Alchemist Perspective

Let's Enjoy

2011-02-17T22:34:00.000-08:00

The Alchemist Perspective will be mainly for posting the travel journals I have "emailed big" to family and friends along the way since the beginning of major adventures about 11 years ago. Along with a storage space for words, numerous lovely readers have requested a source for images as well. For that, please go to
http://flickr.com/photos/jfinger23
Stay tuned for the greatest, uplifting, free-time-worthy material ever created, and please share this site with whoever you like. As we say in Japan, let's enjoy. . .

Touching the Hand of Basketball Jesus--the whole story

2008-12-12T00:00:00.000-08:00

UPDATE: This story (a link to it, anyway) was posted on a national NBA site, Truehoop, on ESPN.com. Check it out here. Thank you, Henry Abbott!

Yes, this is long. So take a few minutes and soak it in. Share it with your Dad.

Throughout history, kids have struggled with the question of what present to get for Dad, the man who has everything. Too often, whether the answer ends up being cologne, socks, or neckties, few presents ever leave their mark. With Christmas 2008 approaching, a simple idea for a present evolved into an incredibly unique experience that my Dad will never forget.

My idea for Dad, a lifelong basketball junkie, was to find a date in December or January when we could make the manageable, four-hour, NBA road trip from St. Louis to either Memphis, Tennessee for a Grizzlies game, or head north to Indianapolis, Indiana, to watch the Pacers in action. The opponent was not important, as long as the game was not on a Friday or Saturday night that would conflict with any parties in St. Louis needing a DJ. The idea was for Dad and me to have a fun time together, take a short trip and watch some basketball that we do not have access to in St. Louis.

The first indication that I was on to something good came when I checked the NBA schedule. On Sunday evening, December 7th, the Pacers would be hosting none other than the 17-time, reigning World Champion, not to mention my Dad’s favorite, Boston Celtics! Coincidentally, Dad’s favorite player ever is Larry Bird, the “Basketball Jesus,” now serving as president of the Indiana Pacers. So, let’s review: Dad’s favorite team, with his favorite player in the same building, and we only would have to take Monday off. It was a no-brainer. I threw it out to my two sisters and brother Mark, but only my brother ended up able to do it, making it a very appealing road trip for the Fingerhut boys.

Here’s where things got exciting. Mark and I, with Dad’s input, decided to splurge a little and get lower level seats facing the team benches. Once I secured three tickets, the next idea was hatched. Why not try to take this experience to the next level? I had read a book recently that talked about how meeting celebrities was easier than people thought, and I knew that once I set a clear objective to achieve, all I had to was ask. So, what was the objective? I pictured My Dad meeting Larry Bird. Nothing could top that! Then I worked my way backward, pondering what would be the most effective way to arrange this.

Over Thanksgiving weekend, I let the idea round into form, and went into attack mode the week leading up to the game. Neither the Pacers’ nor Celtics’ web site offered much opportunity for communication; most avenues led to ticket sales. On Monday, I rooted around and sent this email to a general email address for the Pacers:

To Whom It May Concern:
You probably see this type of letter all the time, so I will understand if I get a response along the lines of a courteous apology. Even so, I have a question that I hope someone can forward to the right people.

My brother and I are taking my Dad to a Pacers game for his Christmas present. We have tickets to this Sunday's game against the Boston Celtics at 6 p.m. That scenario in itself, is not so unique, except this will not be a piece of cake for us. My Dad and Mom raised four of us kids in St. Louis, MO. Besides the "religion" of Cardinal baseball that we were baptised into as fans, Dad, a lifelong St. Louisan as well as lifelong NBA fan, raised us on Celtics basketball.

In the glorious '80s, Dad would sing the praises of Larry Bird and point out all the intricacies of the great Celtics teams and the Big Three. His love of Red Auerbach and all things 'Celtic-green' fueled his passion for coaching us in basketball and pushing all of us to strive for our best, always, like Red, Larry, and the Celtics. When Larry Bird came to the Pacers, first as coach, then as president, the Pacers became our 'second team' behind the Celtics, and we happily cheered on Reggie Miller, Chris Mullin, Jermaine O'Neal, and everyone else over the years. Even as my brother and I lived in Japan teaching English for a few years, including the rough experience of Dad's heart attack, we could always connect talking NBA basketball, and the Pacers and Celtics always had lots to talk about.

Last year, as the Celtics made their big run to the title, my brother and I re-connected with Dad in a big way. While Larry and the Pacers were unfortunately not involved in the playoffs, the three of us watched most of the Celtics' playoff games together in the same room, with Dad making the effort of staying up for the end of the games--because we were there, and the Celtics were back.

We have been to a few NBA games in our lives, both in Indianapolis and Memphis, but they could be counted on one hand. Dad's getting older, and I don't know how many more times we'll be able to give him a present like this. The timing could not be better, with the Celtics coming to Larry Bird's organization, with the Celtics defending their championship, and the Pacers fielding a promising young team. All three of us are extremely excited about coming up to Conseco Fieldhouse this weekend. We are planning to get there early to watch players warming up, although it seems the earliest we can enter is 5 p.m. for the 6 p.m. game.

My question is, since Sunday will not be the second game of a back-to-back, is there a chance at all that we could have one second of Mr. Bird's time, just to say hello and give a handshake? Like I said, I am sure you all get this request a lot, and I have no doubt Mr. Bird will be busy on game day. But I wanted to ask, as a fan and as the son of a HUGE fan. My brother and I have saved up, and are splurging on club seats, to get my Dad as close as possible to the action. He does not know I am sending this, and I would love to surprise him.

Once again, I don't know who this goes to, but could you forward it on to the right person or people? Please don't hesitate to contact me at any time. Thank you, and either way, I hope this Pacers' season is a successful one!!!

Sincerely,
Joe A. Fingerhut

As you can see, I put a lot of time and thought into what exactly to include in here, keeping it concise but laying everything out. Key ideas: St. Louis fans, coming a long way, Dad’s a fan, Larry’s old team, throwing in the heart attack issue, brothers saving up and splurging, with a healthy amount of courtesy focusing on making it convenient for them.

Nothing came of this letter. On Wednesday, I got back on the Pacers site, and somehow saw a fax number I had not seen before. I hand-wrote a one-page letter, hitting most of the points above, but also including a sentence including, “(my Dad) has some heart problems, and may not get an opportunity like this again.” Not a lie, technically, just boosting the urgency.

Nothing came of this fax, either. While I was somewhat let down, nothing could change the fact that the three of us were in for a fun road trip, a nice NBA matchup, and a great experience regardless.

Then, Friday morning, two days before the game, right around 10:30 a.m., my cell phone rang. While I did not recognize this out-of-state number, I thought little of it and picked it up. Here’s how the conversation went between me and . . .

Me: Hello, this is Joe.
Voice: Hi Joe, this is Larry Bird of the Indiana Pacers.
Me: (Silence--breathless, out of breath, unable to speak, not thinking. . .)
Voice: Hello?
Me: YES! I am here, hi! Are you serious?
Voice: Yeah, this is Larry Bird. I understand you and your Dad are coming to the game this Sunday.
Me: (stuttering, desparately trying not to sound ridiculous) Yes, that’s right, we’re looking forward to it.
LARRY FREAKING BIRD: Is your Dad around?
Me: No he’s at work, this is my phone. Do you want his number?
LFB: Yeah, does it start with 314?
Me: 314-***-****, he works for the United States Postal Service.
LFB: Okay. I’m going to the airport Sunday and won’t get there until game time, but if you can get down to me, I’d be happy to meet you.
Me: Thank you, thanks for calling, see you Sunday.

I talked to this man on the phone. Then he called my Dad.

I did a little triumphant freak-out, decided against calling my Dad to warn him for fear of any phone line gaffes, then ran upstairs to tell my wife. “Guess who just called? LARRY BIRD!!!”

My wife Michiyo, born in Japan and delightfully indifferent to most things sports-related, meekly responded, “Who?”

I had explained the situation earlier, and I told her, “Papa Joe’s favorite player called,” and she was excited for me and us. I called my siblings, but no one picked up. So I waited, eagerly.

Five minutes later, my phone rang again.

Me: Hello, this is Joe.
Voice: (No words, just a gasp, and the sound of someone about to laugh)
Me: Hi Dad. Did you like that?
Me & Papa Joe: (laughing like giddy school girls that just saw Justin Timberlake’s new video.)

Dad and I spent the next few minutes of the United States Postal Service’s time going over every syllable of the last 10 minutes of our lives. Dad was convinced it was a trick, but “didn’t say anything funny,” then when he got a chance, asked, “Is this real?” Larry Freaking Bird said, “Oh yeah, this is Larry Bird.” Dad described himself as “in la-la land” after that, but got himself together enough to get Larry to say meet him around halftime or after the game.

To say the least, Dad was pleasantly surprised and shocked. He could not believe his work phone had rung, with Larry Bird on the other end. Then he could not believe that I had used the reason of “heart problems” to goad a professional basketball organization into action. Dad said he could not wait to tell the guys at lunch, said goodbye, and then I had a similar conversation with my brother Mark, complete with cackling and giddiness, only on a different company’s time.

Over the next two days, we told EVERYONE who would listen all about what happened. We had plenty of family and friends intrigued with how it would turn out. Lots of people were on board, and then, a co-worker of my Dad’s called us on the car ride up to Indy on Sunday, letting us know that, unbelievably, that day, December 7th, was the 52nd birthday of one Larry Joe Bird. We had all ready spent much of the ride speculating and joking about what would happen later on, ranging from a police escort out of the city, to sharing drinks at a downtown club after the game on Larry’s dime. News that it was his birthday kicked these possibilities up several notches, and took our conversations in even more imaginative directions. The four-hour drive flew by.

We checked in to our room exactly one block from Conseco Fieldhouse (Mark did all Fingerhuts everywhere proud by scoring a Hampton Inn with FREE breakfast), grabbed a quick sandwich and headed to the arena.

With about 20 minutes to tip-off, we simply sat down and took in the atmosphere—not quite electric, but buzzing, with the reigning champs warming up and fans steadily filling up the seats.

Mark and Dad

I made it a point to just focus on Ray Allen, watching him practice the give-and-go with Rajon Rondo, and appreciating his picture-perfect jumper in the house that Reggie Miller built.

My Dad and Me

12/7/08: Indiana Pacers versus NBA Champion Boston Celtics

Celtics Starting Lineup introduced

After a lights-out, fired up introduction of the starting lineups, the game began, and to our thorough delight, both teams came out firing. The Pacers were playing their fourth game in five days, and while the middle two games had been disappointing, blowout losses, they had taken the mighty Lakers to overtime in the first game, winning with a desperate, one-handed tip-in at the buzzer from Troy Murphy. On this Sunday night against the Celtics, they were in fighting mode. The defending champions had won 11 games in a row, and showed no signs of complacency. The first quarter ended with a buzzer-beater from Celtics benchwarmer and Irish super-hero Brian Scalabrine, and the second quarter ended not with a Ray Allen three with four seconds left, but with a HALF-COURT Three from the Pacers’ Marquis Daniels as time expired.

Throughout the first half, we watched Larry Legend like a hawk. Dad pointed out that sitting among the fans was a habit made famous by the Celtics patriarch Red Auerbach. As a front office man, Larry has always taken a corner seat near the visitor bench. With binoculars, we observed that a complete team security team insulated Mr. Bird from any nagging fans; one older gentleman guarded the aisle seat of Larry’s two-seat row, while four or five men firmly hovered on the floor a few feet below the railing separating him from the players’ tunnel. He was accessible to fans, however: during every timeout, fans could and would line up to hand their hero a ticket stub for him to sign. Larry would reach down with his left hand, pick up the ticket, sign with his left hand, and hand it back—no discernible interaction, or for that matter, enjoyment.

At first, I was disappointed, wondering how would we communicate with Larry Bird that we were the very Fingerhuts with whom he had shared a phone conversation two days ago? Then again, if we got down there for an autograph, we could blend in because everyone was doing the same thing. A plan began to take shape, albeit one with several chances, and relying a lot on fast talking. After two Olympic performers came out for the halftime show and wowed the crowd with a wicked trampoline routine that went from double flips and skis to snowboards triple flips, I said, “Let’s roll.”

The three of us headed down the steps, but I hung back to practice our dilemma with on a nearby usher who surely could do nothing for us. Sure enough, he kind of shrugged and told me to ask someone down closer. Once we got as close as we could, about 30 feet from Larry but without access to the lowest section, I turned to Phil, a nearby usher featuring the Conseco Fieldhouse standard uniform of a white, pinstriped shirt under a green jacket, topped off with a green bowtie.

“Phil,” I said, “What are the chances of getting down to talk to Larry Bird?”

“Let me see your ticket,” he said, glancing at the numbers, and stating, “None.”

“Phil,” I said, “This is my Dad, we’re from St. Louis, and this game is his Christmas present. I wrote a letter to the Pacers this week, and Larry Bird called us on the phone Friday, and told us to come say hi. Can you help us out?”

Phil the usher’s face told us we were crazy, but like a good, fellow Midwestern wage-earner, he didn’t tell us to get lost, instead telling us we MIGHT have a shot if we went to Guest Services. So we trekked around the corner to the ‘Guest Relations’ window, where a man and a woman sat, fortunately with not many people around to help.

I caught the woman’s eye, and she asked, “Can I help you?”

I went into the spiel. “This is my Dad, tonight is his Christmas present. I wrote a letter to the Pacers this week, and Larry Bird called him—“

And then our night was made. The woman interrupted me with, “Oh, you’re the St. Lou-ee-zians.”

Taken aback momentarily, I said, “Well, St. Lou-isans,” correcting here, but quickly continuing, “you’ve hear about us? What’s your name?”

“BJ,” she told us. “I’m the one who got your letter.”

Great Scott, Marty!!! This was heavy, Doc!!!

This is BJ!

She said to wait a moment, and walked away, talking on a walkie-talkie. She told us she would see if Larry was down there, and if we could go.

For about five minutes or so, we talked with the other staff member sitting there, a 6’4” man named Rob Eaton. He and Dad talked about the old days of the NBA and ABA, St. Louis Spirits, and all the players they knew and liked. We had made a friend.

BJ and Rob--what a team!

Rob then got a call, directed us upstairs, then ran after us and called us back. He brought us back down, where we met BJ, who was smiling. She walked us down the concourse, then abruptly turned and said, “Wait, does everybody have to go?”

Slightly dejected, but grateful for this chance nonetheless, I pointed to Dad and told her he was the most important one, and it did not matter if we missed out. Later on, Dad would say that the face he made told her that he was going to pass if his sons were not included. I think BJ saw this, and pleasantly aid, “All right, follow me.”

We walked down the steps of the lower bowl, right down to the basket supports, and hung a left, walking between the front row folks and the cameramen and cheerleaders (I think, everything was a blur at this point). The second half had started, but the game was the last thing on our minds at this point. I was inconspicuously fumbling a little with my camera, wanting to catch whatever I could without making a scene or looking too much like some foreign tourist. I put it on video mode, hit record, and looked straight ahead.

Led by BJ, we approached the security detail, just as a timeout was finishing up. We were now on the other side of the railing and inches away from NBA deity. I heard BJ say to go stand against the wall, and started toward the players’ tunnel. Then she called out to me, I turned around, and there was Dad, reaching up to shake the hand—the right hand, the shooting hand, the hand responsible for so many great memories of countless fans, and the hand that none of the other autograph seekers and fans were privy to—of his basketball hero.

Larry was smiling politely, looking Dad right in the eye, and said, “Nice to meet you. Thanks for coming.”

He reached for Mark’s hand, shook it, and then extended his hand to me.

“Thank you so much,” I said. “And Happy Birthday!”

“Thank you,” Larry Bird said, and turned his attention to the game.

Unfortunately, this video is the closest I came to documenting the epic meeting with Larry Bird. Notice at the very last second, the blinding lights appear exactly where Larry's head should be. Coincidence? I think not.

We looked at BJ, exchanged a mutual nod, and began the walk back upstairs. Our immediate reactions were delayed, because we started talking with BJ, a wonderful woman who ended up taking us on an impromptu, 20-minute walk around Conseco Fieldhouse. This walk was by no means a special VIP tour or anything, but she hit some high points, like taking us to the best view of the new football stadium down the street, then to a vacant, reservation-only party room featuring 10,000 basketball cards on the wall. Knowing that I probably missed my only photo opportunity of the actual man, I found the nicest, framed picture of Larry Bird among these cards and took a picture—that would have to do.

As it turned out, BJ knew nothing about the fax, but said that she had forwarded the actual email to Larry himself, and he took it upon himself to call us. We thanked BJ sincerely, and returned to our seats with about a minute left in the third quarter. At that point, we weren’t exactly in the clouds after our very brief interaction, but all three of us were suitably satisfied, knowing that our experience had been elevated exponentially, and that we had just had a meeting with greatness. I told Dad that I had gotten exactly what I asked for, a handshake and a hello. I pondered, “Imagine if I had asked for drinks and game of HORSE!”

Our mission accomplished on the Larry Bird objective, we settled back into our seats to concentrate on the excellent contest unfolding before us. The plucky young Pacers put in a bucket to end the third quarter up three, 81-78. The final twelve minutes saw the lead go back and forth, complete with crucial missed free throws (Kendrick Perkins), solid clutch passing and defense (Jarrett Jack), and sizzling 3-point shooting from both teams. At one point, Marquis Daniels on the Pacers and Ray Allen on the Celtics were both hovering around the 25-point mark, going back and forth.

As the final minute ticked away, the Celtics needed three points to tie. Because they were losing, we ended up bonding with the Celtics fan behind us and cheering on Boston—at this point, we were cheering not for either team, but simply for the game to go to overtime. Eddie House, the Celtics headband-sporting super-sub, missed a three pointer from the corner with under ten seconds left, but the ball ended up in the hands of the Truth. With at least one Pacer player right in his face, Paul Pierce lofted a beauty of a shot that hung for several seconds, then dropped through the net with a SPLOOSH! Tie game, 105-all, Pacers missed their final shot, and we went to overtime.

105-105 score at the end of regulation after a Paul Pierce trey.

Ray Allen took over in overtime, boosting his season-high point total to 35 on a stellar 7-12 shooting. The Celtics left with a 122-117 victory and a 12-game win streak.

122-117 Celtics over Pacers, final score after Ray Allen owning overtime.

Dad's wish: rub T.J. Ford's head in front of Roy Hibbert

Now we were in the clouds, our every wish granted for this day. We mulled about the Fieldhouse a little while longer, snapping a few great pictures, including Dad in front of a gift shop display of Larry’s Boston and High School basketball jerseys next to Reggie Miller’s Pacers jersey. I grabbed a nearby photo (the same one framed in the room upstairs) of Larry, and a Pacers basketball; this photo could be the quintessential photo of the trip for Dad.

Our minds full and our stomachs empty, we went to a nearby establishment for food and surprisingly cheap draft beers. The orange-themed restaurant known for wings and big scenery provided the perfect place to catch some highlights of the day’s football games and reflect on all the little details of the last four hours. Around midnight, after a full day of memories, we hit the sack.

One final note of little consequence: During the night, Indianapolis was hit with some seriously bitter winter weather. The black ice that formed on the surrounding highways made our ride home an adventure, where we passed or were stuck in traffic because of no less than nine separate crashed vehicles, including three overturned SUVs and three zig-zagged tractor trailers. We passed the time by listening to a Bill Walton interview from last year about the Celtics, playing catch with a football on the highway’s grass median beside morning gridlock, and rehashing all the good stuff many times over.

Merry Christmas, Papa Joe, and thank you for all of our memories, basketball and otherwise!

Summer Powerisers

2008-10-01T10:50:00.000-07:00

One thing I experienced this summer, at long last, was learning to walk, run, jump, and bounce using one of the greatest inventions ever: Powerisers!

These Powerisers are not mine; they belong to my friend Josh, who graciously allows me to use them. Let me know what you think!

NBA Finals, Game 6 Running Diary

2008-06-18T00:09:00.000-07:00

While I cannot claim to be a die-hard Boston Celtics fan, I can claim to have a deep appreciation for the team, as my Dad’s love for Larry Bird and all things Celtics growing up influenced me to root against the Lakers, and despise the Pistons. Then Michael Jordan entered the universe, and my allegiance to the Bulls was secured forever. Or so I thought. Upon his multiple retirements, it seems that my allegiance was to MJ. As an NBA fan, I have loved the regular season and playoffs every year since the last Bulls Championship in 1998. However, this year, with the resurgence of the Celtics, I have found another team that I care about. Of course, the fact that my Dad and I can enthusiastically follow them makes this team even more likable. That, coupled with the fact that I picked the Celtics in my first NBA playoff pool back in April. With all that being said, I have been a big fan of ESPN.com’s Bill Simmons, aka The Sports Guy. Every once in a while, he will post a running diary for a sporting event. My brother Mark once did this for a St. Louis University basketball game, and I had always wanted to try it. Tuesday, June 17th, was the perfect night. So without further ado, let’s enjoy Game 6 of the 2008 NBA Finals. Celtics-Lakers. Where Running Diaries Happen.

We’re coming to you live from the Fingerhut Fenton Mansion.

What was a promising evening of male bonding with my brother and Dad has turned into a solo endeavor, with Mark’s softball game starting around halftime and Dad scouting SLU tickets at the new arena. Dad will be back for the second half, and Mark may show up for crunch time, but until then, here I am! I have hijacked Dad’s laptop, and will do a Sports-guy-style running diary for what could be the biggest Game 6 of my life since Michael Jordan struck a pose in Utah ten years ago.

Wired:
Phil Jackson: “Do you want to be here right?” You can actually hear players say, “Yeah.” For some reason, that seems odd to hear. C’mon, Phil, you’re better than that.

Doc Rivers: “Strength is in our numbers.” I thought the strength of the wolf was in the pack. Oh yeah, this is the Celtics locker room, not Phil Jackson’s halftime segment.

11:57: Lakers win tip, the crowd is all ready chanting defense. Kendrick Perkins, with some serious bandages on his left shoulder from his Game 4 dislocation, opens the game with a foul.

11:39 Uh oh, Kobe with a long swoosh—I mean, swish.

11:17 Wow, Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen with bad misses on one possession. But Rondo looks great.

10:24 Rondo with a steal, out to Ray Ray for a BUCKET!!! Good to see Ray getting going early, and Rondo looks possessed.

10:01 Jeff Van Gundy: “Rondo is driving to pass.” 9:42 After 2 free throws, the score is Jesus Shuttlesworth 5, Lakers 4.

9:28 Kobe with a pretty three.

9:13 KG is doing his wimpy little tip pass/rebound thing. Like Anthony Bonner once said at a Mr. Maurer St. Louis University High School Basketball Camp, “Just get the DAMN BALL!”

9:03 Oh dear. Kobe with a long three, nothing but net.

8:41 Paul Pierce with a weak pump fake, then jumps into his defender. The refs pass on blowing the whistle, thankfully. That was practically European.

8:21 KG “calling for the ball,” gets it and is fouled by Lamar Odom. I just was reminded that LO went to Rhode Island years ago. Great uniforms. And God Shammgod played there.

Ray with another free throw. , C’s down 10-8.

7:52 KG butts Gasol to the floor, gets an easy lay-in.

7:01 Funny sequence, Perkins gifts wraps a pass to Kobe, and to beat the shot clock or draw a foul, he heaves it like a girl and ALMOST MAKES IT.

6:35 Rough play, people are flying all over the place, looks like the refs are letting them play.

5:58 Rondo, dared to shoot--twine from the corner.

5:28 Kobe are you kidding me? (These words spoken simultaneously by me and Van Gundy) The Mamba fakes Ray Ray, steps aside and beats the shot clock for a 3. Kobe looks good.

5:25 First commercial break, Kobe has 11, and REM is singing “I Am Superman.” Old song, but apropos at this moment.

Commercials and other thoughts:

“I Survived a Japanese Game Show? Please.

Bill Belichick in the house, along with Stephen Tyler’s lips.

4:49 Boston 3-15 shooting so far, while Kobe is hot. Not too good, but it’s early.

4:28 Ray with a strong lay-up, but is poked in the eye, and may have to fly back to Boston for a family matter. Sorry, that was mean. And here comes the slo-mo HD replay! Lamar with a finger into Ray Allen’s Hypothalamus, that’s gotta hurt.

And the split screen, Pip-like tunnel cam. C’mon, he’s not in wheelchair, is this necessary?

4:20 Tied up at 14 all.

4:06 KG with an aggressive, backing down, post up on Kobe, Bring it, KG!

3:51 Luke Walton, smelling colors and getting his 3rd and 4th points of the finals. I think.

3:31 PJ Brown comes in, makes Luke go to the line to earn his 5th and 6th points.

3:15 KG: Bucket from about 18 ft, looking good.

2:59 Oh yeah, James Posey came in at some point, watch out.

2:47 KG with a strong turnaround, falls away on Gasol, rattles home a basket for 8 points in the first quarter. I see an usher in the distance put up both hands. How great would it be to be in Boston tonight?

Commercials and other thoughts:

Questions, as this Lincoln spot has some nice sound effects: Can’t some car company play off a DaLorean theme, you know, with Back to the Future music, going 88 mph to outrun Libyans in a VW van? Is Christopher Lloyd too busy these days to make a cameo?

KG’s pregame locker room meal: PBJ sandwiches. Sign me up!!!

Mike Breen: “The secret is out.”

Van Gundy: “He’ll change his name from the Big Ticket to the Big Loaf.” Okay. Hope he doesn’t get pinched.

Mark Jackson: “You been sitting on that one, haven’t you?”

2:04 Pierce, misses a 3, is 0-5. Pick it up, Truth.

1:44 PJ Brown with an ALLEY-OOP to Garnett!!! Great success! He was so open, I love it.

:48.8 Rondo goes for his 4th steal, but fouls Farmar as Kobe is denied more points in this quarter.

:36.7 Pierce drives, pulls up, and gets on the board with a pretty J.

:22 Thank you Kobe, for missing that 25 footer from just inside half court—looked good. Leon Powe is in the game.

:1.8 Pierce gets me excited by crossing Walton over, but Luke fouls him because they have a foul to give, like he wasn’t trying to play defense.

1.8 Eddie House darting around, Leon Powe gets it, and takes too long on his lay-up; it comes after the buzzer. KG, with 10 pts and 3 rebounds, leads Boston to a 24-20 lead at the break. NBC treats us again to another view of Odom showing Ray Allen exactly how Lasix eye surgery is done.

Baby trading stocks. Okay, great, I’m just not impressed. What, Bruce Willis wasn’t available for “Look Who’s Talking 5?”

Commercials and other thoughts:

Another car commercial idea as the Michelin man enjoys his Michelin dog: a Ghostbusters theme! You know, some Prius hybrid defeating the marshmallow man? Can someone revive Rick Moranis

NBA Commercial with Kevin Durant. Shouldn’t that Sonics jersey be pulled off to reveal an OKC jersey? NBA. Where franchises leaving happens.

Michelle Tafoya interviews Phil Jackson for about 37 seconds. In the words of my brother MF, “Ground Breaking Stuff.”

And the 2nd Quarter begins, Lakers debut Ronny Turiaf and Sasha Vujacic, aka the Agitator, or as Dad cynically says, “Chitch.” In case anyone didn’t hear, the Sports Guy hilariously observed that Sasha looks like he could be the lost villain from John Lithgow’s crew in “Cliffhanger.” I love that.

11:17 Kobe goes mano y mano with Posey, puts up a fantastic fall away against Posey’s fantastic defense., and barely misses.

AND HERE COMES BIG BABY! The crowd comes alive. He’s making his debut in the Finals.

11:02 Kobe is fouled by Powe on the perimeter, and Posey shoves Kobe after the whistle. Van Gundy has been talking about this habit for a few games now; it’s fun to watch out for.

10:49 Chitch for a long 2.10:35 Eddie House comes alive, instant offense, with a long 2.

Mark Jackson: “Great offensive guys say, “Ay, I can get mine at any time.” I think foreign guys say that a lot when they’re visiting Asian countries.

10:13 Lamar Odom at the line, and Belichick, in the direct line of camera sight, Spygates him into missing a free throw. Who is the blonde? I bet if I followed Boston sports closer, I would know it was his new floozy after divorcing his wife or something. Who cares?

9:57 Doc gets T’d up, and looks like he wants to go Ron Artest on the ref.

9:49 Pierce fires a long 3 for a 5-pt lead, 29-24.

9:30 I don’t think Powe’s expression ever changes. He’s like the Nicolas Cage of the finals, only Powe’s expression isn’t one of “I am perpetually feeling vexed.”

9:12 Chitch with some full court pressure. As annoying and ugly as he is, no one can deny that he is a tenacious defender.

8:48 Leon Powe must be so strong; he twists his way to a lay-up.

Both benches are playing heavily, the Celtics are all over the place. Kobe is missing.

Commercials and other thoughts:

If you aren’t’ watching regularly, you can really get with this Denali guy who works the players’ parking lot. If you have watched all the games, he’s annoying. So is this couch-surfing geek. Hey coolie, get a job (just kidding, that’s my inner Dennis Miller talking. I am jealous of this cat, except I would do it internationally).

Love Guru. Are you KIDDING ME? Mike Myers been gone so long, and he comes back with this? I’d rather see a “Wipeout” spot for the 89th time and cringe/laugh for the 89th time as some slob goes hurtling into the mud.

Tropic Thunder. Robert Downey Junior? That looks like Don Cheadle!

We’re back, and Ray Ray is STILL out. Not good.
8:08 Gasol, Fisher, Kobe, Turiaf, and Chitch for LA. Pierce, Posey, Big Baby, Powe, and House for Boston.

John Havlicek is shown sitting next to some blonde. Everybody’s got one.
7:54 Bill Russell is shown as Celtics called for illegal defense. No blondes for him.

I love Turiaf’s hair. Maybe it’s because he went to Gonzaga, maybe it’s the absence of a headband, but unlike a lot of times when cornrows are involved, he doesn’t come off as thuggish.

We had Chris Mihm come in the other night. Can’t we get a Scalabrine minute?

7:13 Posey with a man-size rebound after about 5 non-calls on rebounds, then BURIES a 3-pointer from deep in the corner.

6:41 Pose deflects a pass from Chitch, down court to KG under the basket, out to House in the same corner Posey just owned, and the ball finds bottom. Lakers call timeout, “sleaze” dancers enter the floor, and Red Auerbach considers lighting his cigar somewhere.
Commercials and other thoughts:

Hey Denali guy, Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Then again, NEVER. LET. UP.

NBA: Fear. The dream could die. Win. Great spot.

Followed by this guy getting nailed by a car. What is the plot of this 70s show, and why couldn’t Ashton Kutcher ever get hit like that?

Wired: Aw, Scalabrine’s in a suit. At this point, our best bet to see him is in Game 7 if the Celtics lose and Ray Ray is out with an eye.

Boston up 38-29 with 6:20 to play, Kobe is woefully short on his shot and good vibes.

Michele Tafoya says an eye doctor has come in, and “is taking longer than an eye shot should.”

BUT WAIT, here comes RAY!!!, and Eddie House’s son gives him a high five.

Eddie House and Derek fisher in a foot race, Eddie casually pushes him into a camera, Boston’s ball to the crowd’s delight.

5:53 foul on Fisher, here’s yet another look at Ray Ray’s head swerving into the path of an oncoming finger from Lamar Odom. Breen: “His eye still looks a little red.” I couldn’t tell.

5:33 Pierce steals from Kobe, comes down and dumps it to Pose, who sends a 3-pointer bucket-ward, swishing through for a commanding 43-29 lead. Not just yet Red, but soon!

4:33 Gasol over big Baby for a hook shot, lead down to 10.

4:07 Pierce drives, baseline pass to Garnett outside, nothing but net. 7 assists for PP, and KG is on.

3:56 Vlad Rad with a shot that thuds on the rim.

3:48 Vlad Rad with an “inexplicable” foul on Pierce for his third, to go with 0-1 shooting. Enjoy the bench, big guy. Pierce 2 Free Throws and 8 pts.

3:37 Celtics with ANOTHER illegal defense call, up 14, and Tom Thibodeau is up and scowling. I think he’s mad he didn’t get the Bulls job; John Paxson couldn’t wait till the end of the playoffs and opted to go with Vinny “Of the Black” Del Negro. Well, Vinny’s hair is more interesting.

3:04 I sense something brewing between Odom and Garnett, they have been swiping each other up and down the court. I am probably wrong, but this could be fun to watch develop.

Commercials and other thoughts:

Nice appearance of the LeBron jury commercial, which offsets this stupid Denali guy.

NBA lead-in with Pierce French kissing the trophy. They didn’t do this on tape delay back in the 70s and 80s, did they?

2:58 Pierce on the line, with the graphic saying this is his 63rd playoff game, most by Celtic without a title. Updates at 11.

2:47 Graphic as Celtics steal: Kobe has gone 14:26 with only 3 Tech FTs.

2:14 Lakers down 15, Farmar goes to the line. He’s only 21, from LA, and UCLA. Life has got to be sweet for him. Plus, his first name is Jordan. Good job, Jordan.

1:58 Garnett does the Dream shake and ABUSES Gasol for a fall away swish, then rebounds Odom’s just-miss at the other end.

1:18 rondo is silky smooth, fakes a pass and teardrops a one-handed shot to beat the shot clock. 18-pt lead.

:38 KG in the lane, hangs, hangs, hangs, gets clobbered, hangs, possibly lands, and throws the ball up almost like a baseball. It slams off the back board and in, the crowd erupts, and I unleash a scream in this house to match KG’s. C’s by 20.

:23.6 Perkins hard-works for a lay-up underneath, for a 58-35 lead, the Garden is electric!!! Kobe misses a 3, then Garnett throws up a half-court prayer to end the half.

0:00 Breen: “the Celtics are 24 minutes away from the NBA Championship.”

Halftime. I gotta get this laptop fired up. Lakers have shot 29% in the first half, and the best of “Wired” is coming up. Life is good.

KG 17 pts, 6 reb, 3 asst

PP 10 pts, 3 reb, 9 asst

Good stuff to close out halftime.

Stu Scott: The Lakers have 8 shots. Kevin Garnett has eight shots.

Mike Wilbon: LA has to swing from the heels. Go small ball, and play like it’s Nov. 1st.

Jon Barry: Phil Jackson is saying, ‘Who are you? And you are? This is not the team I know. Have some pride and come out to play.’

D-Wade: I gotta give props to Marquette graduate Doc Rivers.

All of them pretty much concede the championship to the Celtics. I’m just saying.

Celtics huddle up with Scalabrine hovering on the outside resplendent in a navy blue suit.

Here we go

11:46 Tony Allen to Rondo in the corner for an easy 2.

Van Gundy: “Hard to stop the Celtic train right now.”

11:28 Lamar goes strong to the hoop, as Van Gundy lets us know the Lakers had NO offensive rebounds in the first half. Wow.

Jim Clemons still on staff with Phil, Odom cuts lead to 24, at 60-36.

Breen & Jackson remind us there have been some runs in this series. I wouldn’t mind seeing Kobe make it interesting, but he just missed AGAIN.

10:51 Rondo underneath dribbling, out to Allen for a 3. This is. . .getting to be over.

Ray Ray has 11 on 3-4 shooting, 2-3 on 3’s

10:18 Fisher misses a 3, KG rebound.

9:52 Fisher takes it hard to the paint, wills in a lay-up and a foul. Perkins leaves with (what?) 5 fouls??? Wow, that snuck up on everyone. Well, by everyone, I mean, me.

9:41 PJ Brown hacked by some Laker foreigner. I would think Doc Rivers would have worn a flashier suit and tie. He went with a plain dark suit, white shirt, and a bland black-and-white diagonal striped tie. Blah.

9:11 Pierce slicing and dicing, no pun intended, through the Lakers and Odom for a bank lay-up.

8:49 Rondo follows a Vladimir Radmanovich 3 with a reaching, one-handed scoop shot while getting bumped by Kobe, gets the FT, and the lead is back to 26, 70-44.

Papa Joe and Mom arrive, happy with their season ticket location choices for the upcoming Billiken season. Dad settles in for an enjoyable stretch of basketball.

8:30 Fisher hangs in for a close jumper. Not that he’s keeping them in it, but it doesn’t seem like any Lakers really want to score.

8:08 Ray misses a jumper, and the ball bounces lazily to the free throw line, where KG runs it down; Lakers are just not giving effort right now.

7:37 Ray Ray pitches a tent in the corner, orders a pizza, eats it, and drills the 3. I wonder if he tipped the delivery guy.

7:07 Odom throws it in, Kobe does a jump shot alley-oop from about 5 feet. Nice shot.

6:48 Mark Jackson: “Hondo loving what Rondo’s doing.” The blonde is gone. Don’t know if Mark Jackson noticed.

KG puts in 2 FTs for 19 pts.
6:37 Kobe misses a fall away, he cannot get a shot, or isn’t trying.

6:25 Danny Ainge is shown with some fat on his face. Mitch Kupchak is yawning, as his team falls dwon 29 pts. Mark Jackson: I give him credit, he’s yawing, I couldn’t sleep if I was down 29 pts. Dad and I love this observation.

Rondo is playing fantastic, racing around for assists and steals, just playing well.

5:57 PJ Brown has played in more playoff games than regular season games.

5:40 Kobe lets fly yet another missed fall away.

5:09 KG forces a jump ball with Gasol and turns into a lion, King of the Jungle. Mark Jackson says, “This a match-up of strength. Garnett wins it.”
5:03 Vlad Rad makes things interesting with a 3, 79-51.

4:43 KG with an almost lay-up on Lamar, but Rondo tips in rebound.

4:22 Kobe, finally, works and works, reverses under with a left hand for 2 pts.

4:21 Mark Jackson praises Rondo as Gollum, er, Sam Cassell, scowls on the bench.

KG has 22 pts, 10 rebounds.

4:03 Lamar breaks a Hubie Brown commandment, leaves his feet without a plan, and throws away the ball. Pierce grabs it, splits two defenders and gets the foul called.

Pierce has 14 pts, 9 rebounds

Celtics have a 31 point lead with 3 minutes left in the 3rd. I just wonder what Kobe’s reaction will be after this game. They need some size, but they were the FAVORITES coming in!

This will be 1st time in 30 yrs Boston has clinched a championship here in Boston.

Dad celebrates the forthcoming championship by pulling out his dental floss to pretty up his chicklets.

2:48 PJ Brown expertly plays Gasol in the post, tricks him into backing into nothing, and falling down on his arse.

2:31 Rondo has 5 steals, 13 pts, 3 assists, and the graphic says his favorite player growing up was Isaiah. Let’s see, I want to make a joke, but the one thing that does come to mind is that the sexual harassment verdict with Anucha Browne-Sanders came in at just over $11 million, which is probably at least 3 times as much as Rondo’s salary in the NBA until now.

2;17 Kobe comes in strong for a bank lay-up.

1:48 I hate to say it in such a great performance, but Kobe just breathed on KG, and KG fell over like a rag doll.

Hondo is shown with TWO blondes on both sides of him. Although it seems he doesn’t even notice them. Flomax must be working.

Van Gundy says, “Can you look any better than that?”He was 1974 Finals MVP. Hondo, not Van Gundy.

1:35 Tony Allen in for Garnett, with Posey.

1:18 Papa Joe: “Chitch is in,” said with disdain. Gasol with a mini-hook, cuts lead to 25.

:53.2 Rondo comes back with a hanging lay-up.

:36 Kobe stuffed by PJ Brown on an acrobatic lay-up.

:25.4 Rondo to PJ for a wide open 11-foter.

0:00 Posey just shuts down Kobe, forces a missed fall away.

Breen: “the utter destruction of the Lakers in Game 6.”

Through 3 quarters, the Celtics have a 29-point lead. Right now, Red Auerbach is cutting the cigar.

Dad is wrapping some floss around the handle of a hand-mirror.

4th Qtr begins, Michele Tafoya gets Doc rivers to say “Just keep playing.”

11:56 With Kobe on the bench., Trevor Ariza joins Odom, Chitch, Farmar, Turiaf. Big Baby, Posey, PJ Brown, Ray Ray and Rondo for the Celtics.

Kobe and Pau have surrendered looks on their faces as Rondo adds a lay-up for his 18 pts.

11:11 Big Baby makes the most of his time on the court with his 2nd foul of the quarter.

Breen: “Ubuntu, the idea of collective success, has been said before every game.”

10:47 Chitch misses a 3, long pass to Rondo cherry picking, goes up for the one-handed stuff, but is undercut by Farmar, the ball rolls in, and Farmar gets a Flagrant 1.

KG back in for PJ, who leaves to a standing ovation.

10:37 Big Baby almost has a dunk on Odom’s grill, but is slammed to the floor, and makes 1 of 2 to bring the lead back to 30, 95-65. Farmar comes back and hits a 3 as Andrew Bynum, on the Laker bench in a brown suit, contemplates what might have been, and what could possibly be in the future.

10:04 Ray Ray with a laser 3 from the corner. Thing of beauty. I love Ray’s pseudo smirk when things are going right.

9:31 Turiaf for a tough two-pt jump shot. Kobe nowhere in sight, Boston crowd chanting “LET”S GO BOSTON!”

9:07 Ray Ray puts a three right in Odom’s face. Stick of Butter.

Phil gets a timeout.

Commercials and Other Thoughts:

Wasn’t this assembly line worker on a car commercial also the guy who found love on e-harmony.com?

Just can’t get enough Wipeout. But I’ll never watch it. It’ll be better watching highlights on Youtube rather than being stretched out between commercials and annoying hosts.

NBA: There are heroes. There are Superheroes, and then there is Hancock. Great Promo. Not only has Robert Horry won like 17 championships, he is starring in a July 4th blockbuster coming to a theater near you!

Big 3 Back in the game with Posey and Rondo. Kobe is back as well to go through the motions.

Mark Jackson: “If the Lakers signed Hancock, I’d still pick the Celtics.”

8:37 Ray Ray AGAIN in same spot from corner for 3 more.

8:15 Kobe LONG 3 miss over KG, Rondo gets it, brings it down, KG makes a short jumper for a 36-point lead. I think Red just lit his cigar.

7:26 Rondo is slowing up with an eye, Eddie House comes to the table, Farmar muffs an alley-oop which goes off the rim, then Pierce comes down and throws the ball out of bounds for Rondo to come out. Reminds me of Hockey.

Breen: “Perkins hugs Rondo. The questions were, Can the Celtics win a championship with Perkins at center and Rondo at PG. I think that question has been answererd.” Well put.

Van Gundy: “You have to give credit to management.”

Everyone is practically giving a parade, with over 6 minutes left.

6:01 Posey follows a Farmar three with a strong layup. Posey has simply been indispensable in the playoffs for the Celtics.

5:35 Ariza dunks for a meaninglsess bucket.

5:20 Ray Ray hits his 7th 3, pouring salt in this wound. Ray Ray has tied a Finals record for 3’s.

5:07 Odom tries to come in for a lay-up, Garnett mercilessly slams him to the floor for a foul and a snarl, Odom doesn’t like it. The place is going nuts.

Commercials and Other Thoughts:

Charles Barkley is still hanging tough with Dwyane Wade and the T-Mobile spots.

Nissan with an absolute bollocks GPS commmerical. Marco. Polo. Puke in my mouth.

How does this Arbor foundation have a commerical in the Finals? Doesn’t this air time cost like $2 million dollars or something?

NBA trophy promo: Doc Rivers: “I haven’t touched the trophy. I want to earn it. Then I can touch it whenever I want to.”

Celtics, and Rivers are all smiles. 5:07 left, 113-78.

24 wins last year. 66 this year.

5:04 Boston begins the Na-Na-Na Goodbye chant.

4:51 Pierce gets knocked in the face from Lamar as he knocks down the 3.

The Bye Bye chants are thundering.

4:01 The Big Three leaves the game together for the final time of the 2007-08 NBA season. Lots of hugs, head taps, love gestures to the crowd, a menage-a-hug with Rivers. Luke hit’s a 3.

3:29 Kobe still in the game, Tony Allen wants to score, misses but Powe puts in the rebound.

3:10 Lamar Odom shows up and drives hard, gets fouled. Garnett and Ray Ray have 26, Pierce has 17, I think Rondo has 20. KG is giving five and G-hugs to everyone in the vicinity of the bench.

3:01 Powe with a dunk.

2:49 Kobe misses a 3. What a bad night for him.

2:35 Posey just doesn’t care, sticks a fall away 3 for a 38 pt lead.

2:15 Kobe, 22 pts on 7-22 shooting, has a look on his face that says, “Well, at least I am not somebody’s girlfriend in a prison somewhere.” As a father, I can say that he’s probably looking forward to seeing his two daughters right after the game, and get this Lakers debacle out of my mind.

My brother Mark shows up victorious from a softball game for the last 2 minutes.

Commercials and Other Thoughts:

“WNBA. Expect Great.” Just not Great English.

2:21 Wait a minute. Scalabrine is in uniform!!! He’s got a warmup on!!! What’sd going on here??!!!

2:11 Odom is suddenly playing like it’s Game 6 of the NBA Finals. Oh wait, it is. Too bad they’re down 37 with 2 minutes to go.

2:07 KG is player of the game. The Lakers bench is forlorn. Or melancholy. Or distraught.

1:54 Mark Jackson just talked about how Scalabrine and Scot Pollard went back and put on their jerseys so they could be a part of everything. Good for them. I just went and got a cheese snack so I could be part of everything.

1:39 Big Baby puts one down on the break.

1:22 Eddie House underhands an alley-oop to Tony Allen for an explosive reverse dunk.

1:09 Farmar skies a shot that hits for 3. Lead is 40, the biggest finals margin was 42, ‘98 Bulls vs. Jazz. I was in my girlfriend’s basement watching that—no really, we were watching the game.:54.5 Chitch for a 3 from the corner, and I think he’s whining for a foul. Hilarious.

House is running the clock out. Misses a 3, Powe pushes off on the rebound for a foul. Doc’s jacket is drenched. Pierce hit him with some red Gatorade. Thank goodness for HD. That’s great!

His white shirt is stained red, and he spreads the stain to Danny Ainge with a big hug. I hope the NBA “Wired” Staff is repairing the damaged remote mic right about now.

Mom goes, “Don’t they do that in football?”

Hondo is signing an autograph between blondes.

Bill Russell has some white hair. Can we see some Gino on the scoreboard?

Pollard is in a tank top. I hope they show his Thai wife.

Doc Rivers’ son is on the bench with his Dad’s arm around him, Perk is holding a small child, probably his. Everyone has their arms around each other.

:28.7 FT’s missed and the crowd is hugging the court. This is surreal. Celtics can’t dribble it out, shot clock violation.

0:00 Final: Celtics 131-92. I’m Shipping up to Boston, OH OH OH!!! Let the mayhem begin!

Postgame moments:

Confetti falls, hugs exchanged. The cheerleaders are on the floor. The Big three contribute to a baseball-style mosh pit, chanting, “Celtics WHOO!” and of course, KG bellows UBUNTU, and seems to faint. “I got you,” Leon Powe says.

Michele Tafoya sticks a mic in his mouth. “ANTYTHING IS POSSIBLE!!!” Somewhere, an Adidas PR person is slapping their forehead and saying, “Kevin, how many times did we practice this? Impossible is Nothing! Geez, just once!”

The sound goes out--was that profanity?

“It’s all right,” Michele says.

KG: 26 pts, 14 rebounds and one incomprehensible shout-out to something involving his Mama.

KG to Michele, “I’m certified. You look good tonight girl.”

I heard “We are the Champions.” Now “glory Days” is playing.

KG: “Whatchyou gonna say now?”

Hug with Bill Russel, KG says, “I got my own. We made you proud.”

Bill Russel gets a hat, that’s cool.

As commerical comes on, the HD Slo-mo revisits the Gatorade bath, and the cop in the background is spectacularly shown getting splashed while cringing.

Tribute commercial, including Red lighting a cigar, banners raised, Ray Ray dreaming. “Become Legendary.” Awesome.

Trophy Presentation: Stuart Scott’s left eye is booed by Boston. Oh wait, they’re booing David Stern.

Commish, “There can only be one, he says. Wyc Grousbeck, the Celtics owner, is pumped.

Wheaties box is being held up by Scalabrine.

“Let’s give them the trophy.” Wyc is happy.

Doc touches it. Congrats, Doc, you’ve earned it.

Jesus Shuttlesworth is all smiles, and has a seriously curly haired kid. I hope he’s healthy.

Doc has a red collar. This is classic. Forevermore, in all the films and pictures, he’ll have Gatorade on his shirt.

Doc tears up talking to Stu Scott about his Dad Grady. “Grady would say, ‘Well Done. It’s about time.’

Commish, to present the MVP, says, “It is the Truth.” You gotta feel good for Pierce. Just don’t throw up any gang signs right now, Paul. Fight it! don’t do it!

I hear people yelling UBUNTU in the background.

Everyone is saying all the right things.

Doc gets hugged by Hondo, Jo Jo white.

Pierce: “You all stuck with me, and we did it! Championship #17!”

Ray Ray had a finals record 22 3-pters.

Queen comes on again.

Man I wish I could be in Boston tonight. I wouldn’t go to bed until 5 am. Jumping out of cars on the street with strangers chanting UBUNTU!!!

Breen sends us to a commercial with Pierce clutching the MVP trophy and yelling.

Here comes the Couch surfer guy.

Congratulations Celtics, thank you for everything you have done for the NBA, America, and my Dad this year. Happy times.

Now we can all start going to bed earlier starting this week.

3/11/08 Three Weeks of Hiro

2008-03-11T21:59:00.000-07:00

Hiroki reached three weeks of age this week, and while time has gone quickly, being in the hospital for his birth seems long ago. Michiyo and I have been extremely lucky to have her Mom Chieko here; the three of us have delighted in a number of firsts and "big" events, like Hiroki's first bath, fingernail clipping, and walk outside. Writing about these experiences and sharing pictures is something I only could do after becoming a Dad, because if I was younger and having crazy adventures in foreign countries (you know, like way back in 2006), I might think this stuff sounded boring. However, right now, I would rather be doing nothing else. Check out some of the good times from recently:

Not only does Michiyo have an excellent and unique sense of fashion, she revels in finding bargains and thinking ahead.

We have been on the lookout for holiday clothes on sale in the "off" season, and Michiyo found this great pumpkin getup. Yes, this big ol' bag of Hiroki will be brought out again in October, only with newly-cut holes for the legs which Chieko made recently.

Then there's this one:

For a Mom, it seems sometimes like having a baby is like having your own doll to dress up. Michiyo liked this Pooh outfit, but it is too big for Hiroki right now. By the time he is old enough to fit into it, the weather will be warm. Solution? Snap a few pics of him in it, and take it back!

Hiroki's resemblance to either Michiyo or me has not been clear to me yet. This week, I thought that while his face looks Asian, his big brown eyes are from the Fingerhuts.

We saw this pose in a frame at Molly Nahm--err, Kelly's house, so we took a bunch like it. I didn't even notice till now how pink Hiro's feet were/are compared to Michiyo's hands.

We are both serious about our sleep.

I know I am his Dad, but it's hard to think about anything else when this adorably cute baby boy in my arms.

Two words: Soulja Boy

If that means ntohing to you, don't worry, you're not missing anything (trust me!). But if you know what I am referring to, I have taken a few shots of Hiroki with his arms like this.

YOOOOUUUUUUU!!! Crank that Soulja Boy, YOOOOUUUUU!!!

Grandpa Joe, Papa Joe, and Hiro:
My Dad is getting started right away teaching his first grandson the importance of a packed breast pocket.

First Bath
Look at all that hair. Hiroki did very well in the gentle hands of his Mom and Grandma.

These two top my list of Most Beautiful People

2/19/08 I Heart Hiro!

2008-02-20T19:10:00.000-08:00

At 10:02 a.m. on Tuesday, February 19, 2008, Hiroki Skyler Fingerhut made his debut on Earth, weighing in at a healthy 8 lbs, 5 oz, and sporting an impressive head of black, wavy hair. Michiyo was a rock star throughout, braving tough contractions and putting off an epidural till late in the process, resulting in a swift, smooth delivery. Her Mom, Chieko was solid as well, popping right up at 3 a.m. for the ride to the hospital. Everyone is doing well, and I will post some more pics and info as soon as I get a chance, not to mention as soon as I can score a fun picture of what my son looks like—a Junior Billiken!

Tuesday, February 19, 2008, about 10:15a: Just out of the oven

I Love it when you call me Big Papa

First pic of the Fingerhuts

Three Moms and A Baby
This is the mascot of St. Louis University High School, where I graduated in 1995. We are the Junior Billikens.

Now, look at the face, and lock it in your mind.
This is my son. Put a smile on that adorable face, and now I have my very own Junior Billiken.

This is my son and his hair. Like a Junior Billiken with Rogaine. This is my son hungry
Michiyo got this ladybug to be a measuring stick for Hiroki as he grows.
Have you ever seen a more beautiful wife and son? I am incredibly lucky--Michiyo did an amazing job.
As everyone knows, Dads are usually exhausted and hungry after the birth of their child. I decided to treat myself to an extensive room service lunch in bed.

Lots of family and friends have said how cute our son is. Michiyo and I humbly yet wholeheartedly agree. Keeping the tradition alive: Michiyo and I were married on the coldest, snowiest day of the year in 2005. Her Mom, Chieko, arrived about three weeks ago in time for a winter storm. And now, Hiroki arrives home on a snow day. Let's enjoying Winter Family!

1-30-08 New Life Coming

2008-01-31T07:14:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year Family & Friends! Consider this your last, final, ultimate Holiday Card. I was determined to send something like this before January finished, so here we go.

Michiyo and I had a busy and memorable 2007. While we did not manage to tackle any long-term, epic trips like in ’05 and ’06, we had a bunch of fun times and crazy adventures. Several weddings gave us an excuse to get out of St. Louis and explore, first to Portland, Oregon, for Maria and Nick in August, and then to Harrisonburg, Virginia, for Dave and Allison in October. Michiyo spent a month in Kumamoto, where she attended the wedding of an old friend there, and while she was there, I got down to New Orleans for a service trip, then out to Las Vegas for a National DJ Meeting.

Speaking of DJing, I spent another year gainfully employed as an entertainer. In the last year, I have been able to continue to blend a lot of skills together to make people happy on important occasions, which brings me great happiness as well. Whether I was acting wacky doing magic shows, unicycling around crowds, or keeping a packed dance floor jumping, I stayed very busy all year long, and loved it! Increased experience has also brought increased success and recognition: For the 4th quarter of 2007, I achieved the status of #1 DJ at Complete Music, and finished #3 for the entire year. See the last paragraph for a gold mine of video amusement, and get a glimpse of the action.

Beyond everything else, however, the most important and exciting development of 2007 is about to reach its zenith. Michiyo has reached full term with our baby boy inside of her, with a due date of February 13th. I never thought my lovely little wife could get so big. As so many parents know, these last few months have not been easy, but all ready, we feel extremely rewarded with good health. Some of my best memories of these times will be simply sitting on the couch with Michiyo and feeling our little guy moving around like crazy. Everybody says that life is about to change, and I feel a little like being a senior in college about to graduate—people can tell you it will be different, but the only way to know is to experience it. I will keep you all up to date.

Thank you all once again for continuing to share in my (and our) experiences. Life will only get more exciting, and we are happy that you are a part of it. Happy New Year!

The cake in these pictures was designed by my sister Katie for our baby shower.

2 things to enjoy:
--Make sure you check out post #19 listed on my blog. Entitled “My Mullet,” it is one of my favorite tales of life in Japan, and I have included many pictures.
--I have posted my first video on YouTube. Please check out “The Humpty Dance by Fingerhut,” and pass it along, post comments, and Dowatchalike.

A Little Bit of Mullet-tude Goes a Long Way

2008-01-30T18:13:00.000-08:00

Of all the experiences and memories that routinely pop into my consciousness from the surreal three years of life in Kumamoto-ken from 2001 to 2004 on the JET Programme, one story needs to be told for the enjoyment and education for all. This story is one person’s coming of age, in a way, along with a community’s enlightenment, and should be passed down for generations to come.

If you have lived in Japan for any amount of time, you quickly learn that a part of Japanese culture is to complement at all costs. An insult or question about anything is scarcely heard, especially when it comes to peculiar habits of foreigners. One example is the propensity to complement foreigners on the use of chopsticks, regardless of the length of time that person spent using and practicing chopsticks. If you have been here 20 years, you will still get the admiring words of “Ohashi, jozu (Wow, you’re great at chopsticks)!”

When I came to Kumamoto in August of 2001, I had bleached my brown hair into an obnoxious, whitish blonde color, and compounded that mess by not only letting it grow for the next 18 months, but continuing the practice of bleaching it every few months. One of my motivations with this eyesore was to push the envelope, as it were. I knew my hair was horrible, my friends openly mocked and laughed at it, and my Mom routinely emailed begging me to cut it.

However, even at the peak of my follicular chaos, Japanese people routinely complemented me. I insisted on finding out just how ridiculous something had to become in order for sanity to enter the conversation, manners and custom to be set aside, and reality restored. What would prompt a Japanese person to say, “Why don’t you cut that repugnant beehive off your head?”

If you happen to be the only poor soul in the world unfortunate enough to have never discovered the joy of mullets, a mullet is essentially a haircut that evolved sometime during the ‘80s presumably, first among soccer players possibly in England, and then spread across the world like the rage virus in “28 Days Later.” Appearing somewhat like a dead animal, the main characteristics of a mullet are short hair on the top and sides of one’s head, with unrelated long hair originating in the back. Mullets have been modeled by such luminaries as American country music star Billy Ray Cyrus, English football emperor David Beckham, and various other celebrities over the years. Hilarious names and descriptions have popped up, like the Neck-warmer, the Business-Casual, the Texas Two-step, the Kentucky Waterfall, and many more. (For illustrations and general knowledge in mulletude, log on to www.mulletsgalore.com)

In New Zealand for Christmas vacation in 2002, a year and a half after my last haircut, I went into a beachside hair salon and came out with corn rows. With enough hair, a skilled artist can braid hair directly to the scalp in neat rows that look like orderly fields of cornstalks.

That style itself was a hit with my students and friends in Japan, but “unbraiding” them was another matter. My hair ended up a tangled mess, but instead of shaving it directly, I had my friend cut off the difficult braids-beyond-hope, and was left with a mullet. Yet, this was not your garden variety mullet. Most of the bleached hair had been cut off, except for the longer hair on the back of my head. I had a two-tone mullet.

From the front, my natural brown hair resembled any conventional haircut of a normal guy, but from the side or back view, an eye-catching shock of bleached hair flowed down my head like a waterfall in the woods of Aso (the beautiful countryside of Kumamoto famous for the active volcano among other things). Put simply, the business was brown, the party was blonde! My mullet was absolutely hideous, and I decided that I had a duty to share it with the rest of Kumamoto City, if not the world. This new haircut would be the ultimate test in the question of what would it take for Japanese people to not complement you.

Unbelievably, I walked into school that week, and was greeted with the familiar salutes of “Kakoii, Joe-sensei! (Mr. Joe, you’re so handsome!)” I was stunned, and admittedly, somewhat disappointed. Not one teacher or student commented on the abomination that was my mullet, and furthermore, it was a different haircut from the previous week, so of course they called it handsome and cool! Doggedly determined to get the most mileage out of my mullet, I went everywhere trying to be mocked.

I walked the Shimotori and Kamitori, which are the covered mall-like downtown walkways. I worked the door at Sharp’s, the late great gathering spot for gaijin. I gave a self-introduction to an elementary school class and even took the time to teach them the concept of mullet. “Short-long, please repeat, everyone. Short. Long.” “Okay, everyone say, ‘Joe’s hair is mullet.” Although it came out “Ma-retto” in Katakana-ized Japanese, the effect was hilarious.

I am delighted to report that the unthinkable mercifully happened. My mullet lived and breathed for nine glorious days in Kumamoto City, was documented on video, film, and in print. On that ninth day, one of my darling junior high school third-year students named Miwa approached me. I assumed she had drawn the short straw in the discussion of which person should go up to the American English teacher and inform him that his hair should be set out with the other bags of trash on Monday or Thursday, depending on your neighborhood. Miwa’s words were unforgettably sweet, and though slightly uncertain, her point was unmistakable.

“Joe-sensei,” Miwa began, motioning me toward her in the teacher’s room, and saying each word as a question, “Now?. . .you are?. . .nice guy. But?. . .if? . . .you? (putting her hands behind her head and making some kind of caressing motion). . .cut? VERY NICE GUY.” She ended with a big smile, pleased she had communicated her point and I was not too upset.

That was it. The mullet had run its course. A 15-year old Japanese girl had not told me that my hair was visually painful to look at, but I understood. I had attained my goal and that was pushing the envelope to see when it would burst: about nine days, as it turns out. Soon after that conversation, I cut everything off for a fresh start and a new outlook.

So ends the tale of my mullet. If you get the chance to sport one in your life, whether for a half hour or two weeks, I highly recommend it. In lieu of that experience, however, please take my words, and these pictures, and pass them on to your friends, family, kids, and the next generation as well. Mullets may well be an endangered species, but we must all do our part to ensure that the memory, if not the actual creature itself, lives on from time to time.

10-22-07 Weddings and Babies

2007-10-23T22:50:00.000-07:00

Last week, Michiyo and I drove to the airport together, and I stayed with her through to the security checkpoints. Visitors are allowed to go no further, so we waved goodbye, and so began her month-long trip back to Japan. So much has happened over the last few months, and of course I wanted to send a nice email about each one. Instead, this email will be a summary of everything, with some important announcements at the end.

I feel extremely lucky. September marked the two-year mark of my vocation of entertaining. After another busy summer chock-full of magic shows, juggling acts, magic and circus camps, and DJ shows, I thought back to 2005. The JET Programme was finished, the wedding adventure was complete, and Michiyo and I had completed our South American honeymoon. Opportunities were slowly popping up that fit the type of life I desired. Two years, later, I have begun to build that life, and my mind remains resolute in focusing on pursuing my dreams.

Summer also marked the first of two recent trips we took for some big events. While living in Japan and traveling in general, I have missed several important weddings of friends. Missing out on these experiences made me appreciate distance, and made me decide to overcome time, distance, and other details; I was determined to be a part of friends’ ceremonies whenver I got the chance. Last summer, Michiyo and I traveled to Pensacola, Florida, for my high school friend Dave Marlo’s wedding. Several other weddings happened over the last year as well in St. Louis—two cousins and two other high school friends, with each one being a fantastic party.

Oregon in August

In August, another friend since high school, Maria Palumbo, got married in Portland, Oregon. Maria and I met before my senior year of high school, and have been in touch throughout our travels and jobs in distant places. She asked me to be the DJ and MC throughout the weekend, plus this trip gave us the chance to re-visit Michiyo’s second American home; she studied in Eugene, Oregon in 1999-2000. We seized the opportunity to experience the Pacific Northwest, if only for a week.

Our rental car took us to the coast, where we found the house used in one of the all-time favorite films, “Goonies,” along with a painting-perfect sunset at a place called Cannon Beach. A day in Eugene let Michiyo catch up with some old friends, and the drive to and from Portland helped us appreciate the staggering color of the mountains and forests that simply do not exist in the Midwest.

Maria and her husband Nick did a great job planning an eventful weekend for family and friends. The rehearsal dinner, wedding, and reception took place at Still Meadows Retreat Center outside Portland. For several days, two families and numerous friends came together to produce an amazing experience that all took place under the clear, starry, Northwest sky. A bonfire on each night served as a comfy gathering place to tell all manner of camping, float trip, and other family stories, plus pass the famous Palumbo Gin Buckets.

One story that made the rounds involved a date that Maria and I never went on, involving fender benders, white lies, conspiracies, local police, and a national corporation—but that can be told another time). And, in case any of you are wondering, the reception did introduce the requisite rendition of the “Humpty Dance” to the otherwise serene natural utopia of Oregon.

Virginia in October

Next, in early October, Michiyo and I again hopped on a plane, on our way to another wedding. We flew to the nation’s capital; our short stay in Washington, DC, included stops at the Capitol Building, Washington Monument, Iwo Jima statue, the memorials of Lincoln, World War II, and Vietnam, plus a bakery in DC’s Chinatown, er, China-block. One evening was spent with a friend from JET who married my former Japanese teacher, and met their 1-year old daughter. At the end of our trip, we visited another Kumamoto couple, Mike and Sayuri, who hosted the picnic back in 2002 where Michiyo and I first met. They live near Virginia Beach with their two daughters. We caught up with them, then took advantage of the area’s off-season, driving the near empty Atlantic Boulevard on our way to the 17-mile Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel, not to mention a steal of hotel room right on the beach, where dolphins jumped out of the water to wish us good morning.

In between DC and Virginia Beach, our complimentary-upgraded rental car hit the road for Harrisonburg, Virgina, pretty soon, we found ourselves in the middle of John Denver’s ageless classic (and Japan favorite) “Country Road.” Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River, and Mountain Mamas came alive as we joined the families of David Seabeck and Allison Yoder in her hometown. They spent time with my brother and I on the JET Programme in Kumamoto, bonded over karaoke and raw horse, and decided to spend their lives together.

Just like our week in Oregon, this week introduced another part of the country to us, and making it that much better was the company of numerous friends from everywhere. David and Allison sent invitations to people in 31 states and nine countries. Included in this group were a bunch of present and former Kumamoto JETs, all of whom came from far away: Big Joe made the drive from Vermont with his car’s failing transmission, Jamie arrived late from Atlanta after a mom-enforced cleaning of his room, and Kim, Nancy, Kathy and Holly all fought off jet lag after making the journey from Japan. Allison’s brother, Karl, shook off classes at Princeton to drive down, and proceeded to show us some local highlights, including my inaugural burger at Five Guys, and a landmark jump off a 30-ft tower in the middle of a flood-runoff lake, along with David and his brother, Michael.

Michiyo and I arrived in time for the rehearsal dinner at Taste of Thai, where we met their families, and were served by Anna, from Kazakhstan (no relation to Borat—I asked). The next day, after the girls’ tea party and the boys’ tower jump, the younger crowd hit the town first at a Mexican Restaurant, where we met an awkward car salesman named Jeff Jackson. We then hit one of the favorite bars of students at James Madison University, where Jamie chatted up the girl working the door, and gave her his business card: Jeff Jackson, Honda sales.

The wedding day went off perfectly; Big Joe arrived just in time to jump into his tux and walk down the aisle with the wedding party, Jamie got the video camera operating as the ceremony was starting, and some guy named John from the sound company fixed the speakers in time for the reception that night. David and Allison bore the glowing smiles of giddy newlyweds, as well as the relief and satisfaction of an endeavor well-planned and executed.

Gratefully, I was able to serve as the DJ and MC of this days reception as well, and because of the high level of happy, fun people in attendance, this party ranks up there with the best! We all missed my brother, Mark, who couldn’t catch a direct flight from Hong Kong to Harrisonburg, but he was there in spirit. Dinner, toasts, and dancing led to a moment where we were all jumping and smiling on the dance floor, and I felt like I was back in Kumamoto, in a crowded dark basement bar ‘one more time.’

Announcements
Number One: Michiyo and I found out in May that we will be first-time Mommy and Daddy, or for the bilingual speakers out there, Okasan and Otosan. I have let this news spread by word of mouth mainly, but I want to share this officially with all of you, my family and friends. Just before going to Virginia, we found out we will be having a boy, and that he is quite busy inside Michiyo. As for names, which many people constantly ask about, I favor Optimus Prime, the Autobot leader of the Transformers. Michiyo is not so high on that. We will have some combination of a Japanese and American name for the first and middle names, which we will decide by the due date of (rougly) Valentine’s Day 2008.

Michiyo is spending about a month with her family in Japan. Her tiny Japanese frame hid the pregnancy for several months, but she’s finally putting on some weight, prompting me to let her know that she is looking more and more American every day. In the next few weeks, I will take advantage of the temporary bachelor life by going to New Orleans for a Post-Katrina Service Trip with my sisters, then attend a DJ conference in Las Vegas. Michiyo will return in time for Thanksgiving, then spend a restful final trimester home in St. Louis.

Announcement Number Two: Inspired by David and Allison’s wedding web site, I am re-launching a blog I started a while ago. At emailbig.blogspot.com, I have posted many of my travel stories and articles, and have begun to add pictures to each. My goal is to build this into several other endeavors, which I will share as time goes on. Please enjoy re-visiting my trips to 30 countries, outlandish employment, the engagement story, and countless other memories I have shared. Also, do not hesitate to share this site with people important to you.

Announcement Number Three: Japan has had an incredible effect on my life. The application deadline for the JET Programme is due December 3rd. If you or anyone with whom you are friends or related might have an open mind to this adventure, please mention this to them, and/or feel free to refer them to me. The only stake I have is sharing with others this unique and far-reaching opportunity.

I read this recently; if you’d like to know what book it came from, drop me a line.
For he is not poor who has little; only he that desires much . . . and true security lies not in the things one has but in the things one can do without.

Be rich my friends!

5-7-05 Argentina-Bolivia border crossing couple

2007-10-22T22:52:00.001-07:00

5-7-05 Argentina-Bolivia border crossing couple
Originally uploaded by jfinger23

We survived an all-night bus ride from Salta, plus an unexpected 3 a.m. arrival at the cold, dark, border bus stop. Then we walked across a bridge into Bolivia.

Passing Bribes and Becoming a Multi-millionaire: Vietnam, 2003

2007-09-26T21:51:00.000-07:00

First, let’s get the Multi-millionaire thing out of the way. I became a multi-millionaire in another country’s currency for the second time in my life in Vietnam. It’s a fun thing to say, but does not mean a whole lot when you consider that $100 U.S. means 10,000 Japanese Yen, or 1.5 million Vietnamese Dong. Because of an exchange snafu when one office did not have any American money, I was at one moment (and I have pictures of this), holding 5 million Dong in my hand.

That is not what this email is about, although having some extra money in cash certainly helped the situation I am about to tell you about. After 10 days in Vietnam, my brother Mark and I headed to the airport in a taxi van feeling enriched by our new knowledge and experience, and happy with the treasures amassed in our backpacks, including sunglasses, suits, books, and movies on DVD, all masterfully copied in some way and sold at fractions of their Western-World Prices in Southeast Asia markets. Our flight back to Japan was about 90 minutes away, and we had experienced no robberies, pickpockets, or stickups, and had no reason to believe everything would go anything but smoothly.

Not two minutes into the airport, an airport official beckoned me over to the corner where she was inspecting the bags of us Fingerhut boys. Mark’s luggage had sailed through with no red flags, but something held her attention in my bag. Confident in my packing and our judgment, I approached her nonchalantly. “These DVD’s don’t have stamps on them,” she said, as she held the plastic bag holding about a half dozen movies we had bought the night before, and placed in my bag randomly.

“What stamps?” I asked.

“The government requires stamps for these, so they know that there are not other movies on the discs, bad movies that you could get in trouble for, and they could keep you here,” she explained.

My heartbeat quickened, I felt my temperature rise, and a million thoughts flooded my mind. I was disappointed that we wasted about 2 hours making sure these movies were legit, then haggling with the peddler for the price. These were going to entertain us for the next month or so, at least. Then I heard her say “government” and I nervously pictured the images in various movies and books depicting Southeast Asia officials and the suffering of foreigners busted for crimes on their vacation, treated brutally with no access to the outside world. I felt some frustration for not being prepared for this. I could name several friends off the top of my head that had brought cheap discs home from Vietnam with no report of a problem like this, and no guidebook or store mentioned anything either.

Then I looked to my brother, about 10 feet away, who transformed the moment completely. Mark looked at me with a look of confidence that said, “Get down to business,” and held up his left hand, flashed a few bills of Vietnamese currency, and put his hand back in his pocket.
I saw the light, and immediately changed from a timid, frustrated, and confused tourist to a confident, sly, Bruce Willis-type action hero who could handle this sort of situation. Hey, I used to sell knives, didn’t I? Certainly, I could get out of this Asian country with the “contraband” I wanted.

I considered what exactly was going on here, flashing back to a book my Mom included in last year’s birthday or Christmas mail. She sent a 2002 calendar, entitled “The Worst-Case Scenario Handbook.” Coincidentally, a friend of mine had this same book at his house about a month ago. The authors of these wonderful books have gathered information not only from travelers and their own experiences, but interviews with stunt men, doctors, and experts on various matters, and put together an amusing, if not educational, book of ideas. To give you an idea, you can read about How to Escape Getting Tied Up, How to Jump from a Moving Train, How to Get Out of being Tied Up, How to Get Out of a Car Dangling Over a Cliff, and most importantly, How to Pass A Bribe. I thought the concept of these books were brilliant, and I have read almost every scenario not with passing interest, but with the concentrated anticipation of being faced with these situations (I will forever be a boy playing with my Legos and G.I. Joes in my backyard, what can I say?). The information stuck. Plus, a small section in a guidebook dealt specifically with bribing officials in Vietnam.

The pointers I culled from memory were that in Vietnam, you might get hassled over something very minor, but given the impression it is a major concern, because the officials know you have a lot of money (supposedly as a rich, vacationing foreigner) along with a lack of knowledge about your rights and the laws of that country. You are supposed to stay calm, take your “violation” seriously, inconspicuously offer something of value to the official, monetary or otherwise. Also, you are supposed to handle it quickly, because the presence of other officials approaching gives you that many more people to “take care of.” The books gave the example of getting hassled over transporting wine or other alcohol. If you have 5 bottles, ask if it would be acceptable to proceed with only 4 bottles. Or ask the official if it would be possible to just give him the fees to handle the matter rather than go through the trouble of other bosses or other levels.

With these tips in my head, I knew this was a situation for a bribe and did some calculations. We had only spent about $1 on these discs, and I did not want to get up to $4 or $5, but I wanted to get them back to Japan. I mentally calculated how much money I had (at the time, all I had was Japanese Yen). I came up with a strategy, positioned myself next to her so as to shield this little transaction from other curious parties, and started talking.

“Could I buy the stamps from you right now?” I innocently asked.

She flipped through a small handful of DVDs, looking concerned, but not surprised. “How much can you pay?” she asked matter-of-factly. So we were definitely dealing with a bribery situation. I did not want to start off too high, but I also did not want to lowball her and risk confiscation or other unknown punishment.

“I have 15,000 Japanese Yen, which is about $130 U.S. dollars,” I said, which was pretty accurate.

She hesitated, and continued to stare at the discs in her hand. Curiously, she was stuck on the three discs of the “Back To The Future” trilogy. The thought occurred to me to offer her one or all three, but there was no way I would let Doc and Marty McFly be unjustly taken from my possession without a fight.

“So, 50,000 Yen?” she tried to confirm, either as a hint or genuine confusion.

“No, not 50,000, I said 15,000 Japanese Yen,” I corrected her.

With a little more hesitation, I figured I needed to go up, so I sucked in some air, pretended to be really strained, reached into my wallet and pulled out two notes of Yen.

“All I can pay you is 20,000 Japanese Yen, which is $180 U.S.,” I said, discreetly inflating the currency rate and underreporting the amount of money in my pocket.

She looked at the wall for a second, probably calculating how many shrimp dinners this could get her, and said, “Okay.”

Elation and relief hit me simultaneously, and as I packed my bag and recounted the story to Mark, I knew I had just lived through a great story to share. We checked in for our flight, and I realized how exhausted I was; I completely zonked out until we boarded, and headed for home with a new movie collection that had just been paid for.

Again.

5-Star Honeymoon, Peru 6/2/05

2005-06-05T11:52:00.000-07:00

June 2, 2005

In the Andes Mountains in western South America, the culture of Bolivia and Peru blended seamlessly together with indigenous women dressed colorfully in flamenco quilts and incongruous, Charlie-Chaplin-like bowler hats, poor people trying to sell useless finger puppets and knockoff postcards, or outright begging for money, and traditional music from wooden pipes being broadcasted or played on every corner, the two countries featured similar environments. Peru, however, with every town and city boasting a picturesque plaza at the town center, usually with a park and fountain in front of a Cathedral, bordered by the colonial facades of the surrounding shops and restaurants, took the cake for uniform uniqueness. Most towns served simply as stopovers for travelers taking to day trips to see that region’s origins of ancient civilizations.

From the city of Puno, we rode a boat on Lake Titicaca (say that fun word out loud), the highest navigable lake in the world, to several islands—not palm trees and beaches, though. Uros island is man-made, simply a bunch of reeds strung together. We stayed with a host family at Amantani, where 4,000 people get along without meat, running water, or toilet bowls. Taquile is home to 2,000 people, who all work as a collective, making clothing to sell for sustenance. Another city, Pisco, placed us on another boat; first we floated to Ballateras Island, where thousands of pelicans, seagulls, and vultures reside among sea lions on a protected island where people are prohibited, then a van took us to the shoreline, where a sandy desert somehow forms spectacular cliffs that fall into the Pacific Ocean.

Arequipa served as the base for a trip to the Colca Canyon, said to be the deepest canyon on the planet, but significantly less impressive than the Grand Canyon in America. The bread and butter of the tour, by far, were the condors riding the canyon’s wind currents of the morning. Wide, outstretched wings carried the muscular bodies and imposing claws of these majestic birds past several dozen cameras of tourists, all awed by the scene. These stunning birds made me wonder why not a single major professional team has picked up the moniker of “condors.” Back in the city, Arequipa boasts two requisite sites in the blocks surrounding the town square, which sits in front of three 6,000-meter (18,000 ft.) mountains. One is a colorful, earthquake-proof monastery that for several hundred years, coddled the Paris-Hilton-type daughters of rich Spanish families instead of training them to be nuns (the Pope eventually stepped in and set things right). The other must-see attraction is a museum centered on a 12-year-old girl found ten years ago. Juanita the Ice Princess was a mountaintop human sacrifice for the nature-worshipping Incas over five centuries ago, and she was only recently discovered when a volcano melted the ice in which she had been accidentally preserved. Juanita, with some skin and much hair intact, sits with her legs bent and arms crossed in an eerie yet fascinating display inside a transparent freezer.

Huacachina (say it slowly) features no town center, cathedral, or colonial buildings. Instead, a handful of restaurants and hotels rest serenely around a real-life oasis in the desert. I had never heard of this place, but a postcard on sale put the palm trees and lagoon on display amid soaring sand dunes, and we immediately set out to experience it.

While the unique setting encourages relaxing and not much else, one combination makes up for a lack of things to do. For three hours, you can barrel around the desert in a dune buggy that drops you at the top of these dunes so you can strap on a sand board and fly down the slopes. The sand boarding takes some getting used to, and does not approach the rush of its cousin, snowboarding, but the dune buggy experience still has our hearts racing. Our insane buggy driver, Alfredo, took pleasure in propelling the nine-person cage-on-wheels up, across, and down countless, steep hills of pure sand, sometimes while he was standing up facing the opposite way with only one hand on the wheel! Although the seat belts cut into you as your body gets forced in every direction, the thrill of a roller coaster ride in a compact vehicle only makes you pine for the next jolt. When the ride finished, I took advantage of a great opportunity and jumped into the lagoon; its dirty water turned away every other backpacker, but I read that the locals believe it has curative powers and often swim in it. So I did, figuring, hey, when in Huacachina, do what the um, Huacachinans do, right?

While planning this adventure, my one focus was Carnaval in Brazil and Michiyo’s priority was the Nazca lines in Peru. Once Carnaval became an impossibility, our minds turned to anticipation of the Lines, and they did not disappoint. In the last 100 years, designs have been discovered in the Nazca desert that form vast, intricate images. The purpose and background of these images, despite decades of research and observation, have not been defined. Experts have only been able to speculate on how or if the Nazca people made the Lines and what they were used for. The biggest factor of the Lines remains that they are visible solely from an elevated position, and 2,000 years ago, there were no planes! As we sat cramped in the noisy Cessna plane that cruised over the desert, the pilot explained that to our left and right was a spider, condor, astronaut, tree, monkey, hummingbird, fish, and other designs. We marveled at the genius of this ancient people, and understood how some experts could surmise that alien life was involved in their formation.

The Nazca Lines, wondrous as they were, could only muster a back seat to the utter grandiosity of Maccu Pichu. “The Lost City of the Incas” sits at the peak of a mountain, and getting there by train and bus exhausts you enough to have tremendous respect for the Inca people, who utilized thousands of people to somehow not only transport the stones up to the top, but elaborately terrace the sides to maximize farming and living conditions. So treacherous is the path to Maccu Pichu that no one discovered this 500 year-old city until 1911. Several corners allow you a complete glance down the side to the rivers, which seem miles below; this view can give you a taste of vertigo.

As unbelievable as the structure is, the Incas reward you with a double dose of awe if you complete the hour-long hike up a neighboring peak that allows a glimpse downward at the city. Astoundingly, Maccu Pichu is designed in the shape of a condor. From above, the steep terraces and stone walls appear flat, making the condor’s head, beak, claws, and outstretched wings appear as a painting on the side of a hill.

For me, on that day, Maccu Pichu joined Iguacu (the waterfalls) as the two places that will stick out and make me proud we got to them. One is completely man-made, one is completely natural, and both are indescribably brilliant destinations that exceeded all expectations.

After two short days in Lima, which gave us a re-introduction to Western society, a taxi took us along the oceanside cliffs and inland to Lima airport for a midnight flight to St. Louis, where my Mom gave us big hugs and drove us home the next morning. Paved streets, wide highways, no horns, obeyed traffic signals, milk, pretzels, clean toilets, hot showers, and a stationary bed are all comforts I will appreciate for at least a week or two.

Thank you again for sharing this memorable honeymoon of ours. I wish I could say another big trip is in the works, and it may be, but not until 2006 at the earliest. Till then, summer weddings, Cardinal games, and DJ-ing will give us all the adventure we can handle while Michiyo and I get set up in St. Louis.

Safe journeys to you all,
Joe Fingerhut

P.S. A number of people have asked me about traveling, tips, and info on other countries. If anybody needs or wants advice, stories, or caution about going somewhere, feel free to give my contact information.

5-Star Honeymoon, Bolivia 5/27/05

2005-06-05T11:26:00.000-07:00

May 27, 2005

The best advertising is word-of-mouth. Not only does this axiom apply to all things business, it helps travelers tremendously. Standard conversation between two strangers with a backpack involves a predictable exchange: Where are you from? How long are you here? Where have you been? How was it? How much did it cost? Once this important information is laid out, everyone benefits, and decisions can be properly evaluated.

Through five weeks of exploring Brazil and Argentina, Michiyo and I had talked to countless folks who had been to Chile, and few could tell us of their unforgettable time there. Not that Chile is a bad place, it just seemed that with the exception of Patagonia’s National Parks, which were too south for our compact trip, Chile was not that memorable. So we took the liberty of readjusting our self-made itinerary and cut out Chile all together. We headed north for a week in Bolivia before settling into Peru for the final 14 days.

Bolivia might be the world’s highest country, proportionately, dominated by the Andes Mountains and spread over an area the size of New York and Texas combined, but to home to a mere 8 million people. We stepped off a train in Uyuni not quite ready for a 3-day trip through the mountains. To get ready, we had to follow two important steps: take a day to adjust to the altitude, and buy a bunch of warm clothes. At nearly 3 miles above sea level, the air of Bolivia is extremely thin and extremely cold at night. During the day, however, the desert sun allows you to appreciate the scenery in shorts and T-shirt, so you are constantly changing, adding, and subtracting layers.

We set off in a jeep with our two new Australian friends, Shane and Shayley, and first hit Uyuni’s salt lake. Imagine Lake Michigan evaporating over the next 2,000 or so years, allowing bikers and drivers to cruise over the remaining long, white, smooth, salt surface. This image describes where we drove for several hours, observing indigenous Bolivian salt farmers, stopping for fun perspective photos against the white background, and having lunch on Fish Island, a giant formation of coral with hundreds of gigantic cacti. One cactus stood next to a sign stating its height, 12.3 meters, and its age: at one centimeter of growth per year, this cactus was 1,203 years old!

The second day brought several lagoons that reflected blue, red, and green depending on their surroundings. At Lake Colorado, several hundred flamingoes cavorted in the cold air, and occasionally erupted majestically into flight, the entire group transferring from one side of the lake to the other, like a scene from National Geographic. We spent eight or nine hours of the third day bumping slowly over the rocky roads of the high plain between the mountains, but that morning’s sights kept us floating smoothly all the way back to town. Awaken at 5 a.m., the driver, Franz, insisted we see the sunrise. Shivering and bleary-eyed, we came upon a cloudy, noisy field of volcanic geysers. The perpetual buzz of sulfur eruptions created a reverse waterfall effect, and the bubbling cauldrons of gray goo that formed the steam made me feel like I was on the set of a big special effects movie. The sun, peeking over the horizon and steadily climbing, gave the rising steam an eerie glow, and I half expected a second sun to rise nearby and Luke Skywalker to emerge and say, “Welcome to Tattoine!”

The last stop, a train cemetery just outside the town, allows visitors to jump on and through several rusty skeletons of locomotives and their freight. For me, it was one big jungle gym, and I strongly feel that all towns should have a train cemetery. Despite spending only two actual days in the town of Uyuni, we managed to eat three meals at the same restaurant. At Minuteman Pizza, Chris Sarage, from Massachusetts, and Suzzy, his Bolivian wife, have created a figurative oasis in the desert for Westerners. His restaurant, unlike so many Bolivian establishments, is spacious, clean, and best of all, warm, due to the huge pizza oven in the back. Not one person leaves without thanking Chris for the unique and delicious pizza, pasta, or pancakes they enjoyed, and I told everyone I met to make sure they stopped in for at least one meal.

From Uyuni, we endured another overnight bus trip to La Paz, Bolivia’s capital. Despite holding only 1.5 million people, La Paz featured a thousand different things happening in a thousand different places. Downtown La Paz rests at the foot of a valley, surrounded on all sides by steep mountains, though not too scenic, as EVERY INCH of observable ground is covered with apartments. Two different population infusions in the last 60 years, both due to economic difficulties, drove people from county to city, and the land, both valuable and scarce, produced a geographical class system: the rich reside at the bottom, and the poor get the view and the cold at the top. Bolivia fortunately possesses the second most natural gas in South America, but unfortunately does not control hardly any of it. Big corporations from rich countries like America and Italy have significant control of all the gas, the profits, and the government, resulting in a dirt-poor population. All of the impossibly steep city streets are lined with small stalls and shops of some kind that provide their Bolivian owner with a meager existence. They sell everything—and I mean everything. From super glue to toilets, doorknobs to cameras, fruit to batteries, everything is for sale, and the sellers’ shouts mingle with the taxis’ horns as well as the buses’ belches to form a perpetual din of craziness that both draws you to the chaos and scares you away. The altitude contributes to the assault on your senses, as walking one or two blocks means ascending or descending rapidly; in La Paz, you could lose your breath trying to think too fast.

While Michiyo and I have experienced every moment as a pair so far, one Saturday in La Paz, she stayed in the city to go shopping while I joined a day-long adventure: a bike ride down the “Death Road, the World’s Most Dangerous Road.”

A two-hour van ride straight up one mountain took a group of us to an elevation of 4,700 meters (over 14,000 feet), where we began a 5-hour bicycle descent down a road that could generously be described as thin. From La Cumbre, near La Paz, down to Coroico, at a mere 1,750 meters (about 5,000 feet), a small ledge juts from the side of several mountains, snaking through green valleys that plummet to a river that at times is invisible from the road and takes you down about two miles in elevation. While definitively one-lane, the gravel path sports several corners and slight extensions that allow for cars, trucks, and endangered bikers to sit while an oversized dump truck thunders past in the opposite direction.

The edges of the road give way to steep immediate and dizzying drop-offs, some as high as 800 meters (half a mile), and are accentuated by a lack of railings. Several handcrafted memorials along the way mark the spots of misfortune where unlucky drivers and bikers fell off the side and never got up. As for the bike ride, I had a blast. Timid at first, I quickly got comfortable and kept up with our speedy guide, an 18-year-old former BMXer named Ben, for most of the afternoon. About 9 p.m., Michiyo and I exchanged tales of our day, and planned for the last two weeks in the final country, Peru.

As a bit of a P.S. to our time in Bolivia, we learned that strikes and roadblocks often happen as a result of the national economics of natural gas. We witnessed one demonstration that shut down the streets of downtown, and from what CNN is reporting; the unrest is continuing to escalate. Looks like we got out just in time. . .

One honeymoon country to go,
Joe

5-Star Honeymoon, Argentina 5/18/05

2005-06-05T11:19:00.000-07:00

May 18, 2005

Argentina was so great, I divided it into two parts. I know I am spending a lot of time doing this on my honeymoon, but there is a lot of time on buses and trains to write these in my head before I get to acomputer. Take your time, and enjoy

Part 1: Iguacu, Buenos Aires

The Argentina side of Iguacu National Park provided a magnificent welcome into the second country of our adventure in South America. An extraordinary panorama of waterfalls form the border between Brazil and Argentina, and most people we met recommended going to the Brazil side first, which we did. The experience of seeing about 250 waterfalls in a few hours left us wondering how the other side could be better.

We found out soon enough, as we had to take two days to absorb everything the Argentina side had to offer. While Brazil provided a limited view from a distance, Argentina featured numerous ways of taking in the experience. On the first day, we walked for a half hour on metal catwalks that ran through a forest, over the top of some of the falls, and right to the cusp of the most chaotic section of falls: The Devil's Throat (or, loosely applying Japanese, The Devil's Kuchi). A sign proclaimed that 1.2 million liters of water fall per second in the park, and from this lookout on the virtual tonsils of The Devil’s Throat, you could probably see half of that volume. The natural reverie was broken by a thunderstorm that came on quick and added even more water from the sky.

On the second day, we took a boat ride up the river and close to The Devil’s Kuchi, then the driver rounded a bend and chartered us full-speed right into the other massive set of falls. Senses became useless, as we could not open our eyes, and the onslaught of thousands of liters of water rushing over, around and through us drowned out the excited screams of everyone in the boat. We dried off over the next several hours by exploring the rest of the park, climbing stairs and traversing more catwalks that snaked through the surrounding woods and gave way to loads of priceless photos. At times, all I could think about was trying to jump off a high perch here or there, and there was one particular spot that I am positive I could have survived--about eight stories down, after which I would have beckoned my brother Mark to follow. Most of the time, however, another thought kept striking me that I had neither planned nor expected: the atmosphere was more than a littleromantic. Here we were, Michiyo and I, walking around hand-in-hand, under the sun, appreciating hundreds of WATERFALLS. We definitely chose the right place for a honeymoon. I mean, in addition to all these other places.

From Iguacu, we rode an overnight bus (complete with champaign and an 80s rock videos DVD) to Buenos Aires, and promptly began three days of recuperation from long walks and longer bus rides. Gradually, we eased into experiencing the capital of Argentina, often called the "Paris" of South America. Buenos Aires has become an ideal tourist destination because of economic misfortune. Walking around this city of about 10 million people, the classic architecture, wide boulevards, and all-hours bustle produce a big-city, European feel. However, the devaluation of the Argentinean peso in 2001 brought prices way down, so it is like staying in Los Angeles with St. Louis prices. This reality, while fortunate for tourists, is very unfortunate for Argentineans, but almost everyone will tell you that things are much better now in terms of the future.

We ended up staying almost two weeks, by far our longest stint in one place, and yet when we left westill knew there was so much more to do and see. We went to a soccer game, and the fans here madeBrazilian fans seem tame. The Boca Juniors played to a packed crowd in a blue and yellow stadium called La Bombonera, because it is shaped like a box of chocolate Bon Bons, and the view from our concrete seats was as vertical as a piece of cardboard. The fans way up there near us were extremely vocal about the visiting teams' genitals and mothers, and helped us appreciate that this passion only intensified in the lower sections, where the crowd stampeded to the fences after a goal or a close call.

A portion of the first week was dedicated to studying Spanish. For two hours a day, I attempted to drudge up the remnants of a semester at Loyola almost ten years ago, and Michiyo had fun learning the basics of another language unrelated to Japanese. We now have greetings mastered and a good grasp on numbers, but for the most part, we stumble our way through conversations in simple English and an emphasis on sign language.

Part 2: Leticia, Paco, and Toshi

One fantastic aspect of traveling is the connections you make. Going into a foreign country with little knowledge or plans and emerging with new friends is always thrilling. As is the case with my experiences and so many other people, even if you're always alone, you are never lonely. In Buenos Aires, some new friends totally enhanced our time there. In Brazil, we met a couple about our age on vacation, Leticia and Francisco (Paco), and they told us to get in touch when we came to their hometown. After an email and a phone call, Leticia and Paco took it upon themselves to be our tour guides in Buenos Aires. Over several days, they took us out for famous Argentinean beef and showed us how Buenos Aires residents (Portenos) consider 4:30 a.m. an early night. One day, Leticia took Michiyo shopping while Paco took me to play soccer with his friends. I did not embarrass myself,but these guys have been breathing futbol since before they could walk--they had skills. Finally, our fabulous friends shared a popular type of day trip with us, driving into the country to a gaucho farmwhere real cowboys still raise cattle, play lively folk music, and perfect tricks on horseback. We ate,danced, and laughed until evening, when we finally said our grateful goodbyes, hoping someday we can some how return the favor.

We then spent one day in Uruguay, which I mention mainly because it is one more country we saw. While the picturesque, coastal town of Colonia was a nice way to spend an afternoon following a 3-hour ferry ride, we could not spare more time than that, so we got our passports stamped and flew to Salta, a small town in the middle of Argentina that serves as a base for scenic, countryside trips in the high season. After relaxing there for a few days and enjoying a Cinco de Mayo demonstration by soldiers on horses in the old-fashioned town square, we rode a train to the border town of La Quiaca, where we walked across a bridge over a dry creek and into Bolivia.

Lastly, I give you Toshi. In Iguacu, the previously mentioned thunderstorm knocked out the entire town's power, and enabled a group of travelers to sit around some candles and share cookies, crackers, and stories. One of life's common sayings is, "It's not the places you go, it's the people you meet." Normally, I do not get into a particular person's story on these emails, but Toshi's is too fascinating, and sometime soon, I will tell his story in full, along with several others. Essentially, he left Japan for the first time two years ago, and went from Thailand, India and Nepal across the Middle East and Egypt, to Europe, where he ventured all over for a bit and then returning briefly to Japan because his grandparents were sick. He then resumed traveling in New York, where he began a greyhound journey south to Miami, across the Midwest through St. Louis, out west to Las Vegas and LA, then up the coast to Canada and Alaska. Toshi then flew to Mexico, explored several Central American countries before starting his trek around South America. He has been to 30 countries, and plans to spend six more months, including Australia, then settle down in Japan. He is, undoubtedly, the most interesting Japanese person I have met. I know I married one, but Toshi holds this position because he defies every perception and expectation I have of Japanese people. It would be like meeting a Texan who doesn't like George Bush. Like I said, Toshi's story will be told completely sometime, but for now you can learn more at his web site, hollyrock.main.jp.

Today, we again walked across a bridge over a border, this time from Bolivia to Peru. Soon, I will summarize the chaos of La Paz, the wonder of Uyuni's salt flats, and biking down the Andes Mountains on "The Death Road." The journey continues. . . Thanks so much for reading and sharing my adventures!

Hasta luego,
Senor Jose

5-Star Honeymoon, Brazil 5/5/05

2005-06-05T10:51:00.000-07:00

5-star Honeymoon, Brazil
May 5, 2005

Michiyo and I have reached the halfway point of our backpacking honeymoon adventure, and tomorrow we will walk across a bridge that will take us from Argentina to Bolivia, where we hope a train will take us to a city called Uyuni. While the places have been spectacular, the people we have met along the way, just as the saying goes, have provided some of the best times. I have pages and pages of notes, stories, and memories of the first few weeks in South America, and here is a taste.

About a month ago, we finalized our plans, finished our packing, and shaved our heads (well, Michiyo shaved mine), then said goodbye to Mom and Papa Joe (now nearly 100% recovered!) at the airport. We landed in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, and soon scored a sweet apartment with a kitchen that was our home for a week. Rio is New York on a beach, or more specifically, 50 miles of beaches, and although we did not get to experience Carnaval as planned, this vast metropolis of 10 million was crazy enough even in the low season to keep us constantly amazed. Bustling at every hour of the day, there always seemed to be a new area to explore, another bus to take, train to ride, or boat to float.

We joined a one-day tour of Rio in a van with several other people, including Leticia and Francisco, a nice couple from Buenos Aires, Argentina. Cable cars took us to the top of Rio's signature natural overlook, a rock formation shaped like Portuguese bread named Sugar Loaf. Then, escalators took us to the top of Rio’s signature man-made overlook, a mountaintop capped with a towering, three-story statue of Christ with his arms spread, looking toward the city. This concrete monument, called the Corcovado, rests so high above the city that passing clouds make photo opportunities impossible from one minute to the next, even when you are standing right next to it. Over lunch, a Brazilian-style buffet with everything but peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, we bonded with our new friends, and at the end of the day, Leticia and Francisco said to look them up when we got to Buenos Aires.

One Sunday afternoon, a championship soccer (FUTBOL) match was played at the Macarana, a gigantic stadium holding over 90,000 screaming, hopping, Brazilians. Baraket, an Israeli woman in the fifth month of a year-long journey around the continent, joined us as we relaxed in the seats of the subdued tourist section and watched Fluminense, a popular local club, lose 4-3 in an exciting game to an out-of-town team.

Perhaps the most meaningful experience of the trip came on a tour through some of Brazil’s slums called favelas. Hundreds of hastily-built concrete shacks piled on top of each other were homes to tens of thousands of the city's poor, most of which lie in plain view, and in some cases, next door, to some of Rio’s richest citizens. The people, who make in one month what we were spending in two or three days, served as staff at the hotels and restaurants that tourists like us were frequenting. Spliced electricity lines and redirected water sources help expenses stay low, and like so many poor areas I have seen, one antenna on nearly every roof ensured that television could distract folks from the perils of poverty. While safety was a concern for us, our energetic tour guide, Christina, assured us that the drug lords who run these areas would never stand for anything to happen during the daytime, and we were probably safer here than in the sprawl of the city.

After one busy week in Rio, we took a bus to Sao Paolo, a city of 16 million people and loads of skyscrapers, which unfortunately, barely merits one sentence. It's really big, and the largest colony of Japanese outside of Japan ensure a good Asian meal. We stayed one night there, and looked forward to the next city, Florianopolis, a popular beach resort town that thrives in the summer, but provides the perfect low-key setting now, in the autumn of South America. We stayed in an expansive apartment for an inexpensive rate, made smoothies every day with the blender provided, walked the beaches and sand dunes, and basked in the warm hospitality of the locals, who were appreciative of our business in the low season.

From Florianopolis, we began an eventful bus ride—not one, but two buses broke down in the middle of the night--that delivered us to Foz de Iguacu, a city that exists to host visitors to one of the world's most incredible natural settings. Iguacu National Park forms the border between Brazil and Argentina. A few waterfalls, visible from both countries, form the actual border. Most people recommended going to the Brazil side first, and then heading to the Argentina side, which was supposed to be better. While living in Japan, I developed a serious addiction to waterfalls. My brother Mark, who shares this fascination, and I would devote entire afternoons to exploring the countryside in search of a bigger, better, more beautiful occurrence of water rushing over a cliff and into a river below. We found many, and jumped off as often as we could and live to tell about it. Nothing, however, probably not even a visit to Niagara Falls in New York, could have prepared me for Iguacu.

Along the catwalks and trails built into the sides of the cliffs leading down to the river, not 10, not 100, not even 200, but more than 250 waterfalls pleasured our senses. The roar was deafening, the sight dizzying, and we could walk close enough to feel the spray in several places. In the two weeks since we visited Iguacu, I am still trying to come up with an analogy to relate what the setting was like. I can tell you that we both felt like a couple of school kids on a field trip--every few steps, Michiyo and I would turn to each other with giddy smiles and hop around as if we had just discovered that a bolt of lightning contains 1.21 jiggowatts (ONE! POINT! TWENTY-ONE! JIGGOWATTS!).

I will not say too much more, because I still have to talk about the Argentina side of the falls. Was it better? I will write about that soon, plus tell you about Toshi, only the most interesting Japanese person I have ever met, and also our wonderful week-plus in Buenos Aires, featuring Leticia and Francisco, studying Spanish, playing soccer, and a one-day trip to Uruguay. Everything is going great. I appreciate hearing from you and being in touch. Stay tuned. . .

Joe

Beachside Summary, 4/15/05

2005-06-05T10:45:00.000-07:00

April 15, 2005
Florianopolis, Brazil

Konnichiwa people

I meant to send this about 2 weeks ago, for reasons that will be clear in a few paragraphs. I’ll keep it short since I am paying by the hour on an unfamiliar keyboard.

If you read my last big email, you know about the January wedding and my Dad’s heart attack four days later. Michiyo and I postponed our honeymoon a few months to help out in his recovery, which went really well. At first the three of us spent lots of time together, because even though Dad had been in pretty good shape, a heart attack really takes it out of you. Gradually, with a progressive rehab schedule and a positive outlook, Dad was telling people as of late March that he was back to about 80%, which is fantastic. Michiyo and I filled our time with various activities; we found a free ESL (English as a second language) class that was exactly what Michiyo was looking for; we spent time tutoring a local high school student failing Japanese and provided her with some fun motivation to get her situation better; and I worked a lot with my cousin David, first helping him finish his basement, then doing some office work at his firm.

One of the best things to come from this unexpected time at home was a new job. While I was planning our American ceremony, the DJ company I booked encouraged me to consider applying for work there. I took them up on it, and for the month of March, I was a wedding DJ for Complete Music. It’s only part-time, no one really gets rich from it, and essentially work is available on Friday or Saturday nights only. That being said, I love it, and I feel like my streak of cool jobs is still alive! As my friend Jim Kelly told me, "Joe, you were made to be a wedding DJ." I feel extremely comfortable in a fun yet very important role on important occasions for people, and after five wedding/receptions and a 40th birthday party, I am really looking forward to more shows. (And of course, if you know someone getting married or needing a DJ for something, please do not hesitate to recommend Complete Music for their entertainment).

Lastly, by spending so much time in Japan, I missed out on numerous important events, not least of which were several friends' weddings. Because of that, one of my goals for 2005 was to keep April 2 open for the union of not one, but TWO of my friends since high school, Molly Nahm and the aforementioned Jim Kelly. Even though they picked the night of the Final Four in St. Louis, no one really cared, and the three or four hundred people there enjoyed the night immensely. After planning a wedding, I appreciate the variety of little things that people add to their event, and I got a kick out of their table assignments at the reception, which were all St. Louis areas. Michiyo and I sat at the "Dogtown" table, and caught up with countless longtime friends, some from as long as 15 years ago. Congratulations again, you two!

About 48 hours after the toasts to Molly and Jim, Mom and Dad dropped us off at Lambert airport in St. Louis, and we touched down the next morning in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, with our backpacks. We don’t speak Portuguese, we had not planned a place to stay, and we did not know anyone in the city. It was just like Europe in 1999 with a backpack--only now, I am married! Just like that trip over five years ago, the only thing I really know is that I need to be in the departure city (this time it’s Lima, Peru) in two months for my flight home. Let the honeymoon begin, in English, Japanese, and whatever languages we pick up along the way.

So far everything is phenomenal, and more details will follow when I find cheap internet somewhere in Argentina.

Hope all is well for you wherever you are,
Mr. Joe Fingerhut

6/28/04 Engagement: Bike Locks on the Mountaintop

2005-02-18T13:50:00.000-08:00

The ending date for my time on the JET Programme has been set for months, and I have known for a long time that I would want to go home and re-establish life based in America. For about half of my time here, I have had an absolutely wonderful relationship with Michiyo Ishizuka, my girlfriend from Kumamoto, Japan, who I have known for about 2 years and been dating for almost 18 months. Unlike other times in life when a long-distance relationship seems like an option, this time was not. I pretty much knew that if I left and things were open-ended, there would not be a Michiyo-and-Joe for very long, and I simply did not want that. Gradually, I grew comfortable, then excited, at the idea of spending my life together with this person, and one day it just felt right. Since then, we have been talking openly about getting married, which made the engagement somewhat anticlimactic, but as my Mom pointed out, if any relationship is heading in that direction, the engagement issue would probably not be a total surprise. The point is that after researching the logistics of an international marriage, the engagement was a step that needed to be completed. The only question remained when and how.

Michiyo brought me to the top of Mt. Kinpo, the mountain that overlooks Kumamoto City, at some point in the last two years. The view is fantastic, with Nagasaki visible on one side and Kumamoto City at the bottom of the other. The romantic atmosphere helps explain the dozens of padlocks attached to the railings on the metal lookout that rises several meters off the ground. At that time, Michiyo told me that couples came up there and put the locks on, which immediately made me roll my eyes. The thought of a teenage couple putting a padlock on something as a symbol of their relationship ranks right up there with tattooing a teenage love interest on your arm, or some other act of permanence for what probably will amount to a passing fancy. I did however, form an idea at that moment that such a gesture would be appropriate for an occasion such as a marriage proposal. At the time, I did not think Michiyo would be the recipient of such a proposal, but then again, you never know what the future will bring. My future brought me Michiyo at the same spot a year or so later, hearing me ask her to marry me.

I told Michiyo to pick me up from my Japanese class at 9:30 p.m., with instructions to bring some nice driving music to which she could relax. I hopped in, took the wheel, and tied a blindfold around her head. Surprised, she asked where we were going, but I told her it would be about 20 minutes, so she should just press play, lie back, and relax. As the car wound around the rising hills of the mountain, I figured that she would know where we were headed; there are few places in Kumamoto you can drive continually uphill, but the mysterious destination was never the point. Once we got to the top, I told her to wait a few more minutes, and I then ran from the parking area to the lookout tower with the padlocks on it.

During the afternoon that day, I had picked up two boxes made to hold rings, and a lock that would be for us. I wanted one that would stick out among the numerous, identical, boring locks all ready hanging up there, so I chose a big, gaudy, pink bike lock with two round keys. With permanent marker, I wrote our names in Japanese and English, drew a heart around them, and wrote the date, June 28, 2004, in Japanese. I brought it to the top of the mountain that night, and while Michiyo sat blindfolded for a few more minutes, I ran up and attached it to the railing directly in front of the lone bench facing the city in which Michiyo grew up, and which I have enjoyed for the last three years. I then walked back to the car, going over what I would say in maybe just a few minutes.

On that beautiful night, in such a perfect spot, those few minutes turned into roughly an hour, because plenty of other people were enjoying the atmosphere, and I insisted on having the moment to ourselves. At long last, we climbed the steps of the tower, looked out over the city, and I told Michiyo, “I love you. I want to spend my life with you. I want to see the world with you. I want to have a family with you. I want to come back to Kumamoto with you and see ‘our home,’ and I want to go back to America with you and see ‘our home.’ ” Then I put one knee on the ground, took her hand as her eyes slowly filled with tears, and said, “Boku to keikonshite kudasai.” She said, “Hai, Mo chi ron.”

Would you please marry me?
Yes, of course.

I handed her a box, and when she opened it and saw the round key, she looked up in confusion. I told her she had to find our lock on the railings and bring it to me. Michiyo then took about five full, agonizing minutes on a task that I had envisioned in my mind would poetically be completed in a few seconds, but that is what makes Michiyo who she is. She finally discovered that the key she was holding fit into the only huge, horseshoe-shaped, obnoxious, pink bike lock on the whole mountain, and brought it to me. I told her that now that she had yes, if she fully accepted me and our future together, she would re-attach the lock in its permanent place, I would take the other key from my pocket, and we would throw them down the mountain together. She slipped the lock on, we tossed the keys, and I gave her the other box with a ring inside. She stared at it, sobbed a little bit, and told me that she had never worn any of her other rings before on the ring finger, because she was waiting for the right one.

We hugged, and shared smiles and tears for a while, then sat down. Some more people came, enjoyed the view, and left, and finally it was time to go home and get some sleep.

I said thank you, and Michiyo said Domo Arigatou. And in reference to the pneumonic device that helps you remember the Japanese word for "You Are Welcome," because it sounds similar, I said, “Don't touch my mustache.” Michiyo laughed, put her hand on my mouth, and said, “I will touch my mustache.” (The hilarity of that final exchange was one of those had-to-be-there type of memories, but if you read that one or two more times, you might see how funny it is)

So there you have it, as if you were at a date movie watching a romantic comedy. I wanted the whole thing to be equal parts cheesy, romantic, and memorable, but most of all I wanted it to be a good story, because that night was the only time I would be doing this.

Finally, here are a few odds and ends about Michiyo and I that might be best disclosed to everyone at once, though I know I will probably answer these questions again many times over. Her parents were born in the Nagasaki countryside, and lived through the incredible years of World War II, the atom bombs, and the evolution of Japan into the powerful nation of today. They are both retired, and I love spending time with them and achieving some level of communication through Japanese, English, and some good Japanese food and beer. Michiyo spent two years in Oregon a few years ago studying and working, plus she has been to a few countries in Asia and Europe. Her English is not perfect, though you will not find many Japanese with better English ability. My Japanese is not perfect, and you will find countless Westerners with better Japanese ability. But Michiyo and I have few language difficulties dealing with each other as well as native speakers of the opposite language, and we have a long time to continue to improve at both. She has been working at an English-language preschool here for students who are Japanese, non-Japanese, and children of mixed backgrounds; she has a degree of some sort in early childhood education which she earned in Oregon, and she wants to do something related to that once we get going in America. She is extraordinary with kids, whether at a party or in a classroom. She likes people, she likes to travel, she likes to learn, and she likes to laugh. Michiyo is beautiful, but for so many of these reasons and more, I am in love with her heart and who she is. I could go on and on, but maybe I will save that interesting stuff for the times when you can meet her and see her for yourself.

First email from Japan, August 2001

2005-02-02T13:18:00.000-08:00

Subj: All about the ichi-mons, baby: Japan #1
8/30/01

A thousand hello's, my friends
This Saturday will mark four weeks since I stepped on a plane with the eventual destination being Tokyo, and soon thereafter, Kumamoto City. I want to share so much of what has　happened, but rather than begin right away with different anecdotes and stories of my first month here, I thought that a good initial message to all of you, not to mention an appropriate first email from Japan, would be the thoughts I recorded on my first 15 minutes in this city, my home for the next year at least. I recently typed this out, and I got so fired up reading it that I knew it had to be the first. So enjoy this one, and soon I will send tangible, chronological, and amusing entertainment from the first few weeks.

Just to introduce this, on Aug. 4 I flew out of Kansas City, MO, after a brief orientation　with more than 50 Americans from the Midwest, through Minneapolis, where we connected with the Canadians and more North Americans, and flew to Tokyo, where a 1500-person orientation took place over 3 days, at which point we departed to our respective cities. (JET= Japanese Exchange and Teaching Program)

Wed. 8/8/01 10:34 p.m. Japan Time Kumamoto CityI could write a book a book right now. I almost feel bad because of the amount of thoughts and feelings that have come and gone in the last three days, I don't think I could come close to retaining them all.

While it's fresh, let's start with today. Woke up, in Tokyo, packed, and went to the Kumamoto-JET meeting place. Lots of nervous energy was tangible, but a suit-guy held up a Kumamoto City Sign, for the group of 30 of us to follow. I looked at this girl Erin, and didn't smile right away, but involuntarily breathed in complete with a　cheek-expanding exhale, raised eyebrows and wide eyes. WE sort of both did that; I don't even know this girl, but that moment epitomized the emotions racing through every one of us. THEN THE ARRIVAL.

We rode a bus 40 minutes to the Tokyo airport, then flew 2 hours to Kumamoto City (henceforth referred to in journals as K.C., for convenience as well as appropriate similarity to my last city of residence, Kansas City, K.C.). This is where I want to describe things perfectly and not miss one detail. At this point, getting off the plane, I know I've got a homestay, i.e., a host family will be taking care of me for 3 or 4 days, but I don't know anything about them or my school or my city for that matter. So I'm just expecting someone to have a sign that says JOE FINGERHUT COME THIS WAY. We descend to the baggage area, and it's not too different from anywhere else;　a big group eyeing the conveyor belt. Then I look towards the glass walls enclosing the area: Dozens of Japanese people pressed against the glass, 10 or 12 deep, with equal looks confused and excited. I saw the signs: Welcome to Kumamoto Mr. Patrick Nowlin (my roommate in Tokyo), Welcome Kelly Oliver, and on and on.

Suddenly, the endeavor that began with an internet search in November had become reality: I was here. My life for the next year, or whatever, was about to begin. NO more 1,500 JETs at a Tokyo hotel. No more America. I wanted to shrink into nothing and disappear. I wanted to get back on the plane. The luggage belt was on the side of the room, and we took our luggage to the other side. I was going back and forth, but I kept wandering behind the "Wall" of JETs and luggage. I literally wanted to go sit in the corner and cry; I felt like I was on the brink of tears at least 4 times over the course of a few minutes in anticipation of the next step. EVERYONE, or at least most of us were freaked out.

I remember in Europe, what I described as the "Moment of goodbye." This is a moment that defined itself over and over as I skipped from city to city every 4 or 5 days after establishing certain patterns even in that short of time. The emotion created surfaced when I got on a train to leave Paris after 10 days of developing a group of friends in a new strange place; the feeling of standing alone in the city square in Strasbourg, France, watching my cousin David drive away, and the car with which we had explored CentralEurope in luxury for the last 2 weeks disappear down the street. That utter break with comfortability. That knowledge that the tight rope does not necessarily have a net underneath. That adrenalized moment that says, "You chose this. You'e been telling yourself and anyone who would listen about this for a year. Here it is. Life is happening." I sought out my new friend Kelly Oliver, said, "Would you give me a hug?" and we squeezed each other.

We all walked to our bags, and tried to find our people with our eyes. Patrick saw his people, and they all eagerly waved. A Japanese man wildly shook his WELCOME sign at a JET, and once eye contact, was made, he continued to point wildly with even more enthusiasm.

I didn't see a sign for me, and thought, "What if there isn't one?" then "What if there is?" So I backed up, sucked in some air, and rolled my huge new bag, my handy rolling backpack, and my strapped-on backpack out the baggage the claim exit. After about a minute, a group of English-speaking people my age and a few Japanese folks called out, “Joseph! Joseph!” and I heard an English-accented voice say, "He changed his hair!" I laughed and immediately thought of Mom shaking her head at the bleached look. I looked up at the banner they held, and it bore photographs of all of the heads of the new JETs in my school district office, connected to cartoon bodies. My smiling face on the photo reminded me that a month ago, I had longer, darker hair, and a secure place in the country I had grown up in. I snapped a photo of the banner, told them all thanks for being my family, and relaxed. Here were people. And where there are people, love and smiles will guide your way. I met my host-family, co-workers, and supervisors, and followed Kiraku Muragama(?), my new host-mother, to her brother's car, to be driven to my host families' home.

More, much more later. I could write all night.
More soon
Josefu

Heart Attack Wedding 2/1/05

2005-02-01T15:34:00.000-08:00

For pictures, go to http://flickr.com/photos/jfinger23

Heading into January, the list of things to do was long but simple. Finish up and execute plans for the American wedding ceremony of Michiyo and I, see that her parents, sister, and cousins would have a memorable week in St. Louis, get them shipped home safely to Japan, then prepare for two memorable months getting from Brazil to Peru with my new wife starting with a plane flight from St. Louis on January 26. Simple plans, but one thing none of my family left out was one urgent emergency.

The first half of the itinerary went superbly and smoothly. The details for the wedding tied together like bows on Christmas presents. Michiyo and I agreed months ago that she would take care of every detail of our Japanese wedding in Kumamoto back in November, and I would likewise handle every aspect of our American wedding ceremony in January. Michiyo delivered a flawless day of bliss the first time around, so I had to step up my game and return the favor on American soil. From December to January, the various tasks were set up and knocked down like a shooting gallery at an amusement park. The facility, the officiant, the ceremony and vows, organist, reception hall, food, cake, DJ, rehearsal dinner, programs, invitations, flowers, shower, thank you notes, gifts, rings, clothes, decorations, accommodation, and most importantly, karaoke the night before the wedding, were all locked and loaded by the time everyone stood up for the procession. I would love to tell you I did every single thing myself, but countless people served vital roles in assisting me, from the vendors providing the services, to my parents, sisters, cousin, and of course, my lovely, smart, and beautiful wife, Michiyo.

The kicker to this crazy period of multi-tasking arrived with the first snow of 2005 in St. Louis. On a Thursday morning, Michiyo, my Dad, and I drove through falling flakes to get to the airport, where my brother Mark had successfully accompanied our new in-laws from Japan to the doorstep of the Midwest. Here was the lineup, get out your scorecards:
Minoru, Michiyo’s Dad
Chieko, her Mom
Masae, older sister
Tomoko, cousin
Taiji, cousin’s husband
Shiki, nine year old son of cousin
Hana, seven year old daughter of cousin who turned eight on January 20.

My Dad, upon realizing that he and my Mom would be facing four kids and one new daughter-in-law, plus seven Japanese visitors, made things easier on everybody by renting a fifteen passenger van for the week. This Japanese Mobile worked out better than a stretch limo would have, and provided many hilarious moments for the English speakers, the Japanese speakers, and those of us who were often confused beyond comprehension.

The week turned into a newlywed reality show that would make a TV producer drool, and I would bet that Michiyo is a lot more fun than Jessica Simpson. My family was hosting foreigners for the first time ever, and with the exception of Michiyo’s Dad, who had not been to St. Louis before, everyone was seeing America for the first time. I would love to say that the kids were the most interesting to observe, but in fact the adults were just as amusing. We stopped to fill the big van with gas, and Michiyo’s sister excitedly hopped out and volunteered to pump. Everyone took pictures, before choppy conversation revealed to both parties that Japan’s gas stations rarely offer self service, so this Shell station essentially equaled a tourist attraction.

My Mom’s sister lives on a dairy farm in Illinois, so this stop on our tour was designed to show our guests how my aunt and uncle live, raising big cows and growing corn, not to mention raising five kids (and now grandchildren) at the same time. We were given a tour of the farm by my Uncle Kenny, complete with feeding milk to newborn calves, climbing on endless bales of hay piled high in the shed, posing for pictures with black and white Holsteins (milk-bearing cows with big, um, ears), and signing our names to the farm guestbook, which included other Japanese guests from years past who came to buy cows. However, given all of these interesting farm features, what were the two highlights? Frozen puddles and huge tires. Yes, you read right. In the side yard, a shallow ditch with ankle-deep water had frozen through, and you would have thought ice was being discovered for the first time. Shiki and Hana, the two grade schoolers, could not get enough of slipping, sliding, and scampering away when the surface cracked a little. Once Michiyo’s Mom Chieko had me escort her on a slow scoot across the ice, my Dad politely kept the tour moving. Water just does not freeze like that in southern Japan. The next stop, a cavernous garage which sheltered the gigantic tractors of the farm, produced a memorable reaction. Diminutive and adorable Chieko, who embodies every aspect of the phrase, “little Japanese lady,” could not believe the size of the tires on one particular tractor. When I saw her jump in exclamation and beam a bright smile for fifteen minutes, I wondered why she did not give that response when I asked her for the hand of her daughter in marriage. Among other places, we also took a tour of the St. Louis Arch, looking down on St. Louis from 192 meters, or 600 feet in the air, and several marathon shopping trips. Those details may be shared in a book or movie someday. . .

At long last, the wedding! The first American style wedding for our guests, and the first child married off for my parents. Besides a visiting group of in-laws on a whirlwind tour, I gamely pushed through a raucous bachelor-party night on Thursday followed by a 3 a.m. karaoke extravaganza on Friday after the rehearsal dinner. On Saturday, fatigue, joy, relief, and excitement, produced a feeling of dreamy reality, and I do not mean to say that everything was cheesy and perfect, although things did turn out well. I just felt like I was sleeping, and did not know if everything was really happening. Lots of partying, little sleeping, and the constant rush of tour-guiding and internationalization left adrenaline as the main fuel of the weekend, and I loved every second of it. Friends and family from San Francisco to Montana and Memphis to Chicago convened in St. Louis to see the flag of Japan and America on the wall of the St. Louis Ethical Society, a wood-paneled, chapel-like auditorium in west St. Louis with a powerful pipe organ.

I appeared with Reverend Robert J. Barker (yes, we were married by Bob Barker) at the front of the room, and my parents entered together, with my Mom lighting the unity candle. My tall friend Dave Marlo then walked down the aisle escorting Chieko, Michiyo’s tiny mother, who compared the pair to a monkey climbing a tree. Next, my sisters Katie and Lynn, wearing matching black dresses and carrying white roses, entered with my cousin David and my friend John, the bridesmaids and groomsmen, before my brother Mark came in with Michiyo’s sister Masae, the best man and maid of honor. Finally, the bride in her gorgeous western-style, white wedding dress, Michiyo, was led down the aisle by her father Minoru, dressed in a black suit, white shirt and white tie, in keeping with Japanese custom and matching the other groomsmen and my Dad in wedding day attire. I met Michiyo and Minoru about halfway, wearing my black suit hand-tailored in Vietnam by Mr. Ngoc Hung, and a black-and-white tie given to me by Minoru. We ascended several steps to join the wedding party and Bob. After an introduction, my friend Katie read some words from Scripture, then Michiyo and I exchanged vows in English and Japanese. We had written out the vows before hand, and Bob asked us the question in English. We gave complete answers in Japanese, then said in English the magic words, “I do.” We then lit a unity candle, and had a surprise exchange of roses with our mothers, put our rings on each other, and our lips met after Bob said, “You may kiss your bride.” The organ music blasted, and we floated out to the foyer for a lively receiving line, followed by a bunch of photos, then back to home and headquarters for recharging before the reception.

Guests arrived at Andre’s Banquet Facility in South St. Louis County to find their names written in English and Japanese on origami cranes crafted by Michiyo. The wedding party entered and was introduced as the DJ played the theme song for the Chicago Bulls introductions. Michiyo and Masae dazzled the crowd with their spectacular Japanese kimonos, Michiyo in pink, and Masae in blue. Masae spoke a few words, and Mark started things off with a toast that combined remembering relatives that had passed, introducing a few Japanese words like Kuchi (it means mouth in English), and wishing luck to Michiyo and me. Everyone stuffed their kuchies, the wedding party began the dancing after cutting the cake, and Michiyo changed back into her wedding dress for the garter and bouquet toss. We mixed in a 100-yen dance (American equivalent of the dollar dance) with the electric slide, and after YMCA came on, the younger crowd took over. The DJ played some favorites, then spun the requisite Humpty Dance, attacked dually with skill and grace by myself and the legendary David Fisher, and later provided some Nelly, to which my brother and I jumped on, with a little Katie and Lynn Fingerhut mixed in. One of the highlights of the evening occurred during “Pour Some Sugar On Me.” As Def Leppard roared, the DJ strategically threw out an inflated guitar. This prop was met with glee, and we were able to get the entire Japanese contingent not only on the dance floor, but jamming to the top song of 1989 with a blue, air-filled guitar. My knees could not take this thrill, as I was laughing uncontrollably, and remarked to several people that seeing my Japanese family jump around with this guitar was like the Berlin wall falling. On the way home, my Dad asked Michiyo how often they get down like that, and she said she did not think they had ever done that before. The reception concluded with a unique group hug orchestrated by our DJ, and then Mark and I closed things out with a Japanese Banzai. Our guests went their separate ways, and Papa Joe drove us to the hotel in the big van that stood in for a magic carpet.
What a week. Michiyo and I tapered off the tour by dropping her family off at O’Hare Airport in Chicago for the flight home a few days later. I would love to report that we stayed on cloud nine for several weeks or months after the perfect wedding weekend. I would love to write that I am sending this long story from a café in Rio, Brazil, in the heart of the biggest Mardi Gras party ever seen, with two months of surprise adventure through Argentina, Chile, and Peru ahead of us. Instead, I love to report that my family is healthy and everyone is fine. As we were preparing to take Michiyo’s family to Chicago, my sister called and told me that Dad was in the hospital with chest pains that turned into a heart attack. While the relatives flew to the Far East, Katie flew back to Connecticut, and Mark moved on to Colorado before returning to Kumamoto, Dad moved from Intensive Care to a regular hospital room to our house in Fenton. No surgery, no chest-cutting, just a little artery blockage that a few weeks of relaxing and rehabbing will fix. Michiyo and I get to relax as well, deciding not what train to catch, beach to explore, or mountain to climb, but what is the activity of the day with Dad, and what the next step is for all three of us. South America will be there for a long time, and thankfully, so will Dad.

Thank you everyone for the well-wishes, cards, and emails recently. As always, I appreciate all of you in my life, and I appreciate being able to share with you. Thanks for reading, thanks for writing, and thanks for sharing everything alongside me. Take care in your corner of the world,

Joe