Mid-August is Japan's traditional ghost season, when the spirits of the dead are believed to return to visit their families. Japanese also believe that nothing takes the heat from a sweltering summer night better than a spine-chilling tale of ghosts. The story below, first published in The Japan Times, is my fictional tribute to that tradition.

The train roars on while the lost foreigner blinks at the map plastered above the door. It's a spider's web of crisscrosses that seems to blur the more that he stares. So, he girds himself and turns to the businessman standing alongside. "Excuse me? Do you speak English?" The man jumps, either with the shock of being approached or at a perceived slight to his education. "But of course!" The foreigner blurts his question. "Great! So what's the next station?" "Who-Wants-To-Know

The Japanese calendar is salted with weird and wacky days from start to finish. Many of these have commercial angles, while others focus on public awareness. And some are just nuts. Still, I would much rather be nuts and celebrate than work, work, work. Take Jan. 7 for example. That was national "Nail Clipping Day," my personal favorite, which I celebrated in due fashion. Too bad it comes but once a year. What follows then is my personal primer of the lesser holiday highl

She jiggled in blue-striped pajamas before the bathroom mirror. She looked a fright, a witch, a hag. Her eyes were packed in red, her hair a ratted ball, and her face sallow and lifeless and above all old! She stuck out her tongue. Of course, it was caked! She put a cold hand to her throat and said, “La, la, la…” The sounds croaked out. Oh she was sick! How could she possibly, possibly sing?

Meet "Father Smith" -- silver hair, gentle smile and a voice so mellow that it flows with a grace from beyond. Maybe there’s a God and maybe there isn't, but when you're with Father Smith, you tend to believe there is. There's just one thing. He's as phony as hell. "I'm an English teacher," he says. "I marry people at a hotel chapel on weekends. I wear the robes, a cross, the whole nine yards. Nobody knows. And nobody cares." He smiles his smile. "Except for maybe me."

One of our family has become a Buddhist. The new Buddhist is not my Japanese wife, who professes Christianity. Nor is it her kin, who advance the sukiyaki approach to religious faith, as in: whatever adds a little flavor is welcome to the mix. No, the family Buddhist is my dog. The story behind this is approximately 14 years long. One third-grade morning, my second son found a frisky puppy outside his classroom window.

Yes, my fellow competitors... it's cockroach season. And the pressure to exterminate is on. First, if you've never had the pleasure of coming face to head with a Japanese roach, let me describe the enemy: They're big. They're ugly. They're bugs. What more do you need to know?

Smoke, as they say, gets in your eyes. Not to mention your clothes, hair, nose, lungs, taste buds, teeth, gums and (if you are a smoker) your pocketbook. Yet, this well-hammered health hazard remains Japan's vice of choice -- a pastime to die for. Literally.

In the heart of downtown Shinjuku there's a land -- far over the rainbow -- where dreams really do come true. That is, if your dream involves a bowel movement. Fittingly, it’s called the Toto Super Space, a showroom for bathroom fixtures set on the lofty 26th and 27th floors of the L-Tower Building, a place where visitors can flush their troubles away. And -- if they are perhaps so inclined -- their little dog too.

I learned to swear as a boy. It was the only thing my father ever taught me. He compensated for his lack of attention in other matters by instructing me well in this. And if you think that there is nothing therapeutic, nothing enriching, nothing self-purging about a decent five-second binge of bile, then I can only advise that you try it.

This duck story is special. For my duck belonged to the Japanese Emperor.

She figured the last sight she would ever see would be that of a bear-sized American soldier chopping at her with a bayonet.

For many Japanese, one word sums up their entire lives: "busy."

I have put down roots, dropped my anchor, pitched my tent, hitched my pony, cooled my jets and shelved my thesaurus. After 25 nomadic years,

One benefit of wedding into a Japanese family is the discovery that there is much more to Japanese cuisine than just sushi and tempura.

When I first came to Japan, I didn't believe in yakuza.

When I first came toJapan, I never thought I’d have to learn the language.

Sometimes love does find a way. Sometimes it is the only thing that can.

I asked my future wife to marry me while we were in the ofuro.

Most Japanese serve rice at every meal and feel a meal is incomplete without it. Many also assume that Westerners think the same about bread