Answers from a trivia quiz

How old is Kevin?
23
twenty three
24 28 I am Jack Bowou
25
26
27
28
32
34 (!)

What is tako? (octopus)
octpues
oct
okuttpeascal
ousaka
okutopasu
octobers
oki
octopas hould

Who wrote Romeo and Juliet?
AK-69 a.k.aka
sye-ku supia

What fruit is in umeboshii? (plum)
purm
prom
push
pull
ponki
penky
paber
pig
pake
pich

Best Team Names
fack porice
seaweed
I don't know
Linda-S

Next, tell me about fireworks.

A teacher showed me how to use chopsticks today. I don't know if this is more or less surprising than when a teacher asked if I knew about the animals of the Zodiac.

Once In A Lifetime

Well, the results are in. I didn't win the annual JET essay contest. I didn't even place. With that ringing endorsement, here is my essay unrevised and in full. If some of it sounds familiar, it expands upon an earlier post about playing soccer against our rival school's teachers. Warning: It gets cheesy. I was going for the nacho takedown. Dozo.

---

At my first enkai, I bit into a fried oyster expecting a sweet persimmon. This, undoubtedly, is what happens when you begin to feel slightly comfortable with a foreign language in a foreign land. The teachers told me it was kaki, and it surely was. It just happened to be the other kind.
I suppose this could have been some form of linguistic payback. A few weeks prior, I had put my students through the rigorous turns of distinguishing their L's and R's, their TH's and S's, their V's and B's. I laughed at their confusion between a bowl of rice and a bowl of lice. No, you cannot make a light at the next right. Please call me Kevin, not Kebin.
As I chewed down my surprise oyster and the teachers looked on, I was reminded of lyrics from one of my favorite songs.
“And you may find yourself in another part of the world,” David Byrne sings in “Once In A Lifetime.” “And you may ask yourself, ‘Well, how did I get here?’”
What ended up defining my time in Japan thus far began as a simple misunderstanding. The school soccer coach approached my desk and rattled off a series of dates in Japanese.
“Sakka,” he then said.
I had attended practice before, and I assumed, for whatever reason, that he wanted me to show up on these specific days. I obliged, he smiled, and we carried on as usual.
A few weeks passed, and the first of these dates arrived. In the middle of the day, the soccer coach asked if I would be at practice. I confirmed, he smiled, and I thought nothing more of it. After sixth period, I walked back to the teachers’ room alongside a JTE.
“I hear you will play soccer with the teachers,” she said.
“What?” I asked.
“On Wednesday you will play in the teachers game against Nirasaki High School, right?”
“Oh. Yes. Yes, I will.”
Whether it was lost in translation or just never said (likely the former and likely my fault), that afternoon and the next would be spent practicing for our annual rivalry match. And if you know a little about the history of soccer in Nirasaki, you may have heard of a certain alum named Hidetoshi Nakata, arguably the best soccer player to ever come out of Japan. When you exit the train station in Nirasaki, you’ll notice a floral, common area adorned with soccer ball statuettes. Every year, Nirasaki High and Nirasaki Technical produce strong teams living up to the storied tradition within Yamanashi Prefecture. Needless to say, soccer is a big deal around here. And even though this was merely a friendly match between teachers, I could sense the unstated importance. I was unprepared.
But the best way to prepare is to do just that. On Monday and Tuesday we would hone our skills by losing to our students; our students with their precise passing, one-touch volleys, their unending stamina. We would improve by looking foolish in front of our kids, who took pleasure in becoming our teachers. Any team comprised of high school faculty would be a cakewalk after these two days of training.
Then Wednesday came. I arrived just as the game started due to working at another high school that day. I ran from my car to the sidelines and began to lace my boots. I wouldn’t play until the second half, but a teacher immediately removed his jersey and handed it to me. He literally gave me the shirt off his back. The chanting had already started, and it reminded me of the Ventforet J-League game I had recently seen in Kofu. It reminded me of my own high school days playing under the stadium lights in Norcross, Georgia.
Then it happened. They scored. I felt something that I hadn’t felt in a long time. I felt something that I thought was lost. It’s the sublime pain that only exists when you are caught off-guard by your own concern. This moment really mattered. So I yelled. I motivated my teammates. I was certain that with enough “ganbatte”s I could simply will a goal into the back of Nirasaki High’s net.
It took more, in fact, than plain will to even the score. It took a great pass from the assistant soccer coach, which I gladly accepted before scoring the equalizer a few minutes into the second half. 1-1. I was lifted into the air and carried up-field. Chants came from the sidelines. Shouts of “Nice shoot!” encircled me. I was tempted to correct the English, but I didn’t. It just wouldn’t be right.
Both teams would get a few more chances to score, but the game remained tied 1-1 at the end of regulation. We gathered in a large circle to decide who would take penalty kicks. Or that’s what I thought was happening. No, the winner of this game would be determined by janken. Each school selected five female teachers. The women lined up face to face and bowed. The first to claim three wins would keep the trophy until next year’s game. We lost in three straight bouts.
I felt terrible. It was just a fun game between teachers, but it seemed like much more. I was reminded of my own high school rivalries, how an otherwise great season could feel ever-so diminished if you didn’t beat that one rival each year. But then I realized something, and it had to do with that sublime pain. I cared because I actually belonged. I was responsible. I don’t know exactly when or how it happened, but I was now a part of Nirasaki Technical. And we lost.
As I unlaced my cleats on the bench, teachers and students crowded around to give their congratulations. “Nice shoot!” I heard. “Otsukaresama deshita!” they said. Students lingered around and tried their best English. I wanted to extend that moment for as long as possible, but the carpools were leaving for the enkai. We’d continue another time.
So I ask myself, “Well, how did I get here?” How did I get to this tatami mat in a private room on the second floor of a quaint izakaya off a narrow street in Nirasaki? How did I come to be treated so well by people I met only a few months ago? I’m eating exquisite sushi and houtou, and I never see the bottom of my glass. Kocho-sensei tells me we would have won the game if I had played in the first half. He refills my drink. Kyoto-sensei thanks for me for effort. He refills my drink. Teachers ask if I’m married and if I will stay for another two years. I have never heard so much English from fellow teachers. I have never spoken this much Japanese in my life.
As the night progresses, I learn more and more about the interesting people I see every day. One teacher’s true passion is rugby, but there’s no rugby team at our school. He hopes to start one. Another teacher is a high-ranking kickboxer. He does some quick shadow boxing for proof. An office worker my age is already married and has a two-year-old daughter. The funniest moment arrives when a few teachers ask me to hand my glasses to the assistant soccer coach. It’s apparently been a long-running joke between all the teachers that we look exactly alike. These minor details mattered to me. So I ask myself, “How did I get here?”
As it turns out, I actually like the taste of oysters. Fried oysters are even better. Biting into one expecting a persimmon hopefully won’t become a hobby of mine, but it’s telling of my time in Japan as a JET. It’s not always what I expect, it’s never what I’m thinking, but it’s a once in a lifetime event. Before those three days in November, I had lukewarm feelings about my experiences in Japan. I expected students to be fascinated by my cultural lessons, but they weren’t. I thought I would be a celebrity figure around school, but I wasn’t. All this would take time.
It would take time like talking to students after the loss to Nirasaki High. It would take time like seeing Sayaka, the girl who never says a word in class, act in a play. It would take time to figure out why Ayana, who seemingly despises English class, is still happy to see me at the konbini. It would take time for Yuji to understand why I like to call him “referee” instead of his actual name. It would take time to start a pick-up soccer game in Dragon Park with guys who turned out to be alumni from my school. It would take time to realize that the JET Programme was never supposed to be about me.
No, it’s about the space between people, the subtle commonalities and differences of culture. It’s about combining the Japanese you’ve learned with the English your students have learned to say what you really mean. It’s about the best loss you’ve ever suffered. It’s about biting into the saltiest fruit you’ve ever tasted and smiling until you swallow.

Like Jeff Goldbloom, only more annoying.

As I already knew from a handful of trips to Taiwan, the bugs out East are bad. Bad to their bone-like exoskeletons. On one of my first days in the office, a large praying mantis appeared from behind my computer. I left my desk, hoping that patience would send her non-secular, spousicidal claws home. Instead, her dead carcass rested atop my monitor stand the following day, withered yet still terrifying. The winter months seemed to keep the bugs at bay, but here we are now. It's June. Sure, there are region-specific critters such as mukade (I'll leave the Google imaging up to you), but the real scare for me comes from fellers I thought I knew. Like a common house fly.

The other night, I opened my backporch screen for five seconds to adjust some hanging laundry. In, umm, flew a fly. As I would come to realize over the course of the next hour, this was no ordinary fly. I grabbed the thick JET Program manual from my desk. The problem was that I could no longer see the fly. But I could definitely hear it. Loud. The Doppler shift was in full effect as it came toward me and away from me. Toward me and away from me. It was going in a circle. After a few more pathetic swipes in the air, I thought about that saying: "Like a moth to a flame." Japanese lightbulbs are shaped like rings. I opened my screen door and turned off the light. Phew. The buzzing was gone. I closed my screen door and flicked on my light. The fly was back, buzzing and flying in that crazy circle. I repeated the whole process. Door open, light off = fly gone. Door closed, light on = crazy circle. And again. And again. And then I saw it. Him. He that is larger than acceptable must be personified. More swipes in the air. I switched to the lighter, more flexible kerosene heater manual. Rolled it up.

I'm not gonna lie. Things got messy. I cursed. I threw the manual. This was the largest, fastest, smartest fly I had ever encountered. I tried to let him go. I sat in the dark. Defeated.

I like to think that I'm not an animal. I like the taste of meat, but I run from a fight. I can protect myself, but I'm not peeing to mark territory. So when I say I felt bloodlust after landing the deathblow, don't be alarmed. I am a reasonable man. He should have known when to fly away.

I can see clearly now. Sort of.

With two months left before I return to the States, it might be a good time to reflect on what I've learned in the realm of teaching. There are no hard/fast rules for success, but maybe that's a rule right there. Some of the best students can have days where they'll put their heads down and sleep to avoid answering "Do you want money?" while I hold open a briefcase full of unmarked, sequential yens in front of their faces. On other days, students who normally give me the death stare if I even glance in their direction will say something along the lines of, "Good day, Mr. Lo. Is that a Brooks Brothers button-down that you're sporting today? Aren't you quite the fanciful character?!" The point is that some things work, many things don't, and the best you can do is get better at making uneducated guesses. I think that made sense. Here's a list of things that have a high probability of inciting interest and/or laughter.

-Mimic student actions
If a kid in the back of the room is, for some reason, pumping his arms like a looney, ambidextrous train conductor, do the same thing. He will laugh and then suddenly become very self-conscious.

-Change the volume of your voice
If you normally talk like this, try talking like this! This worked wonders during a game of review Jeopardy whenever I would announce the discovery of a "Typhoon!" (the equivalent of a Daily Double). Throw in a Tiger Woods fist pump for added laughs.

-Certain English words are better than others
If you say "date," everyone will look around trying to figure out what you just said. "Did he say date? He went on a date!? He's asking me out? We must know!" There's a collective sigh if you are merely asking for today's date.

-Name names
Lucky for me, there is a general assumption that ALTs will not be able to learn names. I teach roughly 500 students between two schools, and they all changed when the new year started in April. Still, a handful somehow slip into this mass inside my skull. The other day, I called on Ms. Saito, and her neck nearly spun around owl/Exorcist style. "Who is Ms. Saito? Is that me? I'm raising my hand, but did he call on me? Is he asking me out on a date? I must know!"

Continuing with the theme of reflecting, having the end in sight has turned me into a sponge of introspection. Everything reminds me of something (like the current smell of summer taking me back to my first days in Japan) and nothing means nothing (I mailed an international letter AND got my tire pressure checked in the same day! I am Superman!). Here are some things that I won't forget:

In my first 3rd year elective class of the new year, a student started rattling off to my co-teacher after seeing me. She turned and translated: "He said he often sees you standing outside a convenience store in Kofu around midnight." She paused. "Bad boy." He then pointed at me and said "Bad boy."

We had an international day a few weeks back where about 18 JETs visited a small school with only 36 students to get them more interested in English. I told one of my classes about the day, and one student mentioned how scared he'd be with the ratio of foreigners to Japanese being 2:1. My co-teacher countered by asking if he thought foreigners were attractive. There was a minute of murmuring/sidebar-ing/Algonquin table-ing with other students before he answered. Some of the class thought so, but he was certain he'd still be scared.

I've mentioned having "rappers" in my class before, and I was sad to not be teaching a particular one after the school year ended. He saw me the other day in the hallway, and before even saying hello, he started moving his arms around and rapping "Business" by Eminem and then pointing at himself as if to say, "Remember me? I'm the guy who raps in class! You like when I rap." I said, "Oh! Eminem is at Norin HS?" He laughed it up. Then he went to class.

That's my name in bones.

All that glitters is golden week.

I went to Yokohama for Golden Week. Golden Week is three consecutive national holidays. I did not know three days equaled a week.

Yokohama, from what I've seen, is the most international city in Japan. When I say international, I mean that I can have fried chicken one night and then fajitas the next. Yokohama is very international, like the food court at the mall.

Near Yokohama is Kamakura, home to Japan's largest outdoor Buddha. We, along with what seemed like all of India and Japan, took the same train to get there. This hurt my personal space and lungs. The Buddha was large, but not as large as I expected. Seth took photos of people taking photos of it. We saw white people and wondered if they were or were not JETs.

We took the Sealine (train over water) to a man-made island. There was a dog petting zoo. On the second floor, there was a cat petting zoo. The aquarium had 100,000 types of fish, but we didn't see any types of fish. We didn't go into the aquarium.

We stayed at the Hostel Village. Hostel is a funny word to me because it sounds like hostile. Different things can be hostile, like two homeless men fighting over a computer motherboard with wires hanging out from it. Hostile is the suspicious abundance of one-armed men who look as if they would like to take your arm so that they have two and you have one. Hostile is a man pointing, gibbering, then yelling "Sayonara" at you.

Other funny things happened. Here they are:

1. Lauren accidentally put 100 USD on her Denny's card. She may or may not have sold this card to a Denny's waiter to fix the problem.
2. Seth went to Yokohama just to see "Iron Man." It's not out anywhere in Japan.
3. We ate at TGI Friday's. Twice.
4. We spent over 100 USD at TGI Friday's. Once.
5. We encountered tax and tip for the first time in Japan.
6. Seth had water in his gimlet.
7. Seth's staircase was blocked by a mattress.
8. We saw "New York Style" bagels on the train. We asked the woman where they came from. The woman NEXT to her (who she didn't know) walked us all the way to the bagel shop.
9. A U.S. Navy man spent a full ten minutes giving us directions. We didn't find what we were looking for. He should have walked us there.

If you hate the taste of wine...

Kevin: "Before I came to Japan, I was a journalist." *Holds up Magnet with Conor Oberst on the cover* "Does anyone know what 'journalist' means?"
Student: "You were a model?"

A letter to Bill Simmons

Hi Bill,

Greetings from Japan! When you miss a game live, what are the greatest lengths you've ever gone to in order to avoid finding out the score? Here is how I watched the NCAA final "live" from Japan (13 hours ahead of EST).

1. All day at work, I read no news sites.
2. At lunch, I ate hunched down at my desk so that I would not accidentally catch a highlight on the staffroom TV.
3. I judged all e-mails by their sender, opening them only if there was no chance the person would reveal the winner.
4. I pre-emptively sent out e-mails to friends warning them not to tell me the score.

When I got home from work, I remembered the terrible layout of NCAA.com (from watching the rest of the tournament). I'd have to click on a few different links to get to the actual game. To top it off, the final score would be displayed under the PLAY button. So I took off my glasses. I typed NCAA.com into my browser, removed my glasses, and hit enter. Remembering the layout of the site, I half-squinted and clicked a few times until the game popped up. I then resized the window so that only the video would be showing, since the site insists on displaying the score at the bottom of the page. I am not positive, but this may be the first time in history that being blind has helped a sports fan.

Is "business" two syllables or three?

Hot-sensei, gym clothes
Today, a business suit
Now, Hot Hot-sensei

At least I didn't *think* I was turning Japanese.

As the new school year begins, my status as a fake Nihonjin has paved the way for some wonderful moments.

1. As I watched a soccer game after school, the new 1st years on the bench spoke to me in Japanese. "He's not Japanese," said a 2nd year student (in Japanese). "REALLY?! WHAA?" (in Japanese). Then they tried to sub me into the game.

2. Before the opening ceremony started, a 1st year student needed, from what I now gather, to know where to put his shoes. On his very first day of high school, he nervously looked around for a lifeline. Squeaky and half out of breath, he asked the Japanese teacher wearing a suit what to do with his shoes. This Japanese teacher was me, who obviously (in his mind) thought it would be hilarious to give the new kid a hard time and say, "Sorry, I understand just a little Japanese." He stood there crestfallen and blank-faced while I pointed to another teacher for help. I then introduced myself and extended my arm for a handshake. He was possibly still in disbelief or thinking I pranked him, for his handshake was more akin to a tender squeeze of my fingers. Cheer up, kid. Not everyone in high school is a jerk like me.

Nara, Japan

Photo Credit: Lauren Cox

They are all me.

I walked into class the other day. This was on the blackboard. There were a few other, umm, depictions that involved gender reassignment and a lack of clothing, but they were not photographed. The kids laughed for five minutes.

Find your power animal. Slide!

I guess I learned how to snowboard this weekend. I'd like to say it's easier than it looks (to brag) or that it's harder than it looks (to compensate), but no, it's just as hard as it looks. It's sliding down a mountain with a plank strapped to your feet.

This weekend was the annual Nagano ski and snowboarding trip, and the English teachers of Yamanashi made an exodus for the mountains of Hakuba. The caravan began in Kofu, reaching the Lady Diana and St. George hotel around 23:00.

On the way, we encountered the strangest of oasii [sic], a rest area with not only soap but warm water for washing hands. I have been holding off on mentioning what I will now mention, but Japan is a big proponent of the 'grin and bear it' theory. Houses are built with no insulation or central heat, but you grin and bear it and turn on your kerosene heater. The kerosene fumes can be toxic without the proper ventilation, so you must keep your windows open while the heater is on. In most sinks, the water is whatever the temperature the pipes are, so you wash your freezing hands and face with freezing water. The availability of soap can vary from place to place, but it's not uncommon to do your business, freeze your dis-disinfected hands, then have no way to dry them. Shake, shake, shake. Wipe on pants.

Sometimes you get to combine the 'grin and bear it' theory with the 'we are all suffering theory,' meaning a room full of teachers with cold bento lunches will eat their food cold rather than go through the inconvenience and red tape of every single teacher taking a turn with the microwave. At least we have soap in our bathrooms.

Back to Nagano. The great thing about these big events is that they often bring people out of the wood or mountainworks. The prefecture is filled with lovely people, yet you don't always see them for various reasons. Nancy and Jessica, for example, invite each other over to their respective homes in Fujiyoshida and sit in the same room on their computers typing 'lol's and 'omg's to each other over the internet. That's what you do, right?

I often joke with Charlotte that she is overly concerned, obsessed even, with the things that I do. After I had sarcastically boasted of my snowboarding prowess (before even seeing a snowboard), she proceeded to draw a picture of me upside down in the snow while vomiting peas, of all things. Other people seemed to be really concerned with my attire for the night, as Seth immediately yelled "What are you wearing?!" when I removed my coat. Lee asked if I had "come directly from work," before the argument arose of whether my sweater looked more Cosby or Mr. Roger's. My shrinking self-esteem put me right to sleep.

I picked up my rental gear the next morning. My snowboard had a picture of a clown on the front and a picture of JESUS on the back. With him on my side, I was ready to hit the slopes. And hit them I did, falling backward, falling forward, spinning and then falling. I never managed to land completely upside down (as Charlotte had foretold), but snow, once a pillowy paradise, quickly turned into father winter's comedy of errors. But I learned... to fall less and less until there was more and more actual snowboarding.

Halfway down the mountain was a bar serving mulled wine and meat pies. Mmm, "m" words. In the late afternoon, Sachi and Kim played their guitars there while singing. This is known as a concert, gig, or show. The after-party reached a peak when we locked the Aussie bartender out of his own bar and took pictures behind the counter. It was no coincidence we were asked to leave shortly afterward. He was cool about it, though. No worries.

Tokyo: Day 3

If your knowledge of sumo wrestling is limited to repeatedly hitting the punch button until Edmund Honda performed his hundred hand slap, you might have the wrong idea. The match would have been over by then. And I wasn't expecting hadoukens or shoryukens, but these guys are done in seconds. So if you do a little math and I tell you that I watched six hours of sumo wrestling, a lot went down. A lot more than flesh into clay.

As is the case with many things Japanese, sumo involves a lot of custom and class division. You can't wear your hair a certain way until you've earned it. If you win a match, you kind of squat in the ring for a few seconds while the loser leaves the arena. There are also time limits that extend as the higher ranks fight. These time limits are used to squat and look at your opponent before you decide to get back up and throw salt into the ring. You repeat this routine any number of times before the two wrestlers decide they're ready. Also, the ring is a lot smaller than expected (4.55 meters in diameter), so you end up with the NBA blueprint: Huge men in tiny places.

There are six two-week tournaments a year, but this one was special because it marked the return of Asashoryu, the grand champion yokozuna from Mongolia who feigned injury in order to return to his homeland. There, he was caught playing soccer (!) on his "bum" leg. A grand champion sumo wrestler playing soccer? I can't think of a joke.

Asashoryu, of course, would wrestle in the final match of the day. The posturing and intimidation period ran quite long for this bout, so lots of salt was thrown. My boy Asa went for a head/neck grab of sorts, but failed and somehow got turned around. If I learned anything in the six hours, I'd say "turning around" is not a good idea. Asashoryu was promptly SHOVED from the ring face first into the surrounding clay. He may have landed on a judge, but I couldn't quite see over the flood of red seat cushions that went flying into the ring. This is what you do when a yokozuna loses. It is said that sumo wrestlers resemble giant babies. I will not argue with what is said. Mr. A looked stunned and crestfallen as if he had just poopied his pants. Poor Asa. I wonder if he later cried into his bowl of chanko.

Tokyo: Day 2

Back in the States, I love browsing bookstores without actually buying anything. It's not as fun when you can't read any of the book jackets, so I was looking forward to visiting the well-known English bookstore in Shinjuku. Though the selection was dominated by Stephen King and Dean Koontz novels, I did pick up the latest John Irving and Douglas Coupland works. I will read these at my desk extra obviously when salesmen approach me with better cell phone and insurance plans. It's much easier than confounding them with my inability to speak Japanese. Sometimes I even surround myself in a little fort made of a few dictionaries and the "Japanese for JETs" book. Not to mention (though I will mention) that the "Japanese salesman" is already an enigmatic figure because his societal and fiscal obligations are at odds. He must sell things while being as apologetic, sincere, and non-pushy as possible. Looking up from my desk could cause him to approach, but it's worth seeing some of the lowest, longest bows I've found in Japan. The bow seems to say, "I'm incredibly sorry that I'm bothering you at work, but if you buy these encyclopedias I can feed my daughter and wife, but don't buy them because I need the money, only buy them if you really want them, but it'd be great if you wanted them because I could really use the money for the food I mentioned earlier. Help."

After the bookstore, we went to find lunch. I'm not the least ashamed to say we went to Wendy's. We went to Wendy's. We went to Wendy's. I loved it.

Next was the Asakusa area of Tokyo, where there's a few temples and random items of amusement. People threw coins over masses of other people into a square area for good luck. Lauren, who came up Sunday morning, shook a large metal cylinder until it dropped a stick with a fortune wrapped around it. And unless they translated the Japanese incorrectly, I think 2008 is gonna be her year.

Afterward, we went back to Shinjuku for one of the few touristy things I am genuinely happy about doing. We went to the New York Bar at the Park Hyatt, the same bar where a certain Mr. Murray met a certain Miss Johannson for the first time in a certain movie that may have inspired the naming of this weblog. We were seated by the window (a ridonculous view of Tokyo), but I kept looking over my shoulder to the bar stools where they sat. And since we had to take two different elevators to get to the bar in the first place, we made up for it with a 45,000 dollar bar tab. Ok, it was yen. Semantics.

It was Seth's birthday, so we headed to a famous jazz club called DUG where Coltrane and Davis have played. That's Jim Coltrane and John Davis, but who cares? Semantics. For such a famous jazz club, there wasn't live music on Sunday, so we went to another jazz club that... didn't have live music.

Regardless, we stayed. We put Stevie Wonder's "Happy Birthday" on the jukebox.

Tokyo: Day 1

Two Mondays ago was a national holiday known as "Coming of Age Day." All twenty-year-olds were supposed to celebrate the transition into adulthood. I've apparently been an adult for almost five years now without even knowing it, so I went into Tokyo for the weekend to find out what grownups do.

First stop was the Tsukijishijo fish market where you can get the rawest of raw fish since it's pulled right out of the water each morning. Many adults get there early enough to sample the fresh catch (before 7 a.m.), but Dave, Charlotte, and I arrived around 4 p.m.

We snaked down an alley to find men and women peddling their sushi wares. And since sushi pretty much all looks the same on paper (or blown-up poster), we walked into the first restaurant on our right.

In hindsight I regret the experience, as I'll never be able to eat other sushi again. It was that good. The seared albacore was a prize; its blowtorched body melted like butter.

After sushi, the three of us met Amy from college in Ginza. We went to the Sony Showroom, about six floors of the newest Sony gear all there for public handling. They had two new products I had recently read about: the Rolly, an mp3 player shaped like a small football that lights up and dances based on the tune. It's the perfect $400 party favor that will surely disappear shortly after its debut! You increase or decrease the volume by spinning the device clockwise and counterclockwise, and you skip tracks by pushing the Rolly forward or backward. It shook its "hips" during "Livin' La Vida Loca."

"Look, Amy! It's a Ricky Martin robot! Remember Ricky Martin? He's back... in robot form."

The other fancy item was the newest in TV technology. Not that this means anything to anyone, but apparently the best TVs now have a 20,000:1 contrast ratio. This little badboy has a 1,000,000:1 ratio. It made real life look like VHS. Too bad the largest screen they can make right now is 11 inches, and that guy will cost you $2000.

On our search for dinner, we wandered down an alley of aroma in Roppongi. A man attempted to lure us into his restaurant with promises of a warm place to stay and relax. He KEPT saying how warm it was and how relaxing it would be, so I began the question the validity of the statement. I pictured a place with no heat where we would be under a lot of pressure for some reason.

We walked away from this man only to come across two signs offering intriguing options. One sign had a Jack-o-lantern picture and the words "Horror Dining" in spooky lettering. I'd heard of ninja restaurants and prisoner restaurants, but never a horror restaurant. Do you eat scary food? Or are you frightened while eating regular food? The second sign read "Fetish Bar" and had two pixie-ish creatures surrounding the words. Chotto matte kudasai! How did you know that my favorite thing to do is walk away from a man offering a warm place to eat and relax with exactly three friends before looking at two strange signs and then drinking at a bar surrounded by exactly two women who resemble faeries? I love doing that. And do you like red herring? Because we didn't go into either of those places.

Instead, we had Thai food on the 13th floor of a building. Amy, who had recently returned from a month stay in Thailand, attested to the authenticity, and I, who enjoy eating, attested to the deliciousness of the chicken curry. The bathroom wall was a full pane of glass, so people could see right in there if they so desired. Was the fetish bar across the street looking in?

Anyway, here is where we slept. It's a capsule hostel.



Stay tuned for write-ups of day 2 and 3. The third day may or may not include this.

"We the dope boys of the year, drinks is on the house."

I never wrote about my 24 hours of fame, so I'll do that now. Here. I will combine the twenty-six agreed upon drawings in order to tell you how I feel. This way, you can access my thoughts from a box that sits in your home. You're doing it right now. I can see you, %n.

At the end of November, the teachers of Nirasaki Technical played Nirasaki High in its annual rivalry soccer match. "Your kids might be smarter than ours, but let's see who can kick a sphere into a rectangle! With your feet!"

Like most things in Japan, the game started exactly as scheduled (16:45), so I missed the beginning due to working at Norin that day. When I arrived, a fellow teacher took off his jersey and handed it over. He gave me the shirt off his back. I warmed up and stretched, but I wouldn't be going in until the second half.

We were down 1-0 at halftime due to a blown call by the referee, one of our own students! He signaled for a free kick as a result of a defender passing the ball back to our keeper who allegedly handled it with his handlers. But he didn't! He crouched down to pick the ball up before he remembered the rule and backed away! I was flipping out on the sideline while everyone else was passively accepting the call. This is no time to be Japanese, Japan. Think of the stakes. Does Nirasaki High deserve the kids who perform better on standardized tests and the teachers who perform better at organized sports?

The momentum shifted in the second half after I scored the equalizer. The soccer team's assistant coach played a nice through ball that I cut across the keeper's body before slotting it into the open net. The crowd went wildish. I was lifted into the air by teachers I had shared only a handful of words with.

"Nice shoot," they said.

Ignored tense confusion, I did.

Actually, "nice shoot" is just one of many mistranslated phrases that have entered the Japanese vernacular. It's the same reason people say "see you" rather than "see ya" or "see ya later." (Trust me, it's quite jarring when you hear it.)

We possessed the ball for much of the second half, but we couldn't score another goal. Which is why we went into the penalty shootout. This being Japan, the penalty shootout would more closely resemble a row of five women from each school lining up to play rock, papers, scissors. By closely resemble, I mean this is exactly what happened. We lost the first round. We lost the second round. We lost three rounds in a row.

But there's always the after party.

Teachers from both schools caravan'd to a local izakaya, and we kampai'd for the occasion.

Several dishes were set before us, including a fried appetizer described as kaki aka persimmons. I bit into it expecting refreshing fruit only to get oyster. Ah, yes. Kaki can mean either.

I have mentioned this before, but it is uncustomary to refill your own glass in Japan. This is code for: If you're a foreignor, you will never see the bottom of your cup because teachers and principals who rarely ever say a single word to you will constantly come over saying "nice shoot," pour you more beer, produce English that has never been heard before, give you food, call you a friend, say they like you, ask you if you're married, ask you to stay another two years, be really surprised that you like sushi, make you take your glasses off and hand them to a fellow teacher because apparently there has been an inside joke for several months that you look exactly like this guy, only he wears crisp suits to work while you wear sweaters over your wrinkled dress shirts to avoid having to iron them and he doesn't wear glasses so you should let him try yours on so that everyone can laugh at how similar you two look.

The next day at school, several students who watched the game approached me to say "nice shoot." I appreciated the sentiment, but a bitter taste lingered in my mouth because of both the bad free kick call and the whole deciding-the-game-by-rock-paper-scissors thing. I stared at my supposed twin and decided that he doesn't really look like me. He doesn't even wear glasses.