not a great writer but I had a guy as a sort of teacher and advisor to me who is a great writer. In fact, I had two of them who really influenced me greatly. I'm not talking about some writer whom I have never come in to contact with excepting their written words in books I've bought, I'm talking about two who I have actually corresponded with who have written notes and letters to me. Those two guys really influenced me. Their names are Gary North and Charles Bukowski. Everyone knows Charles Bukowski today. He died a few years back. In the early 80's, he was a cult writer and few knew him. After he died, he became famous. Gary North is well known in political and historical circles. He is still alive. I expect that he will be very famous after his demise.

Gary North

Not to be too flippant, but dying is very bad for someone's health but I think it does wonders for an artist's or a writer's career...

I will always be grateful that Gary North, years ago, would volunteer advice to me as to how to be a better writer as well as helping me to publish my book. I'll get to Charles Bukowski in a minute.

One of the best pieces of advice Gary North ever gave me was something along the lines of "find your topic. Create a thesis. Study it well, write it and rewrite it. Rewrite it again after that. And finally, stick by your guns until someone can prove you wrong with facts or data. If new data comes up then rethink your position."

That was important advice for me. It was important because all writers want people to like what they wrote. All writers want to think that they are correct in their thinking. All writers want to be popular and for everyone to like them.

But that is just dreaming and not realistic thinking whatsoever. The writer who writes in an attempt to please everyone - will be relegated to writing boring fiction and fantasy (which could be an honorable profession and much more profitable than writing nonfiction, by the way).

The best writers, actually, are the ones who don't care what you or I think. The best writers know that readers really loving them or hating them with a passion is the best way to be. When people don't care either way, that's the death knell of any art. People must love you or hate you. That's what Charles Bukowski taught me.

The following story about Charles Bukowski and me is pretty unbelievable - if you don't know me very well. I know my friend's will hear this story and say, "Yeah? That sounds exactly like something Rogers would do." I have lots of stories like this. Stories where I met the Ramones, Blondie, Arnold Schwartzneggar, George H.W. Bush, Phil Spector and a bunch of other people that I can't recall at the moment....

Anyway, here's the story about Bukowski and how he affected me...

In the early 1980s my best friend, Jeff Hughart, and I started a free underground magazine in Southern California called Sixty Miles North. It was a punk underground rag that got pretty popular in a very short time. At that time, free underground magazines were a novel and new idea. Ours was one of the first.

At that time, there was this old man who was a popular poet and writer in the underground who (pardon my French) didn't give a sh*t what you thought. He had written a few books about how crappy his work life was and Jeff and I thought those books were awesome. His name was Charles Bukowski. Since my friend and I were ex-punk rockers we thought everything in mass pop culture and modern consumerist society was horrible crap so we gravitated towards "dark" writers and artists like Joy Division and Charles Bukowski. Bukowski's novels, we thought, showed total disgust and contempt for modern society and modern life and we liked that a lot.

It seemed it was obvious that Bukowski didn't care if people liked his writing or not. Bukowski thought everything was sh*tty and said so. That's why we thought he was way cool.

Back in those days, Bukowski wasn't popular in the mainstream and was a cult artist. Bukowski lived in Los Angeles and it was well known that he liked the horse races. That was convenient for me because I lived near Los Angeles and so did my parents. In fact, my folks liked the horse races. They were horse race crazy too and, this is no exaggeration, by the time I was 15 years old, I had been to every race track in Southern California a hundred times. As kids, we'd run around the horse races areas and knew all the best places to hide and play.

Great, eh? I spent many weekends playing at the horse race track while my parents bet. Now wonder why I am so screwed up today?

Jeff and I spent a lot of time on that magazine. It was our release from our jobs and it was fun. It was our creative outlet. We thought that we could get Bukowski to write for our underground magazine.

I got a photo of Bukowski and showed it to my dad and mom and asked them if they had seen this guy down at the track. They weren't sure. Since Bukowski was a published author, and pretty old, I figured that he'd relax in the horse track's "Club House." In the Club House it is not crowded as tables cost a few dollars and one can sit, relax and not have to deal with massive crowds of people. Bukowski wrote that he hated the humanity at the horse track. From being there hundreds of times, I knew exactly what he meant, so from that, I also knew he must have sat in the Club House. (If you've ever been to the horse track you know the "smell of humanity": sweat, sh*t and stale cigar smoke....) In the Club House you could have your space and not be pushed and shoved. The Club House was relaxed. Like I said, my parents were regulars so they knew most of the people in the Club House. There were lots of famous retired actors and actresses there. The most famous one that I can remember was Mickey Rooney. He and my dad would often sit at tables next to each other and talk.

My parents saw the photo but couldn't remember if they'd seen Bukowski or not. So, I went to look for him. Seriously. If you don't know about horse racing, this might seem impossible to do, but if you go to the track a lot and know that certain race tracks are closed when others are open and that there is only one Club House where the regulars hang out, you'd know it shouldn't be so hard to find some old guy betting on the horses. It's be akin to walking into a huge bar with, maybe, 200 customers or so and finding your guy.

Mickey Rooney played Mr. Yuniyoshi in Breakfast at Tiffany's

So, I went looking for Bukowski at the horse racing track... I figured if I found him, I could give buy him a coffee and hand him a magazine, and a stamped envelope addressed with our mailing address (this was way back before the days of the Internet) and ask him to jot down some junk and send it to us for publication in the magazine.

At the track, I showed his photo to some of my parents friends, the workers there and Mickey Rooney. People said they recognized him but hadn't seen him for a while. I tried three different times but I never found Bukowski at the Club House. I gave up.

Jeff, on the other hand, tried an approached that I thought would never work in a million years. Jeff then sent him a letter out of the blue to his publisher and included the same sort of stamped envelope with the same tack that I tried. I figured my way at least had a small chance. I figured that if I could just speak to Bukowski personally, I could convince him to write for us. Jeff had other ideas.

In Jeff's envelope he included a sample of the magazine and a letter asking for a short poem or submission with a "Thank you." Jeff sent it off and we forgot about it.

Well, you can imagine our shock and surprise when the envelope came back to us from Bukowski two weeks later. We were thrilled... You can also imagine our disappointment when Bukowski hand wrote on our letter a "No thank you!" message saying he wasn't interested in writing for our magazine. We were, as Southern California people said back in those days, "Bummed out!"

But not to be deterred and being two guys with a huge sense of humor (and this is the part where you'll think, "That sounds like Rogers"), we decided to run his rejection letter as "Bukowski's writing for our magazine." I think we called it, "Rejection from Bukowski." We printed his rejection letter as is and told the story. We bragged how our "zine" had finally hit the "big time" as even famous writers like Bukowski refused to write for us (remember we were a punk rock underground magazine so that was cool!) I have that magazine around here somewhere, stacked inside of some boxes so I'll have to find it and show it to you sometime.

After that magazine came out, we, once again, sent one to Bukowski with another note. This time he wrote back to us something along the lines of, "I can't believe you guys are so hard up for material that you'd print my rejection letter." He then added two or three (I can't remember how many) short poems that we printed in the next issue.

U2's Bono is a wanker

From that I learned a great lesson in life and from Bukowski. The lesson in life I learned was anything is worth a try and you can't achieve the impossible until you try to do so and, you have to do what you want. Bukowski's writing, at that time, was very hard core and seemed extremely negative to me (OK. I was negative when I was in "punk mode.") I could have never guessed at that time he'd become so famous and popular. So popular, in fact, that wankers like Bono from U2 would try to increase his coolness factor by acting like he is a friend with Bukowski.

Oh, and that reminds me. I do recall one poem he wrote much later, after our initial correspondence. Here is what Bukowski wrote about the time when Bono from U2 called him: (this is from my memory so it isn't word for word):

I got a call from Bono the other day...

He said "Hi!"

I said "Hi!" and asked how Cher was doing...

We didn't talk for

long after

that...

Isn't that hilarious? Bono from U2 is so conceited that he thinks everyone knows who he is so he calls Bukowski to kiss his a*s. But Bukowski is not impressed (or he really doesn't know) and puts him down with the comment about Sonny and Cher! Sensational!

Sixties pop stars Sonny and Cher (Bono)

Today, I still read material by Gary North and Charles Bukowski sometimes and other great and famous writers. Now, thanks to the Internet and blogging, I think I can spot almost immediately some of those people with potential to be good or even great writers someday. In the day of print and paper, it was more difficult and costly for writers to say what they wanted to say. They had to tone down their message. Now, thanks to blogging, writers can say what they want.

The best writers start off as arrogant and obnoxious. They have the raw material to become good someday. These are the young people, though, who need to read and study and refine and write and rewrite. These are the people who need to open their minds and realize that they have so much potential if only they'd throw away preconceived notions.

It is as a famous Zen story goes:

A Cup of Tea

Nan-in, a Japanese master during the Meiji era (1868-1912), received a university professor who came to inquire about Zen.

Nan-in served tea. He poured his visitor's cup full, and then kept on pouring.

The professor watched the overflow until he no longer could restrain himself. "It is overfull. No more will go in!"

"Like this cup," Nan-in said, "you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?"

Fellow bloggers, especially you that are young, become great writers!

Here is my advice to you: Find your topic. Create a thesis. Study it well, write it and rewrite it. Rewrite it again after that. And finally, stick by your guns until someone can prove you wrong with facts or data. If new data comes up then rethink your position.

Always, do not care too much what other people think... Good art is not democratic.

And, ALWAYS keep an open mind and realize that many of the ideas we believed at 25 we find out at the age of 50 are completely wrong.

Lastly, let me leave you with this quote (and get off my soapbox):

"We have to abandon the idea that schooling is something restricted to youth. How can it be, in a world where half the things a man knows at 20 are no longer true at 40 - and half the things he knows at 40 hadn't been discovered when he was 20?" - Arthur C. Clarke

Psst! Sonny and Cher (Bono) were way cooler than U2's poseur vocalist Bono could ever be! Bukowski was an old man in the eighties. He wouldn't know about U2. Here's the Bono he must have thought he was talking to...

And, when U2 Bono hung up the phone, do you think Bukowski cared?

Nope. Most probably not.

For Ryu, Andrew, Jp and Allison

Be Professional! Working at a Japanese Company - Any Company - Filled With Low Quality, Dysfunctional People and Management - Don't Do That to Yourself!

2012-01-26T10:59:00.000+09:00

In one of my jobs, I give advice to major corporations on marketing and promotions. I work with some great folks. Usually, these big companies ask me for advice (or how to get tickets to sold-out concerts - yep. I can even do that!) Sometimes, in order to create new business, I put on my sales hat and approach companies that are in serious need of help. Today's post is about that kind of company; I mean a company in serious need of help. There's lots of companies like that. Here's an example.

The following is a true story. In the last two days, I've had some experiences that are just hilarious and just go to show how dysfunctional the people are who are in the employ of this one particular well known to be hereinafter called, "the Inertia Company" in Tokyo. Everyone in Japan knows this company but it is not very respected. It used to be. But not today. It once was rich and profitable but, over these last 15 years, due to the Internet and not being able to adapt to the times (think Bronotosaurus), this company has fallen into serious financial troubles and disrepair. After hearing this story as just one microcosm of the whole problem, you'll see why.

It is all I can do to keep from laughing out loud at just how incompetent the employees as well as the upper management are at Inertia. This story would make a funny TV comedy show but, it is so ridiculous that, well, it might be too hard to believe. Here is what happened:

Over the past few months, I have met with the new director of Inertia. The guy before this new director didn't last 3 years. The guy before that one was gone after one year. When companies lose millions of dollars, that tends to create a high turnover rate in manglement... Er, I spelled that wrong, I mean, "management." In spite of the high turnover, like a good trooper, I've been trying to help them all with sales. And why not? Even if I think they are not good management people, if I can help them sell and make money, then I make money. Everyone's happy, right?

But, with corporations like today's example of Inertia, I think God makes me do this sort of thing as a kind of "purgatory on earth" or, perhaps, to make me a better person and teach me patience.

The Inertia Company has been losing more than one million dollars a year for the last 3 years. The new director and I met to discuss new ways to create new business revenue streams. In our last meeting, he told me that he, "Totally and completely agreed with my ideas..." and he added that he wanted me to give him "a few months to reorganize the company so that we could move forward with this new way." He also told me to contact him after that time.

Artist's rendition of Inertia Company Tokyo

As an aside, I go to that company sometimes and know that nothing has been reorganized by him since our meeting three months ago. Nevertheless I have been contacting him and trying to arrange a follow up meeting to discuss organization and operational implementation of this new plan.

By the way, I have already sold this new plan that I shared with the new director of Inertia to a few of Japan's most successful and profitable companies. In June of last year I presented it to one of Japan's most respected and profitable corporations and by August 1st, they had fully adopted the plan and now use it to boost sales - which they have done quite successfully - thank you!

Anyhow, over these past few weeks, I have been contacting this gentleman as he asked me to do. I repeatedly sent him very polite and professional business letters discussing items like CRM "Customer Relations Management," and very cost effective digital systems on how to use this new plan to obtain customers. With these notes, I have been asking for follow up meetings.

Finally, I offered him a lunch meeting whereby I could bring one of my top salesmen. This salesman is responsible for bringing this new CRM system to some of Japan's top sports teams whereby they use the system. Actually, using the system to give clients what they want is a no-brainer. I expected the director of this company to set a firm date soon.

That is, until yesterday. Yesterday he sent me a mail that just shocked me. I'd expect a mail like the one he sent me from a junior staff or a newbie or a junior high school student, but from a 50+ year old man who is a director at a company?! Extraordinary!

Here's a flow of the mails so you can get a feeling for the conversation. My mails (a total of four in four weeks) said something like this:

Dear Mr. Director,

How are you today, sir?

As you know, some of the biggest and most influential companies in Japan have just started using the CRM tool I mentioned to you at our first meeting. I'd like to continue that conversation. I know you are terribly busy so perhaps I could meet you over lunch to discuss implementation on how you can use a CRM marketing tool (at no cost) in order to provide your potential clients with the data they need on their users and thereby gain a mutually beneficial business relationship with those potential clients? Won't you please arrange a suitable time so that we can discuss over lunch? I will arrange my schedule to fit yours at any time. Please advise.

Mike Rogers

The director of Inertia dropped my jaw yesterday with his mail. He answered me something along these lines:

Mr. Rojers (sic)

We like you but cannot work with your company.

We cannot work with you as there is a person at your company who used to work together with us at our parent company. When he worked here, he hurt the feelings of people at that parent company in the past. As you know, people are animals and their feelings do not heal so quickly. Therefore, even though your idea is good, we have no intention of working with your company because of him.

Mr. Director

I was flabbergasted. Here I am writing professional business correspondence, talking about increasing sales for a company that is losing over a million dollars a year, and this guy writes back to me talking about his internal family problems and squabbles! (No big deal, but he even spelled my name wrong!) I mean I talk about money and he starts telling me about his squabbles with brothers who were fighting.

I have no problem with them not working with us. But I'd expect some sort of reply like, "We have decided on another avenue to increase our sales. Thank you for time. Let's stay in touch and perhaps we can work together in the very near future." You know? This is what I'd expect from a professional.... But I am not dealing with professionals. This is like dealing with a room full of kids!

I have never worked at that company and have no idea what he is talking about. I don't really care. The above example is in English, but his original letter was in Japanese. At first I thought I was misreading it. To double check, I showed it to my Japanese wife and she was so surprised too. I mean, really, this is a business letter from the director (president) of a company!? My wife said, "I've never seen anything like that before. Do you think he wrote this letter when he was drunk? He sounds drunk."

I checked the time stamp on the email. I suppose it's possible that he was drunk. I mean, perhaps he was drinking at 11:30 in the morning on a Tuesday. Hell, I could see it. If I were running a company that was losing a million dollars a year, I'd be drinking all the time too!

Like I said, I was so surprised to see this letter. No. "Surprised" is not the word. "Totally and completely dumbfounded and floored" is more like it. I have never seen anything like that before. I'm the kind of guy who doesn't need to like people to work with them. All we need is professionalism and that's fine with me. We don't need to be bosom buddies to make money with them. Isn't that a part of professionalism?

I wrote back and decided that I should ignore his comments about hurt feelings and events that happened years ago. I wrote:

Dear Mr. Director,

Thank you so very much for your honest feelings.

Anyway, in order to implement a CRM system that can help boost your sales (as your competitors are doing and your former sales partners are now doing also) then let me introduce another company that has a similar system to mine. It is not as advanced, but can still do the job better than nothing. This system too, can allow your sales department to sell what the customers need and gain clients.

I am quite sure that there is no one at your company who understands this sort of new system so I can, at anytime, and for absolutely no charge, come down to your company and help tutor your sales folks on how to use this system effectively. Please let me know.

Mike Rogers

And that was that. He didn't answer my mail. I'd imagine that if I had written such a silly letter and then received back a professional "adult" attitude letter, I might be ashamed or embarrassed. But shaming or embarrassing this guy is not my intention at all. My entire intention was to help his company increase sales. I am not interested in his "family affairs" and they are none of my business! I can't believe he'd tell me about them!

Does anyone wonder why the Inertia Company is losing so much money? What a mess! Their president basically said to me, "I don't like you so I don't want to make money with you!" Laughable. How did this guy get to be president?

Well, maybe I don't like someone like Bill Gates either but I don't have any problem using his stuff to make money for me! (Actually, I am a Apple guy, but you get my point).

And now, after that incredible story, what's the point of all this? How does something like this apply to you? Folks, life is short. If you are in a company like this, get out. After that experience and this absurd correspondence from a company director with the emotional baggage of a 12-year-old I don't want to help them. I hope they don't ask me ever again (they have asked many times!) But fear that they will.

There's lots of companies run by nincompoops like this example above. Companies that are struggling along, barely making ends meet; the yearly sales targets are never met and the mood of the company and the employees goes down. The quality of management sinks and an ever lower standard, and dare I say, IQ? comes in and begins taking the ship to even lower depths. Of course it does. Why? Because the good, talented people see the writing on the wall and get out of these sorts of companies while they can and take better jobs somewhere else. The people who are left over? They are the low quality ones who have no where to go. They have nowhere to go because they are left without gumption, drive, motivation and, sadly, without a clue. They can't go anywhere even if hey wanted to!

When a company is left with low quality people like that where is there to go but down?

People look at a companies like Apple Computer, Softbank or Google and think, "Oh! But they had a good idea and a good product or service!" Sure, that's true. But even more than that, they have good people. They know what it takes to make a good company. After all, what is a good company but a gathering of good people?

A company like Apple is filled with such good high-quality people that even if they didn't sell killer products, even if they sold chopsticks, they could make a profit and a good company. Apple people are like that. Apple could even make ice seem cool! Apple could rebrand ice and sell it to Eskimos!

A bad company like the one above I mentioned? A bad company could take great products like Apple has and they'd soon find some way to turn them into a loser and quickly be bordering on bankruptcy. That's what a bad company is.

Like I said, I work at several different places during the week. I get to see up close and inside of some of the finest companies in Japan and in the world. I've been to Apple Japan, Google Japan, All Nippon Airways, Softbank, Air New Zealand and Recruit, just to name a few, more times than I can count. I've worked with them and organized many promotions with them. I am doing so now.

I've also worked at some of the most dysfunctional and incompetent companies in all of Japan too; like the Inertia Company. I won't bother to mention their real names. Why? It pains me to do so. Why name them? Bashing these poor people is like kicking a mangy disease ridden one legged dog; it's not necessary or desirable at all. I don't even want to touch or get close to them.

That's what this blog post is about; not touching or getting too close to sick companies. Like a diseased animal, you need to stay away from them or you will become like them. For people who are young; for people who want to have a future; for people who want to give their children the best that they can; for people who want to escape and live their life to the fullest, this blog post is for you (and me). Don't take a job with a bad company. If you find that you are with a bad company, then get out as fast as you can.

As a multi-millionaire friend once told me, "Sometimes the jobs you reject are just as important as the jobs you accept."

Of course a job and food on the table is important. But, while you work at that poorly run company, you must make the effort to learn all you can and use your connections to get out and get a better job.

Remember birds of a feather flock together. If you are always working with poor quality and incompetent people you will probably become that way or, at least, be perceived by others as being that way.

So, if you work at a place like the one I described above; get out as quickly as you can. A life is too short having to work in a place where you cannot dream and be your best. Don't do that to yourself.

Find a good company with good people. Have a dream aspire to be the best you can be...

And above all be professional.

Japan's Crisis Has Arrived? Japan Has First Trade Deficit in 32 Years!

2012-01-25T19:39:00.001+09:00

The floodgates are creaking. If Japan needs foreign loans to float the government debt, the country is sunk. The other option is to destroy the value of the yen.

Will the Japanese public stand hyperinflation? If interest rates go to just 3% they would consume ALL of Japan's tax revenue. Even doubling the Sales Tax won't help.

Mish Shedlock reports in Japan Faces Moment of Truth:

Japan is in deep serious trouble the moment it enters a sustainable period of negative or neutral current account balances. If Japan becomes dependent on foreigners to finance rollovers on its debt either the Yen sinks or interest rates rise. Interest rates at a mere 3% would currently consume all of Japan's tax revenue.

Bloomberg reported; “Japan’s government said it will probably miss its goal of balancing the budget by 2020 even with its proposed doubling of the sales tax, underscoring the scale of the nation’s fiscal challenges.

The primary budget deficit, which excludes the cost of servicing debt, will be the equivalent of 3.1 percent of gross domestic product for the year through March 2021, the Cabinet Office said in Tokyo today. Hours after the release, Prime Minister Yoshihiko Noda reiterated his call for opposition lawmakers to engage in talks on boosting the sales levy.

‘To balance the budget, the rate needs to rise further.’”

What did I tell you the last time I wrote against an increase in Sales Tax? No matter how much the taxes go up, the government will always spend what it takes and, no matter how much it is raised, it will never be enough. History shows us that! When the first Sales Tax came in at 3% in the early 1980s they said that was going to fix the budget problems. Guess what? Surprise! It didn't.

Why didn't it? Because they spent the money!

The article above really goes into how stupid and into the outer limits of insanity the current government of Japan is by stating that there are some who think Japan should have a 25% Sales Tax.

Like I predicted, this prime minister, Noda something or other (no need to remember his name, he is a goner) will be gone this summer. Bank on it.

Instead of raising taxes, how about cutting spending?

A Pig Farm in Beverly Hills and Downtown Tokyo Where Pigs Crap Diamonds - Government Laws Preventing it too!

2012-01-25T08:04:00.000+09:00

"The more corrupt the state, the more numerous the laws." -- Tacitus

There are far too many people living in a fantasy world. There are far too many people who have been brought up under our socialist and nanny state environment for too long, or their entire lives, that they know no different. It reminds me of stories I heard about communist Poland or the Soviet Union in the 1960s: I was told that many people were happy and satisfied with a quarter cube of butter for an entire family once a month because they didn't know any better.

People in our society today think it is normal for people to expect handouts "from the government" or a "free education" or "free medical and health care" or "retirement income."

It's shouldn't come as any surprise to anyone, but, unfortunately it might; folks, few things in life are free anymore. And I don't mean that rhetorically. Not even the air we breathe is free. We get taxed even for that. But they don't call it that. They call it the Clean Air Act.

Whatever the government can tax, it will. It's no joke to think that governments have considered how to tax even the act of sex.

Of course, they wouldn't call it that. They'd call it something like "Protect the Babies Act" or something like that. When it comes to taxes and government boondoogles everything the government does is named the opposite of what it is actually designed to do. Rick Santelli had a funny rant the other day. He was talking about this very same subject. How about SOPA, the Anti-Piracy Bill? Who could possibly be against fighting piracy? Is there anybody out there who is for piracy? But the law was actually a law designed to curtail our rights of free speech. Or how about the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA)? Who couldn't be for protecting the environment? Or the Consumer Protection Agency? Can anybody be against protecting American consumers?

Or how about when Reagan was president and the USA launched a new series of super high speed nuclear tipped missiles that could hit the Soviet Union within 5 minutes and called them, "Peace Keeper Missiles?"

It's always a diversionary tactic and things are named for the opposite of what they are actually designed for because people are too stupid to put down the TV remote control and read a book to find out what's really going on.

Hey! Am I talking about books again? Yep. Do people read books anymore? No. So that brings me to my next question: What's the difference between a college graduate in the west who doesn't read books and, say, some native villager up in the mountains who is totally illiterate has never even seen a book their entire life? Nothing. Neither of them read books.

Back to that part a while back talking about the government care and "free" medical and education, etc. etc. Listen, like I said, nothing is free. Another big surprise that people in this day and age might find out is that, psst, don't tell anyone but the government doesn't have any of their own money! Yep. That's right. Every single penny the government has is from taxes taken from people like you and me. The government does not own any industry and has no way to create income so they get monies from taxing the working class (that's you and me). So whenever you say that people should, say, get free healthcare, what you are actually saying is that you think you should be taxed to pay for someone else's medical care.

Well, far be it from me to tell you how to spend your money. But, I, for one, have my hands full paying for myself and my family as it is without to paying for someone else's AND have a government office middleman taking a cut off the top for running and "organizing" (I use that term quite loosely) such services.

It's very simple: the government functions by taking taxes from the working class. In most cases (like, for example, our trash collection services) the government doesn't even run that. It is an job assigned out to a private company, usually on a no-bid contract. Each municipality does it different, but you can bet your bottom dollar that, as no-bid contracts are wont to do, there are favors being handed out.

To think that the government hires and organizes our trash collection services and those guys picking up our trash cans are government employees is another fantasy world which many people seem to believe in... It is much "cheaper" for the government to hire a outside company with outside workers to do it (insurance, employee compensation problems, etc.) and then take a margin off the top for arranging the services.

I mean, really, sitting at a desk and organizing is what government employees do best. Of course, everyone has seen that and knows it, right? Or has anyone seen that Clark Kent super government employee office worker jetting around town recently?

Yes. In the 1930s, even American students saluted the flag this way

In our modern society people have been so brainwashed by big government and so-called big society that, as I said, they gotten used to this nonsense and think it is normal.

Well, it wasn't normal not that long ago. In the USA, it started in the 1930's with FDR and got greatly expanded and completely out of hand with Lyndon Johnson in the 1960's in America's so-called "Great Society." Nowadays, through years of government run public education, people have come to believe that the state is our benevolent leader and is here to protect us from cradle to grave.

I won't go into too many examples of how the government protects it's own populace excepting to mention that, in the 20th century alone government's of the world instituted wars that killed over 160 million people.

As an aside please don't counter the above paragraph with "diseases killed more people than government!" Yes. That's true. Diseases did kill more. But consider the fact that the doctor who discovered the prevention for a disease like Smallpox, Dr. Edward Jenner, did so in the very late 1700's and he did not work for a government agency. Or French chemist Louis Pasteur who found the Germ Theory of disease and prevention for infectious diseases did not work for the government. In fact, I think you'll find that government employed scientists are usually involved in exploring science for military purposes; not disease and sickness prevention or cure.

But I digress.

Today. Over 1/2 of all American households receive some kind of government assistance. Over 45.8 million Americans are on food stamps. Over 25% of all American children are under the poverty level (Japan has a total poverty level of 15.7%). Both the USA and Japanese government to GDP debt levels are unsustainable and the governments of both countries just keep spending and spending...

Your tax dollars at work

Oh, and did I forget to mention that the government has no money of their own and that the money that they are spending is your money? That money comes from your pocket? I did mention that? Okay. Thanks. Just wanted to make sure you understood that.

A while back, I had a discussion with a guy who was the typical brainwashed American. He thought that we needed more laws, more taxes and he thought that the government was benevolent and good.

I told him to consider the notion that "Laws are the anti-thesis to freedom." He scrunched up his face and looked confused.

We were at his house in Den en Chofu overlooking the garden area. Den en Chofu is the ritzy part of Tokyo. Imagine Beverly Hills in Japan and you get the idea. As we looked out from the balcony, he insisted that we needed the government and more laws on the books. This really surprised me as I didn't expect that people who were living upper middle class would want more government control over their lives but I would find out that, to my surprise, he wasn't an independent businessman, he was a government employee and in a sort of public union!

He insisted that we needed the government to make laws like no smoking in restaurants and seat belt laws. I said we didn't.

In the case of smoking laws, people need to understand the difference between a public building and a private building. A government owned building is a public building, the government can make laws about smoking and rights concerning what goes on inside that building. A privately owned building, like your house, is none of their business. If you want to smoke in your house, or allow others to do so - or not do so - that's your business. If people don't like it that you do or do not allow smoking in your building they can go somewhere else.

Nowhere in the US constitution does it say that the federal government has the power to enact laws pertaining to smoking in privately owned buildings or even that you have to buckle your seat belt (It doesn't say that in the Japanese Constitution either). In America, the individual states might. But the federal government does not. And those go for drug laws and smoking laws and laws concerning prohibition too!

Say your mom and dad work hard all their life and save enough money to quit their jobs and they use their saving to buy a building and open a restaurant. It is their building. They own it. The government has no right to tell them who they can and cannot serve to. If your dad wants to allow his customers to smoke in his restaurant, that is your father's right. The government should make no laws pertaining to that.

But my friend would have no part of it. He insisted that we needed laws like smoking laws or helmet laws. Like I said, people are indoctrinated by public schooling and taught to not be able to think.

Folks we don't need laws like ones that prohibit smoking in privately owned buildings, or must wear a helmet or ones that say you can't build a pig farm in the middle of Beverly Hills. You know why? Well, I explained about public versus private buildings. Helmets? I think only stupid (or really cool and a tad bit crazy) people would ride a motorcycle without one. (I think I also mentioned something about trying to outlaw stupid.") And pig farms? Well, making a business like a pig farm is a huge investment. I don't think people do it to lose money. Pig farmers are not so stupid. People don't usually start businesses - any businesses - to lose money.

The government cannot outlaw stupid (though sometimes I wish they'd try!)

Pig farms aren't such high income generating businesses, I suspect. The cost of land in Beverly Hills (or in Den en Chofu, Tokyo) run astronomical amounts. Last I heard Den en Chofu was $120 a square foot! Now, most pig farms are out in the country where land runs about a dollar a foot or so for a reason. It doesn't take much of a mathematician or rocket scientist to figure out that a pig farmer could never afford to make a pig farm in Beverly Hills profitable at those land prices unless those pigs were crapping diamonds.

In which case, the government would find a way to make even that unprofitable with a new tax by calling it something like the "Protect Romance and Precious Diamonds Act of 2012."

So, does anyone think we need laws to stop someone from attempting to make a pig farm in rich neighborhoods? I don't think so.

Things are quickly spinning out of control The biggest problem is most people are walking around like nothing is happening and are hoping for the best. Folks, "Hope" is not a very good business plan nor is it a good plan on how you are going to take care of your family.

We need to cut down on government and government spending in order to get out of the mess we're in. In Japan's and the US government's case, increasing our debt is not the answer to our debt problems. If the average Joe Blow doesn't start to figure this out really soon, we are in for a world of hurt.

If that happens, then I might like to be a pig farmer and get away from the rat race. I read about pig farming in Charlotte's Web. Now, that fantasy world sounded wonderful.