Here I sit, broken-hearted...............

As I type these words Sen. Larry Craig (R. Idaho) is awaiting his second day in court (well, technically his 1st since he mailed his initial guilty plea in without appearing before the bench) on charges of disorderly conduct. The original charge upon arrest of Sen. Craig in the public restroom of the Minneapolis Airport was suspicion of lewd conduct.

It is at this early point that I must beg faithful readers to pause…….take a breath…….. and consider the nature of those arrest charges, however momentarily, against that stalwart bastion of Republican Family Values and faithful soldier for the great State of Idaho.

Suspicion of Lewd Conduct.

I for one, must state here and now that I would like to publicly broadcast almost all my examples of lewd conduct were it not for my sense of modesty, decorum and respect for my partners’ privacy but SUSPICION of lewd conduct?

HUH?

Good Lord if I were to be arrested for suspicion of lewd conduct almost every woman I looked at on the street, or in private for that matter, could have the cops drag me away to the slam in a horny heartbeat. But I digress.

First let’s state the objective facts of the Senators case on which all parties- Sen. Craig, the Police Sting Unit, the Prosecution, and the Defense- agree in full.

Was there any actual, physical sexual contact of any kind between these 2 fully grown men? There was not.

Did Sen. Craig attempt to physically coerce his victim (the undercover Officer) into any sexual activity? He did not.

Did the Senator attempt to physically detain or restrain the Officer in any way? He did not.

Did Sen. Craig implicitly or explicitly offer any financial compensation in return for sexual favors or verbally state his desire for same? He did not.

Ahem. (or as the Good Senators constituents might say- Amen!)

So, in shorthand, we have a 60ish US Senator lurking around public restrooms trolling for freebie fuckbuddies willing to freak with him because he’s so sexually straight jacketed that this unseemly practice appears to him reasonable or at least necessary and we have an entire Law Enforcement Unit (comprising up to 9 full-time Officers) also lurking around the toilets, sniffing anywhere and everywhere for illicit blowjobs, buttfucks and any other Adult consenting hookups that they might stumble across, or better yet, entrap their lecherous fellow citizens into before they righteously snap the cuffs on these villains and thus keep our society safe from……….um………….gee…………………gimme a minute………………uh……………my gay friends moaning in the stalls?

Congratulations Minnesota, your tax dollars are hard at work and your airport restrooms well on their way to being pleasure-free!

An ancient Buddhist koan says, “Treat matters of great importance very lightly and matters of small importance very seriously.” And with that in mind let’s examine this farce sans uproarious Democratic laughter for a moment.
My Republican Friends (OK…OK…I don’t actually have any Republican friends, what can I say- I rent), don’t you see where your disastrous and desperate clinging to social policies based on a wholly unrealistic- and you all keep proving that- and twisted sense of morality is leading? Family Values sounds good and sells well and you probably can’t go far wrong politically by trumpeting your disgust of Homosexuality to your Bible-thumping, God-Fearing, People-hating, scared shitless, sexually repressed masses that just want to hang onto their money (and who can blame them for that) and that unfortunately form approximately 51% of the voting population but you guys just keep popping up out of the closet like lily white, Brooks-Brothered, Power-tied, Flag-waving, cock-sucking whack-a-moles!
You just won’t stop talking the Christian Right Talk but you can’t walk the CR walk.
Here’s some free advice and I pray (seriously) that you take it to heart.

Embrace your Gay brothers and Sisters! The Log Cabin Republicans may be your last hope and the Gay Community the last minority group you actually have a chance of persuading to join your joyless minions. Burning each other at the stake for sins that you yourselves have likely or will likely commit in the very near future is a modern Witch-hunt leaving your party with nothing but charred innocents and maniacal closet cases. Further, this volcanic cauldron of sexual repression and hypocrisy that is boiling just below your uptight, upright surface is always and inevitably going to blow up right in your too tight faces with all of the YouTube Nation glued to their screens and savoring your very public humiliation. Your children don't need this! Your Nation doesn't need this! You are the Party of Abraham Lincoln! Small Government...remember? Do not go any further down that road.


What am I doing? Forget all that. You guys are on your own. Just keep doing what you're doing and see you in '08.

And Sen. Craig? Your case looks like a winner so tough it out. Your Wife and Kids? Your problem but let me help you out.

Larry? Senator Larry???
Think about Lawrence ‘cuz I’m pretty sure it don’t say Larry on your birth certificate. Now go and sin no more.

Exile Off Main Street (continued)

Recently I was drinking with my Japanese Mentor, a man older than myself by some twenty years, which is quite old indeed, and after our fifth drink at our third Izakaya(casual J-land Bar/resturaunt) he explained to me in his emphatic, halting English (his Eigo being much more useful than my pathetic Nihongo) a fact of his singular existence in Japan.

“I am a stranger in my country.” He said not quite proudly but not exactly sadly either.

Having known him for only a short while I somehow believed him completely.

When I got to know him better my trust was validated and as I learned more of his personal history I gradually came to understand that he was something of a rebel in his more than somewhat conformist society. He was the maverick I thought I’d been. At the advanced and frightening age of 40 he’d dropped his salaryman yoke like a virus and then set out to do it his way, an extremely bold move anywhere but especially daring here in the land of the most rigid of career paths.

He was, and remains, the nail that sticks up.

But he had a good idea, clear vision, excellent timing (pre-bubble), steely determination and good credit at the Bank so he rolled his life’s dice and borrowed heavily, gambling everything on his will to win.

15 arduous years later he has, to a great measure, achieved overnight success.

His loan is long since paid, he now makes his decisions without consultation, sets his own hours and everyone else’s, lives exactly where he wants to live, drives exactly what he wants to drive, eats like a king, vacations frequently, works hard when he has to and plays hard when he wants to, which I am led to understand is often.
A favorite boast of his is that he loves his family, his money and his car, approximately in that order.

He is competitive beyond all reason, keenly perceptive in all situations, riotously funny, enormously generous, the life of all parties, supercharged with boundless energy and proud of all things Japanese. He would make a splendid American if Japan ever tires of his act.

A stranger, I thought to myself as I sat with him that night.

“Wakarimashitta.” I replied at last.

We didn’t talk all that much for the rest of the evening, we didn’t need to; we were comfortable with each other I like to believe. I was adjusting to that feeling of peaceful affinity and I discovered that it was a necessary adjustment in my new world.
So as most guests learn I did as well, perhaps a bit more grudgingly and painfully than others younger than me but I learned. My responsibilities were few if any, my hosts shouldered every load as if it was their pride and pleasure or at the very least a social imperative. I slowly discovered a heretofore unknown ability towards common courteousy.

It was easy enough in the end, good examples were all around me.

There were few demands placed on me and I gradually learned how to pour a beer, wait my turn, arrive early instead of late, serve someone else first and pick up a check. When I needed one I got a job, was grateful for it and there was plenty of help at the office. I did what I could, the work was easy and I prepared well. I was happy to do it and it seemed to be more than anyone expected or less than was generally produced by my foreign brethren. I may have been a commodity but it was clear to me that I was a human commodity and nothing less.
I walked through the streets with an unfamiliar but not uncomfortable sense of pride, I was doing something worth doing in a place worth doing it. Perhaps I was pulling my share of the load I found myself hoping.

There is a special place in my new neighborhood, an old temple tucked snugly and surreptitiously into the labyrinth of side streets that shield my neighborhood from the tourist traffic. It’s a simple thirty second walk from my door but when I enter it could easily be 600 years ago or more that I’ve walked into, further than any past I could ever imagine. I haven't learned its name and most times don't wish to, it's enough to be there and to be my refuge. Its large grounds contain three ancient wooden structures (1 grand,2 smaller), a small still pond, a low slung stone bridge over the pond and a wide open uncluttered panoramic view of the stars with no evidence of any modernity clutching at its edges. Whenever I sit beside its stately natural grace and melt into its pulsing but low-key serenity I realize how comfortable I am inside its wide open borders. The Temple has no locks, gates or fences and anyone is welcome on the grounds at anytime. Perhaps not so strangely it is largely ignored by my Japanese neighbors and too far off the beaten path for anything but the most serious or dedicated of tourist.

Often at night I sit on its steps and gaze up into its massive eaves as I sip my drink, smoke my smoke or simply breathe in the peace while the moon beams down on me as if in personal blessing. One of my favorite seclusions is to sit quietly at the foot of the bridge in the evening, facing the massive main doors, almost covered by the outstretched branches of a neighboring tree, the moonlight dim and warm, and wrap myself in the calm. Often I become so quiet, so still that more than once a neighbor has walked through the grounds on the way home from work, the path being not more than ten feet from my spot on the bridge, and simply strolled past me without even noticing me sitting there.

For reasons I don’t know this always lends me a gentle comfort.

On most occasions I imagine it as my private estate and given its vast but simple grandeur and almost complete lack of visitors it is not a difficult illusion for me to maintain.

I’m a lonely Prince in Exile waiting for my chance to return to power-

I’m a lost romantic Poet nursing a wounded soul-

I’m an outlaw Ronin on the run hiding in plain sight from an unjust world that can’t understand me.

All these fantasies are soothing in a playful way but most often I strictly feel at home there, comfortable and calm. Grateful.

Time passes, of course, but my physical incongruity never has and certainly never will. Japan is, for the most part, a homogenous society but I come from a land of immigrants of which my father was one. Japan’s culture is of course older than my entire Nation by many hundreds of years and far too dense for my over stimulated American mind to grasp without a great deal more time so instead I just try to objectively appreciate the differences as I slowly, slowly learn.
I find it an increasingly easy task.

My homeland is a land of strangers and strivers running away from a nightmare or running towards a dream, sometimes both. I believe it’s a good dream and I hope most make it there.

What do the Japanese dream of, hope for, work for, reach for? The same things I do I now imagine but I can’t know because I am not one of this great Nation, I am the most obvious Other much as I was at home and perhaps what I would be anywhere, anytime.

“A stranger in my country” I sometimes hear my Mentors words echoing in my head as I look hopefully into the eyes that are looking hopefully into mine.

But I’ve learned that this sense of “strangeness” doesn’t just apply to the way we all look or even feel. The sense of being different, not fitting in is in itself a connection that many share, foreign or native. It’s as strong a bond in many ways as fitting in perfectly because there is a necessity in its reality, a solid gravity to its weight. In Japan a flawed teacup can surely be more desirable than a perfect copy. I believe the purity and truth of imperfection, impermanence is regarded as a strength in the Japanese aesthetic and as a pleasure to most. There is a celebration for the stranger among his fellows here and, I now believe, perhaps everywhere and all are welcome at that celebration. Isn’t that, ultimately, what friendship is about?

So today I no longer feel like a guest nor do I desire the position of one. On my better days I like to think that I’ve moved beyond that particular status and that, just maybe, I have a place here, a part to play in this Nations drama, a responsibility to the people who are not me but are friends. The people whose lives are not mine but whose streets, trains, rivers, seas, forests, mountains and sky we share together, that I am allowed to share freely. Maybe I can help.

Exile Off Main Street

“Now, after ten years, I have realized that an exile has no place anywhere, because there is no place, because the place where we started to dream, read our first book, loved for the first time, is always the world of our dreams.” Reinaldo Arenas

“I know it’s only Rock-N-Roll….. But I like it.” Mick Jagger


The country in which I was born is a vast beautiful ocean away from me now, thousands and thousands of empty blue sea miles with the only life hidden underneath its solemn mysterious waves; to cross this great expanse is many hours by expensive jet plane, too many by slow boat and not attractive to me either way, having already done it once. The fact is simple- a person needs a reason for such a journey, a good reason, or he needs a reason to stay put, dig in. In the end I find it easy to weigh the two.

My grand birth Nation is also smack dead in my face everyday like a splash of cold water. I can see it coming and feel it hit me, but I cannot touch it or dive in. It’s almost everywhere I go even this far away, it’s like the moon or stars, the same everywhere and everywhere.

There’s a newspaper headline screaming our latest blunder or more luckily, our great good deed.

Here’s one of our fearless leaders talking at me on the boob tube, just like home.

There are the ubiquitous signs for fast food, gourmet coffee, designer blue jeans, hardcore hip-hop, Hollywierd Movies and the assorted detritus of a junk culture I thought I’d left behind those thousands of ocean miles ago, entrenched firmly among the riot of Neon Nippon advertisements that, pitifully, I still can’t read so I gain little comfort from either.

I’m alternately totally disconnected from my new environment and an uncomfortable object of curiosity no matter who I’m with or where I go. I am exotic, mundane, polite, profane, a delight, a disgrace, valuable, worthless, handsome, ugly, coveted, repulsive and I have no control over any of it. I am a guest and my hosts will make all decisions on these matters but, of course, this position is the one I’ve chosen freely and for my own reasons. Perhaps it might be the same in every corner of the planet but I am here and my face announces my strangeness to all, an instant and inevitable fact. I’m not from anywhere around here, I’m far from home. There is no need for discussion for it is no revelation, just the simplest of realities.

The majority of my hosts generally behave not quite like the majority of my countrymen and at the same time not all that differently.

Both groups are driven to succeed whereas I am not-

Both, to a great degree, measure that success in terms of material wealth or at least material accumulation, I do not-

Both are increasingly hooked into a digital cyber world that conversely (or is it perversely) sets them adrift from the more physical one they inhabit, I have a generational aversion to all things digital-

Both are routinely inundated by mass media consumer driven hard sell messages almost everywhere they go and both seem to seek solace from the onslaught, being somewhat of a recluse I am less susceptible to the barrage-

Both seek a faster, easier future of comfort and leisure while simultaneously yearning to reach back and connect with their own personal history, their roots, I can trace my roots back to my grandfather and no further and have no further desire or curiosity.

In all these ways I am as comfortable here as anywhere because the rules (or is it the plan) seem to be similar if not the same, whether I agree or follow along is another matter entirely and for me the question of whether to play along has always been open and unanswered.

It took me decades to learn how to say thank you and mean it (or not) in my country and I never did learn the rest of the rules if in fact there were any. I had a suspicion there were but no inclination to pursue my discovery any further and now I am in a land where my suspicions about these “rules” are a good bit stronger but my comprehension of how to properly absorb the complexities of them is even more uncertain. At home I gave up on discovering these facts and it was easy to do so, I practically felt patriotic in my surrender for wasn’t I ( we?) a strong single minded individual hell bent on doing it his own way? Wasn’t I a maverick, a rebel, an untamed non-conformist? Wasn’t I an outlaw, a cowboy, a loner? Didn’t I seek the road less traveled?

Maybe.

But now I’m here and those particular roles seem somehow socially unnecessary and more than that, personally unsatisfactory. I’m not home and maybe there is no home but I’ve been welcomed openly in this land where the only objective certainty is that I don’t fit in. I’ve been treated as a guest, and one of honor, not a feeling I was familiar with in any previous environment. I’d done nothing I could think of to deserve this kindness, nothing to warrant such hospitality but it was there nonetheless and it was freely given; a much more than generous gift given to me- at the time of my unheralded arrival an anti-social misfit who wanted nothing more than to be left alone to work or more often, play.
But a small confession is in order.

(continued...)