Mad skills

As Jay would come to remind us with increasing frequency and (mostly) feigned sanctimony, he was the only one who learned to read Hirakana and Katakana (none of us took on Kanji). While Jay's literacy skills would eventually prove useful--certainly more so than my Rosetta Stone vocabulary, which disproportionately favored animals--he often ended up sounding out things that were either obvious or also written in English. That, too, began with that first vending machine that met us on our way to the fish market.

Jay: Ra... te...
[Pause]

Jay: What do you think that means?
A.: Latte.
Jay: I know that's what the coffee is! What do you think "ra-te" means?

[Pause]

Jay: Oh.

***
A.: Where are we going?
Jay: That way. Haven't you people learned to read yet?

***
[Over some sign or ad on the subway or street]

Jay: Look--you can learn to read.

***
In Gero, where we stayed in a Ryokan. Meaning the four of us shared a room, with a tatami-covered floor, and a bathroom.

Jay was in the bathroom, studying the most advanced toilet of the trip. It took each of us a few minutes to figure out how to flush it. On the plus side, it had buttons for opening and closing both the seat and the lid.

Jay, faintly: "tooo..."
Richard: He's sounding things out: "ka... ga... ra..." It's like "Hooked on Phonics," except it's "Hooked on Katakana."
A., Susan: [Burst out laughing]