Disclaimer: Aside from a couple college credits, I have no real background in sociology or behavioral psychology. These are my own feelings, conclusions, and assertions drawn from my own observations over six years in Japan, and a lot of it comes off as ethnocentric on my part. Please also note that while I paint a pretty bleak picture of the average Japanese person’s view of foreigners, it should be recognized that Japanese people who have regular interaction with foreigners have a much better grasp of foreign culture and do not fall into the same traps as most people when it comes to cross-cultural exchange. All of my close Japanese friends are more or less aware of how to engage with a foreigner naturally and effortlessly.

1. What first interested you about Japan?

The first time I became aware of Japan was in the 2nd grade, and for two reasons. For starters, my class had just done a unit about Japan (basic stuff like culture and dress; this was just minutes before the bubble burst, so it may have been more economically relevant than today – we also watched Big Bird Goes to Japan, where I could not stop laughing at the fact that BB thought everyone was from “Ohio”). Secondly, I beat Little Nemo: The Dream Master on the NES at a friend’s sleepover party, and while watching the credits roll his dad remarked that there sure were a lot of Japanese names. After that point I was very aware that Japan produced things I liked.

And it just exploded as time went on. Like most geeky teens, I was taken with Japan’s contributions to animation. Cool fight sequences, bubbly, scantily-clad women, and existential crises are all things that reach out to awkward, adolescent guys in that very comforting way. As time wore on and I spent more time in the country itself, my views matured and I began to appreciate everything else about Japan.

2. In general, what are the primary factors that brought you to where you are today, living the life you live?

Towards the end of 2005, I decided not to pursue a career writing about video games. Though as a college student I had a lucrative part-time gig writing freelance articles for several video game news sites on nights and weekends, I sensed that the industry as a whole was heading in a direction that didn’t quite jive with me. I decided to relegate games to a hobby and to enjoy them at my own pace.

In 2007, my employer went bankrupt. I came to Japan in September 2006 to teach English at a small branch of a large “eikaiwa” (or “English conversation”) company called NOVA. My branch was in a town called Komaki, a suburb of the prefectural capital Nagoya. When it came to light that the president of NOVA had been embezzling funds, the company was shut down and the teachers left unpaid (until the government eventually stepped in, but that’s another story). I was suddenly on my own without enough money to cover the next month’s rent, let alone go out with friends or buy video games. I started from the bottom, teaching English lessons in cafes to private students and working two days a week at a small, privately owned eikaiwa. After about a year of doing this I was able to pay back the four of five months of back rent that had accrued (my landlord was understanding and had the patience of a saint) and I suddenly found myself with income, friends, and favorite places to hang out in the city. Without realizing it, I had fallen in love with the city while scrambling to earn a living.

Towards the end of last year I was feeling myself to be falling into a rut at work, and snatched up a position that my company offered me in the countryside (I also recalled some words of advice from a sociology professor: a single guy living in the same domicile for more than five years is a surprising recipe for depression). My idea at the time was to take a breather in a rural area for a year while I mulled over my options. Last Spring I started planning to open a bar in the city, and so began putting aside money each month towards that end. I’m about halfway through the current contract now, and will return to the city next Spring to gain experience working at another bar and teaching eikaiwa during the day to continue saving money before opening my own place in the summer of 2013.

3. What motivated you to actually move to Japan?

I had an opportunity to live and study abroad in Japan for six months at Chubu University (sister school to my own Ohio University) in Aichi prefecture. This was an experience that would inform most of my decisions regarding Japan; specifically, my decision to settle in the city of Nagoya (near Chubu University) and to maintain relationships with some of the Chubu staff and alumni. I was already familiar with the area and felt I would settle in nicely.

All throughout college I had been telling myself that video game journalism was the way to go, but as I mentioned earlier, I decided that it ultimately wasn’t for me. During my senior year of college, I started thinking back on my experiences in Japan, and how much fun I’d had. I decided to move there with the specific intention of teaching English while I planned out the actual next step. Of course, if I had known that I would teach English for six years I probably would have just sucked it up and faked interest in video game coverage (but I’m glad I didn’t!)

4. When you arrived in Japan, what was your first impression?

In my first week, I noticed two important things.

The first thing that struck me was the general cleanliness and order of public buildings; the airport at which I arrived, the train station, convenience stores, etc. Even the dormitory I moved into was spotless, which took me by surprise after having spent two years in some wretched campus housing in America. Public servants and service industry employees are likewise extremely polite and obliging, which was a great help in making me feel at home and welcomed.

But the other side of the coin is that a small percentage of regular citizens show less than total restraint when seeing me in public. During my first week in Japan I was blissfully unaware of this and flying high as a kite on my excitement to be in a foreign country as I bounded down the hill one day to visit the convenience store. Inside, I was browsing something idly when I heard a panicked shout come from the other end of the aisle, instructing the young girl next to me to “run away from the scary man right now!” I was more perplexed than angered because I was initially unable to process what had happened. ‘A country known for its politeness couldn’t possibly act this ignorantly in front of a foreign visitor,’ I thought. When it happened again a few more times, I slowly started to acknowledge that Japan may be great at “faking” politeness but can still miss the point when it comes to cross-cultural interaction. (This particular aspect of the culture is covered more in depth in my answers to questions 9 and 10.)

5. What’s an average day living in Japan feel like?

Everything is very structured. There is a schedule, and the schedule is law. I show up at the elementary school every day at 8:00am and leave at 4:30pm. Then I bike home, grab some dinner, plan the next day’s lessons, and spend the remainder of the evening playing games or reading. The one thing that bugs me is that banks and post offices close at 4:00pm, and post offices don’t open on the weekend. So why does the local government send me a water bill that can only be paid at a post office? Once I month I have to sheepishly ask the principal if I can sneak out to the post office next to the school between lunch and recess to pay my water bill. It’s absurd. [In retrospect, it's probably likely that I can set this up to be automatically paid from my bank account as with other utilities, but the banks' hours of operation are just as bad as the post office, and I no longer live down the street from one that opens on Saturdays as I did in the city.]

The daily routine itself can be your best friend or your worst enemy. Getting into a groove vs. getting into a rut are separated by a hair’s breadth, though this is not necessarily specific to Japan. But the Japanese tendency to overwork is an odd point of national pride, and to a fault; I’ve seen public service posters hanging in the break room that warn you to take some time for yourself each night. Japanese workers have this self-repressive mastery of work and play, whereby one’s leisure time becomes enhanced after having worked long, grueling hours. I have to admit I do kind of enjoy it sometimes.

6. How do people react when they see you, a foreigner?

It all depends on whether or not I have a beard. During my time as a student and for a few brief years as an independent adult, I grew out my beard. This was a mistake. My facial structure (and indeed the fact that I am neither blonde-haired nor blue-eyed) renders my beard an implement of terror. I’ve been called “scary,” “bitter-looking,” “ugly,” and “like a terrorist.” If I shave the beard, I can sometimes hear “cool” or “good-looking.” It is the most maddening thing to me, because I’m still the same guy underneath the beard. Last year when it happened for the hundredth time I gave in and shaved it off for good.

In the service realm, it’s not uncommon for a clerk or waiter to give you an English menu on sight. This used to be my biggest pet peeve. This person’s first reaction is that a foreigner couldn’t possibly know Japanese, that he takes me for some kind of idiot. But it makes sense if you consider the Japanese “wa,” the social harmony that is in place to prevent people from losing face in a given situation. Giving a tourist a Japanese menu would lead to embarrassment as the tourist tries to explain that he cannot speak Japanese. To avoid this and maintain harmony, the waiter goes with the safe bet: an English menu.

7. How do your coworkers feel about working with a foreigner?

My coworkers in specific are fine with it because there’s at least one foreigner in every school with my position, and they and the rest of the school faculty have become accustomed to it. This applies more so to elementary schools because I work with every teacher there; in junior high school, I may only work with three or four out of thirty teachers because each subject is handled by a separate teacher. In these cases it can be a bit straining, as the non-English teachers can often be shy or scared of having to interact with a foreigner. The reasons for this are covered in my answer to question 9.

One particular coworker (an English teacher, too) was terrified of me from the very beginning, leading to the two most awkward years of employment I’ve ever had. At the very beginning she “decided” that I did not understand Japanese, and she as an English teacher took pride in attempting to deal with me only in English. But her English just wasn’t that good, and too often there were misunderstandings that led to a breakdown in the lesson, a problem I rarely had dealing with the other three English teachers in Japanese. If she had to interact with me outside of class (or, god forbid, I stopped into her class during lunch to grab an extra chair) she would appear visibly distressed and scramble to get me out of the room in the fastest and politest way possible (which was always fast and never very polite).

8. How common are other foreigners in Japan?

Obviously I can only speak for Nagoya; the situation in a megalopolis like Tokyo is drastically different.

In the city, they are pretty common. Most are teachers, and there are a dozen ways to “teach English” – eikaiwa (national chain or private), private lessons (conducted in a cafe or student’s home), ALT (Assistant Language Teacher in a public school, which is what I do), private academy, international school, corporate lessons, and more. The turnover rate in the industry is high, and most people will stay for two or three years before packing it in and moving back home.

Of course, many foreigners also have other lines of work. Translation is popular, and some find part-time work tending bar or working in cafes. I’ve also had foreign friends who worked full time as auto mechanics, musicians, software developers, and consultants in corporations that rely on a foreign perspective or just need a go-between in overseas dealings.

9. From your impression, how do most Japanese people feel about foreigners?

In direct interaction, many Japanese people are very courteous and often humble themselves before visitors to their country. Some will even take it upon themselves to help out newly arrived foreigners by showing them around town or giving them English versions of city guides and maps (this happened to me when I first moved to Komaki in 2006). In this relationship, the Japanese person’s purpose is to help the foreigner enjoy and feel welcome in their country as much as possible. Japanese people are often ecstatic to be recognized in any way on the international stage (indeed, the nightly sportscast features a special highlight reel of the day’s top plays by Japanese baseball players in America).

But on a more day-to-day basis, the general consensus is that foreigners are strange, different, and sometimes dangerous. As most Japanese people lack confidence when it comes to speaking English, they see foreigners as a potential for personal shame and embarrassment, should the foreigner address the Japanese person. This results in most regular folks trying to ignore foreigners, not to be rude, but out of fear of appearing helpless and unable to communicate. Even during rush hour, Japanese people will generally avoid sitting next to foreigners on the train if they can help it (and while I enjoy the extra room, it does make me feel somewhat ostracized).

From my own observations, the root cause of this seems to be a combination of ignorance on the part of Japanese parents misinforming the younger generation (a student once concluded that I must be Japanese because his dad told him foreigners can’t use chopsticks or speak Japanese) coupled with the media’s preference for using foreigners as novelties or outright stooges in variety show TV segments – vignettes that put the ever-present wacky side of foreigners and their outlandish culture on parade. (The worst offenders in my opinion are the “man on the street” segments that show foreigners struggling to understand something about Japanese culture – one showed several people trying and failing to open an onigiri rice ball, so simple a thing that the segment producer must’ve discarded dozens of successful attempts by Japan-savvy foreigners because they don’t fit with the belief that Japanese society is mysterious and impenetrable to anyone on the outside, right down to its food packaging. At times it strikes me as a perplexing kind of self-aware reassurance to their fellow countrymen that yes, it really is special and wonderful to be in the club.) TV commercials are the most bizarre, often featuring foreigners using a specific product or throwing in bits of English to up the “cool” factor. The creepiest are the ones that seem to employ expressionless blonde children exclusively, for no other reason than they are considered cute and exotic to the Japanese (yet make me feel like I’m watching a dream sequence in a horror film). I recognize that it’s important to reserve judgment when examining another culture, but I also feel that the game changes when that other culture starts contorting my own, especially for purposes of advertising.

It’s actually very straightforward – native people see Japanese culture as an exclusive club to which outsiders may briefly glimpse a view of the internal goings-on but will never actually be accepted as members. Most Japanese people hold a highly polarized view that there are only two kinds of people in the world: Japanese and non-Japanese. Non-Japanese are considered largely clueless about what Japan is, its customs, and its people. The Japanese view is so highly ethnocentric that even the most basic things are considered by many to be unique to Japan. One of the more common things that Japanese people take pride in are their “four seasons,” and have asked me countless times (and been disappointed by my answer) if America has four seasons too. The question itself struck me as bizarre.

But it’s more delicate than outright racism; it’s a culturally instilled ignorance (and accompanying xenophobia) that more often than not is not intended to be malicious. Ignorance is everywhere, but it typically stems from a lack of fundamental understanding of the world outside of Japan and not from any particular animosity. Of course, it’s difficult for me personally to sometimes tell the difference, which can lead to anxiety and unease on my part. And there are also plenty of occasions on which animosity is overt, and people will comment to their friends or family right in front of me, in Japanese, how terrifying I look to them. Again, this is because most people operate on the assumption that it’s simply not possible for a non-Japanese to know the language, creating a false sense of security that allows them to say anything they want in an “outsider’s” presence. I’d like to tell these people that they are actively destroying the international perception of Japanese people as kind and polite, though I doubt they would care unless they were in earshot of another Japanese person – for in Japan, “shame” overpowers “guilt” by a wide margin.

My theory is that the media and large portions of society opt to restrict their scope of foreign countries to the narrow, comical norm because it fits relatively easily into their template for interacting with the different and the unknown. This is dangerous because it’s a rudimentary form of the exact same thought process that real racists unwittingly employ in cultivating their one-sided worldview: “I’m too lazy, hateful, and cynical to actually do any research, so I’m just going to assume that everyone from a particular ethnic group looks, acts, dresses, and thinks in exactly the same way.”) Of course, the Japanese don’t do it for the purpose of justifying hate, but for ease of categorization (after all, “non-Japanese” is a huge group of people to deal with!) and this can in turn lead to some people developing feelings of fear (and yes, sometimes the hatred that comes from fear) for non-Japanese. Dealing with the reality that foreigners are a broader and more diverse group would be much more difficult than maintaining the current norm, which retains that narrow scope for ease of identification and categorization.

Indeed, a majority of the people I’ve known in Japan were not at first aware of the crucial semantic difference between the concepts of “nationality” and “ethnicity.” Because these things are in practicality one and the same for Japanese people, the idea that a citizen of one country can by blood be rooted in another is sometimes difficult to understand. I’m third generation Italian-American, but explaining this to some Japanese people is a struggle, as if my family’s heritage and bloodline were reformatted as soon as my grandparents set foot on Ellis Island at the dawn of the century, leaving them blankly “American.” Some people doubt me because I do not speak Italian, while still others prefer to think of me as a citizen of Italy because it is more “exotic,” despite my having shown them my American passport. It’s angered me a few times because immigrants and their various cultures bloomed in the New World, and helped make America great by feeding into the culture and work force. I feel that to view these groups as blanket “American” is missing the point.

Obviously the older generation is firmly set in their ways. For several years I taught private English lessons to a jeweler who seemed to have a kind of selective “foreigner amnesia;” everything else about his memory was fine. The “us vs. them” sentiment was so deeply ingrained in his mind that no matter what I told him about myself each lesson – that I could use chopsticks, speak Japanese, and eat sushi – it would be forgotten by the next lesson because it did not fit the mold of “them.” So every few lessons he would ask me again, and each time I would repeat myself, and each time he would again be flummoxed. But again, this guy was clearly of an older generation, and not all of my students were quite that bad.

My Japanese friends in the city are the most progressive, and tend to understand that I am Alex before I’m American. This is indeed the most difficult thing for me to get across to someone I’ve just met in Japan because I, as an American being crammed into Japan’s antiquated rubric of America, must absolutely love hamburgers and baseball and guns! But when I explain that I do not follow sports, that I do not own a gun, that I usually do not wear my shoes indoors, that I do prefer to use an umbrella in the rain (yes, “foreigners hate umbrellas” is a real and baffling stereotype), most people seem dismayed, as if I’m expected to be playing into my part just as much as they enjoy playing into theirs by extolling the virtues of sushi, sumo, and four seasons. Individuality is frowned upon in Japan (you’ve probably heard the Japanese expression, “the nail that sticks up will be hammered down,”) and so most people are content to fill a broad societal niche.

My theory here is that most Japanese unconsciously project their own culture’s homogeneity on an isolated instance of a foreigner doing something abnormal and draw hasty conclusions. An unfortunate guy who left the house on a sunny day and without an umbrella and then gets caught in an unexpected rainstorm later on suddenly becomes, “Huh! How about that, foreigners don’t like using umbrellas!”

I can attest to some opposition from the older generation in regards to interracial relationships. I dated a woman for two years, and in all that time she never told her parents about me because she knew they would frown on it. During our time together we spent a couple of weeks one summer visiting my family in Pittsburgh, who loved her. When I started showing interest in wanting to meet her family as well, she deliberated for a year before eventually ending the relationship (and marrying a Japanese guy two years later).

But it’s worth noting that this seems to be the exception rather than the rule. Several of my friends have married Japanese women with encouragement from the wives’ parents, and are leading happy lives both here and back in their countries of origin.

10. What do you feel are the main differences between American culture and Japanese culture?

The most fundamental societal difference between Japan and America is that Japan (like most Asian societies) is very homogenous and rigidly structured to reflect that. Everyone is assumed to be working towards the same goals at all times (working hard at their job or studies, keeping the town clean, not complaining, and being respectful to their superiors and others). There are signs posted in every city, town, and village encouraging everyone to work together to keep the country running peacefully, almost always written in the volitional, which from my American standpoint can sometimes seem uncomfortably imploring: “Let’s dispose of trash in the proper places!” “Let’s be quiet at night!” “Let’s clean up our dog poop!”

A good example of Japanese rigidity is the air conditioning in train cars. Instead of going by external temperature, AC usage is determined by the calendar; it can be a sweltering, humid May 31st afternoon, but tough luck! The AC only kicks on from June 1st. Likewise going to the beach, which for some reason is frowned upon before July 1st. But it works out great in the end for foreigners, who don’t care about breaking arbitrary unwritten rules and can freely enjoy near-vacant beaches in beautiful weather all throughout June. [Again, these were observed in Nagoya and elsewhere in Aichi-ken, I can't speak for other areas of Japan.]

Japanese people seem to take a certain comfort in being left to the decree of a higher authority, be it the calendar, a boss, or any kind of circumstance that forces them to do something, typically without question. I was walking back from class one day with a coworker when she reminded me to bring a drink for lunch tomorrow because the school is switching milk providers, and there won’t be a milk delivery tomorrow. “That’s interesting,” I said, “why are we changing milk providers?” to which she replied, puzzled, “Because it’s been decided.” This in turn made me confused, and I rephrased the question, but got the same response. No conjecture, not even an “I don’t know,” just a deferral to the powers that be.

Some Japanese adults seem to freeze up when faced with a choice, be it as trivial as “What’s your favorite fruit?” This was a question I once asked a student for the purpose of personalizing an assignment, but she couldn’t come up with one. After several minutes of thinking, I decided on “pear” and we got into the assignment straight away. It seems that most people view choice as a window to liability; if their choice somehow turns out to have a negative effect on their progress or outcome, they would feel responsible. This is most maddening when trying to decide on a date venue with a woman. In my experience, “where do you want to go for dinner?” is 100% of the time turned around with “Oh I can’t decide, you decide!”

American society, on the other hand, prizes boldness, individuality and creativity, things that are usually considered superfluous, counter-productive, and even dangerous in Japanese society. Japan hates surprises; if it’s not written on the schedule, syllabus, or itinerary, it does not exist. “Spontaneity” is not considered a desirable personality trait in Japan.

My decision to break away from teaching and open my own business was almost entirely based on a rejection of the Japanese model of life in adult society (get up, go to work, don’t make waves, go home, repeat) because, as a product of American society, I have a strong sense of self and resent being contained, whether it be in a job routine, an archetype, or a fixture of contemporary Japanese society (in this case, “goofy English teacher”). Where a product of Japanese society would be content to fill out his or her role as a cog in a vast corporation (and indeed be proud of it, for he’s doing his or her part for the country as defined by society), I personally would go stir-crazy at having to constantly keep my personality in check.

In a large way, my decision to quit the workforce at large was influenced by my Japanese friend, Hiro. Hiro started as a high school history teacher after earning his degree in education. He lasted for two weeks before quitting, growing a stubbly beard, and becoming manager at a local bar. Not content with merely being the manager of someone else’s establishment, he quit after four years and now owns and operates his own successful bar downtown. His entire process was a rejection of the “accepted” Japanese model, and he’s never been happier. Hiro says his views were influenced by time spent abroad, specifically in Vancouver and Barcelona. I notice that Japanese people who live abroad (not just visit) for a length of time tend to be 1.) visibly more relaxed and genial when speaking with foreigners, and 2.) a little more critical of the Japanese establishment than the average citizen (and better able to sympathize with foreign complaints about the same), and 3.) less likely to acquiesce to societal demands.

This brings up the concept of freedom. Japanese children sometimes ask me, “Is America really free?” and I never know how to respond. “Free” has many meanings, and the explanation I try to give always turns out to be too complex. If by “free” you mean fewer rules and restrictions, the answer is usually yes (why is it illegal to take pictures of celebrities in Japan?). If you mean the ability to wander around almost anywhere in the dead of night without fear of being mugged or attacked, the answer is no (I have on several occasions marched through the city of Nagoya from downtown back to my apartment uptown in the wee hours after missing the last train and in six years never met with any ill fortune, though I admit it’s possible that a would-be mugger might not want to mess with a foreigner, especially one with a frightful beard). But for my money, the most important definition of “free” (and the one true advantage of American society, for the most part) is the ability to be oneself without fear of reprisal, to be open about what kind of person you are without having to worry about whether or not society approves. This is obviously a big deal for gay people, who in Japan are still largely viewed as disgusting abominations (the only openly gay people I know in Japan are either foreigners or fed-up Japanese people devoted to living a very specific lifestyle in the city, furthest away from the “Japanese values” that would shun them (i.e. their parents)). Transsexuals have recently become a popular TV novelty, which it can be argued is a modest step in the right direction (that is, away from fear and repulsion).

And not just sexuality – Japanese people are expected to keep their opinions to themselves and appear nothing but agreeable in order to maintain the social harmony, and as an opinionated person I find this intensely difficult to maintain on a daily basis. Not that I want to burst into the teachers’ room first thing in the morning and start up a political debate, but there have been several times where I found myself holding back critical feelings about a particular topic (most often a popular band or TV show) simply because it would go against popular concession. The general rule of thumb for making friends with women in Japan is that if you don’t love Disney, you’d better learn to fake it.

11. If you could have one superpower, what would it be?

Indestructible teeth.

Listen to X in 10!

From the wikipedia entry on podcasts:

As discussed by Richard Berry, podcasting is both a converged medium bringing together audio, the web and portable media player, and a disruptive technology that has caused some in the radio business to reconsider some established practices and preconceptions about audiences, consumption, production and distribution.[3] This idea of disruptiveness is largely because no one person owns the technology; it is free to listen and create content, which departs from the traditional model of ‘gate-kept’ media and production tools.[4] It is very much a horizontal media form: producers are consumers and consumers become producers and engage in conversations with each other.[5]

With such an eclectic array of content ready to be produced at little cost by virtually anybody who wants to, the concept of having one’s own “radio show” is today a reality. Of course, starting out on the internet and without the benefit of a traditional radio station’s accumulated audience makes it a tough task to build a following, but the internet has proven that if you have the drive to do something unique (and you stick with it), the right people will find you eventually. Blaine Capatch summed it up on the most recent episode of Sklarbro Country:

Well [nowadays] if you like comedy, it’s like “well, I like stand-up, so I’m gonna watch stand-up,” “well, I like FunnyOrDie, I’m gonna go on FunnyOrDie and watch small sketches,” “well, I like weird- I like these YouTube things,” or “I like 5 Second Films,” people can just go to what they like and immerse themselves in it instead of going to club and being like, “well, who do we have tonight?”

Podcasting has informed audio programming in much the same way that the alternative comedy movement of the late 80′s defibrillated stand-up’s cocaine-dusted corpse and gave rise to people like Blaine Capatch, David Cross, Patton Oswalt, and countless others. Oswalt defines alternative comedy as “comedy where the audience has no pre-set expectations about the crowd, and vice versa. In comedy clubs, there tends to be a certain vibe—alternative comedy explores different types of material.” This ideology is embraced by comedy podcasts, which, in much the same way that those trailblazing young comics openly eschewed “hack” comedy in favor of the experimental, have established a format in defiance of traditional radio and the limitations imposed by station managers, advertisers, or even a finicky audience.

Podcasting is now an inextricable component of the comedy world. Almost every comedian has one, and many of them extend beyond comedy, or approach common topics from a humorous angle. Sports, music, TV, movies, video games, science, cryptozoology; there is probably a comedy podcast designed around your niche.

It wasn’t until Ray introduced me to Jordan, Jesse, Go! that I took notice of podcasting and its potential for funny. For the same reasons that people seek out “indie” movies, music, or video games (innovation, creative freedom, experimentation, and (duh) independence), I eagerly latched on and filled my podcast feed to the brim with them. Given the freedom, it turns out that most people don’t want to listen to morning radio crammed into an RSS feed, instead finding satisfaction and inspiration from original shows that are guided by the epiphanic principle “play to the audience you want, not the audience you have.”

So! I’ve compiled a list of (my) 12 Essential Comedy Podcasts. Sure, I ranked ‘em, but it’s kind of irrelevant because a host’s style might not gel with you, or a show’s format might throw you for a loop; I’ve noticed that some people are instantly turned off by comedians doing bits “in character” (in which case I recommend reading up on the history of actual radio). I’ve tried to summarize the appeal of the shows as best I can, but in most cases it’s recommended that you sit down and really listen to an episode or two (please do not just listen to 10 or 15 minutes and quit) before you decide. You don’t write off an entire album after just one song, so please give these shows a fair shake before moving on.

There are many, many comedy podcasts. These are just the ones that resonate most with me.

12. Comedy Bang! Bang! (formerly Comedy Death Ray)

Earwolf’s flagship show, and definitely the most “alt comedy” of the bunch, CBB is home to dozens of different comics and comic styles, from straight monologues to  character bits to improv games. The show is hosted by Mr. Show veteran Scott Aukerman and usually features several guests per week, many of them appearing in character (with notable performances by Paul F. Tompkins and James Adomian).

Al Recommends: Any of the annual “Best of” episodes.

11. How Did This Get Made

Another show in the Earwolf stable of podcasts, HDTGM is a straightforward look at absurd or ill-conceived movies (both indie and Hollywood) and what went into making them. Hosted by Paul Scheer, June Diane Raphael, and Jason Mantzoukas. Proper episodes drop bi-weekly; during the off week, Paul releases a mini-episode announcing the target of the next episode, giving listeners time to watch the movie before the episode comes out.

Al Recommends: The two most recent episodes (40 – “Judge Dredd” and 41 – “Spiderman 3″) are an excellent look at how the show works at its best.

10. Professor Blastoff

Yet another Earwolf show, though this one isn’t strictly comedy. Comedians Tig Notaro, Kyle Dunnigan, and David Huntsberger examine one avenue of science, philosophy, or the humanities each week with the aid of a guest, usually a professional in the field of the topic. The show offers a good introduction to complex topics like genetics, human energy, self-esteem, the concept of honor, music, love, greed, fear, and immortality.

Al Recommends: Episode 28 – Creativity (w/Paul F. Tompkins) or episode 56 – Twins (w/Randy & Jason Sklar).

9. The Echo Park Time Travel Mart Presents: Dead Authors

A live comedy show written and performed to support 826LA.org, a non-profit organization created to support kids aged 6-18 in developing creative and expository writing skills. The show is hosted by H. G. Wells (Paul F. Tompkins) and features one or two famous and deceased authors transported to the present day. Guests (in character) include Andy Richter, Maya Rudolph, and Scott Aukerman.

Al Recommends: All of it, it’s all brilliant. But if I had to pick: Episode 5 – Carl Sagan (Matt Gourley), Appendix B – Friedrich Nietzcshe (James Adomian) & H. P. Lovecraft (Paul Scheer), and episode 8 – Aesop (Mark McConville).

8. The Todd Glass Show

Todd Glass is a special kind of comedian; genuine, vulnerable, and always committed. His show is an exploration of comedy (he does a lot of experimentation with bits, especially with sound effects and music) and whatever social or cultural issues are on his mind. The show premiered before Todd publicly came out on the Marc Maron show, but the tone went unchanged – the show has always been a celebration of goofiness and joking around with friends in a comfortable atmosphere (and a lot of fake anger and yelling, which I’m known to love more than anything).

Al Recommends: Though the episodes are unnumbered, there was a “Best of” released on 6/22/12, which serves as a good introduction to Todd’s style of comedy.

7. Walking the Room

A “podcuddle” (so named for the closet in which they record) hosted by Dave Anthony and Greg Behrendt. Don’t be put off by the dudebro demeanor; the show is, at its core, an honest and interesting (if sometimes crass) look at life for a couple of comedian friends in their 40′s. Stories about dysfunctional neighbors and public encounters usually end in any combination of amusement, shame, and horror.

Al Recommends: Episode 100, a live show with guests Patton Oswalt and Karen Kilgariff, is a great example of their style and a great example of the energy that a live podcast recording can generate.

6. The Pod F. Tompkast

Paul F. Tompkins has his hand in about a hundred different things, and his podcast is a nice sampler of it all. Character pieces (wherein Paul performs all of the characters in a conversation), recordings from his periodic live shows, phone calls from comedian friend Jen Kirkman, or even just bits from stand-up that he’s trying out. Each episode is bookended with improvised monologues by Tompkins, with musician Eban Schletter playing piano in the background, often adjusting the tone of the song to match the tone of Paul’s voice. This is a magical show.

Al Recommends: Episode 7′s Google Voice Transcript of the Star Wars cantina scene consistently reduces me to a chuckling magma.

5. Sklarbro Country

The fourth and final Earwolf show on my list, and maybe a surprising one. Twin brothers Randy and Jason Sklar review the week in sports along with a comedian guest, an interview with a character (usually performed by impressionists James Adomian, Chris Cox, or Dan Van Kirk), and sometimes a musical guest. I am not a sports fan, so the show’s ranking on this list should be a good indication of how funny the brothers are, even to someone like me.

Al Recommends: Any episode with Patton Oswalt, and episode 99 is great for MST3K fans (guests Kevin Murphy and Bill Corbett – and you know I’m not a Bill Corbett fan).

4. Superego

Superego is the most unique of the bunch. It’s typically a half hour show divided up into several small skits, most of which are completely improvised by a small group of people and then tightly edited to appear as if they had been scripted, which results in scenes that jump from gag to gag to gag with lightning speed. Superego taps into the absurdity of in-the-moment improv while simultaneously exploiting the ability to meticulously edit it at all down afterwards into a very compact, concentrated performance. The guest actors are consistently hilarious, especially Paul F. Tompkins, Patton Oswalt, John Hodgman, and Andy Daly.

Al Recommends: Episode 3:8 is a “Best of” for the first half of season 3. Oswalt’s role as General Zod’s legal counsel is a masterwork.

3. Jordan, Jesse, Go!

The one that got me into the medium. Long-time buddies Jesse Thorn and Jordan Morris invite  a guest from the world of entertainment each week to trade stories about work, life as a parent, momentous occasions, moments of shame, and more. Jordan and Jesse’s friendship in general gives me a positive vibe; Jesse is a fashion blogger with some strong ideas about how men should dress; Jordan is a laid back guy who wears a lot of free t-shirts he got from Hollywood press junkets. But they’re friends, and the only thing they want to do is make each other laugh.

Al Recommends: There are currently 232 episodes, and I wouldn’t even know where to start, so I’ll throw out some good guests: Chris Fairbanks, Moshe Kasher, and Nick Adams are always great.

2. Stop Podcasting Yourself

The pinnacle of the “two white guys sitting around talking to each other” format. Best friends Graham Clark and Dave Shumka (very much in the style of J.J.Go – they’re part of the Maximum Fun family, in fact) invite a comedian friend on every week for a free-form discussion of current developments. Popular segments include Overheards, Celebrity Birthdays, and Hulk Hogan News. But the real draw for me is (once again) the rapport between the hosts; riffs become extrapolated to the point of absurdity as one or both hosts are reduced to cackles.

Al Recommends: Similar to J.J.Go, this is a show where almost every episode offers something great, but there are two guests who manages to bring it consistently, and they are Charlie Demers (episodes 29, 74, 115, 156, 189, 211, and 222) and, of course, Paul F. Tompkins (episodes 82, 140, 171, 194, and 205).

1. Never Not Funny

The only pay show I listen to (there is a free version, consisting of the first 20 minutes of each 90 minute episode), and maybe an acquired taste. Jimmy Pardo is a fascinating blend of caricature and reality, and will switch from one to the other and back again in an instant. Pardo is a quick wit and a grandmaster of deadpan, all wrapped up in the persona of someone’s cocky uncle, straddling the line between geniality and hair-trigger frustration. He will frequently explode at his tech guys over nothing (there’s that fake anger again!) before complimenting their hair or clothes the next minute. He works with comedic juxtaposition like a furious artisan.

Al Recommends: NNF costs $19.99 for one season, which is 26 episodes. Jesse Thorn is a subscriber and describes it as “Twenty bucks in exchange for six months of solid laughs, you can’t beat that.” But if you’re hesitant to buy, don’t just sample the 20 minute episodes! It seems that Jimmy releases about one full episode per season for free, including ep 610 (w/guest Marc Maron), 721 (Jon Hamm), 811 (Conan O’Brien), 914 (Ty Burrell), and 1016 (Tom Arnold).

I’ve written about the game plenty in the past – on a game site (now gone), an FFXI blog (now gone), and a piece for 1UP (now defunct; it’s an FFXIV wish list), but have never really sat down and laid the damn thing to rest properly. And after giving the game hundreds of dollars and thousands of hours spread across nearly a decade of my life, I figure it deserves it.

Vana’diel (5623×2104)

Welcome to PlayOnline

I started with the English beta of Final Fantasy XI in the summer of 2003 while living on my best friend’s couch. He was the one in the beta; I merely played the hell out of it while he worked a day job at a warehouse. Then he’d come home in the evening and play the beta while I played WarioWare or scanned maps. I played it because it was something to do, and as a lazy college student whose only source of income was writing about video games, I had a lot of free time once I had fulfilled my quota of stories for the day.

In my mind FFXI is heavily associated with summer, my favorite season. Stretching out on my friend’s couch in shorts as summer air filled the room through the balcony’s screen door was a daily habit, and one of the last times in my life I can remember enjoying a truly lazy summer without a single care.

The game itself was baffling. Compared to Final Fantasy X, trying to understand everything about XI was like launching the space shuttle. The manual covered the very basics, but there were many things left unexplained — some of them intentionally. How am I supposed to discover crafting recipes? Why aren’t Accuracy and Evasion stats listed in my status? Even after its release and a thorough dissection by the community there were things that the developers would never confirm or deny, like the formula behind the Rabbit Charm drop rate. As far as I can tell, this rare item ordinarily has a 1.4% chance of dropping from the Notorious Monster Jaggedy-Eared Jack, but the actual drop rate seemed to be far lower than even that, until an interview with the developers  hinted that the charm won’t drop at all if one is posted at the auction house at the time the monster is killed. I still don’t even know if that’s how it works. The game is full of hidden requirements and conditions like this that I have always found fascinating to read about on forums and in wikis as fans postulate and collate data. It is impossible to play a game this intentionally obfuscated without these resources, most of which weren’t around during the beta (at least in English).

The unsavory elements

Though I no longer play the game, there was something intriguing about Vana’diel that kept me coming back time after time, with hiatuses lasting anywhere from a month to a year.

It wasn’t the players. I’ve griped at length about the average MMO gamer (rather, the dysfunctional personality types that emerge when one combines certain breeds of gamer with anonymity) and been sent to gaol by a GM for a late night /shout rant on the subject in the middle of Whitegate’s plaza. There are plenty of thoughtful, courteous, genial players out there, but they never seem to show up quite as often as the catty misanthrope, the bossy backseat power-leveler, or the arrogant NIN (whose death knell is always a sheepish variant on “lol”).

It wasn’t the endgame content. In fact, as Abyssea wore on, I found myself returning more often to lower level jobs and crafting. Once I hit the level cap at 90 (I ducked out before it was raised to 99), I focused almost entirely on support jobs and Notorious Monster camping. I never actually fought a single god battle in “Sky,” the shorthand nickname given to the floating continent of Tu’Lia (though I often enjoyed going up there for skilling up, farming light crystals, or just to enjoy the view), or its counterpart “Sea” (otherwise known as The Celestial Capital Al’Taieu) but had four pieces of relic armor from Dynamis (a sort of “shadow world” battlefield in which up to 64 players slay waves of monsters for job-specific relic armor and weapons) and a modest collection of powerful melee gear.

(An interesting note about endgame content: Certain superbosses gained notoriety because the “correct” means of defeating them as planned by the developers went undiscovered for a length of time. One unfortunate Linkshell spent 18 hours trying to defeat Pandemonium Warden, an Aht Urhgan boss with a staggering 20 different forms. When this showed up on Yahoo News, Square Enix put a time limit on the boss. Once time became a factor, players stopped trying to chip away at it over time and started collaborating to figure out what the trick was. And a year earlier, when it seemed that there was no way to defeat the infamous Sea god Absolute Virtue, Square Enix released a video (in four languages) of the development team doing just that, spurring the community to analyze the team’s every move. It turns out that the boss’s most powerful abilities can be “locked out” if a player uses the same 2-hour ability (so named because players can only use these powerful abilities once every two Earth hours) within three seconds of the boss using one. There is nothing in-game (that I’m aware of) to hint about any of these strategies. And while I never fought either of them, I found that entire flow of events to be very compelling as it unfolded.)

I can’t quit! I have rare stuff!

I never quite found a good Linkshell for tackling those endgame bosses, but did spend a lot of time trying to get relic armor from Dynamis. For years, my goal was a Saotome Kabuto+1, a Samurai-specific helmet that offered a whopping +12 Accuracy bonus. I had amassed all the necessary materials needed to upgrade a regular Saotome Kabuto, but never obtained the helmet itself. Even as the game was continuously upgraded and better helmets became available, I insisted that the SK+1 would be worth it, that as a Samurai I should have a distinctive piece of headgear instead of the gaudy Optical Hat (which was the style at the time), and that melees are so crippled by the game’s unreasonable emphasis on physical accuracy that it’d be silly not to wear one. Those materials are still sitting in my Mog House.

Dynamis itself was fun, but the time commitment (I was waking up at 5:00am Japan time every Monday to do Dynamis with a group in the UK for two hours before I had to go to work) and the terrible drop rates (combined with the rarity of actually doing a Dynamis that even offers the damn helmet in the first place) eventually drove me out.

I went through a similar crisis of rationalization shortly after camping the Notorious Monster Argus for a Peacock Amulet; here was a coveted piece of equipment carrying a substantial Accuracy+10 bonus, supplanted shortly thereafter by a readily available item called the Chivalrous Chain (Accuracy+5, STR+3), which I refused to use. On the surface, my rationale was based on the amulet’s superior Accuracy bonus (which is ridiculous given how precious STR is to melees, and a high-level Samurai especially), though in hindsight I’m positive that my mind was erecting a safeguard to prevent me from going insane after having camped Argus for months upon months towards the end of my college career in 2006.

This was but one curse of the game, to drive me after a rare piece of equipment to the exclusion of all fun or enjoyment. And sometimes even obtaining the thing wasn’t enough, and if it was a ring or belt or another piece of equipment not reflected on your character model? Somebody had better /check me and validate all the time I wasted camping this elusive giant beetle! I went out and bought a router just so I could play over vacation at my parents’ house so please recognize the Bushinomimi I finally won after losing the Ark Angels fight three times in a row!

At home in Vana’diel

Equipment snobs, Auction House price gouging, overcamped monsters; these are the things I do not miss about the game. But there was a wholeness about the game’s world that kept me coming back, a powerful and intangible connection to the environments that I felt in passing glimpses each time I played. These feelings could be attributed to an ordinary appreciation for a sunny day (La Theine Plateau), awe of colossal trees in a tranquil forest (The Sanctuary of Zi’Tah), excitement and fear of the unknown (Castle Zvahl Baileys), or even Stockholm syndrome (Valkurm Dunes). Some people have that “Hyrule field” moment when the sheer vastness of an environment stimulates their urge to run and explore and cover every inch of the incredible sprawl before them, and FFXI gave me that feeling every time I played.

Some of this effect was catalyzed by the music, the majority of which was scored by Naoshi Mizuta. His track A New Horizon (piano), written for the areas comprising the Tavnazian Archipelago, is an encapsulation of the peace, wonder, and fear that the player might feel (I certainly did) as they explore this new area; The Sanctuary of Zi’Tah (piano) feels like it was written to be punctuated with the player’s footsteps on the forest floor as they navigate the overgrowth; and the syncopating bells and tones of Ululations from Beyond feel appropriately foreboding as the player creeps carefully around the marshlands and caverns of Aht Urhgan, ever wary of the “truesight” imps that see through any attempt at concealment.

Something to remember

Though I’ve quit the game (for good? I dunno, I’ve said that every time), there’s an element of Vana’diel that I wish I could wrench from my computer and throw on my wall, or display on a shelf, or something. I consider myself to be less obsessive and withdrawn than the maladjusted escapist who wrestles with the notion that he cannot live on a fantasy jungle planet with blue cat people. I like to think that this is less to do with escapism and more an expression of wonder and appreciation for a well-crafted world (or at the very least a fond farewell after having dropped so much time and money into it). And because I do not have the tools or ability to create a 1:300 scale Windurst Walls, I have instead scanned the A4 CD cases that house the FFXI OST Premium Box released in 2006 and made them available on this very blog.

Unfortunately, this set does not include the Wings of the Goddess expansion from 2007, but these are still gorgeous, hi-res scans of Yoshitaka Amano’s art for the original Final Fantasy XI and the first three expansions: Rise of the Zilart, Chains of Promathia, and Treasures of Aht Urhgan. Beneath the thumbnails below you can download the full sized images as well as smaller versions perfect for your desktop (in the case of the two landscapes, anyway! Sorry about the text and spine creases, though). In reality, the world map painting actually consists of two more humongous panes (see the top of this post), but only the center two panes of the map (shown below) were included in the OST box set.

The six full-sized scans are all contained in this zip (314.4MB) for easy downloadin’.

[Note: Due to their size (I guess?), the two full-sized landscapes were automatically renamed to .bin when uploaded to Minus. If you download them individually, just delete the .bin extension at the end. The versions in the zip are unaffected.]

Final Fantasy XI 1920×1321 | Full (9966 × 6859, 83.6MB)	Rise of the Zilart 1920×1277 | Full (9897 × 6584, 74MB)
Chains of Promathia A 1330×1920 | Full (4852 × 7002, 41.8MB)	Chains of Promathia B 1395×1920 | Full (4936 × 6794, 37.6MB)
Treasures of Aht Urhgan A 1373×1920 | Full (4950 × 6922, 42.4MB)	Treasures of Aht Urhgan B 1363×1920 | Full (4914 × 6920, 37.5MB)

In cleaning out my apartment for an upcoming move, I came across two beautiful jars of honey furnished by your company and given to me by an ex-girlfriend several years ago. As the date of expiration printed on the label slipped quietly by, I was forced to discard the sweet syrup.

At the suggestion of honey enthusiast April R. Canejanowicz, I disposed of the product by thinning and dissolving it in a steady stream of hot water in my sink over the course of fifteen minutes. During this process I played “Kimigayo” on the kazoo; the national anthem of Japanese bees, played on their national instrument.

In a show of respect to the bees whose labor I so casually dumped down my drain, I would like to offer a sincere apology to the following workers: Flint, Yuki, Kohei, Kimmy, Tammy, Hendrick, Randy, Jason, Henderson, Osbaldiston, Lamarr, Ecto-1, Ulysses, Todd, Yusuke, Yosuke, Kensuke, Sasuke, Jessica Beel, Yvonne, The Knife, Ingrid, Lindsay, Beelzebub, BuckTwenty, The Situation of Bees, Don, Quimby, Lucky Pierre, Wesley, Chick Hazard, Centurion, Phil Wayans, Hotspur, Anonymous, Bee-n There Drone That, Princess Eglantine, The Negotiator, Keiko, Ivan, Duke, Genbu, Byakko, Seiryu, Suzaku, Kirin, Ice B, Daniel, The Bee Pope (Apis Pontifex), Nightwing, Heccubus, Smeagol, Ol’ Stripey, Beedrill, Magbeeto, Bee Bee King (a.k.a. Mojo King Bee), The Inquisitor, The Grand Inquisitor, Huey, Dewey, Louie, Andy, Sandy, Mandy, Nobunaga, Yoshimitsu, Hachimitsu, Bee-eyasu, Amanomurakumo, Pip, The Scoundrel, The Outlander, Hivemind, Shun Ke Curvemask, Qu’o En Steelwing, Dread Lord Yelena, Shamrock, Pompey, The General, Ifrit Prime, Giovanni, Battista, Enrico, Antonio, Maria, Montini, Sanguini, Teeny Sanguini, Chester, Arthur, Chester A. Arthur, Chester The Arthur, Kim Arthur (née Basinger), The Temptress, Dr. Octobee, Lil’ Pitohui, Hydra, King Hydra, Baramos, Baramos Bomus, Baramos Gonus, The Tobacconist, The Tobogganist, Bee Tinker, Bee Tailor, Bee Soldier, Bee Spy, Albert, Donald, Mush-Mouth, Brutus “Dizzy” One-Wing, Jenny From The Block of Wax, Kurt “Two-Wings” Richardson, The Cowboy, Pretty Jerry, Night Owl, The Second Night Owl, The Sartorialist, The Black and Yellow Manta, The Bees in the Hall, Yakety Wax, Horii, Toriyama, Sugiyama, Bahama Mama, Chad, Chaz, Skink, Dirk, June, July, Wednesday, Pugsley, Jay, Jason, Thrillho, Barnho, Barney, and Clod.

ご苦労様でした。

“Our next speaker has flown in from Europe to be with us today. He’s an entrepreneur, volunteer, retired serviceman, self-described “Lamaze nut,” and a devoted father. Please welcome Dracula!”

Silence.

“Haha, thank you, thank you everyone. It’s an honor to be here.”

A voice is heard from the back. “Why are you here?”

“Haha, thank you. I’d like to speak today about community service. In a business like mine, building relationships with the community is crucial. But building a relationship is easy – maintaining it is the tricky part! Take me, for example. Sure, it’s no problem to bring a nice fruit basket over to those new neighbors, but how do you foster that relationship once the mangoes are gone? I use this simple acronym.”

He clicks the device in his hand and a PowerPoint slide appears on the screen: ‘B.A.T.,’ the acrostic reads.

Click.

“The ‘B’ stands for ‘blood.’ ‘B’ the ‘blood’ of your community!”

Click.

“Altruism! Give, and you shall receive!”

Click.

“And lastly, terror!”

Several Rotarians squirm.

“Haha, relax! Terrorize your opposition with artisanal watermelon carvings mounted on simple balsa wood pikes!” Click. Dracula motions to the screen “Here’s a photo of my daughter Draculina carving one now!”

“You’re a monster.”

Another click and a sputtering whirr. The projector goes dark as Dracula turns back to the audience. “The point, folks, is that anyone can be Voivode of Wallachia, but three-time Voivode of Wallachia demands that little extra something! I’d like to tell a story from my youth-“

“Get off the stage.” Several boos and hisses from the audience. A tomato sails over the count’s head.

Dracula is stunned. ‘I don’t understand,’ he thinks. ‘This went so swimmingly in my dry run! Perhaps it’s time to bring out the big guns.’ He reaches into his mantle and produces a pile of papers and a pair of reading glasses. “My resume, ladies and gentlemen! May it be an inspiration to you all!”

The mic is cut. Some of the Rotarians in attendance stand and begin filing out. “Who thought this was a good idea?” one was heard to remark.

“Big Brother program, 133 years… and counting!”

“This is horrible, he’s horrible,” says another.

Without a microphone and amid rising commotion, Dracula raises his voice. “Volunteer dog-walker!”

“This is worse than when they Skyped in that cursed painting.”

“Best Severus Snape, PotterCon 2008!”

“I’m going to quit the club and sell my business.”

“Best Hans Gruber, DragonCon 2004!” His voice begins to grow hoarse.

“I’m going to hang myself in the Arby’s bathroom across the street.”

“1,000,000th customer, Phoenix, Arizona area Taco Del Mar!”

“No hope.”

“Fully licensed Bickram yo-” Dracula stands alone in an empty room. Tears well up in his eyes and fall silently, turning into little tear-bats and flying away on tiny dripping wings. He slumps down and pulls out his Android.

“Mike? Yeah… No, not very well. I… Maybe this whole career relaunch was a mistake… I appreciate that, but- hold on, I’ve got another call.” Dracula struggles to slowly lift his head and pushes a button.

“Bat Man, how’s it going!” says the enthusiastic voice on the other end.

“Not so well, Ravi, not so well. I bombed another one. I was just telling Mike that maybe this image change was a bad idea after all.”

“Big Drac Attack, what are you saying! I just got off the phone with NBC, they want to give you the lead role on this new sitcom they have lined up for next season!”

“I- they what?” Dracula immediately sits up straight.

“Yeah, this character called Alex Fry-Oil or whatever! It’s some kind of sitcom about a guy living in Japan!”

“This is… oh man! What brought this on?”

“No idea, Drac baby, but if I had to guess I’d say that our most recent advertising campaign paid off!”

Dracula pulls a crumpled sheet of paper from under his resume. It is the final draft of a full page newspaper ad depicting him and his daughter, smiling and playing golf, with the caption “Have you seen me lately?” spread across the sunset background. “Hold that thought, Ravi.”

*beep*

“Mike! I did it, Mike! I’ve turned it around!” The tears are back, but this time with a smile. “TV, Mike! NBC! Yeah… yeah! I dunno, Alec Frailty or something.” He stands and walks excitedly through the dark and empty bruncheon hall, pausing at the door, still smiling, smiling so hard it hurts. “Yeah, I’ll call you back later. Drinks are on me tonight!”

Dracula hangs up the phone and exits the hotel lobby into the sunniest afternoon he has ever seen. An energy seizes him, and though he tries his best to contain it, he lets loose with a life-affirming bellow so great that the city of Pittsburgh itself quakes beneath him:

“Drac’s back, baby!”

Monitors of the pitohuosphere will remember that a couple of years ago, on this very blog, I longed for a job and a change and other starry things, and that some of these happened. I did find steady work, and after two years, it is being shifted.

I will back up and elaborate. For the past two years I have been employed as REM (Resident English Monkey) at a junior high school in a neighboring prefecture. It has been simultaneously the best and worst job I’ve ever had. For a period of a few months I was nearly convinced that my coworkers were flesh and blood and not taciturn, uncanny likenesses of actual people snapped fast into the grid of Japanese society, shambling back to their stainless energy pods after a day’s work to recharge and forget. But I was wrong and, being human, was never fully accepted by the faculty.

Elsewhere in the school I was discovering affable reciprocators in the forms of the students themselves. Here I was free to goof off with people much closer to my own mental age, which proved to be by far the greatest fun I’ve ever had in my five years in Japan. At long last I was recognized for my animal impressions, my deadpan stupidity, my doodles, my pun grandmastery! Here’s a sketch of me if I were an octopus, or an expectant mother, or a surly car! Here’s my impression of a sloth, expertly preventing a real teacher from opening the door! A student drops a popular mascot keychain on the ground, and I drop to my knees yelling “FATHERRRRRRR!!!!”

But after two years, the other teachers, or the principal, or the board of education (or all three) decide they do not want a manic duck for an assistant English teacher, and last week I find that my contract will not be renewed, and that even the company I represented has been abjured for a rival outfit. For a week or two I was despondent and combed over job listings like mad.

In the end, it seems that (miraculously) my company will offer me a new contract with a different school district closer to home. This is certainly a blessing to my commute situation, but it saddens me to leave behind so many of the kids I entertained over the past two years.

This is [Robin Williams voice] great, fantastic, wonderful. And I’ll be at another junior high school, which is the age group that I most resonate with; too old for outright nonsense and tantrums, yet too young to be completely and utterly conditioned by Japanese society to be the bland, humorless instruments that they are culturally ordained to be. That will come after college. For now, they’re in Alex Territory.

No, the real problem here is that this job (as much as I enjoy these aspects of it) does not align with my career path. I have lived in Japan for over five years, and in this time I have accepted that my future lies neither in the video game business nor the teaching business. So as an Alex in Japan, where the hell does this put me?

アイ　ドント　ノー

Over the past two months, I’ve put down over 30,000 words in a Word document on my laptop at school detailing exactly where I’ve come from, what I’ve done, what I’m doing, and where I’m going. It has been an enormous help in delineating the various branches of Alex. But up until now it has only served to instruct me on what I do not want to do. I mean, I knew this stuff deep down, but it took a glorified diary to cement it, and I’m fine with that. The next step is pushing these branches to bear fruit.

My Japanese right now is middling. I haven’t actually studied since I graduated college outside of a brief stint with kanji flash cards and hundreds of hours of bar conversation. My conversation is great, actually! Guess how many companies are hiring dudes based on their conversation!!

I’ve never admitted this before, but I took and failed the JLPT3 in 2004, as a student at Chubu University. I thought “So? I’m a student! I’ll have plenty of time to-” WHOOPS NOW I’M 28 AND WHAT IS GOING ON

I am going to use this extra year to finally study and pass at the very least JLPT3. The first time was eight years ago, but the test has been revised since then (there are now five levels instead of four) and I need to start with something. This is an insane and mortifying thing for me to admit, to my panicky mind. I was just out the other night drinking with dudes who are translators and fluent and younger than I am, which is part of the reason for this outpouring. Ever since I got here I’ve been terrified of turning into one of those dudes who lives here but doesn’t actually have to use Japanese to function, because I’ve worked with dozens of those guys and they’re all bitter and deluded and grey because all they do is teach eikaiwa. It was the very engine behind an energetic English guy I knew; who needs to speak the language when I’m uber-charismatic and look like David Beckham and hey have another beer and let’s go to karaoke!!!

(In fairness, he was a nice guy who ultimately left Japan to move back home, so I can’t be angry at him. I was, however, constantly annoyed that he coasted along on near-zero Japanese and a smile while I was making an attempt to use mine and being ignored the majority of the time by our mutual Japanese friends.)

The worst part about this is finally stretching a toe down into the inky depths and feeling a lumpy careery something and having no idea at all what it is but knowing that I want to latch onto it and let it carry me deeper.

The next year will be spent begging the blob beneath to toss me some hints, or at least some dry shorts.

You do not know me, but I write you in praise of your product line, specifically your all natural lip ointments. Towards the end of a brutal cold I found comfort in a small, golden tube of your beeloved balm, which I ultimately modified and attached to a chain lanyard for ease of use. The three words printed above the product’s name upon the label are “SOOTHING – COOLING – REFRESHING” and on none of these promises was your name beesmirched.

However, unless we are to beelieve that a lone North Carolinian is tasked with secreting and accumulating balm- and lotion-bound wax (perhaps assigning the bees to the company’s clerical or managerial aspects within some echoing office-hive), then I must issue a heartfelt and individual thanks to the following bees: Augustina, Thomas, Gerald, Violet, Patricia, Mason, Diablo, Diablo Jr., the Burke twins, Hank, Buzzy Scott, Lil’ B, Thor Axe, Big Phil, Marvin, Sting, Tex, Surly Joe, Lucas, Robespierre, Snake Eyes, the bee from Bee Movie, Quetzalcoatl, Sergei, USBee, Drew, Stu, Lou, Robo Bee 4.0, Doris, Mavis, Avis, Pearl, the Lang sisters, Danny Lightwing, B-Rad, JodBee Foster, Tigger, Tiger, Lynx, Big City Dank, Notorious Bee I.G., Matthew the Lionhearted, Swift Gary, Tremend-O, Oxblood, The Duchess, Bee-Frasier, Ol’ Man Matthias, Blacky the orphaned horsefly raised as one of your own, Charles, Chuck, Chuckles, Mason “Dreadwing” Madison, The Tailor, Antonio, Wiyaless, Aunt Enna, Brutus, Cheng, Eng, Gog, Magog, Gigamagog, Brian, Chad, Jordan, Niles, Big Napoleon, Weird Uncle Ray, Scylla, Charybdis, Clean Pete, Reginald, Dark Reginald (doppelganger), Dark Reginald (coincidence), Vult A’mon Wickedeye, Hie Xu Darktusk, Boe Vu’boe Scourgemandible, Fluttershy, Twinklebell, Lisa, Mean Jean, Muhammad Albee, Will, Flynn, Manticore, Bee Suit Mario, Edwin, Tim, Hayabusa, Margot, Helen, Chunk, Henri, Jor El, Vicious Vinny, Viscous Vinny, Frog, Toad, Nut, Honey, Ace Beely, Nitro, Lifeline, Sad Sam, The Architect, The Iron Wing, Death and Waxes, Fillmore, Bloodpool, Kasandora, Aitos, Marahna, Northwall, The Magician, The Fool, The Master, The Drunk, Paullen, Hustle, Flo, Tiny, and Robert.

Thank you all for your tireless efforts… and godsbeed!!

Over a year ago, I wrote up a big blog entry on how I discovered podcasts and why I like the ones I do. A good deal of it was spent analyzing some of the things that amateur podcasters do wrong and what I was trying to do consciously, on my end, to avoid those same pitfalls. In this excerpt from that entry, I try to delineate the sorts of people who consume media with varying measures of cynicism:

The podcasts I listen to are headed by people who get the concept of “good internet” because they have all relied on it to establish themselves as legitimate performers and in turn spread this good will to projects that they themselves find truly entertaining. Jesse Thorn of MaximumFun.org, for example, conveys a kind of reverence and geniality that I think most “bad internet” types find confusing. He respects guests on his serious show, The Sound of Young America, and knows exactly how to engage guests (mostly comedians and entertainers) on the humor-based Jordan, Jesse, Go. His entire broadcasting ideology is based on a rejection of irony, which lends everything he does a sense of kindness and authenticity. The immediate impression I get is that this further confounds “bad internet” types who have come to accept blitheness and cynicism as de rigueur for anyone in a position of cultural relevance.

Jesse’s persona is uncomplicated, but because of his podcasts (aimed at pop culture-savvy 20 and 30-somethings) and his interest in men’s fashion (he produces a style guide and owns more than several bow ties) he is written off by “bad internet” as a “hipster” (a word which, Jesse himself says, doesn’t even know what it means anymore other than “I hate this person with different interests than me!!” in response to the frequency with which it gets tossed around by “bad internet.”)

On the most recent episode of Jordan, Jesse, Go, co-host Jordan Morris engages guest Paul Rust on a short movie he helped make for Funny or Die (found here). The basis of the clip’s humor is the sheer absurdity of the characters within it (four wimpy guys trying to host a “Guy Talk” show on Spike TV), but “bad internet” saw something else:

Jordan: But I feel like in comparison to the other stuff that is sometimes on Funny or Die which is, you know, sometimes it’s super outrageous, sometimes it’s mean to celebrities, what was the Funny or Die reaction to that?

Paul: A lot of people thought, yeah, it was “haha, these gay guys are acting straight!” like that’s their first-

Jordan: That you were just closeted gay guys.

Paul: Right, it’s- I know what your point is, Neil and I have talked about this before. When people first see a video on the internet for whatever reason they’re wired to think the thing you’re trying to do is shit on that person or make fun of it or be mean.

Jordan: Uh-huh.

Paul: So that’s always like the first level you have to go through when somebody sees your video.

Though I don’t make videos, I do often find myself tweeting from the same platform of guarded goofiness. More often than not, I use Twitter as a kind of humor sounding board for the purpose of reveling in pure absurdity or deliciously bad puns. Dad jokes! But as much as I enjoy being goofy, there’s the occasional “Hey, what did you mean by that?!” response from staunch defenders of whatever person/place/company I mentioned in the tweet. This one, for example -

I’ve decided that the last line of my book must be “Sent from my iPad.”

- received an indignant “Hey, what did you mean by that?!” from at least one Apple enthusiast who is conditioned to run humor through a filter of negativity. The actual joke here – that a line of automatically attached text would appear on the page of a physical book – is meant to be absurd. I would not write a book on a tablet, nor is one able to generate a fully bound volume of text. But instead of reading it as the goofy one-liner it was intended to be, certain followers believed that I (the owner of an iBook, MacBook, iMac, iPhone, and scores of iPods past and present) am poking fun at Apple, or perhaps the ubiquity of the iPad. And this was months before Steve Jobs had even died!

This is not to say that I don’t tweet negatively about certain people or things that get my goat (it can be therapeutic!) but that when I do I am charged and specific and (in my mind) justified, rather than simply lobbing out a cheap dig or trying to appear oh-so-witty. That’s my persona, and it’s something I trust people to understand before they start getting hot under the collar.

The whole point of this blog entry is in fact to draw attention to persona, or whatever the element of your medium is that equates to it. Paul’s movie was at a disadvantage because of the higher “bad internet” quotient in the Funny or Die audience. In the case of my tweets, enough people follow me on Twitter who get my sense of humor to stop me from going, “hold up, somebody might misinterpret this.” I’m pretty confident that people know I’m largely an insecure goofball who just likes making dumb jokes. Depending on your job, a persona is either necessary, impossible, or irrelevant. For the sake of argument, let’s focus on comedians, for whom persona is a powerful tool.

Comedian Paul F. Tompkins in particular has embraced the style of comedy that he loves (absurd sketches, impressions, and a maniacally romantic take on life) and produces nothing but that to a following that loves it. Look at the introduction that plays at the beginning of every Pod F. Tompkast:

“Welcome to the Pod F. Tompkast, an audiophonic collection of comedy-type ramblings and bitlets, offered freely to a trusting, uncynical public.”

Paul is stating, at the outset of each episode: ‘You who have found me and taken a liking to my style of humor, I acknowledge that you are “good internet” and that you are mature enough to appreciate something objectively.’ It lets me, every time I hear it, relax a little bit more wherever I am and listen secure in the fact that what I am hearing is nothing less than material Paul himself finds hilarious and worthy of putting out. He trusts us to understand his persona.

But give Paul’s entire routine – standup, skits, et al – to a different comedian, and I wouldn’t believe a word of it.

Trying to explain the importance of comedic persona is something I’d never even thought about before last year, when a creative partner and I got into an argument concerning my assessment of his humor.

“You’re impossible to please, I could recite a half hour of Louis C.K. [a mutually liked comedian] and you’d still tell me it was shit,” he says, and my gut response is “Yes, yes!! My god, you get it now!” It’s not enough for someone to just say something funny. It all occurs within that context, that frame of reference that the persona establishes for the comedian/broadcaster/actor/whatever. You are not Louis C.K., which means that the most you could do by mimicking him would be to make me close my eyes and try to imagine him, his voice, his mannerisms, his inflection, his quirks, etc. This might fly in conversation – Hey, did you see Chris Fairbanks on Conan last night? – but in practice only handicaps you, the performer, for neglecting to cultivate a unique persona.

Getting to know that persona is half the fun of comedy to me. Paul’s persona is affably pompous, and only he can deliver his jokes or perform his characters. Jimmy Pardo, another favorite, has developed the persona of a clueless, old-fashioned uncle. I want so deeply to be able to share this specific appreciation of a comedian’s persona that I will often recommend a podcast or comedy album to someone, only to be crushed when they reject it after only a cursory listen. But the fault lies on both sides; it can take hours of exposure before a comedian’s persona clicks with you, if it does at all. It took me several listens for Aziz Ansari’s standup album to finally click for me, in much the same way it might take somebody several listens of a music album. And I suffered through three or four appearances by Tig Notaro on the Comedy Death Ray (now Comedy Bang Bang) podcast before I realized that she’s brilliant.

It’s the same reason that we like the people that we do in our lives. We spend time with them, get to know them, see how they tick, how they handle things. Put as simply as I can: you react differently when your friend says “Gears of War is the fuckin’ shit!” than when your grandmother says it. I felt stupid typing that just now because it shouldn’t have to be explained, and yet every day people dump on creative projects and leave angry comments because they neglect to pause for a second to consider the context of what they’re seeing or hearing. The internet has trained us to seek out that delightfully simple combo of CLICK -> VIDEO -> LAUGH while deftly removing the part where we’re supposed to think about what we’re seeing. Obviously this doesn’t apply to a video of a guy falling off a table or a cat chasing a laser pointer, but you get the idea.

Let yourself laugh at simple, innocent things; likewise, un-train yourself to assume that everything on the internet is intended to be snarky or malicious, and you’ll probably find a lot more things you like.

Comedy on the Edge takes a historical approach, devoting each chapter to a specific comic and/or movement: Lenny Bruce (obscenity), George Carlin (intransigence), Richard Pryor (race), Albert Brooks (deconstruction), Robin Williams (improv), Elayne Boosler (gender), Steve Martin (apolitical comedy), Andy Kaufman (anti-comedy), and more. Zoglin examines the development of the west coast comedy scene (spurred by NBC’s decision to move The Tonight Show from New York to Los Angeles) and its effect on the entertainment business. Most comics of the time saw stand-up as a means to an end; work up enough good material to get an appearance on The Tonight Show and pray to God that Carson likes your act. If he did, he’d eventually call you over to the couch, a gesture recognized among those in the industry as a surefire sign of having “made it.” The approval of Carson led to TV and movie deals, making each comic’s appearance on The Tonight Show a nail-biting ordeal. Comedian David Sayh was thrilled to have made a successful debut on the show, and was so successful with the crowd that Carson gave him two more guest appearances. Sayh, unfortunately, had only six minutes of “A” material, which he used up on his first appearance (on YouTube here; it’s pretty unspectacular by today’s standards but there are one or two genuinely funny bits). Subsequent appearances were less successful and he was never invited back. Jerry Seinfeld cites Sayh’s dearth of material as the motivation for him to write for at least one hour every day.

Many of the comics featured in Zoglin’s book are marked by an unwillingness to compromise. Though Bruce came out swinging, other well-known firebrands such as Carlin and Pryor actually started out as family-friendly acts before their frustration turned them into more honest stage versions of themselves; Pryor’s turning point came during a packed show in which he took the stage, looked around, exclaimed “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here,” and walked off.

I’m Dying Up Here focuses on the comedians’ strike on The Comedy Store in 1979 (an event that Zoglin briefly touches upon in one chapter) but takes a more narrative approach, reproducing conversations and phone calls among comics, club owners, and agents. Knoedelseder recounts the history of The Comedy Store, from Mitzi Shore’s acquisition of the LA club from ex-husband Sammy Shore in 1974 all the way through the tumultuous events of the strike and the schism that it created among comics. (The gist is this: Mitzi had been touting her club as a workshop, and so refused to pay the comics anything for their performances despite the fact that she was making money hand over fist through drink and ticket sales. In her mind she was producing stars — Comedy Store alumni included Pryor, Williams, Leno, Letterman, and Boosler after all, all of whom worked for free as they developed their acts — and she believed that they did not deserve to be paid. Budd Friedman, owner of LA’s Improv (Mitzi’s only competition), wisely positioned himself as a friend to the striking comics, agreeing to abide by whatever system of payment they eventually arrived upon with Mitzi. When The Improv was partially burned in a fire (a suspected act of arson from Mitzi’s camp), comics agreed to help rebuild while holding performances in the unburned part of the building when they weren’t on the picket line).

Knoedelseder paints Tom Dreesen, the strike’s organizer and voice, as a competent man whom the other comics trusted. His leadership at the picket line was bolstered by others (Pryor’s friend Paul Mooney was key in preliminary negotiations due to Mitzi’s respect for him), and moral support from those who were no longer tied to the club (the striking comics received several letters of support from Pryor, now a major star, and even Bob Hope). Leno (still good friends with Letterman at the time) faked an injury in the parking lot after being clipped by a car, secure in the knowledge that injuries incurred on the picket line were the responsibility of the property owner. Letterman (himself enjoying a stint as guest host of The Tonight Show) actually drove down to picket one night after a taping. Knoedelseder really tries to present Mitzi as a complex if not sympathetic figure; her sense of betrayal at the hands of all the talent she had helped to develop in the past is palpable, but so is the plight of the penniless comics themselves.

Even when a deal is reached, things never quite return to the heyday of ’74-’79 in terms of community and productivity. A clause in the agreement states that Mitzi cannot refuse a comic work because of his involvement with the strike, yet this is exactly what she does to Steve Lubetkin, a man whose multiple appearances on The Tonight Show yielded him next to nothing. In a final protest, Lubetkin throws himself from the roof of a 14-story hotel down the street from The Comedy Store.

I’m glad for Amazon’s recommendation of the Zoglin book. The two dovetail nicely and create a detailed panorama of life as a comedian in the 60s and 70′s. I recommend both of them (even though I sort of, uh, just summarized everything) but if you have to choose, Comedy on the Edge is a bit better-written and much more informational in contrast with the drama and pathos of I’m Dying Up Here (which, don’t get me wrong, is still a great read).

[Addendum: While piddling around YouTube this afternoon I came across Johnny Carson's last appearance on television, which happened to be on Letterman's show. Dig that standing ovation!]