Kaz S. Matamura

３月は地獄のように忙しかったのです。　まず、　ハニーの誕生日パーティーを３月２０日と２７日に２回行いました。
２０日のパーティーのテーマは　ＷＨＩＴＥ ＴＲＡＳＨ　低収入白人の生活を真似た不思議なパーティー。　ハニーは写真家なので　大御所エージェントもベテラン役者も　平等に　トレイラートラッシュとして参加してくれました。　ケンタッキーフライドチキンや、ツナカサロール、ビスケットとグレービー等食べれないものばかり。　困ったチャンでした。
２７日は　アメリカ南部　(これまた)　ＷＨＩＴＥ　ＴＲＡＳＨ　パーティー。　またかよ、　とおもいつつ　かわいい彼女の私は　カウガールに変装しました。　(写真は抹殺しましたよ！）　このパーティーはＬＡのアーチスト系の方々がいらっしゃって　朝の７時までパーティーはつづき、　私はそのまま翌日日曜日、１０時から子供のクラス、そして、　次の劇作品のためのオーディション、２つリハをし　夜１１時に帰宅。　　さすが　ハニーは家の掃除を終え、ワインを片手に　お留守番していました。　かわいいなー。

４月中旬に　ベッドルームシークレットという、７本短編を集めた劇を製作。　またまた、毎晩　豆吉ちゃんのおかげで大成功。　キャストメンバーは合計２７人の役者。　ステージが小さくみえるほどでした。
ロン・ハワードの娘　ページハワードが参加していたのですが父ちゃんが来た日は、みんなの注目が彼に行き、娘がちょっとかわいそうになりました。　こくだな、名声って。

いま、この日本語のコンピュータを直してもらいホクホクです！
また後ほど！

“He was born with a gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad.”

I don’t know what I did to deserve this life. I’m still leading the life as if I’m writing my fantasy autobiography. I’m unbelievably lucky. It is my sunny brain that makes my life easier and brighter. So to mark 8th year anniversary of the Secret Rose Theatre, a theatre that we made many visions come true, I decided to unfold the secrets of rosey life to spread my sunshine.

Trusting – It’s not easy to be so optimistic all the time. Sometimes I think I might be missing screws. But life is good in Hollywood, a center of media universe. I work with the most creative people. I never learned how to worry or be suspicious. I’m duper naïve, and convince myself that it’s because of my circumstance, not because of lack of my brain cells. I’m with trust worthy people and no reason not to be trusting. You become paranoia for how you treat others and it only attracts skillful people who can fool you, while naïve ones think you are just simply too weird. Law of attraction.

No pressure – Most of time, I don’t know whether I’m playing or working. Pressure doesn’t drive me. I stopped worrying about “making it” because somehow I was able to convince my family that I already “made it” what ever that means. High standard is just fear of not being good enough to be accepted. Hell, I’m perfectionist, but I damn well know perfect is within the expectation of human minds and it won’t be “wow wow wow.” Bottom line: cage free mind can create dynamic.

Simplify – you don’t need much to live. It’s a vomitingly hypocritical things to say, but I pretty much have everything I need. Its my uber-ego that needs to make a life meaningful, or want to hear “You and I made great looking children, let’s do it … from George Clooney.” Other than that, I don’t have much “want.”

It’s OK to be hateful – as long as it doesn’t come from your self hatred. List the things you hate – and if it grows from you or you grew from – that’s self-hatred. I hate onions, and it doesn’t grow from me. I grew from my parents but I love them – so I’m alright. If you hate one thing, hate everything equally. I’m a little bit of racist, sexist, ageist – a well balanced hater.

Recycle all. If you see a trash, you pick it up. The same thing applies to relationships. When you see a Debbie Downer, don’t avoid. You face her like a Eli Wallach would. You suck all the bad thoughts, energy and idea from her and recycle into a good one to put it back in the air. Don’t store it. Instead of “That asshole cut me off” – “oh glad the speedy Gonzales didn’t rear end me!.” Staying away from negative energy is like Atkin diet. It’s better to learn how to deal with downers, for they are like fish in a fish tank.

Money – it doesn’t take much to live, but it can cost all your life if you pay attention to it too much. Whatever you do, if you are good at it, you will make money. Just work hard and smart. Possession is not achievement. Only achievement is achievement itself, and sometimes it’s much cheaper.

Be flexible in what to believe. I used to believe my classmate Miyama was my soul mate, then I had a changed of heart to Aki, till he was killed by an accident. Now my definition is “a compatible person t.” I used to believe in Santa Clause, but now I believe that everyone is Santa Clause if you are nice to them. I’m not a Jew, but I do enjoy practical Hanukah gifts, too.

Friends – Be with people who share the same value. True friends are lovers minus passionate French kiss, must share respect, trust and admire each other. All my friends are some kind of warm godmothers and godfathers.

Create a heaven here. I don’t know what’s going to happen after death. Have some idea, but not sure of anything, since I haven’t been dead yet. But the concept of reward points of entrance puzzles me. It is less certain than “mama’s bank.” (My mom still owes me money) I’m cashing all my points here in this life. Call me a gambler.

Stand for something

You can see a road more standing than from crawling. We have amazing freedom in this country, and we need to make sure it is distributed equally among us. Empower and inspire yourselves with the people with sense of mission. Find your tribe who cherish and magnify your compassion.

The one of things I’m still learning is how to slow down to smell roses. I cannot stop to just have fun. I AM having great deal of fun, I just cannot relax. But wouldn’t it be more fun to be roses that make others smile?

いやはや、芸術で事業をしようとなると　普段の生活からはみ出た突破なことを考え、計画、そして実行しなければなりません。　クリエーティビティーをＡＲＴ創作とビジネス両方につぎ込まなければ成功から離れていってしまうようです。

幸い、マタムラ家の変人ＤＮＡのおかげで　変わったことを実行するのに全く拒否反応はないのですが　やはり時々　自分で 自分を疲れさせてしまっていることがあるのです。　誰か止めてよ、とおもっても　周りには火に油を注ぐ変人チアリーダーばかり。

そんな時　毎週　日曜と火曜日は子供に教え、火曜の夜は大人の役者のクラス、そして水曜日はゲッテイー美術館で建築ツアーのボランティアの後、ＡＲＩＧＡＴＯ会。なるべく　週の計画をパターン化し、ふらふら空回りにならぬようにしています。

(ゲッティーの屋上からの景色です)

I went to the LA Coliseum to get tickets for a concert. When I called the box office beforehand, I was told it was SOLD OUT. So, I just dropped by the stadium because I thought “sold out” meant it was sold OUT there somewhere.

I got to the box office eight hours before the show and was waiting under a tree when the aforementioned cart stopped by.

We never got a ladder.

The cart driver took me to the other side of the Coliseum where we stopped at a huge gate that looked like a place bulls enter an arena to meet a matador. He waved at a security guy, the gate opened, and we drove into the stadium.

I must say I was oblivious. I just kept thinking, “Wow, you would need a big ladder to climb the fence around this place!”

He parked the cart, and took me into a trailer. There were no ladders inside, just a couple of girls sitting around like wet bath towels on pool chairs. A little mountain of a white powder was in front of them. I wasn’t sure but I had a feeling it was not their make up and although they spoke to me, I couldn’t understand a word.

The cart guy took off his hat, revealing his grisly bear look, sat down and took out his wallet. I was curious to know how much he was going to pay for the white powder mountain but to my surprise, he took out a credit card and started to chop it like it was garlic. Then, looking satisfied, he took out some cash. He didn’t give it to anyone, but rolled it like origami, and made a straw. He passed the tray and the bill straw to the girls, who ungraciously accepted it and snorted it up their noses with one inglorious wheeze.

Then my turn came.

The mirror was in front of me, facing the ceiling.

“Would they kill me if I sneeze now?” I thought. The more I thought about it, the more I was afraid I really would sneeze. So I passed it to the cart guy.

There was no temptation. I saw the movie “LESS THAN ZERO”. I didn’t want to put anything in my nose because I remembered the time milk came out of my nose. That didn’t hurt my sinuses as much as the chaffing my ego took from the entire class laughing at me.

Later, when we left the trailer, we made our way to the backstage area. I saw the guys from Metallica walking by. I wanted the cart guy to take me back to the box office but he said, “You can stay. Here’s a pass.”

I became one of them – the backstage people. I sat in the corner, closer to the audience and far edge of the stage. I couldn’t figure out what most people were doing – they were kind of just hanging out, like I was so I hoped they were not on the payroll. There were also groupies in rainbow colored clothes and businesses people making themselves look important. It was all so new to me. I was the luckiest Japanese tourist ever.

When I returned to Japan, I studied the real American language – SLANG.

I learned how to say things like, “No, I don’t need to do a line now.” Or, “It looks like bad shit to me.” I learned how to break the ice with something like,“ Did you know Paul McCartney was canned in Japan for nine days for a stupid weed?”

I studied slang more than business jargon, so when I heard “joint venture,” I thought Americans were way ahead of us.

Between Japan and America there are more differences than just the language itself. The languages accentuate cultural differences too. For example, “ish” as in, “Come around four-ish.” For Japanese, if your appointment is at four, it means you are supposed to show up fifteen minutes before four. If your party starts at six, you can bet you’re your Japanese friend will show up at 5:45 PM, dressed impeccably, and then help you set up until the other guests start arriving “seven-ish”.

This “ish-ism” meaning “not quite, but close enough”, really confused me.

Take the word JEWISH. I thought I meant people who actually were Jews but didn’t tell anybody or act like it because they didn’t really want you to know. Like Mel Brooks vs. Tom Cruise. I thought the guys in the black suits with Hasidic curls were Jews, while non-orthodox Jews who go out and party on Saturday nights were Jew-ish.

I was able to read Shakespeare before I could say nursery rhymes. Education in Japan is heavily literature oriented so we never study real conversations or pronunciation.

But when I fell in love with an American boy, Larry, I became more oral. We didn’t need to communicate verbally, we spoke the language of love. But I knew speaking the same language would help further our relationship. Looking back, now I wonder what we talked about. I mean, how did I talk about anything or understand what he was saying? How can you fall for someone who doesn’t understand you? I must have been like one of those (seemingly) stupid foreign girls, you know, the ones that gives a bad name to independent smart women? They are delicate (because they don’t talk much), nice (because that’s the only way they can be affectionate) and understand guys (because they don’t understand what the hell the guy is talking about). And they giggle a lot, instead of saying, “HEY! I DON’T GET IT!”

I knew my cute foreign girl status wouldn’t last long, simply because the Japanese accent isn’t as sexy as a French accent. It doesn’t work miracles like it does for the Russian or Italian girls.

At school, I used to be a slacker but I studied English hard now that I had an incentive. Now I was in love – leaning English meant being able to explore his mind. This endeavor paid off eventually. I became the same old me whether speaking in English or Japanese. Loud, rude, and direct. My Mother hoped that my cursing would be reduced dramatically but she didn’t know that English has more variety and different levels for cursing. She didn’t know in America that something like the F-word can be used very casually, for example replacing the word “very” in a sentence.

I learned to speak English pretty well within 3 months but then I got lazy. Long words were sure to be wrong words. I remembered long words by putting together shorter words. Antibacterial – easy. Anti and Bacteria. However, I got confused with some less frequently used words. When I had to set a condition with someone and demand that they make a choice I would say something such as, “Either you shave off that ugly beard or we’re through! I’m giving you an ‘ultra-tomato’!” When traditional medicine doesn’t work for you, I suggest you try alternative medicine – homo-pathetic medicine.

Because of poor study habits and a not-so-great memory, I have the hardest time memorizing words. Idioms or clichés – if they involve more than five phrases or if there are two that are different but mean the same thing, I get all mixed up. When nothing gets done, and it’s because there are too many ideas and not enough action, I’ll hear someone say, “There are too many Chiefs and not enough Indians” or “Too many cooks spoil the broth.” Then several weeks later a similar situation will arise and I’ll say, “We have too many cooks and not enough…waiters!” When you don’t want someone to tell a secret, you’ll say, “Don’t let the cat out of the bag.” Or “Don’t spill the beans. Later on, I’ll want you to keep a secret and out comes, “Don’t spill the cat.”

As with all Asians there is the classic mixing up of Ls and Rs. We really don’t hear the difference. When I’m tired I have to pay really close attention. For instance, are you, “going the long way” or “going the wrong way”. And names like Larry or Frank Lloyd Wright – forget about it. Sometimes a soft “t” or “d” sounds like the Japanese “r.” You all know about Hello Kitty – well, saying that can sound like Japanese suicide – hara-kiri.

Many people think Japanese is hard language to learn. Not true. To start with, we do not have too many cultural or ethnic related sayings or phrases like “Indian giving” or “Chinese fire drill”. “Dutch oven” still doesn’t make sense to me because they aren’t made in Holland. Just like French fries aren’t imported from France. What did Dutch people do to deserve this, I wondered? Here it means your partner pulls cover over your head after he farted. it should be called “Gas chambering”. Furthermore, Japan, a Dutch Wife is a rubber sex doll.

At first, Dan Rather was speaking to me in Japanese.
There was a time that instead of saying, “That’s the way it is” – he signed off by saying just one word: “Courage.” That was it. “Courage.” The Japanese didn’t know how to translate it, so the Japanese voice just said “KA-RAIJI”.

When I was 13, I was involved with a theatre company, turned into a night owl and stopped going to school. I came home at 1 AM, then stayed up, reading and watching old movies, and around 5 AM, turned the TV on to watch “I Love Lucy”, where I learned English from Lucy and Ricky. Then I stayed up for Dan Rather’s Evening News.

My first published article, about the Alaskan oil spill, was pretty much stolen from Dan Rather’s commentary. He taught me how to be critical of authority. I didn’t know what “environment” or “ozone” meant – until I saw a animation of the earth growing warm, ice melting, water level rising an Japan disappearing on the CBS news. The sight was horrendous enough for me to stop using hair spray in the 80’s.

Oh, and Sting. He came to Japan, and asked us, then the richest people in the world, to help protect the Amazon rain forest. But then, to the rest of the world, he blamed the Japanese for killing trees for disposable chopsticks. I learned that from Dan Rather, too. I once I admired Sting for his courageous break away from the Police and for releasing a stupid titled album “The Dreams of the Blue Turtle” – but after Dan told us what he’d said about us I lost my respect. I don’t like two faced people.

Dan had compassion – I didn’t know how much the Space Shuttle Challenger meant to the American people until I saw him watching the image of the explosion and almost breaking down.

Dan and I learned about the epidemic of AIDS and HIV together – and saw it through the life of Ryan White. He was a boy who got HIV through a blood transfusion. Dan and I were not happy about those ignorant people who were not nice to Ryan White. Ryan eventually was transferred to another school where students were fully educated about HIV.

Dan told us “Don’t treat this as someone else’s problem. It’s our problem.”

Every week, the death toll from AIDS was rising. One morning, Ryan passed away. I woke my mom up. We sat in a front of TV, as Dan Rather reported the funeral. We listened to Elton’s “Candle in the Wind” and watched clips of Ryan’s last 4 years. We remembered Ryan growing up fighting the disease, and how we felt that somehow he would be all right.

My first trip to US was in 1992. The plane was supposed to leave on April 30th. I was excited, and to attune my ear to the English language I turned on the TV to watch Dan – not the broadcast dubbed in Japanese but the one in English, in Dan’s own voice.

There was a big trial that had something to do with a guy named Rodney King. I didn’t pay too much attention until I saw the headline “LA RIOTS”. Dan told me “The airport and schools are closed. LAPD has established a curfew.”

People were firing guns and beating people up on the street. I watched a truck blocking an intersection and a man being dragged out of that truck

“Oh, my god.”

So even before the travel agent called, I knew my trip was cancelled. The Japanese government would not allow us to fly into LA.

A few months later, in the fall, I took that trip, made friends, and returned to Japan with plans to go back to LA to live permanently.

Then the Northridge earthquake hit.

I first saw it on the Japanese news, “LA was destroyed by the earthquake magnitude 6.”

Most of my friends lived in Hollywood. But one Japanese girl, Pea, she lived in Sherman Oaks.I stared at the TV. I saw a huge fire burning down an apartment complex, and the caption said “Sherman Oaks”

Oh, shit.

I called, and heard, “All circuits are busy. Please try again.”

That night I stayed up, calling every hour, waiting for Dan. Finally he was there telling me that in Los Angeles all the electricity was out, and the gas was off for fear of fires.

Watching familiar places on the news I tried Pea again and again.

Three days later, I reached Pea. She was all right, and LA revived more quickly than anticipated.

I moved to LA that year.

“Oh, America is dangerous. Why you are moving there? They hate the Japanese”

“You don’t speak any English. How will you survive?”

I felt more like an American, because I grew up watching Dan Rather.

The Japanese seemed less human than Americans for some reason.

Americans – tall and beautiful. Japanese – short and mousy. Americans bold and courageous. Japanese – we expect others to read our mind, and when they don’t, we get resentful. We don’t like to stand out. We live in a harmony as a group.

But there was Yoko Ono.

She was the first oriental woman to show her bare ass for a cause. If you put hers next to John Lennon’s, you got her message “War is not a pretty thing – you’d better stop it right now, or we will turn around!”

I discovered that in America being an oriental is a damn good thing.
In Japan, when I was cranky and didn’t feel like talking to anyone, people called me rude and snobby. In America, I’m “shy”.
In Japan, I was moody. Here I’m sensitive.
In Japan, I was selfish, bossy and loud. Here, I’m a “go-getter”

On the other hand, there is the stereotype. Americans view oriental women like lost 1950’s housewives. Demure and kind, she takes care of her man, and before you tell her what to do, she has taken care of it. She’ll do what her man says, always please him.

I don’t do that.

I am a workaholic. In Japan, being a workaholic is a birthright, here, it’s a disease.

By the time I did move here, I was an adult and around Monica Lewinsky era, and I finally began to fully understand English.

Every night at 6:30 PM I listened to Dan, trying to make sense of the fact that President Clinton was being tried for sticking a cigar in that willing young woman’s vagina. Dan tried to explain to me that Clinton had lied under oath, but I still didn’t get why they were making such a big deal out of it.

After the 2000 election, my mom called me “I heard the news that they were laughing about the president and vice president being a Bush and a Dick. Why is that so funny?”

I explained it to my mom that Americans love genital jokes, and then said, “Mom, it’s ELECTION with L. “

Over the years, Dan softened a lot. I watched him after September 11th breaking down and holding Dave Letterman’s hand. The only way for him to let out his anger was simply to cry.

And then came the 2004 election. During that fateful November night, I was with Dan.

At first, I thought my wish had come true. Dan told me things going well for Kerry.

As Dan said, “The presidential race is swinging like Count Basie.”

But Dan had spoken too soon and now he had an omelet on his face. The race was too close to call. Dan added, “The race is hotter than a Times Square Rolex.”

Then all those States on the map started turning red, and he said, “Do you hear that knocking…President Bush’s re-election is at the door.”

I stayed up with Dan.

“No one is saying that George Bush is not going to win the election, and if you had to bet the double-wide, you’d have to bet that he’d win.”

Then the Ohio problem showed up. “We need Billy Crystal to ‘Analyze This’,” Dan said.

Dan was not trying to be funny. He is just poetic.

“It is like a swan, with every feather above the water settled, but under the water paddling like crazy,” Dan said.

Even as Kerry and Edwards were preparing their concession speech, Dan offered me hope. In some ways, George Bush’s lead is as thin as November ice.”

And at 4 a.m. he said, “This race is shakier than cafeteria Jell-O.”

Then, Dan left to rest and I turned off the TV, promising the American whatever-the-gods-available that if he let Kerry win I would remain celibate for the next four years.

Well, Bush won the election and I won the erection.

After that day, I went into kind of depression, I couldn’t get laid. I was not able to believe how stupid people can get to actually vote for a moron. Do we have a future? What are we working so hard for? Who are we fighting for? Everytime I see that Baby Bush face, I felt powerless. I think TV is the weapon of mass destruction. Look at how it is making us fat, lazy and brain dead.

I didn’t know whom to turn to. Dan Rather was no longer the face of the CBS Evening News. The funny white man who was my window to America for almost 20 years was kicked out.

In January 2007, I was in a bar in New York City when a friend of mine told me “isn’t it exciting, Obama is running for a President.”

Exciting? A black man running for this crucial time is exciting? I mean at least he doesn’t look like Count Chocula, but he is black! We are not really a color blind nation yet. We cannot take a chance this time. C’mon, democrats, get your act together, I thought.

When Obama beat Hillary, I gave in. Maybe this guy can make it. To start with, he is not really black. He is HALF black. He is a Hawaian. I mean everyone LOVES Hawaiian. Plus racism doesn’t apply to good looking people. If Rodney King looked like Denzel, LA Riot would never happen.

My involuntary celibacy may have worked. On November 4, 2009, 8 PM Barak Obama got the election and Michelle Obama got the erection. Obama whacked the Bush era.

What elected President Obama was the collective courage to believe that we deserve better.

Then I got it. It took more than 20 years. Dan Rather was reminding us what’s inside of us. That we all have the pioneering spirit in our blood, every one of us, from the Indians people who crossed ice sheets to reach these shores to those who fled condemnation, poverty, and war, to those like me who came simply to discover something new.

Dan was reminding us of what we have done and what we can do. That we can still believe in possibility. Yeah, time is tough now, but considering the speed of growth of this country, I want to believe this Bush thing was just another growing pain. I think we can still go on. With a bit more COURAGE.

(Performed on Jan. 18, 2009)

あらあら、最後にこのブログを書いたのはもう２ヶ月前になってしまいました。

まず、　投稿されてきた３００本ほどの１０分劇から１４作選択、１１月１日に発表。

それぞれ第一週はグループＡと第二週はＢと７作づつ２グループに分け、各グループからお客さんの人気の高かった３作をえらび　最終日に　ＢＥＳＴ　ＯＦとして　１等賞を競う　コンテストとなっています。　幸い、私の監督した４作中３作が選ばれたので　最終日は出演中の役者をこき使うことができ、むははは！と楽チンでした。

ほとんどの公演は完売、立ち見オンリーとなり　このご時世に来てくださったお客様に感謝、感謝。　フェスティバルにかかわってくださった６０人の皆様、監督、役者、技術者は　ヴォランティア、ただでご協力。ありがたい！！！

でも、やはり豆吉を中心に　メンバーにおんぶとだっこ、暖かくサポートしていただきました。
演劇は本当に１人ではできないアートフォームですね！

今年もわがままな私をよろしく！！！

I was raised by a Pollyanna mother. When I broke my nose, she praised the fact that I had the guts to physically take on boys. When I ran from home for at the age of eight, she encouraged me to become an explorer in the Amazon. Having her permission to smoke drink or fight took away the excitement and desire to do these things. In her eyes I could do no wrong. But in my teen years, as typical as a teen can be, I rebelled against her view of the world. I started to train myself to be pessimistic.

By seventeen I was running an independant advertisement agency in Tokyo. My job required no previous training because each situation was different; I was a troubleshooter. When one thing goes wrong, such as a client getting red roses instead of white, or the color of the invitation didn’t come out like the proof, I showed up and met with the frustrated client. I talked for a thirty minutes and walked away with a client who cannot wait to work with our firm again. The only training I ever had was a theatre improv game.

I was a superman who flies site to site. I was a savior whom people sought when there was no one else to turn to. The pessimist Kaz was ready for any worst situation.

That was until the morning a friend of mine jumped off the building.

It was early and we were all suffering from hangovers from a night before.
“Mr. Suga is dead,” a man shouted as he is warning an arrival of William the Conqueror.
We knew only one Suga. Suga with the glasses. Suga the communicator between a designer and a client. Suga who speaks so low on the phone, you preferred to just go to his office to avoid the trouble of asking him if he could please speak up?

Out of uncomfortable silence, a couple of guys started to mumble.

“What is the next meeting he was supposed to take from the fuji Company?”
“Do you know how far he along he got on the samples?”

The Wall Street like chaos started. A few of us wondered how Mr. Suga died, but no one dared to ask. I stood there, awaiting the time to jump in to solve the problem.

Later that evening, another man from Mr. Suga’s office joined our gathering at a local bar. He told us that Mr. Suga’s wife wanted to see where Mr. Suga’s body hit the asphalt. The police told her that by the time she got there it would be all cleaned up.

One guy who saw it happen said, “It was just like a watermelon – squashed and spread everywhere.” Mr. Suga didn’t jump off from the building he worked at, but from a building none of us ever heard of, but only two minutes away. We wondered. He was always there when we called his office. He too had lost a lot of money in the stock market a year before. But we all did. He was a cushion between creativity and productivity – and he made sure everything he promised was delivered to his clients on time.

There was no way to get Mr. Suga out of this mess. He was gone. There was nothing I could do about it.

Then I was told that there would be a fee charged the family for clearing away the body. It would be more than $10,000.

My last attempt to claim my Superman-ness. “Shall we all chip in to support his family?”

“No, they will be ashamed.”
“They were not hurting for money”
“It’s suicide. Not an accident.”

That was end of my being a problem solving super hero. I was tired of speculating. I just wanted everything to be as it is. I couldn’t or didn’t need to change anything.

Even after the suicides of four close friends, I have never come to understand why people kill themselves. I couldn’t see how ending your life is the only way to troubleshoot a problem.

It’s all about how much you can give, not how much you can get.
The more you give, the more you have.

That is the biggest bull that my Buddhist culture engraved into me. We were taught that we are just travelers, and this life is just a merely a lodge that we stay temporary (yes, fuzzy metaphor again!!!). All we know is we are born naked and die naked. We don’t have a point system to get a ticket to heaven. Buddhists dare to make up what happens after we die. So it is all about now – how generous can you be in this limited life.

As a child, I already had hardest time to receive, so for me to TAKE was a very difficult task. Then, I thought, how about if I changed it to “give and receive”? And I convinced myself that if I am not receiving what’s offered to me, I am killing the Karma flow. Learning to accept was the first step, before I learned to TAKE IT!!!

In Japan, people appreciate nice things that you do to them, and they will try to pay you back in someway, but NOT here in the States. Especially, in show biz. I’m surrounded by low self-esteem impotents who need to hear applause and ask a total stranger what he thought of his performance. They don’t ask for opinion they seek for praise.

There have been many people who helped me along the way, and of course, in return, a little Japanese me tried to help back the others who needed a leg up. But often when I gave a leg up, they either stepped on my head and kept going, OR demanded another leg up. And if I cannot give them what they want, they became bitter.

I believed that the success meant that you cease to “expect”. Success was a state of mind – the wholeness with yourself. When you are successful, you are capable of making decision based on your preference, not based on your needs. So, I consider myself pretty successful, being able to lead my bohemien life in this strange country. But lately, it’s been quite frustrating, maybe it’s my mid-life crisis. I have always been anti-idiots, and idiots always bring out the violence in me. I came to the conclusion what is my source of frustration. More than morons, it’s the ungrateful bastards.

We are– the war-is -not-real generation. We are spoiled rotten and we never had to shave ice to keep the meat cold – We have a fridge. We just need to turn the nozzle to get hot water, and the microwave took the sense of planning ahead. Everything was there and it was just given to us, sometimes without asking for it. So, what’s-in- it- for- me attitude was cultivated in us from the moment we open the fridge to get a TV dinner.

Japanese are known for their even tempered (of course, there are always exception) and it’s not that they are controlling their emotion or not have one, but we are trained not to expect anything. Sure, we hope and plan for the best, but when you don’t get it, instead of getting mad, we move on . We say “Forget about it” or simple “let go. Let it be a past,” instead of “What’s wrong with that mother fucker?”

But I’m holding a grudge. Maybe it’s my Tennessee Williams drama queeness, but I don’t let go of stuff. If you keep on “forget about it,” you won’t learn anything from trusting some bastards. Quite simply, I am tired of being a short stick collector.

This is what I advice to my fellow SSC.

• Be nice to the people who are nice to you. Give them one chance.
• Make sure your good will is not wasted on some dried up well of needs
• Bad thing happens? Take it personally. Life is all about you.
• If you are a giver, you cannot help but to give. But remember, the only things that jerks deserve to get is Hell. You can be a Christian when you need to be.

 However I must admit the oddest thing. I don’t know how I have been thriving, as a professional and as a director of a small non-profit organization. We give free classes, donate the theatre space, volunteer and perform for other organizations’ fundraisers, finance other artists to launch their projects. After 11 years, I am still here. Maybe because we don’t expect anything in return and we keep focusing on “doing.” And as long as we are capable of doing what we can do, that itself is a gift. Maybe what other people take from you doesn’t matter. It’s all about what you can do for yourself, not what you can keep. It’s a crucial time we live in. We, as an individuals must focus on what we can do for ourselves, not what others can do for us. Time has changed. It is time to take responsibility for your own life and give yourself a chance to be the best you can be. We have to maximize your limited time on this earth. Everything is running out now.

I was sitting at a bar in Midtown, New York City, enjoying a conversation with a beautiful, intelligent, Jewish friend of mine, Chaya. We only see each other once a year and when girls are on TALK mode, you shouldn’t disturb them.

BUT across the counter, there sat a middle age white man staring at me with eyes that said, “Hi. How are you doing?”

Trying to pick out just one chick from a bunch of hens is never a good idea. It makes that one chick very uncomfortable.

But, instead of ignoring it and keeping the obvious oblivious to Chaya, I proposed a new subject: “What’s wrong with these white men who drool over oriental women?”

She admitted that New York City is rife with white men and Asian women couples compared to other interracial couples. Maybe that’s why they say these men have “Yellow Fever”.

So why do so many men have “Yellow Fever”?

To start with, men are lazy. They want to get the most from the least amount of work. An oriental women, they believe, will be a lover, maid and mommy all wrapped into one.

Many oriental women try to jump the hurdles of high expectations that white men put on them. But since most of us don’t have long legs to jump such high hurdles I have decided to destroy those damn myths.

Myth #1: “Asian women are domestic and meek”
Wrong. The only time we cook is when we cannot get good ethnic food anywhere else, things like fermented bean bread, virgin whale’s lip satay or fish testicle soup.

I am a great cook – but I don’t cook like Rachel Ray, Martha Stewart or that Italian countess chick with the big tits. I cook like Chef Emeril on TV. BAM! I just throw fish eyeballs into a flaming wok. My cooking is dangerous and exciting, and my food never tastes the same way twice.

And I leave all the dirty dishes behind. I cook you clean.

I also don’t walk behind men – for three reasons. First, if any man walks front of me I cannot see. I have to attach brake lights to my man’s ass. Second, I walk too fast and if any man walks slowly in front of me, it makes me want to tackle the bastard. Third, I have ADD. If something catches my attention, I’m gone. I need a man who waits for me while I wander off.

I also hate when oriental women hide their mouths when they giggle.  Men may think it’s cute. Our traditional diet doesn’t have much calcium. So, when they laugh, they are just hiding their hideous, uneven, cracked teeth.

Myth #2: “Asian women are peaceful”
Not true. We oriental women just accept men as they are and realize that there’s nothing you can do about stupidity. If the pie is done cooking, we don’t see the point in discussing the recipe to find out where it went wrong. I choose to argue; because I am optimistic – I believe even a moron should be given a chance to change.

Also, men think oriental women listen to them more because we look at them when they are talking. If you’ve ever tried to learn another language, you know why. It’s hard to listen to a new language only with ears. When you don’t understand English well, you just nod and smile while they are talking.

Myth #3: “They are so respectful”
Another secret is that we don’t bow in our countries. That’s something we do for Americans because we are afraid of them hugging us. We are really avoiding the meat eaters’ b. o. Whenever a meat eater approaches us to give us hug, we are really ducking – “Hey, it’s a white man – duck!”
But the Japanese are, in fact, the ones who are responsible for these myths. It’s part of our secret plan to promote the idealization of our culture.

After World War II, we knew one thing – Cultural invasion must come before commerce invasion.

In the 1950’s – we had Godzilla, warning America that your nuclear bombs created some unknown angry monster within in us all.

In the 60’s – we had cartoons like “Speed Racer”. Even though we were sending cheap “Made in Japan” stuff to the United States, we were subliminally telling the children, “Japanese is cool” to prepare them for Japanese cars and the fancy way of life capable with Japanese electronics.

In the 70’s – as we promised with “Speed Racer” we had our cars ready for Americans, JUST in time for the energy crisis.

In the 80’s – TV series like “Shogun” promoted Sushi. The Japanese were now invading the insatiable palates of the Americans. In Japan, we only eat sushi once or twice a year, for special occasions, but here, Americans want too much of a good thing. We are making Americans fat by telling them, “Rice is good.”

The 90s were good time, Japanese restaurants on every corner, and lots Japanese cars on the freeways. On TV, we had our own version of Jackie Chen – a cute little YELLOW creature that ruled the world, shooting radiation at the American child’s minds. They called him PikaChu.. He was a Pokemon.

Now, can you see the results of our invasion in the New Millennium? Do you think we lost the cultural invasion to the “Made in Chineseness”? Go to Hollywood and Highland and you will see a true sign of the Rising Sun – camera phones. Kids and adults taking pictures of anything and everything – the Mann’s Chinese Theatre, The Stars on the Walk of Fame, the guy in the Shrek costume – our biggest triumph yet – we turned you all into…photographers.

Even though, I complain about the idealization of Oriental women and culture, we are equally responsible for idealizing American culture in our own countries.

When the war was over, American G.I.s gave away Hershey’s bars to Japanese kids whose first words in English were, “Give me Chocolate”. The MGM musicals, made us think of Americans as jolly fellows, but who also stand strong for justice, like John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart and Gregory Peck.

“Made in the USA” was a good thing. Levis’ jeans were not only for men, but also for women. To us, America was cool.

But when I moved here, there was no John Wayne. I have never seen so many men “bitching” till I moved to this country. In fact, instead of calling it “bitching” let’s call it “bastarding”. Let’s face it, if you are born or living in this country, you are the fortunate ones.

Complaining is fine, as long as you do something about it. Mark Twain and Ambrose Bierce made their careers out of it. We were taught Americans were ACTION TAKERS, not schemers. They took full responsibility for their actions, not blaming others for making them to do certain things. They were the proactive ones.

We live in the strange confusing time. There is too much information out there while our me-topia in Lego land, full of useless toys, is getting smaller.

We buy fictitious ideology, and seek pseudo spirituality.

The secret of that movie “The Secret” is it’s just a part of promoting success-oriented material happiness. To ask for something and have it given to you is not spiritual. Happiness is not wanting anything, and when something is given, it is a pure unexpected surprise that you accept graciously.

So, be careful what you wish for. If you want a relationship with an Oriental woman don’t have high expectations. She may trick you into liking fish testicle soup.

PS. If you think calling someone from the Orient an Oriental is bad. Please come talk to me.

アメリカ人はうわさ通りとても感情表現が豊かです。　時々　アメリカ人の友達が　ほんの小さなことが気に障って　ぶちぶち言い出すと　“こんなことに神経を使って疲れるやろなー、と思うことが度々です。

かず　“知らんわ。　中指が骨折して曲げれないんじゃない？”
ハニー　“なんて失礼なやつだ！”

ハニーと私は　これでこの不愉快体験話は解決。　次の会話に移ります。

しかしほとんどのアメリカ人でしたら　ぶちぶちお経の始まりになるでしょう。

今晩　グレッグ、アンナ、豆吉と４人で芝居を観に行きました。　　その際　話しに出てくるのは　３日ばかり前にあった　ちょっとした人間関係の衝突の話し。　１人劇団のメンバーで癇癪をおこした人がいるのですが　過ぎたことなんだからもういいじゃない、と豆と私は思っています。しかし、２人は　“そうよ、君らが行ってることは一理ある”といわれたいのが　文句たれたれ。　ネガティブなことは聞きたくないデー、といってやりました。

文句を言っている人を見ると毒を吐いているような気がして近くに寄りたくなくなります。　私は　腹が立つたびに　こんなくだらないことに気を取られる必要はない、自分の感情くらいコントロールできないで　大人といえるか、とカツをいれます。　　親離れの早かった私は自己躾するくせがあるようです。

好い感情、好い気分を保てば　好い人生は保障されます。　辛いことは誰にもあること。　でも　いやな感情は自己消化して　他人様に　伝染しないようにしましょうね。