My blog is working: Peacemaking reworked

In the press, this week was a very important article.  It was about two young Australians, Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukumaran and their final hope for clemency.  For those of you who have never heard of them, these two young men were part of and perhaps the ringleaders of a group called the Bali Nine, who were caught trying to smuggle heroin out of Indonesia.  As an Australian, I feel that these two men have done enough time to realise the error of their ways.  Were they to be released tomorrow, I believe they would never reoffend in this manner.  Yet, they wait in prison to see whether the sovereign state of Indonesia will spare their lives.  I would ask that nation to be merciful, and at least let them live.  One of the reasons for the death penalty handed to them is to dissuade others from doing the same.  I believe they could do more in this manner alive than dead, outside of prison than inside.  I would like my country, Australia, to do everything in their power diplomatically to aid them.  For me, if this government is to represent my voice, they will at least consider my plea.  I blogged on this a long time ago in Japan, on a website called garantseraph.blogspot.jp.  Now I have reaccessed my account, I have decided to export and rework the original article.  I know I could do a better re-edit, but I choose to make mostly cosmetic changes so it reflects my mood at the time of original writing.  My original piece:

The need for further negotiation

          This is how I see the world.  Its like a group of people standing in a circle,  as far away from each other as possible.  These people each have a different perspective, or viewpoint.  They remain rooted to their position and yell as loud as possible at all of the other viewpoints, and defend their own position as hard as they can.   They have to yell loud because they are so far away from each other.  This is the ground on which they stand inside of themselves.  Basically, at a certain point of time in life they made up their minds.  They are adamant; their points of view are set in stone.  The positions in the circle, as I see it, have to take a few steps closer together.  Then they can talk a bit quietly. 
           This is Grant's version of how to fix the world, by the way.  Get a football field.  Get a man, woman and child from each country and each religion, dress them up in one of the other people's clothes.  And stand them at the MCG, while the world watches.  Its Grand Final day, but in the spirit of things that really matter, we change that thing by a week.  We let the kids go first.  They yell as loud as they like.  Hello, konichiwa, annyong, ne hao, jambo, g'day.  No-one can hear each other, so their parents let them take a step forward.  They have to walk.  Then they talk about their really important things.  I have a dog, I have a cat, I like soccer, I play baseball, wow Justin Bieber is so cool, green's my favorite colour, I like Blue Ranger, I love reading.  Music's great.  Do you know how to dance. And they say stuff as loud as they can, step by step until they reach the middle.  Some music is playing, just basic piano stuff.  Not too slow, not too fast.  Maybe George Winston or something. 

Then they reach the middle zone. In the middle is a new bicycle for each child, parked neatly, with their name on it.  They can have a bit of a ride around for awhile.  Wow, isn't this neat.  Then they get to the very centre where each child has a bottle of water made by a different company.  No-one knows whose is whose.   And some pizza.  Just a basic vegetarian pizza.  With some cheese.  Some people don't eat these things but most people do, so that's okay.  The kids have to shake hands say hello and give each other a hug.  Then they can take their bikes back to their mothers.  Their mothers can do something similar without the bikes.  They know at least two foreign languages, a little bit.  They have a new camera and the CD of their choice.  That's their free stuff.  In the middle, they can get a piece of cake, a little bit of whatever drink they want.  They give their favorite CD to one of the other mothers.  They do rock, scissors papers to see who gets to choose the music.  And then they share their Facebook address. And they return to their children, who are in the care of....  the men, their leaders. 

These guys have to yell and shout for a bit, for a day, in the spirit of world peace.  When they get closer together, they should learn to think about what they say, and how they are saying it.  They don't get any free stuff because they are in charge of whole countries and religious groups and scientific projects.  In their top pocket is one non-negotiable.  Its something that the people of their countries would like to see happen.  This has been vetoed by the world religious church thing with buddhists, hindus, muslims and skeptics.  They have to be small things, very concrete things that will just make the world a better place.  I have my own examples, but they are just mine.  What do you think needs to happen?  Just write it down somewhere and ask a couple of friends.  What's a non-negotiable?  What do we want as citizens that no-one could possibly object to? Three simple things.  Not, for example, the release of all Australian citizens.  Or get rid of nuclear bombs forever.  Or exact same working conditions for people everywhere.  Simple stuff.  An apology to someone or someone's familiy or the families of a place.  Simple stuff like that.  There are American, Australian, Japanese, Chinese, Korean, Canadian, German, French, Italian, Russian, Brazilian, Kenyan, Vaticanan, Luxemburgian, New Zealandan French Polynesian non- negotiables.

  Everyone can watch.  It's just a dream.  It doesn't need to be a circus like this, but we have to see this world getting better through helping ordinary people in trouble and pain.  I think Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukumaran and Julian Assange are Australians.  They are our Australian story.  For this to be a truly representational government, I believe our leaders are called upon to do their utmost on behalf of all Australian citizens.  I would like a stay of execution for these particular young Australians.  I would put that in their top pocket as a non-negotiable.  Indonesia is a fine country, I am sure, it is an up and coming democracy and a key trading partner.  But for trade to mean anything we should be able to come closer together on other things.  If this message resonates with you please put it in your top pocket and  give it to Kevin, Julia, Wayne, Tony or Malcolm.   Please don't be too confrontational or angry.  Please do this the right way, with no anger in your heart.  I just want my voice to be heard.  I want to believe in my leaders.  Please help me trust.  In the Spirit of Kurt Vonnegut Jr, my dog and my family and other people's heroes everywhere.  My hero is my family for putting up with all my shit, and me just for sticking around.  Who's your hero?  Part of reef relief.

PS: I am a global citizen and one of my key non-negotiables were I an American citizen would be some kind of apology to the family and friends of Aaron Schwartz.  Start with something simple, like, gee whiz, I'm sorry we had to be so incredibly heavy handed.  Maybe that was wrong of us, and we would not do the same again if faced with the same situation.  Were I an American, I'd put that in my pocket and give it to my representatives.  C'mon Barrack.  Don't you guys feel sorry, just a little bit?  I'd like to vote for you, but...

PPS: As an Australian, one of the things I most admire about America is the notion of free speech.  I think that's great. 

Digression on memory

I got a tape recorder and I talked for awhile about my hanami.  Here is one of my many digressions.  It's about memory.  TAPE 13:00.  A digression.

Your memory is so important to you, your memories are yourself.  Without your memories you have nothing left.  A long, long time ago I knew an old lady.  She used to feed possums.  She loved to read.  She lived near the library in Indooroopilly, in Queensland, Australia.  She was a kind of friend of mine.  She used to drive me around and I used to swap books with her.  I borrowed some books off her and she borrowed some books off me.  But more or less, I borrowed her books and I didn’t give them back.  I used to go around there and see her.  She taught yoga to old people so she was kind of an amazing person.  But she used to talk about memory like it was something that you wanted to get away from.  She wanted to live completely in the present moment and that was what was real.  So, if your family is not in the room with you, they don’t exist.  It doesn’t matter where they are, or what they’re doing, if they’re not in the room with you, they’re not real.  If they’re not in the room with you, they don’t exist.  How the hell could that be true? There’s got to be a difference between your brother being in China and having a banquet and winning a million dollars, and him falling off a building and breaking his leg.  All of these could be equally real.  Whether you know it or not, they could all be equally real.  It’s not just my memories of things that matter, its actually the world itself.  I don’t believe in living through this lens that it’s only the present that matters and it’s my present that matters the  most.  How could that be possibly true?  Why would my present matter more than anyone else’s on the planet?  Why would my present matter more than your present? You are the reader, right.  I think my present matters more than your present, you think your present matters more than my present.  Where are we with that?  How does it make any sense?  What if we just say, they both matter equally, its just that perspective leads us to think that my present is more important than your present.  My life is more important than your life.  They are both of equal value its just that different people have them.  That’s true.

My life: Hanami without Sakura

My life: Hanami without Sakura: I met the mayor of the city on the weekend.  It was a bit of a strange weekend all up.  First, I woke up and had a bit of a look at my Faceb...

Hanami without Sakura

I met the mayor of the city on the weekend.  It was a bit of a strange weekend all up.  First, I woke up and had a bit of a look at my Facebook and checked my inbox.  Nothing really interesting.  Facebook as always had a few interesting photos to rest the eyes upon, a few gags, and some more important stuff.  So what exactly happened that day, Garant.

Well, its simple really.  Knowing that you would be in Australia in less than a week, you knew it was time to make one final splash.  But first you had to take out the trash.  You sent a couple of messages on Facebook to let the world know you were coming to the park, for hanami without sakura.

Oh that's right.  Here's the thing: the absence of charity in Japan has often struck me as being cause for great concern.  All of the sadness seems hidden away.  I know that's true.  I've been to Tokyo and after arriving they don't let you sit down on the street, so a lot of people- the homeless that is- move to Osaka.  Over here in Nagoya, the homeless are there if you know where to look.  You certainly don't see too many, but they are there.  Look down sometimes, and you'll find a homeless person passed out in the garden for lack of nutrition.  Or sometimes, you'll find a blue tarpolin stretched out with a homeless wanderer living inside, lying down.  I play a little bit of shogi in a park and I know a few people there that I can't imagine holding down a job. 

The church in Japan seems quite bizarre to me.  In Australia, there are all of these guys wandering around trying to convert the world to god knows what for who knows why.  There are all of these wandering preachers- evangelists- telling everyone that they are sure to go to hell, unless they do the logical thing, "Believe in Jesus".  And then what, believe in what?  Believe that he is the Son of God, and the key to the eternal kingdom; you just have to listen to the little radio in your heart, a still quiet voice that tells you what to do.  Acknowledge that you have made mistakes in your life, so therefore are not God, must not be immortal, except you will almost certainly go to hell, the way you're going.  Inside every human life with out Jeezus, as they say in the Bible belt, there is emptiness, a hole that needs to be filled, a special God-shaped hole.

For me, this is simply ridiculous.  If anyone just walked around saying I know the son of god, I know the son of god, believe me when I say I know the son of god, in different cultures they would certainly have been thrown in prison or stoned for blasphemy or, at the least, considered mad.  And the church was persecuted, but they also actually did things.  That's why people started to join.  Because they presented a fairer, more loving, more inclusive community than there was at the time.  The same thing happened with Buddhism where a lot of early converts- how many, I don't know- were outcastes or untouchables.

Sometimes, the church is doing the opposite, they are making people, ordinary people, feel untouchable.  Ordinary human beings have a measure of guilt and remorse for past mistakes and a few questions about where it all began and what the point of it all is.  That's completely natural.  What is a bit misguided, though, I think is to target those human weaknesses.  It's just, well, silly, to think that you can fill a void with a set of beliefs or doctrines.  It only works if you give people something to do.  A lot of the churches I have been to are pretty good on the sins of commission and not terribly brilliant on the sins of ommission.

For those of you who don't know what that means, it means churches are always telling you what not to do, and rarely telling you want to do.  You are supposed to be the salt of the earth- a little earthy, and just a bit different.  Or at least to try.

(I'm going to tell you the worst sermon I have ever heard.  It came from a pretty good guy, actually.  This was in a Pentecostal church at university after I had reconverted myself.  I don't know why I started going there.  I think I was doing my usual thing of trying to give everything a second chance, and trying to follow life as it unfolds.  Anyway, the preaacher told us that the Holy Spirit was like some gold that was in an old, beat up used car.  Without the Holy Spirit, or the gold, the person was all but junk.  I think that's junk.  That is, to me, junk theology.  What, Mahatma Ghandi is junk
because he does not accept the Holy Spirit?  Or the Dalai Lama or Jeffrey Hopkins, his translator?  There is a man I really respect and admire whose name is Matthieu Ricard.  He also translated for the Dalai Lama, but into French.  His father was a philosopher who was quite influential in France.  His most famous book was called Without Jesus or Marx.  His son, the young Matthieu, trained as a scientist but, after seeing some footage of Tibetan monks, he decided to pursue that course instead.  I strongly recommend his book Happiness for what it has to say on the interface between Buddhist practice and the psychological sciences.  Okay, sure but those guys are religious.  Well what about a doctor who saves lives through cutting edge research, or even just your run of the mill GP?  Surely, they don't need the Holy Spirit to have a life worth living.  That's why a lot of things are simply mysteries and to pretend that you have read the Bible- or even studied the Biblle- and have all of the answers is kind of ludicrous. 

What I do believe in is the life of Jesus and the life of the saints.  I believe in those things.  I believe that, for any of her flaws (yes, I've read The Missionary Position by Christopher Hitchens), she did live a life that touched and continues to touch others.  You can't say people or institutions can't have flaws.  But institutions can be on the whole constructive and beneficient or not.  That's an argument that everyone has to weigh their own opinion on.  I think I will scream the next time I hear someone say everyone has to believe in evolution but wars are only fought because of religion.  Why are the chimpanzees fighting then?  Because of belief?  Its just a walking contradiction.  I love John Lennon's music, but I don't imagine that life without religion would fix everything.  It wouldn't.  But religion, properly practiced, can help. 

So I set off to go to the park with all of these intentions of trying to raise a bit of money though selling a few books, or asking people if they wanted to take a photo with my dog.  I wanted to do that on Sunday.  On Saturday, I just wanted to see some friends.  No-one came, but I did only announce it last minute on Facebook.  It was just something I needed to do before I left Japan.

But first, I met the mayor.  I was walking down towards Seiyu, my local shopping market when I saw some local residents milling around a local politician.  I asked who it was.  Someone told me it was the mayor, himself, Mr Kawamura.  So, his handlers asked if I wanted a photo.  Actually, that would be neat, I thought.  I can put that on Facebook.  My battery was dead though, so that was even better because his staff kindly took one for me and mailed it to me the same day.  I don't agree with everything that is going on in Japanese politics, because, as hard as I try, I really don't understand it.  I certainly think that he has made mistakes in office but I don't really want to talk about them right now.  I will say that he is a man of the people, and that he is a charismatic and popular leader in the city of Nagoya.  At least he was.  I'm not sure what everyone thinks right now.

So after that bit of excitement, I headed down to the park.  I met a few people.  Everyone played with my dog, who got tired.  I talked a little bit about my blogs.  I freaked out a little, felt a little paranoid.  And I learnt some important things about my illness.  I learnt stuff like when people are doing simple things, there is no secret code to decipher, beyond basic body language- how the person is feeling and how people are reacting to circumstance.  So that was really good.

On the Sunday, I went out again.  This time I weighed myself down with two bags full of books.  First, I had a clever plan.  After receiving my photo of Kawamura sensei, which read that he was a supporter of little people and little revolutions, I thought maybe it will be okay to show people his message in support of such things.  Who knows if that was a good idea or not?  I just think when you are trying to accomplish certain goals we should use, as Malcolm X should have said, all good means necessary.  My basic goal was to trial my paper cup idea.  It was an interesting experiment.  First, I needed to have some money in the cup, so I asked a few people if they wanted to raise a little money for Fukushima.  No-one understands charity here very much.  It's just not something that you see a lot of.  In frustration, I gave away a book.  One young guy looked interested in my books but disappointed that they were all in English.  So I picked a book of short stories (Bad Haircut by Tom Perrotta), and asked him if he had a dollar.  Then I gave him one.  Then I gave him the book, he gave me the dollar, and I put it in the cup.  Some people will think that's completely illogical.  He got a book, I lost a dollar.  Well, I don't need every book and I don't need every dollar.  What I do need is for the church to start doing such things, too.  The crazy things, the illogical things, the out of the ordinary and strange and different.  The dollar I give away is a sign for others that it's okay to do the same. 

(Actually, this is the second time I have tried my paper cup experiment.  The first time was the previous Thursday.  I got my first paper cup from my old company, thought about its' uses and held onto it for a day.  At the end of the day, my new friend was saying something about a couple of girls playing guitar.  I had been talking to him about paper cups, so I thought I'll show him.  I did a bit of maths in my head.  Worked out what 80% of one beer was, and used as many denominations as possible to make that amount, which I put inside the cup and gave away.  "Thank you, you gave us money," they said. "I love you," they said.  I told my friend that maybe I just started busking in Japan.  I might have.  Who knows.  BTW  I know there are buskers already.  Yet, the system seems a little different in Japan, and it's not as common.  But that's cool. Maybe I started "busking for others".)

I only collected another 121 yen or so that day, until I finally met a young American who I had a pretty good chat with.  He bought two books, and emptied his change of about 340 yen.  Triumphantly, I thought, that will do me for the day.  I walked through a crowded line into the Greenery Association and showed them my letter from the mayor, told them it was for Fukushima in Japan, and just left them the cup.  Now what happens on his end is his responsibility.  At least its a little reminder that people are out there who want that thing to get better.  Who knows what might happen if a couple of these stories spread.

I was pretty sure that someone might want to ask me a few questions later so I thought I better give a couple of explanations first.  I started talking in English with a well dressed older gentleman 20 minutes later near the pond. I talked about my projects and I gathered that I had met another important person.  I met Kawamura sensei's sempai.

4) I have so much stuff in my house, I no longer know what most of it is good for. I don’t even know why I bought it. I must have been insane. Luckily for me, I guess, these robbers came by one day and said, “Give us all your stuff.” But they forgot some of it, so I chased after them and said, “Don’t you want my TV?”

You sat down to write the story that would make you famous.  The story of your life.  So, heres what happened.  It was such a beautiful day, and you sat down outside on your balcony, coffee in one hand, cigarette in the other.  Nice day for contrails, you thought as you looked at the sky.  Look, there's one now.  What plane made that?  Whose arc does it describe?  Who is flying a plane that flies like that?  Oh well, no matter, you thought.  Just enjoy the day.  Look at these fingers, you thought as you toked greedily, hungrily on your cigarette.  Drink some coffee, you thought, that will slow you down.  Ah, yes, look over there.  Look at that.  A cage built for children, children encaged behind this green mesh. And they call that a school, you thought.  What are they teaching them? To be in a larger prison.  A prison bigger than my tiny apartment.  I guess so, you think, but at least they are happier.  Happier than me, you think.  Your wife is not awake yet.  She lies stretched prone upon your bed.  Lifeless, or perhaps she's dreaming.  Maybe you are dreaming yourself, you think.  Too loud, that dog.  You can hear him scratching at the door, pining, whining for your attention, for all of your space.  Its all right, mate, you say.  You can play with me later.  Have you taken your medicine yet, your wife says as she wakes.  Do you want some breakfast, she says.  Not yet, you think, all I want is to jump this balcony, unfold my broken wings and see if I can fly away.  You better not.  Painted birds don't fly.  Four stories down and fast, you realise.  Okay, I'm coming, you say.  You better not.  You think. You know what will happen.  You'll just have another in a long line of arguments.  You pick up your I pad and check in.  They can see me, you think.  Of course they can, they can see everyone.  They are watching me.  So what, they don't care about me.  Not yet, but if I become too powerful, I know they'll shut me down.  I know they'll switch me off.  I know something that you don't.  So there you go, what do you think of that?  The dog is barking, again.  He wants to play, he always wants to play you think.  Hi, boy, you pick him up.  How are you mate?  After, buddy, I just want to realax for awhile.  I just need to think.  Can you pick up your clothes, can you put your stuff away, she says.  Okay, in a minute, I just want to check something.  You are always on that thing, she says.  You know that it's true.  Have you finished cooking breakfast, you want to ask.  You just want to eat, so you can escape the prison that is your house.  Fuck you, motherfuckers, you think.  Who taught us to fill our lives with so much garbage, with all this stuff no-one could ever need..  I didn't do that, you think, You did.  You remember your conversation with your friend.  You can't tell me that this is anyone else's fault.  You know it's not.  If you were born in a communist cpountry, you would probably be a communist.  If you were born in a socialist country, you would probably be a socialist.  If you were born in a democratic culture you know for sure you wouldn't be a Democrat.  Or a Republican, for that matter.  You would, and do, have no choice.  You know you don't.  You're a born consumer, a waster.  You were were born to use up and throw aaway in the hope that something better would come along.  A better wife. A better life.  A better planet.  You were born in a consumerist society, why expect anything else.  I don't know, you think, and you want to scratch your head.  But that would be too obvious.  You couldn't hide a thing like that, confusion.  You've eaten breakfast now.  Its time to take your walk.  C'mon boy, are you coming.  You get his little black bag.  We used to have an orange one, you think, what was wrong with that.  This one's too small.  Like everything else the price goes up as the size goes down.　It's sleek, you know that for sure.  Come here mate, you say as you chase your boy around the house.  Where's your ball, mate, you say.  We're going for a walk.  Can you take the recycling, she says.  You say sure, but feel frustration.  Sure, no worries.  Can you get the cups.  Why have we got so many cups anyway, you wonder.  You will never know that.  Where did we get all this stuff.  You will never know.

um... this thing might not go viral. Damn.

CONTINUED from a previous post

...the whole thing seemed set to implode.  This isn't the way stuff goes viral, is it?  By getting in touch with a few people you like who you haven't made enough of an effort with and the relatives who have probably been worried sick about you for the last seven years.  It was like crawling out from under a rock.  Hello, world, ta dai ma, miss me much?  It still seemed like somewhere to start at least.  Importantly though, or so it seemed to me, I had sacrificed some of my anonymity.  This had better pay off, I thought, because I had 32 contacts in 9 days.

You can skip the next little paragraph if you want.  It's about How I Feel Small
(HOW I FEEL SMALL: I hope no-one thinks I have been using people, honestly I haven't.  Its difficult to try to rejoin the human race when you just feel different from other people.  I always have.  I lived through a fairly friendless childhood, where I felt ostracised, estrandged and marked out as someone not worth being friends with.  This is hard stuff to go through.  It makes it quite difficult to trust people.  It was very difficult for me to just learn to kind of fit in.  Its never been terribly easy for me.  That also leads you to have a streak of narcisism.  You think I'm some kind of a freak, runs the heavily hungover voice of childhood past, well, what's so great about the rest of you.  Honestly, I need to be around people, I've just never felt like they have needed to be around me.  Everyone already seems to have enough friends.  When I'm around other people who seem like socialising is so easy, I often feel like the smallest person in the room.  Sometimes I attempt to act bigger than I really am.  I really need to act like we're all about the same size, about the same shape, that we are all basically human and more alike than different.  WHEW, heavy stuff about social isolation and loneliness out of the way, back to entertaining the reader, hopefully.)

Wow, normal size again.  Let me bang on a bit more

... this had better pay off because I can't do this thing twice.  I could think to defreind everyone, make a mea culpa, and start all over again, to use my wife's identity (I'd already established that wasn't a popular concept) or get myself a pseudonym.  I was frustrated in two ways.  For a start, I thought my wife's picture of Seraph alone had a better chancde of going viral than mine of me with the dog.  Lots of people have dogs but there aren't too many dogs on Facebook.  On the second front, I was annoyed because my sister had beat me to the pseudonym.

"Who is this person you suggested as a friend, Helen," I asked my younger sister.
"Guess," she said.
"Someone "Smith" from Brisbane, I don't know anyone like that."
"That's your other sister.  She used the first name Mum and Dad were going to goive her as a child and Smith as a common surname."
"What, like Winston Smith, in 1984?"
"Who did what in 1984?"
"The book by Orwell?  Oh well, never mind."

Clever girl.  Now, both my older sister and my wife were more anonymous than me in their different ways.  If I had been smart enough, I could have done the same as my sister.    If my wife had only listened to me, my face wouldn't have been on Facebook at all. I could have done all those things.  I could have called myself Garant Smith and posted an old snapshot of my dear pearted labrador, Laddy.  Now that would have been symbolic.

Garant... I am not my name
Smith... I could be anyone
Black dog... and I have issues.

But here's where I stand now, at the present writing
* I have sacrificed my anonymity
* I have a few acquaintances in the city of Nagoya
* Great.  All my relatives know what I've been up to
* C has gone AWOL and hasn't kept his pledge
* R is in England somewhere doing God knows what
* My chances of getting my old APS team back together to start SkypeMe@English.com seem well, a bit, let's say, ambitious.
* I still have my old friend E's book.  I don't even know if he likes me.  He @probably won't make a documentary about me.
* N has probably gone back to Boston
* I have 32 friends on Facebook
* I have started a blog that no-one comments on, or even reads
* I have started a charity organisation no-one has heard of using paper cups that no-one has and I'm about to drain the last cup of my own finances to do it.

What's a man to do?

Later that day: The Guesteraunt

The Guestaurant run by a Postmodern culinarian and his wife.   

 

I am writing this piece in support of the visions my good friend  has for his restaurant.  I would really like to call it “Just an ordinary day, with an extraordinary meal, at an extraordinary place run by an extraordinary couple.”    

 

Recently, my life seems to be looking up, and all manner of happy coincidences seem to be coming my way.  Or perhaps, in my own quiet way, I am finding them.  Here’s a question for you guys out there.  Do you have a friend whose name means friend?  Because I do.  And I feel lucky because I know　he  is a true friend.  He shares my visions and I share his even though we don’t know each other particularly well.  He’s also a very good cook

              So who is this friend?  Let’s start by saying “Well, he’s not Spanish.  He’s Maori.”  Here’s something else you don’t know about my friend- this is a secret the whole city of Nagoya needs to know- he’s a world famous chef whose speciality is Post Modern Cuisine, AND A LOGICIAN.  Isn’t that cool?  I could do with some of that!  This guy is doing a PhD in Logic at my university in Australia as a part time thing, just something to do.  Is he really that famous?  Well, I don’t know.  He’s not exactly Jamie Oliver or Gordon Ramsey, but he’s been featured on TV in New Zealand.  How many of you can say that?  Well, I know it’s just New Zealand, but have you ever been on TV cooking anywhere?  Probably not, well he has.  And here’s a big puzzler for all the foodies out there- how do you make hot ice cream?  Ice cream that melts when it’s cold, and stays solid when its hot?  He won’t tell me the secret, but I’ve tried it and it’s good.  But he has been teaching me how not to burn the toast.  Just watch it carefully is his best advice, and when you think you can smell smoke, be well aware the toast is probably burnt.  I told you he was good at logic.  So what kind of a chef is he?  He’s kind of a postmodern culinarian would you believe.  His main influence on his cooking style is postmodernism and the unique food he makes shows that.  There can’t be many restaurants like that.

              My friend could make quite a lot of money doing this thing if he wanted to, and I think he probably does already.  Enough to live on comfortably, anyway.  But he is not about money.  I mean, he needs it like we all do but he doesn’t live for it.  What he seems to value is community, charity and friendship.  That’s why last Saturday, he decided to do something a little different.  He decided to organize what he calls a “Guestaurant.”  The concept of a  guestaurant was quite simple.  Basically, my friend gathered together a small but previously specified number of people, in that case six, and asked us to be nice to each other.  Isn’t that something?  What a concept- getting 3 pairs of people together who had no previous acquaintance with each other, push the tables together and expect them to get along over a seven course meal.  And we did.  We got along famously.  He also did this as a favor for me.  Ordinarily the same meal would have cost about $100, but he did it because he wanted to give me the chance to talk about my charity.  Thanks, mate.  I’m sorry, I didn’t talk more about it.  Just felt like one of our guests was really enjoying your food.  I chose to stay a little silent.  But I really appreciated that.

              The guests that night were: my wife, Satoko and myself; C, a New Zealand lady and K, her old English student now living in New Zealand, and D, a young Japanese guy who sells used cars to Africa, and his wife, M.  Oh, and let’s not forget the young Japanese couple’s beautiful little baby girl.  I won’t tell you about the food, but we ate some amazing stuff.  Everyone in the world deserves to try my friends’ tia masu at least once in their life.  I want to tell you just some fun stuff we found out about each other.  When my wife and I arrived, D and his family were already seated.  He had this really cool All Blacks shirt on with the kanji for both those words, as well as the official All Blacks logo.  The first thing I found out about him was that he didn’t make his own shirt.  See, I am interested in getting some Tshirts made by local designers to support a particular charity, so I asked him, “Wow, cool shirt, man. Who made it?”  “Adidas,” he said and showed me the logo.  After the last two guests arrived we all heard a little bit about this young guy’s work in Africa.  We talked about some of the scams that come out of Nigeria, and how that was probably due to mostly political problems, even colonialism, and not the people themselves. 

              Oh, by the way, later on D got me back for the comment about the Tshirt.  I was wearing a brand new red, blue and white polo shirt, faded blue work pants, a cardigan, my black glasses and sporting my medium length, thin black hair (I can’t choose that one, really).  D says, to everyone ‘s amusement, “Where’s Wally?”  I was onto him , so I retorted, “I don’t know.  Where’s his beanie?” because it was the one thing I lacked.  He also loves sport, and we might meet up at Fukiage where he goes to the gym.  He might even try out for the Nagoya Redbacks!  So that’s one thing I did for those guys lately.

              C and K were pretty nice people too.  They really were.  C reminded me a lot of an old friend of an ex-share mate and coworker of mine AND her mother, if that’s possible.  She was funny, smart, and very much from the Southern Hemisphere.  She likes fishing, sport, beer and politics.  Just like Bob Hawke, I guess.  We talked about the Apartheid boycott, the mass media, and all manner of stuff.  I even got to bang on a bit about the state of the Great Barrier Reef in Queensland and my vision of nurturing cross cultural charities.  The Japanese couple even let her hold their baby, for ages.  I thought she wasn’t going to give the baby back. 

              K was good enough to bring, all the way from New Zealand, one of the local drops of wine.  So we shared that as well as the restaurant’s own fine vintage.  She also showed us heaps of photos on her Iphone of where they made the Lord of the Rings in New Zealand.  It was like the Shire without the Hobbits. 

              My wife also had an excellent time talking to these great people, although she’s a bit more shy than I am. She was embarrassed though when I stood up to have a cigarette.  I walked outside and put my fancy, new green overcoat on, but couldn’t find my smokes.  So I came back inside, dug through my pants’ pockets, and my overcoat’s pockets, one more time, and started looking under the table.

              “Look, they’re in your pocket,” C said, rather crossly, I thought.

              “No they’re not.  I just checked.”

              “Look, I can see them.”  And she stood up.   “Do I need to help you?”

              “Where are they?  They’re not there”. 

              “They, are, in, your, CARDIGAN?!?”

              “Oh right” and I finally got to have my smoke.

              At the end of the day, we all left knowing and understanding each other a bit better, liking each other a lot, I think, and with some small promises for further contact.

              And in all of that time my friend’s lovely wife attended to us like we were royalty itself.  I love that place and I love those people.  So let’s support Nagoya’s only postmodern culinarian.  Well, I don’t know that, but I do know he’s a pretty good one.  So if anyone asked me what I would say about that place , I would say the following:   

“My friend is an amazing cook with an amazing vision.  To use his unique skills as a culinarian in the service of something greater than food, in the service of friendship and, well, just basic human warmth.  This is the kind of man he is, this is the stuff he’s trying, he doesn’t know how to make it all work together perfectly, but he’s trying.  He is a good man with a lot of vision.  And his loving, supportive and caring wife is with him every step of the way.  You guys should get to know them.  I think they’re great.  Let’s help them make their dreams come true.  There you go… to the restaurant.  Hopefully, you’ve already booked a place because that restaurant deserves to be full, but only as full as they want to make it.”