Lo In Translation

Answers from a trivia quiz

2008-07-09T17:12:00.002+09:00

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.

2008-06-24T00:02:00.003+09:00

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

2008-06-10T09:23:00.002+09:00

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.

2008-06-03T08:57:00.006+09:00

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.

2008-05-27T08:42:00.002+09:00

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.

2008-05-10T18:15:00.003+09:00

All that glitters is golden week.

2008-05-08T14:36:00.005+09:00

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...

2008-04-24T19:01:00.002+09:00

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

2008-04-17T10:11:00.002+09:00

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?

2008-04-11T17:27:00.002+09:00

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

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

2008-04-10T09:05:00.003+09:00

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

2008-04-03T22:41:00.001+09:00

Photo Credit: Lauren Cox

They are all me.

2008-03-06T22:19:00.003+09:00

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!

2008-01-24T14:45:00.000+09:00

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

2008-01-24T10:30:00.000+09:00

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

2008-01-22T21:00:00.000+09:00

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

2008-01-16T18:28:00.001+09:00

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."

2008-01-15T20:21:00.000+09:00

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.

Say anything.

2007-12-13T15:43:00.000+09:00

In Japan, there's a narrow lexicon of phrases that are used ad nauseam. Before you eat, you say itadakimasu. In the morning, it's always oyaho gozaimasu. Around 11, the greeting switches to konnichiwa, and then to konbanwa around 5. You say atsui desu ne (it's hot, isn't it?) until winter, then samui desu ne (it's cold, isn't it?) until summer. It's a rare event when someone veers from the script, and this strict adherance to social norms makes teaching English in Japan an interesting task. To learn the English language, in many local opinions, is to memorize what you should say in each context.

So it's not surprising to hear "i'mfinethankyouandyou?" when you ask how someone is doing.

And it's not a shock to Japanese English teachers that this is a problem.

I just love how one of my co-teachers addresses the issue.

Me: How are you today?
Teacher: Oh, Kevin. Terrible, terrible.
Me: What's wrong?
Teacher: The students here... they're crazy.

There's a lot of heavy sighing, yet he smiles throughout the whole conversation.

I almost spilled my ramen after this exchange on Tuesday.

Me: How are you today?
Teacher: Terrible, terrible. Kevin, yesterday I took the day off. I went to the park with my two-year-old daughter. It was heaven. *pause* This is hell.

The best part of the whole situation is that I genuinely think he likes his job. He's always in a good mood, and he's super enthusiastic in class. Then again, sometimes he plays this game of chicken in the teachers' room to see if I will tell him it's time for our class together. I kind of stand next to his desk until he turns with this look of astonishment. "Us... now?" *Rolls up sleeve to look at watch.*

I am sorry. I'll try not to make the lesson terrible.

Boys will be boys.

2007-12-08T15:18:00.000+09:00

In the spirit of globalization, a few of my students' English vocabulary is entirely limited to what they hear in American rap songs. These students might produce a blank stare if I ask them what time it is, but they can recite the entire Marshall Mathers LP. I've literally had a conversation that went like this:

Student: "Jay-Z?"
Me: "Yeah, he's good!"
Student: "Tupac?"
Me: "Yeah, I like him too."
Student: "Eminem?"
Me: "He's also good."
*Student walks away smiling with his thumbs up.*

The other day, a student and I left school at the same time. I was a little ahead of him on a bike, and I heard from behind, "Hi, my name is... What, my name is... Who, my name is... zicka zicka zicka Kevin!"

Sometimes this same student brings his rap game into the classroom, which consists of him yelling random, expletive-filled rap lyrics at unsuspecting students. It'd seem violent if he weren't quoting.

To top it off, he'll occasionally type a naughty word into his Japanese-English speaking dictionary and have it recite the word throughout class. I sort of died inside when I confiscated it from his mischievous hands.

But sometimes these kids with their hippity hop can save the day. A few weeks ago I was having trouble getting a class started. It was the last class of the day, and the kids were hyper. One student, in all the ruckus, yelled, "Shut the f*** up!" They did.

I'm not here. This isn't happening.

2007-12-07T20:17:00.000+09:00

I have a third year elective class that I see once a week. It's made up of eight girls and one guy, and I get to try lessons that wouldn't fly with, say, thirty first years. This past week I split them into two groups and had them write a story in twenty-six sentences. The first sentence had to begin with A, the second one with B, and so on and so on. I did this myself back in the seventh grade, and our group's story involved Jack (of Jack and the Beanstalk fame) escaping the giant's grasps while golden toilet paper spindled from the roll.

On Wednesday, this was the sentence when we reached the letter K:
"Kevin is crazy."

This was followed by:
"Look at his hair!"

As a pair, the sentences are funny. Coupled with events that occurred just the previous week, well, you decide.

As a primer, here is some personal information about my grooming habits. Sometimes I shower at night and sometimes I shower in the morning. If I shower at night, I spend the next morning trying to flatten my Van de Graff-ed hair. If I shower in the morning, I spend the post-shower period trying to, umm, volumize? But on this one particular day a week before the A-B-C stories, I had clearly failed to flatten.

A co-teacher greeted me in the morning with a smile. She then made a "pointy" motion with both her hands and said, "Your hair!"

In first period, I tried to make small talk with a student who had shaved his head since last I saw him. He misunderstood my comments and thought I was talking about my own hair. He spoke Japanese to my co-teacher, who then looked at me and said, "He wants to know what happened to your hair." Now, let's pause to think about how insane I must have looked to these people in a country where this is normal. And now we continue. For the rest of the class, something was different. I may not understand Japanese, but I understand students 1) pointing at me, 2) waving their hands above their heads, 3) looking around at other students, 4) laughing, 5) trying to cover their laughter with the hands that were just above their heads.

I had a break in second period, so I went to the bathroom. After a few minutes of dousing my head with water, I remembered another thing about Japan. There are no paper towels/napkins here. So, like any normal human, I scurried to a place where I could hide while my hair dried without the aid of processed trees. The only place with privacy happened to be the copy machine room, so I stood around dripping wet pretending to copy the invisible papers in my hands. A few awkward minutes later, I was home free.

But gossip spreads.

In third period, two girls in the back of the room were play-fighting before the bell rang. This actually happens quite frequently, but I walked to the back to see what was going on. I regret doing that. The two girls were fighting over something in one of the girl's hands. She stopped as I got closer and presented the object to me with two hands. "Present!" she said, as a plastic headband appeared before my eyes. I wish I could make this stuff up.

So how did the A-B-C story end a week later?

Apparently I use "expensive conditioner," but it's all a lie because I'm bald and wear a wig. And how can you tell?

"Zoom in."

Don't go breakin' my heart

2007-11-18T22:51:00.000+09:00

Just the other day, I noticed a student attempting to bend something back-and-forth between his fingers. On closer examination, he was trying to break the head off of a small keychain figurine. As his technique proved unsuccessful, a fellow classmate opened his pencil case to reveal an x-acto knife with a five-inch blade. This classmate then proceeded to saw the head off the toy. When he finished, he handed the decapitated body back to his friend who then gave it to me. "Present," he said.

I now possess the above pictured toy (which just happens to be a boy in a school uniform), and the gift-giver now has the boy's head dangling from his keychain. It's a lot like those BFF heart necklaces, only not at all.

Frankie Goes To Onsen

2007-11-14T16:52:00.000+09:00

Lauren deemed Saturday the kick-off to "Relaxation Weekend," so who am I to argue? The day (afternoon) started with a DS party, which is a very social way to describe a very non-social activity. Lauren, Dave and I gathered in my cold-ish living room to play the recently-released Mario Party DS. Nerds can't wait two weeks for the English-language version, so nerds play the Japanese version without understanding the rules. It adds to the suspense and gives the all-ages AI an edge! In related news, it has come to my attention that my droll, sarcastic gameplay trash talk would have a place in non-existent, perfunctory pornography. As a result, I am now self-conscious when I utter gems such as "Do you like that?," "Do you like what I just did there?" and "Why am I on top? Oh, because I'm dominating." Since we partied all afternoon, we met some non-nerds for dinner at a Brazilian restaurant.

The great thing about the JET Program is that it attracts such a diverse group of people. Among the particular diners, someone or another could speak English, French, Spanish, German, Chinese and Portuguese. And when I travel with a group such as this, the nice waitress will look at me and ask if I speak Japanese. Gabe turned it around on her and asked if she spoke Portuguese. The response was something along the lines of "Beautiful!" And then the rules were explained.

1. Various meats will come to your table for a duration of 90 minutes.
2. There's rice, salad, soup, etc. at the bar area. Help yourself.
3. The price for hombres is 2000 yen. The price for mujeres is 1500 yen. Sexist? Probably. Care? Care not.

I put a stop to the delicious tried-and-true pairing of meat and rice so that I could save room for more meat. Each selection tasted as if it had revolved and marinated on skewers for half a day, which is likely exactly what happened. By the end, there was really no other option but to veg-out at an onsen.

The onsen was located on the fifth floor of Hotel Crest. Like many establishments in Japan, you cannot pay the nice ladies standing directly under the large CASHIER banner. Instead, you must put money into a nearby vending machine and then hand your ticket to the aforementioned non-cashiers. They'll ask if you have your own towel. At this point, I will yada yada over the details of what goes on inside the onsen because it's really just a bunch of naked men sitting in hot water. There are different temperature pools to appease your nuanced desires. There is also a sauna room where men watch women's volleyball on TV, and I went in mainly so I could use the line "It's like a sauna in here."

The next day, I told Lauren I used the Seinfeld quote in the sauna. "Which one? 'They're real and they're spectacular'?" No. Because that would've been weird.

Can I dress you up in my love?

2007-11-07T16:48:00.000+09:00

This past Saturday was Morgan's third annual Halloween party in Kunado. This is my first Halloween in Japan, but I'll just trust that the event took place in the two preceding years. I picked up Lauren aka Marty McFly at her abode, then swung around to Ryuo station to get Dave the Devil and Charlotte the Cat. As strange as it may sound coming from a country where Cosplay is common, Halloween is not celebrated here. Thus, the costume selection at stores tends to revolve around various animals. That's not to say it isn't funny to see a herd of them standing around on a tatami mat. But back to the drive at hand.

After a bit of backtracking and possibly scaring a fellow driver by following him/her down a narrow side street at an awkward looking-for-a-place pace, we reached a crossroads. By crossroads, I mean Cha wanted to eat at McDonalds' while the rest of us wanted KFC, where we'd never gone before. Majority ruled, but the chicken did not. I put into question the availability of all 11 herbs and spices. But the biggest disappointment was the non-existence of mashed potatoes, gravy and biscuits I am so accustomed to. KFC without gravy is like beer without alcohol. Why would you do that?

Now onto what my four and a half readers have been waiting for: the party points of interest.

1. A car pulled up while Dave and I were changing into our costumes up the street from Morgan's house. Fortunately, Dave had just enough Japanese prowess to explain why his pants were down and I had blood all over my arms.

2. People kept calling me Owen Wilson even though I went as Luke Wilson from The Royal Tenenbaums. They said it was tactless and too soon to be making wrist cutting jokes. But riddle me this. Why would the actor Owen Wilson dress up as a 70s tennis star wearing one sock?

3. Jake won the fictional best costume award by showing up as Quailman from Doug. I take some credit for supplying him with the BVDs that I originally bought with the intention of doing this.

4. Lauren carried a picture of Michael J. Fox the whole night to validate her costume. "Look, guys! I... I'm wearing his exact outfit from the movie! Guys?... Guys?" *Tumbleweed.*

5. Bex wore a costume called toilet paper man, but she really looked like the Noid. Remember the Noid? Avoid him!

6. The brim of the party cups were noticeably prominent. I made sure each person was aware of this.

After all the partying, I'm still left with one question. Did anyone know it was Nick's birthday?

Amy hit the atmosphere

2007-11-02T17:04:00.000+09:00

A few weeks ago, Amy from college visited. She teaches English in Tokyo, and she was looking for an escape from the city lights. It reminded me a lot of Kurt Russell in Escape From New York, only I've never seen the movie and don't know what I'm talking about. We did go to a pub quiz in Otsuki.

Now here's the thing about trivia. People think I am good at trivia. Is it the glasses? The two years spent working in the music industry? I am not good at trivia. But I did own the one round devoted to identifying album covers by name and artist. Licensed To Ill? Why not? We finished in third place and took home an assortment of fireworks. (The "Russian Cracker" firework might be the first instance where removing "fire" makes something more dangerous.) I won a block puzzle which now rests on my kotatsu. I see it staying there for a while.

On the train back west, a large man lit a sparkler. People did not like this. When we exited the train, someone kicked her shoes onto the tracks. It was funny. It was funnier when she followed the train station attendant and repeatedly bowed to him as they walked. It's exactly what the Japanese would do, other than the whole kicking-the-shoes-onto-the-train-tracks -in-the-first-place part.

On Sunday we made mashed potatoes. We made them for both lunch and dinner, as per a craving conversation from the night before. I am currently compiling a list of things to do when I return to America. On a sublist of that list is restaurants or foods that I miss. It is a long sublist. When I return to America, I will eat fatty, delicious American food for several weeks. Who is with me?

I didn't think my cravings were too bad until I saw this online and actually wanted it. (Thank you, John Carroll, for that.) Not that I can't get McDonald's here. But I go at least once a week to treat myself. And I know what you're thinking. But no, it's not what you're thinking. It's not amazing sushi for every meal. It's not geisha serving me green tea ice cream. It's corn and mayonnaise... pizza.

A low-quality video is worth 30 pictures a second.

2007-10-14T21:33:00.000+09:00

Nirasaki School Festival this past weekend. Proper write-up should appear tomorrow. Here are two teaser trailers:

He's so intent on wiggling the arms!

There's just enough cowbell.

I already used that festivus quote.

2007-10-10T20:37:00.000+09:00

An Irish guy in a samurai suit? It's a little too Heroes (season two, chapter I) for my taste. So blame Dave for being a walking, Japan-flag wielding NBC cliche. And it doesn't take a Japanese history major to notice that his hat is totally pre-Shingen. Wee-ooo, wee-ooo, wee-ooo. Here comes the anachronism police!

Sunday in Nirasaki, muskets were fired. How else do you celebrate the homecoming of Takeda Shingen's son? The musket men (musketeers?) were surrounded by a few policemen standing in a rectangle with rope stretched taut around their behinds. They moved as the procession processed. A dog yelped after each shot. (Speaking of dogs, Lauren mentioned never seeing a mutt in the two months we've been in Japan. I'd agree. Either there are some serious breeding/spading/neutering requirements in this country or Bob Barker is a god here. Neither would surprise me.)

Some highlights:

An old man cut me in the snowcone line to buy snowcones for his grandchildren. Ethicist, what say you?

Seth bought a frozen, chocolate-covered banana only to discover the banana was room-temperature and the chocolate was some sort of waxy, choco-substitute. I'd buy him four more just to hear him complain.

Even at festivals where people are constantly buying crap, there's still no trash cans! Double you tee eff.

Lauren bought a crepe the size and shape of the Olympic torch. The "fire" was whipped cream! Remember Whatizit aka Izzy? Double you izit!

The largest spider I've ever seen (outside of a zoo) was spinning a web between trees that were about six feet apart. I do not have a picture of this. I will never have a picture of this. I cannot sleep because of this.

I bet you think this post is about you, don't you?

2007-10-10T18:51:00.000+09:00

What follows might only appeal to two people who read this blog. One of them is Jon Levin and the other one does not read this blog.

This is the Japanese translation of "Favorite Song," a song we wrote together in college. It's Jon's favorite song of ours. I find the lyrics (my own) a tad trite, though when translated into Japanese, it will cause a high school senior to cover her face and shriek in fake (I hope) pain. I think it was a good thing.

Now the idea of spending an entire class period translating one of my own songs into Japanese could come off as egotistical. I will counter this argument by pointing out that you are reading a website entirely about ME. I am full of it. That's not new. In fact, this lesson only came about because a student asked to translate the song after hearing it during my (required) self-introduction speech. Ergo ego. (That last phrase doesn't make any sense, but I like the sound of it. I might go as far as saying it's my, umm, favorite sound.) Oh! Schnap! He did not! But he did. He definitely did.

soccer boppers, soccer boppers!

2007-10-03T17:25:00.000+09:00

On the last weekend of September, the JETs from Yamanashi steered a five-car caravan to Athens in pursuit of Olympic Gold. And by Olympic Gold, I mean a case of beer and a trophy. And pride. And by Athens, I mean Nagano.

It started with a road block. Sachi's Nissan Laurel was resting (<-- get it? huh? huh?!) too long in front of Shereena's, and the delayed pickup disturbed a man in a home. He called the police. If foreignors gather in a parking lot in Japan, does anyone hear? Yes.

About an hour later, the group was an hour late to meet Dave, Charlotte, Chris, Kelly, and Kevin at a Chinese restaurant in Anayama. The on-time birds ate fried rice and gyoza and freaked out kids with the color of their skin. The irony of Kevin not having anyone to speak Chinese to in a Chinese restaurant is not lost on him.

With the complete caravan finally in tow, the JETs reach Nagano after two hours, two konbini stops, a 700 yen toll, and a lot of stopping at yellow lights. It's courtesy.

They discover that Nagano is cold. Nagano is wet.

In preparation for the following day's three games, the girls team goes to sleep. In preparation for the following day's four games, the guys gather in the lobby for beers. Excitement outweighs exhaustion.

Judging by this photo (taken by Lauren Cox), I am a soccer and human giant. I clearly scored 11 goals in six games and took home the beer trophy. This picture is not from the tournament. Do not judge by it.

In fact, the only goal I scored in six games was the one I put in right before game one started, when I managed to pull my right hamstring. It bothered me all weekend. Yamanashi was far from gigantic.

It is difficult to be giant-like or even giantesque when there are teams comprised entirely of 6-foot, 200-pound Irish and English men. It is difficult to win games when your team gradually falls to injury, player by player. It is. So at the end of day one, we were 0-2-2. Second division (read: loser's bracket), here we came.

But then it was night.

I saw white people dancing.

I had packed my shoes and my cripwalk, so I did that.

The DJ played Nelly but not Nelly Furtado.

I approached a girl and called her "Cauliflower." That is the name she put in my phone.

But then it was closing time. Finish your Suntory or beer.

Sleep was splendid, and Kim tried to slide open the wall in the middle of the night to pee.

Day two was a knockout round, and the dreary Irish climate made everyone want to get knocked out early. Everyone but Irish Dave, who flourished. For Yamanashi, trying to lose means you win 4-0. Onto the semifinals (of the, cough, non-winner's bracket).

We faced Saitama, who tied us in the last minute of a game yesterday. This time they beat us in the last minute. *Shakes fist to the northeast.* You are the Murdoch to our MacGuyver, Saitama-san.

The best cure for the soggy, cold blues? A plate of curry and a trip to the onsen.

In other news, the girls won the whole entire tournament and Shereena broke her ankle. They beat Saitama in the final. It appears anything we can do, they can do better.

-------

Technically related to soccer:
As I was taking the down escalator exiting Kofu station, a middle-aged woman was escalating upwards. She wore a navy blue shirt with no designs, just one word across the top in white: "BALLS"

Todo sobre mi madre

2007-10-01T17:45:00.000+09:00

My mother is a fan of onomatopoeia. When your plate has food stuck to it, you must "scrabble" it clean. When things go a bit haywire or space is cramped, it is "crunky." My family loves this about her.

And here we are:

Crunky Chocolate. It tastes very much like Nestle Crunch. It's new!

It's a festivus for the rest of us.

2007-10-01T13:47:00.000+09:00

Much has happened since I last checked in. Much can happen in a Yamanashi minute.

Let's begin with Friday's school festival at Norin.

Classes were shortened each day for the past few weeks so that the students could have time to prepare. There was dancing, there was singing, and there was this:

If the picture itself does not cause a kya, kya, kya (that's how Japanese laughter is written), I will divulge a few facts. The man chasing the chicken looks EXACTLY as he does in real life. The man chasing the chicken just happens to teach farming techniques, for Norin is an agricultural school. The egg being chased by the chicken also looks EXACTLY like the teacher it portrays. Ya know, if that teacher just happened to be an egg. (This would be the perfect spot for a joke relating interoffice dynamics to the chicken-or-egg-first paradigm, but I don't really know which came first.) I do know that many more of these paintings were made, and many more of them were brilliant slash risque.

Look, the steering wheel is on the right side of the car! That is so cragy! What next? Portable telephones?

There were a few other paintings that I wanted to photograph, but an entire classroom exploded with "Kevin sensei! No!!!" when I aimed my camera. I think the artist was a tad embarrassed of the drawing, or maybe it was fear of the Patriot Act.

For the singing and dancing portion of the festival, all the students gathered in the gym. Over the course of three hours, there was karaoke and choreography. There were three songs total that I could understand. The first was Avril Lavigne's "Girlfriend," the second was Avril Lavigne's "Girlfriend," and the third was Avril Lavigne's "Girlfriend." To be fair, the third time it was actually scoring a movie showing students doing Tae Bo. Actually, that's not fair at all.

Speaking of movies, this was one day I wish I owned a digital camcorder. I'm pretty sure I witnessed the greatest air guitar performance of all time in the whole entire Earth planet. It was done by a teacher. He did backflips, leg kicks, played with his teeth, played over his head, fell all over the stage, played dead, resurrected himself, played alive, removed clothing and moved clothing around. This lasted for roughly ten minutes, and when it ended, the applause was lackluster. It was one of those Truman show moments where you look around and start yelling. Did anyone else just see that?! You rub your eyes. There are world championships for this sort of thing, and the greatest would-be champion to ever pick up an air guitar is giving the performance of his life on the small stage of an agricultural and horticultural high school in a small Japanese suburb of the prefecture's capital that's two hours outside of Tokyo. In the arrested words of Gob Bluth, "C'mon!"

At lunch time, they opened the school courtyard to allow students to sell some of their food creations. (They teach "Food Science" at Norin.) During the foodcourt smorgasbord, a band played Japanese punk-rock covers. I can't say with absolute certainty that they were covers, but the lead singer had trouble hitting all the high notes.

Next, there was this guy on the left:

Notice the towel in his back pocket. Notice the backward-turned, flat-billed, Yankees cap. Notice the Timberland shirt. He was... a really good rapper. He didn't quite carry the crowd, but this is the same crowd that yawned while the greatest air guitarist in the world left his heart on that stage. C'mon! My favorite part was when he freestyled: Japanese, Japanese, Japanese, "party people," Japanese, Japanese, Japanese, "motha fucka," Japanese, Japanese, Japanese, "West side. East side. South side. North side." I can only assume he was talking about Kyushu, Honshu, Shikoku, and Hokkaido, respectively.

Ventforet olay olay!

2007-09-26T17:01:00.000+09:00

After getting my hairs cut Saturday, I went to Kose Sports Park with Tiffany to see Ventforet battle the "bad boys" of Hiroshima. I've never witnessed a soccer game outside of the U.S., so expectations were high.

I was not disappointed. What follows is a list of cultural learnings:

1. Remember the Chicago Bulls entrance music that was catchy enough to single-handedly fuel the sale of not one but several sports music compilations called Jock Jams?

Ventforet comes out to, oh, "Pomp And Circumstance." The last time I heard that song, I was in a stadium filled with peopl... Forget it.

2. The various crowd chants are delivered to the tune of American classics such as "Copa Cabana" and, wait for it, "O Christmas Tree." I am not funny or rich enough to make this stuff up.

3. When the chanting stops, it is dead quiet. Granted this only happens for about thirty seconds every thirty minutes, but it's eerie. The next time I go to a game, I might literally drop pins to see if I can hear them. See if I can hear? What is that, synesthesia?

4. Ventforet is french for "wind forest." Why!

5. NO ONE wears anything other than team apparel. No one but Tiffany and Kevin.

6. Ventforet's mascot is a wolf. When little girls wear wolf-ear barrettes, it is cute. (Sidenote: Kawaii is cute, whereas kowai is scary. A fellow JET once made a little girl cry by confusing the two.)

7. When the concession stand runs out of yakitori, the girl behind you in line will yell "yakitori!" and then moan as if her heart has been broken. It's chicken on a stick.

8. When Kevin's stomach processes the concession stand hot dog, the concession stand hot dog will flip out and kill Kevin's stomach.

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Ventforet won the match 2-1 in the 87th minute, thanks to a goal by Alberto de Souza.

As the team circled the stadium for its victory lap, the collective chant of "Alberto!" silenced all existing pins.

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(Photos by Tiffany Minaret Sakato)

Getting cut up

2007-09-25T09:34:00.000+09:00

A man walks into a bar(ber shop). He inserts a 1,000 yen bill into a machine by the cash register. A card slides out of the machine. He grabs the shiny card and takes a seat. He does not literally "take" the seat, but he is using American slang. Bear with him. The man now notices a sign under the machine that took his 1,000 yen bill.

"Sorry, We can only serve people who speak Japanese. Once the haircut begins, we cannot change the hairstyle."

The man panics. He is very keen on changing hairstyles once they begin. He also does not speak Japanese.

He reaches into his bag for an English-Japanese dictionary. He cradles his body over it, hoping no one will notice his illegal operation. He memorizes key words: onaji (same), ue (top), katto (cut), buza de yobu (with buzzer), inchi (inch). He closes the dictionary and then opens it again, believing he has forgotten what he has tried to remember.

"They are totally on to me," he thinks to himself. He realizes he says or thinks the word "totally" a lot, and he becomes self-conscious.

One of the barbers is now available, but it seems the man has made an error. He never signed in. He understands namae, so he nervously scribbles his name down in kanji. Lo Strange Glory, indeed.

The woman hands the man a 10 yen coin, for the haircut is only 990.

The man sits down and says the words from the pocket dictionary. What is the penalty for not speaking Japanese? Just take him away now, for he will fail.

Inches? The man has been ruined by the standard system of measurement. A curse upon your stubborn house, Americatown!

Fortunately, he knows the word for "more." The barber cuts and then cuts some more.

Thirty minutes later, the man meets a friend.

"It looks the same," she says. Onaji.

Hey, wolves. Meet Kevin after I've thrown him to you.

2007-09-23T14:07:00.000+09:00

On Wednesday morning at 8:15 (fifteen minutes before school started), I felt a vibration in my left pants' pocket. I reached into said pocket to retrieve my cellular phone, the source of said vibration. I had electronic mail. My co-teacher (who I teach three classes with on Wednesdays) was letting me know that she was sick. Would I be able to teach my classes alone? Surely, you jest. This is dramatic irony of Shakesperean proportions. Where is the laugh track? Where is Ashton Kutcher? Who would play me in a sitcom? John Cho, please.

Even better, I was ready to unleash by pronunciation lesson Wednesday, one that would supremely benefit from translations for tongue and teeth placement. It's OK. I had pictograms. I had my English-Japanese dictionary. Time to consult.

With a combination of repeated hand gestures, miming, laughing, poorly pronounced Japanese (also ironic considering the topic of the lesson), I survived. Did the kids learn anything? No way to know 'til test time.

The most interesting part of the lesson was that "L" and "R" were not simply hard to distinguish, but the students consistently chose the wrong letter. Any time I said "grass," they swore it was "glass." Vice versa forever.

I also enjoyed "V" and "B" because I got to cross out "Kebin" on the board and see the look of astonishment on thirty faces. "Girls wear vests! We all want to be the best!"

On Friday, I got another go of the lesson with the co-teacher in place. Also in place were both vice principals, as Friday was evaluation day. Honestly, I think it was much more for the co-teacher than myself, and I got a kick out of the vice principals trying to say "right" and "light." Oddly, no students slept for long in this class.

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I apologize for today's sudden blog-iarrhea. Speaking of which, is there a letter arrangement more suggestive of its meaning than diarrhea? The word simply looks uncomfortable!

Verbal crutches

2007-09-23T12:50:00.000+09:00

In Japan, the verbal crutches are eto and ano. This entertains me to no end. I mean, like, umm, do Americans sound that, uh, funny when they talk?

I can picture school speech competitions where the teachers say, "OK, now try speaking for three minutes without an eto or ano."

"Ehhhhhhhhhh?"

Five, seven, five

2007-09-23T12:44:00.000+09:00

Sprinting through school halls
To deliver my bento
HELLO LUNCH? Hi, you.

Can't say they don't try

2007-09-22T11:24:00.000+09:00

As part of my days of the week lesson, I created a calendar with made-up events to test student comprehension. This consisted of me dictating sentences such as "Trash is collected every Monday and Thursday." The students were to draw a trash can on every Monday and Thursday on the calendar.

If you look here, you can see that there are no trash cans on any Monday or Thursday.

Instead, there is a sketch of me.

The best part is that the students are supposed to keep all their work in a folder in their desk. This student was apparently so proud of his depiction that he handed his work into me.

And those things on my shoulders? I was wearing a shirt with epaulets.

Party don't stop 'til (blank) in the morning.

2007-09-20T15:14:00.000+09:00

Since Monday was a national holiday, a few (or twenty) JETs gathered in Kofu on Sunday night for a bit of izakaya action. The crab croquet was croquelicious, the pizzas were too personal, and a rumor was spread around that all of Japan was out of rice. OK, maybe just the restaurant, and that wasn't even true. It just took forever for the rice to appear. The selection at izakayas is a lot like at tapas bars, so the dilemma remains. One more app or one more beer? Is that an Andrew W.K. song? And did I just reference a nobody that a lot of people know?

After the izakaya, we boarded the Chuo east for Yamanashi-shi, former home of Cindy T. Lo. A Japanese man on the train asked me (in Japanese) to tell my foreignor friends to be quieter. Again, there are no Asians, only Japanese people, in Japan. I am everyone's Japanese tour guide. Hear me roar inaudibly.

We rolled deep into L-River, a bar that has hosted years and years of JETs in the past. (Cindy and Matt, did you drink here?) It's a tiny spot run by one man, so you actually have to go there early to tell him you are showing up. If you do, he'll keep it open until, judging by Sunday "night," 4:30 in the morning so that crazy kids can sing crazy American songs on the karaoke machine.

I wanted it that way, I asked baby to hit me one more time, I didn't look back in anger, and I hid from the karma police. Oh, and I also happened to sing songs by the Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, Oasis, and Radiohead.

Bex kept making this high-pitched whistling sound after each song, and I was tempted to jump through the glass windows for a less painful death.

The first train home was at 5:44, so I ate a bag of chips from the Family Mart and drank a Pocari Sweat. It's better than it sounds. A little better.

-------

On Monday, I drove my car for the first time. I'm not quite sure why my Georgia license is valid here (just needed to fork over $15 to AAA in the states), but I take what I can get. Remember those moats on the side of the road I mentioned a ways back in regards to biking? They are even more terrifying when driving. What if I get too close? My tire will fall in! When my tire falls in, the frame of my car will crash onto the street! When the frame of my car crashes onto the street, I will be embarrassed!

Honestly, the whole driving on the left thing is not that bad. Right turns are hard, Kevin. Left turns are easy. The difficulty is the large number of bikers and walkers who are literally on the road. The difficulty is the narrow streets. The difficulty is the lack of street signs. Oh, and the abundance of FAKE street signs that are meant to indicate that you are near the road you want to be on, but not actually on that road.

Dance, too much booty in the pants

2007-09-17T23:01:00.000+09:00

I was looking very forward to this post, as I had the “real” internet installed last Tuesday. For whatever reason, it has decided not to work today, so the multimedia extravaganza will have to wait. I am back to grabbing bandwidth from the mysterious “Ninjazz” router. I do have tech support’s telephone number, but I do not have Japan’s official language stored in my brain.

Now, on to the facts:

If there’s been any confusion on this blarg about my daily struggles to accomplish the most simplest of tasks, here’s what happened during Tuesday’s internet installation. A very nice man showed up at my door. He, I assumed, was the internet man. In fact, he was the telephone man, checking the line to make sure I could get the proper bandwidth. (Judging by today’s fiasco, it is possible he failed.) Now, imagine the dismay on my face when the “internet man” asked me where my modem was. Hmm, wouldn’t you have it? He smiled and then made several gestures indicating how to connect the phone cord to the modem once I actually possessed the modem in question. Thanks. I know how to plug things in. Even in Japan. I hesitantly signed his papers as he left my apartment. I was internetless and alone.

About an hour later, another man arrived with my modem. I plugged it in (thankfully, I was recently shown how) and played. I am not ashamed to say that the first thing I downloaded was an episode of Entourage. I missed seeing white people in moving pictures.

On Saturday night, I visited Motosu Lake for the annual bonfire/grilling/dj/dance party. (Had the real internet been working, this is where I would have href-equal sign-img’d the fancy flyer.) I caught the Minobu line with Nicole, and we met Jonny + Mr. Burns in Ichikaiwadaimon for a ride. This event had been billed as one of the best parties of the year, so when we showed up around eight o’clock to just a handful of people, I had a Michael Bluth moment. “I’ve made a big mistake.” It was only a passing phase.

I’m going to use numbers at this point because this is my website.

1. Nick spilled a whole bottle of the *cough* “best meat sauce in Japan” on his clothes. He now has a new nickname.

2. The DJ was spinning this sick mix of hip-hop and remixed funk classics.

3. As a result of #2, Seth danced as if he had no bones. He was fluid. Elastic, even. He should have a new nickname.

4. I slept in a bungalow, and I kept hearing “Hey, Bungalow Bill” whenever I thought of the word bungalow in my head. And bungalow is just another word for shack in the woods. Bungalow. Bungalow bungalow.

5. Andy, the guy who organized the party, poured gasoline on our grill to get it started. Gasoline is certainly a fire starter, kids. My warmed hand would know.

6. When people drink, they speak English or Japanese, whichever one they don’t know. I was speaking Japanese, I think. I do know I discussed the merits of David Lynch and Q. Tarantino with a Japanese man. Japanese. Japanese Japanese.

Rando:
The Japanese word for glasses is megane, pronounced “mega-nay.” If this were true in America, would less kids get beat up in school?

Stay tuned for tales of karaoke ‘til dawn and driving on the left side of the street blindfolded! Ok, not blindfolded.

Don't mind me. Americans are immune to earthquakes and typhoons.

2007-09-09T21:19:00.000+09:00

Last week, Nirasaki had an earthquake drill. Earthquakes in Japan are about as common as the terrifyingly large black and yellow spiders in Japan. There are many. This drill took place after sixth period, and I only became aware of this when I got up from my computer to see the entire school body standing outside. An administrator spoke through a megaphone. Wait, scratch that. Minutes before, a teacher who has never said an English word to me before busted out an entire "Will you stay here?" as he left the teacher's room. Yeah, I'll stay. But shouldn't I know what...

Oh, maybe it's a courtesy. I won't know what's being said anyway, so a co-teacher will translate later. Nothing. Must think back to elementary school. Hands over neck? Forward facing fetal position? No, that's tornadoes. There aren't earthquakes in Georgia. I flipped through the recently received prefecture newsletter. Ah. Get under a desk.

This weekend, we had a typhoon. "Typhoon" seems much less threatening than "hurricane," which is what it is in Anglo terms. Hurricanes seem pretty frightening, like those black and yellow spiders I keep seeing. Several meetings were called to discuss this incoming typhoon, and again, no translation. No sweat. I'll just stay inside all weekend with my raincoat on holding both my umbrellas.

Because of my city's basin location, the bulk of the typhoon was blocked out by the surrounding mountains. It rained the entire day Thursday, and I attempted to bike to the train station holding one of the two aforementioned umbrellas. This is harder than it sounds (though it sounds pretty difficult), and I only tried it because I saw many Japanese people doing it. I do what other people do. Now might be a good time to explain the city streets. Streets should actually be quote-unquoted because they are more like suggested pathways. Unless you’re on a major road, there’s not room for two cars. There’s a lot of pulling over and allowing the other car to get through. Add me on a bike with an umbrella. And throw in a mini-moat on the side of the street. These mini-moats have been named “gaijin traps” by generations of the past, and I won’t argue. When *knock on wood* I fall in, I will weblog the occasion.

Twice a day at Norin, a funereal tone rings five times in a row to show respect for the fertility of land. The proper procedure is to stand up and slightly lower your head. The first time I heard this, a co-teacher said “Oh my god!”

When you are suspended from school in Japan, you go to school and do chores. Why isn’t this the case in America? My co-teachers found this difference quite amusing.

Speaking of chores, there aren’t janitors at school. The students clean daily. At Norin, they play John Denver’s “Take Me Home, Country Roads” over the loudspeakers during cleaning time. This drives me insane, and I only go to Norin twice a week. If I had to clean five times a week while listening to the song, I might be tempted to do something really crazy like mixing the burnables and non-burnables! Oh my god!

On Friday, the vice principal played a prank on one of my co-teachers. He called her on the telephone from the same room. Hilarious. The look on his face was like he had pulled the greatest prank known to man. You know, it kinda was.

Next Monday, I’ll have a day off for “Respecting Your Elders” day. This is a national holiday, and Kasai sensei asked if we had the same thing in America. I told him we fear and ostracize our elders. We send them to Florida.

I finally got a response from waving my Nintendo DS around in the air and asking if anyone had one.
Follow-up question: “What is your favorite video game?”
“I like play sexy game.”
I asked to borrow it. Kids laughed.

His name was Robert Paulsen (Smith).

2007-09-04T13:04:00.000+09:00

Remember the scene in Fight Club when the band of misfits (not to be confused with the band the Misfits) continually repeats the headline above?

That's like how my class is when I teach them the days of the week using the Cure's "Friday, I'm In Love," only the exact opposite. Please repeat after me. "His name is Robert Smith." *Tumbleweed.* "His name is Robert Smith." *Leaky faucet drips onto no-longer-tumbling weed.*

Regardless, they seem to like listening to the Cure's greatest hits. I tried to bring in something American, but it's hard to argue with Mr. Smith singing the days of the week in order. Then again, this still managed to confuse most of the students when I asked them to fill in the blanks in the provided lyric sheet. And maybe the unarguable Britishness of Bobby Smith confused everyone, because my co-teacher kept calling me Mark sensei for the duration of two classes. (Mark was my predecessor. He is from England. He is not Robert Smith.)

I'm almost through with giving my self-introduction lesson, and the days of the week lesson has confirmed one thing for me (that was never stated before). You see, there's this annoying phrase that's been going around for, hmm, three months, and that phrase is "every situation is different," or ESID. What this means is that for no good or real reason, some people in the JET program get to play with glorious little Japanese children every day, some people pay no rent, some people get free cars, some people get free lunch every day, and some people get to create entire lesson plans and execute them close to 20 times a week. It might be clear which "some" I am, but don't get the wrong impression here. I truly think my experience abroad will ultimately be much more rewarding, but I'll have to work (no pun) for that. So when a student falls asleep with his cell phone open, I just listen to the Cure.

Race and Rice:
As strange as it sounds, a large number of Japanese people have had trouble understanding, err, my existence. America, through the media or whatnot, is black and white. One student had a two-minute conversation with a co-teacher in front of me trying to figure out how I was American. First, she thought I was from Korea but knew English. Whaa? Second, she thought one of my parents was Taiwanese and the other was American (read: white). Finally, the co-teacher said something about Japanese people moving to Hawaii in the past. That somehow did the trick.

The first time I went to Norin, I was supposed to meet with a co-teacher. She could not find me because I "looked Japanese." I was sitting at the only ALT desk.

When I go out with fellow ALTs (read: white), Japanese people approach me (understandably) as if I am the tour guide. I usually produce a blank stare (I'm perfecting it watching my students) or mumble something about wakarimasen, wakarimasen. In the end, I'm pretty sure they think I'm just cuckoo for cocoa puffs. I wish this were true, as I am currently looking for a sweet alternative to rice in the morning.

Rollercoaster... of whaa?

2007-08-30T13:47:00.000+09:00

After day 1 of school, I was ready to leave Japan. I considered the cons in departing, in having to pay for my ticket home and accepting failure. Teaching? What was I thinking? There's no A/C in the classroom, every student is on their cell phone or sleeping, and my co-teacher is grinning as if it's business as usual. I'm doing a self-introduction lesson three to five times a day (meaning I talk about myself for 50 minutes straight), and I'll be doing it for another two weeks.

I am Kevin's beating heart. Please answer me when I ask if you have a Nintendo DS. Everyone in this country has a DS. Are you no one?

Day 2, in the improperly used words of Jason Kidd, was a complete 360 turnaround. (He was going for 180.) I met up with some JETs after school on Monday, and I asked if they got the same blank stares that I was receiving. I was told to think back to high school Spanish. Did anyone care then? Would anyone care now? I tried to embrace the great times I'd had in the past month, and I took that into school on Day 2. I tried harder to be myself, which is the hardest thing you can do.

And something happened.

The kids perked up. They answered questions. One student, who reminds me of the talk-show host Matthew (seen in Lost In Translation), would inexplicably stand up at random times during class and yell "I ruv Kevin!" (in the talk-show host kind of way).

Another student, in a similar vein, would raise his hand throughout class.
"What is your favorite sport?"
"I love you."
"Who knows why peaches grow in both Yamanashi and Georgia?"
"I love you, Kevin."
Later, I walked by his desk and said, "So you love me, huh?"
He hung his head and smiled.

On Day 3, I went to my other school, Norin High School, which specializes in Agriculture and Horticulture.

The good vibes from day 2 carried on, and I found out that I have a third year (seniors) elective class (meaning they want to be there) two periods in a row. These kids were especially great, and they understood much more. One girl looked exactly like Sara Kim from my 3rd grade, and another one was the Japanese version of Kyle Berkman, Mr. Levitt's friend from LA. I need a picture of this guy. It's uncanny. This class took a special interest in me after I played a song that I wrote, and they wanted a Japanese translation and to know who it was about. This, of course, resulted in my co-teacher asking if it was rude to ask if I was married. Did I have a girlfriend? I was quickly reminded of a story Tyler told me just the day before, of how this line of questioning follows form. 1. Married? 2. Girlfriend? 3. Gay? I thought I would nip this in the bud by answering yes to #2, but that only spurred more questions. Umm, she lives in America. Her name is Art Vandelay.

One of the best things I've heard this month happened here, and that was a student doing an American accent. My accent, to be exact. Do I sound like Clint Eastwood on a ferry headed down the Mississippi?

Today, a very enthusiastic third year student at Nirasaki approached me. His English was quite good, and I am sorry I will not be teaching him (as I only get first and second years). He tried to say "I don't have your class this year," but he ended up saying, "Your class is nothing this year." Domo arigato gozaimasu.

The internet, sorta

2007-08-26T20:55:00.000+09:00

Thanks to my lovely neighbors, Priscilla and Chris, I may or may not have the internet in my apartment right now. I may or may not be typing this while I sit in my apartment that may or may not have access to the internet. How they managed to get it set up two weeks before my scheduled installation when they arrived in Japan one week after me, well, I may or may not know. You can now find me on AIM. Just know that I exist 13 hours in the future (for those on the east coast).

On Saturday, I went with a group of friends to see Dragon Park, which is roughly a twenty minute bike ride from my home. It’s all uphill, which makes the ride back quite easy (especially if you just ran around playing soccer for a few hours).

Like many things I have seen in Japan, the facilities are immaculate. Take a look at these badboys. Umm, nix that. The sorta internet is not letting me post pictures. Soon, friends.

We played a few small-sided games, the second one with two high school kids. We later discovered that one of them was on the Ventforet junior squad (the prefecture’s professional team), and he possessed the skills to back it up.

It was a hot day, and the sprinklers and fountains attracted tiny children wearing only underwear.

At night, we went out to Kiyosato, a mountainous area to the northwest of Ryuo. It’s at least 10 degrees cooler out there, and we had a lovely hamburger and pasta dinner at a café called Back Country, which we have renamed Bat Country as a tribute to general humor and Hunter S. Thompson.

We went to Tyler’s apartment for some chit-chat, and Tiffany drank sake from juice boxes and ate ice cream with chopsticks.

Let me clear my throat

2007-08-24T13:37:00.001+09:00

I'm currently watching a group of students play rock, paper, scissors to decide who will have to eat the licorice jelly beans in the batch that I brought. It is hilarious. One student cringes as the flavor hits his tongue. It is possible this student has never tasted licorice before. His classmates laugh. More gather around.

This morning, I gave a speech to the whole school. I will be teaching 1st and 2nd years (sophomores and juniors in high school), and there are already 360 of those. I guess I spoke to 500 people? Massive. The first half of my speech was in Japanese, and the second was in English and translated by Kagami sensei. I've mentioned this before, but there isn't sarcasm in Japan. I am unarmed in this battle of wits.

After the speech, the teachers examined each and every student for haircut regulations. Your entire ear must be showing, and your hair cannot grow beyond your eyebrows. I would venture to say that more than half of the students were in violation, as they just returned from a one-month vacation. Still, each student seemed to fuss with his hair in order to fudge the requirement. One student gave me the thumbs-up, pointed to his hair, and told me to say "Good job," as if this would save him from the shears. Teachers held clipboards with columns and check marks. Kagami sensei asked about dress-codes in the States and cited this as a reason for some students wanting to move across the Pacific. So far, the two things I miss about America are the trash cans (they hide here) and the napkins (ditto).

I will teach my first three lessons on Monday, with a teacher I have yet to meet. I am not sure how this will work synergy-wise, but I suppose synergy is a lofty demand. If I get out alive, it will be a great day.

I have created a crossword puzzle filled with fun facts about myself. Did you know that I was born in Detroit? I often forget.

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Random info: I never realized how often I clean my glasses until I started wearing collared shirts to work. Try wiping away the smudges with your shirt tucked in.

Football is football

2007-08-22T16:12:00.000+09:00

On Monday night, I got my first taste of Japanese soccer. Irish Dave invited himself to the prefectural team practice, and I, in turn, invited myself. Kentucky Chris, also known as the Governor for his political ambitions, rounded out the new male ALTs, while British Becks (what a soccer name!) and Jamaican Ayesha represented the women.

There are two tournaments a year held in Nagano for the JET teams, but there are weekly practices and games here and there. Over the years, the Yamanashi crew has made a bunch of Japanese friends, so the majority of people who showed up were not ALTs. Sports and extracurricular activities are highly valued in the Japanese school system, so it’s easy to find some quality talent.

As this was my first experience with soccer in Japan, it was also the first time meeting South American Japanese people. Peruvian, to be exact. They speak Japanese. They speak Spanish. They speak English. They are good at soccer. The game is the same everywhere. This might be the simplest way to learn Japanese.

We rented out a nearby high school field for $2 a person, but the best part is that you can play under the lights. I haven’t done this since high school, and I forgot just how nice it is to play in a breeze without the sun. No offense, sun. I still have a crush on you.
Since there was a large turnout, we split into three teams and played 10 minute games on small goals. The pace was quick (as there was little grass), and everyone out there had some fancy moves on display.

Thinking back a bit, I wrote a college application essay on the universality of soccer. It’s possible I was pulling crap out of crapola back then, but this was words in action. The game is the same everywhere. I missed a lot of easy shots and I nutmegged the keeper, and we all spoke without words. I cut up my leg and bandaged it with a cotton ball and a rubber band. People said it would take away circulation, and I argued citing low elasticity.

I think they liked me, they really liked me, because I was asked to swing around next week. I might. I just might.

With our powers combined

2007-08-19T21:19:00.000+09:00

On Monday and Tuesday of this past week, we gathered in Kofu for our local orientation. Groups A and B have finally combined into one supergroup, which is much less glamorous than it sounds. As a collective, we are still very much running around sans head. In other words, we’re more Audioslave, less Justice League.

First order of business was a meeting with the vice governor of the prefecture. He said many things we did not understand, but we benefited from translation courtesy of one Jonathan Smith. If you can come up with a better name than John Smith for an American CIR (Coordinator of International Relations), I will buy you two Cokes. He plays bossa nova piano.

One line from the vice governor that stuck out was when he called Yamanashi the kingdom of fruit. You could sense a group smirk among the ALTs, and the joke continued with imagined tales of pineapple kings and queens. And by continue, I mean we’re still talking about it. It’s been a week.

Since Yamanashi is famous for its fruits and wines, what better place to visit than Fruits Park (where we investigated this so-called patriarchy of fruit). Little evidence was found, but I did eat a grape popsicle in a gift shop. Others purchased wine. Oddly, there was no actual fruit available.

Finally, we went on a guided tour of the prefectural museum. Almost everything was in Japanese, but I got the gist. People once did things one way, and it was tough. We should remember the old days since it is easier now. There were a few interactive simulations of the ways of yore, and a tiny Japanese girl walked into a small hut with long, horizontal poles on each side. Her parents hoisted her up in the air on their shoulders. Japanese children are ridonculous.

Everyone was put up in the Wel City Hotel in downtown Kofu, so karaoke commenced shortly after dinner. Not too much to report there, but Canadian Nick did leave the spot with his necktie around his forehead. Very Davy Crocket chic.

Wednesday:

Lisa Tauber from Americatown visited. We walked around hot, hot Kofu and drank lots of cold, cold water.

At night, we attended Kagami sensei’s son’s rock concert, or live, as it is known around here. The whole ride over, she insisted the band was still learning and the music had a long way to go. The music was amazing; a lot of shredding, piercing riffs mixed with a ballad here and there. A few days before the show, I gave Kagami sensei a copy of the few tracks I recorded in college with Mr. Levin and Mr. Levitt aka Rob Fleming’s Ghost. Her very ecstatic son greeted me and said: “You have the best music.” Hyperbole. Her son, 17, had a great stage presence, so I called him a rock star after the show. I think it translates. On the ride home, I asked Kagami sensei if her son had a lot of girlfriends. He had one recently, but due to the girl being very smart, she told him to wait a year while she gets through her studies. Kagami sensei said he probably will not wait.

Random bits from here and there:

Bikes in Japan use a different pumping valve. In an attempt to add a little air to my front tire, I deflated the entire thing. The pump I have doesn’t seem to work, so I took the bike back to the shop. The nice man seemed quite perplexed that I had a flat tire that wasn’t punctured. He made a circle with his thumb and index on one hand and pointed his other index finger into the circle. This, undoubtedly, is the international symbol for a punctured tire.

Everyone in this country has a Nintendo DS. I always do what other people do, so I ordered one off Amazon.co.jp. I now have a note that I believe says I missed delivery. I have no idea how to read this note. I will find a translator tomorrow.

Tokyo Drifting

2007-08-12T21:10:00.000+09:00

What better way to spend a Saturday than to take the bus into Tokyo. A round trip ticket costs $36, and the ride is very similar to how I used to get up to New York from Philly. Roughly two hours on a charter bus. Heavy traffic entering the city a la the Lincoln Tunnel. A reclining chair.

We (Tiffany, Amanda, Seth — a feller from Cherry Hill, NJ, so we know much of the same sites and sights back West) got there around noon, so we grabbed a bite to eat in Shinjuku. The aroma of restaurants often creeps into the city streets, and I often follow my nose. Here’s a photo of the meal:

The orange soupy substance was left untouched after one sip, as the texture resembled, um, snot. The flavor was fine.

We wandered into an underground store labeled BATTLE ARENA. As we were certain this could only be something amazing, we traversed those downward steps without hesitation. Below, we discovered the battle arena, where various arcade fighting games were set up. You can watch the featured game on a big screen, so we watched. The red Transformeresque character defeated the blue one by shooting a series of lasers and rockets. A kid raised his arms and shouted with great glee.

Afterward, we got on the subway to visit Harajuku, the fashion-conscience area popularized in the States by one Gwenavere Stefani. In the two orientations we had back in Atlanta, former ALTs mentioned the conservative dress we’d surely encounter in Japan. This did not hold true in Harajuku. In fact, this hasn’t held true anywhere. When girls go out, they get their hair did. Harajuku was less hipster, more Park Ave than I had imagined, and I picked up a few shirts that fit me. We walked into “Snoopy Land,” and the sign was correct. That’s a lot of Snoopy-related paraphernalia.

We walked down to Shibuya, and one intersection closely resembled Times Square. Lots of people crossing the street at the same time. Lots of people, including us, taking pictures of people crossing the street at the same time.

We hopped on the subway again, hoping to reach Ripponge Hills, where the famous Mori Tower stands. We didn’t quite get there on the first try, but a quick cab ride sealed the deal. From the top of Mori Tower, you can get a panoramic view of Tokyo. Here is a non-panoramic view of Tokyo:

Finally, we headed back to Shinjuku to catch a bus back to Kofu. We reserved our seats and went to the nearby Keio Plaza for dinner. We left the restaurant at 8:21, thinking that would be plenty of time to catch the 8:30 bus outside. The only hitch came when we exited the elevator and had no idea where we were. We also couldn’t find an exit as each exit sign led to more exit signs and no exits. When we finally got outside, it was 8:24, but we still had no idea which side of the Keio we were on. There was running. Lots. There was running in the wrong direction. Tiffany got to the bus at 8:30. She stalled. Somehow.

Back in Kofu, the group B welcome party was taking place, so we met up at the Rink, another bar keen to foreignors. There was singing. There was guitaring. I got the inside dirt on so and so and who and who. So and so likes so. We first thought so and so was gay. Who and who used to date who. I think they still like each other. Here are some peeps:

A few friends crashed at my pad as it was the nearest domicile with space. (Because of the different train lines and locations, some people have to leave Kofu around 8:30 pm in order to get home. We combat this by opening up our doors and laying down our futons.)

Before resting our heads, we walked through the drive-through of McDonalds. It seemed to be the first day of the guy working, so in addition to the language barrier, he didn’t know how to work the machine once we conveyed our orders. Classic. He was a super nice guy, and Irish Dave told him this in Japanese. I bowed.

Hello, hello

2007-08-10T09:33:00.000+09:00

I just delivered the first of many self-introduction speeches. I knew I would be meeting all the teachers today, but I only knew of the speech about three minutes before takeoff. It went well, I think.

Here's a paraphrased transcript:

(All in Japanese, mind you.)

"Good morning. My name is Kevin Lo. I am American. I don't understand Japanese *laughter*, but I understand English well *more laughter*."

I then said a few things in English that Kasai sensei (baseball manager and one of the teachers I'll be working with) translated, and I finished it all off with a Japanese phrase that sorta means "Nice to meet you," "I hope we have a nice friendship," and various other things. In Japanese, many phrases can mean a variety of things. Sumimasen, for instance, is used in almost every circumstance. It can mean "I'm sorry" and "Excuse me." It can be randomly thrown into speech, and it's often but not always used by anyone working in a store when you walk in or walk by them.

Just a few minutes ago, a teacher walked up to me and said, "Speech. Ema." Ema means now, and he wanted me to follow him to the assembly hall. There were a lot of people in this assembly hall, and I was previously told I'd give a speech to the students a week from now. I thought I was going to be doing this right now (!) instead, but Kasai sensei was there to say otherwise. It was a speech by the principal and other administrators.

I just left a tin can of jelly beans in the teacher's room. I will see how many are left on Monday.

Surely illegal in other countries

2007-08-08T10:58:00.000+09:00

Last night was the annual Ichikawadaimon Fireworks Festival. I went to it. The train was packed to capacity, and it seemed everyone in the country was there. Lots of women wore kimonos, and lots of women wore very little. The running joke so far has been that many Japanese women could pass for any age between 15 and 35. As I am not so good with numbers yet, this could prove troublesome. I will keep to myself as a precaution.

We had a tarp reserved for us in a great spot, and we took off our shoes to get onto this aforementioned tarp. Since we were sitting on a hill and the tarp's coefficient of friction was below 1 (or is above 1 slippier?), we slid. Removing our respective socks proved to be helpful.

As noted in the headline, it should be illegal to be this close to fireworks. They were going off above our heads. "A Whole New World," "The Circle Of Life," and various other Disney classics soundtracked the explosions. I've seen fireworks, but nothing like this. The artistry, creativity, and sheer ingenuity was astounding. When I finally get the intanetto at home (in a month!), I'll post videos. In between each set of fireworks was a word from the sponsors. I wonder if this would annoy me if I could understand who exactly was sponsoring the festivities.

I ate some teriyaki chicken off sticks (for a fitting festival price of $10) and drank a few Sapporos ($4).

Leaving the festival was even harder than getting there, as thousands of people tried to board the same train at the same time. Despite a long wait, I've never witnessed such an orderly procession. These are the types of situations that only result in rioting, bloodshed, and spilt milk (in other countries). The only glimpse of chaos was a trash can with bottles falling out of it.

School's out for summer

2007-08-06T11:28:00.000+09:00

In Japan, teachers work even when the students are out on vacation. On my desk was a large stack of papers with introductions and welcomes from the students. Each one had the same opening section: "Hello, Kevin. Welcome to Nirasaki Technical High School. We hope that you will enjoy yourself in Japan." Below that portion, each student wrote a little about him or herself, typically involving "I like -----." "Do you like -----?" A handful of students wrote "girls," "make love" or "sex." There were some unknown answers, such as "Billy's Boot Camp," so I suppose I'll have to do some Gizoogling. Oh, it's Tae Bo. Billy is Billy Blanks.

In Japan, people rarely ask you to do something directly. The phrasing is more like "It might be better" or "Maybe you would prefer to..." Kagami sensei said it might be better to write something back to each student, so that's what I did. "I like dogs." "I like soccer." I did not answer the scandalous questions.

Townies + Downtown

2007-08-05T21:10:00.000+09:00

I got my first “real” local experience on Friday night. It was spec-tac-ular. I left the internet café around 22:00 (yeah, I totally went there) with little to do and too much time before bed, so I decided to visit the bar, or izakaya, located near my apartment.

I walked in and noticed four men—age 50 or so—in baseball uniforms. They didn’t notice me. I ordered a beeru (guess what that is), and a woman who appeared to be the “mom” of this “mom and pop” establishment brought me an Asahi bottle and a tiny cup. Everything is tiny in this country. I am still adjusting.

Roughly ten minutes passed, and I couldn’t muster up the courage to speak to these very jolly gentlemen. The bartender (pop) noticed my isolation, so he began to entertain me by commenting (I think) on the television program above my head. A man was singing. Then a woman sang. There were shiny costumes.

I finally uttered the magic word (eigo : English), and the room changed. The men turned and began to talk. One walked over and brought another beer for me. I got the “Kevin Costner” thing once again, but it felt a bit more warranted considering they were in baseball uniforms. Bull Durham, anyone? Field of Dreams? But when I said “Field of Dreams,” I was met with blank stares.
Again, the dance of limited vocabulary ensued, but this time I tried to relate. “Dice-K” delivered some smiles. “Matsui” got some more. “Nakata” hit hard, since he was a real playa’ back in the day at Nirasaki High School. I’ll be teaching at the technical level, but I’m told there is quite a rivalry between the two schools in soccer.
“A, L, T?” asked Akio san, and I nodded and smiled. It seems the townies know of Assistant Language Teachers. He gave me his business card (it’s what people do here) and told me he lived just down the street. I don’t believe I’ll be calling, but the gesture felt grand.

Saturday:
We, the Yamanashi group A folks, met in downtown Kofu (the capital of my prefecture, only one stop east—five minutes—on the very efficient train) for a little dinner and barring. First stop was Capppriciosa (yes, three p’s), an Italian restaurant. This was true fusion, as each course tasted oddly Italian and Japanese at the same time. One dish—a breaded, fried rice ball in marinara sauce—almost tasted Mexican. I felt as if a spontaneous group sing-along to “We Are The World” would not have been out of place. I got to meet some of the JETs who had renewed from last year, and I think there will be a few keepers.

Next we headed over to “The Vault,” a bar geared towards foreignors. There was hip-hop on the jukebox, darts, pool and liquor you readily find in the States. I excitedly ordered a Suntory whiskey and Coke, only to have the waitress return and have me point between Jack Daniels, Maker’s Mark, etc. I drank a nice heifewezen, lost and won a game of pool, and tried hard not to laugh at the Americans attempting to pick up Japanese women. In this one week in Japan, I’ve already begun to notice recurring trends. I’ve also noticed recurring “types,” as in “types of people” who choose to move to Japan. One type is the extremely nerdy white guy who would have a tough time in America dating anyone, much less talking to anyone who breathes oxygen into his or her lungs to maintain life. The “NWG” moves to Japan, knows very little Japanese, and tries to impress Japanese women—I have a feeling it could be any Asian woman—with various “moves” that, to be honest, hurt my brain. I prefer not to get into details, and the worst part of it all is that these “moves” work. Many of these NWGs never leave Japan again. Go figure.

Best thing about the Vault: Pool is free! There is just one table, so you respectfully limit your playing time. No one puts up a fuss! If this happened in America, someone would be chewing pool chalk in the first ten minutes.

The last train back to Ryuo was at midnight, which is sorta lame, but the cleanliness and preciseness of the train system is a nice change from Philly. There, I could be on the last train and still miss it. OK, that’s a stretch. Nick, the only new Canadian in the prefecture, crashed at my pad since he’s hours away. He’s pretty Canadian. We discussed gun control and politics.

Sunday:
At dinner on Saturday, I exchanged information with two girls, Tiffany and Amanda, who live in the same apartment complex in Yamanashi city (which is a few train stops east of Kofu). We agreed to meet up and explore Kofu some more, so that’s what we did. In my goal to pack light in the States, I forgot the necessity for a pair of tennis/running shoes. I bought a pair today, and for the first time in my life, I had to buy the largest pair they had. These are some serious kicks, and they only cost $40. I was so happy with them I even referred to them as “biscuits,” which I hear is the terminology all the cool kids are using these days. They might be too pretty to run in. I defeated the purpose.

I had some wonderfully Southern-tasting iced tea, and we walked up Kofu Castle and a nearby temple/cemetery. Assuming my phone was doing the trick, here are some pictures I took with the camera that is built into my cellular phone that I carry around to call people.

I had some great peach ice cream, which may or may not have been made from fish, and I chewed on some grape gum. A vending machine (which are EVERYWHERE) swallowed my change. To make matters worse, it was the first time I’d seen Gatorade in a week. I was too crushed to try again.

I just received a call from Kagami sensei, and it turns out I will be working tomorrow. Sweet. I’m back, baby.

So many lights

2007-08-03T21:08:00.000+09:00

Not a ton to report today. I did some supermarket shopping and checked out the electronics store.

I picked up some Udon and visited the ingredients aisle to try to find that lovely sauce typically used to douse the noodles. Everything looked like regular soy sauce, so I asked a lady. I pointed at different bottles and said "Udon?" The woman found a bottle and said "Water. Mix." She pointed at a chart on the back that read 1 -- 1, so I'll try an even mix. I also got some sushi for 780 yen. It was remarkable, though the package contained no wasabi. Weh-sabi.

The electronics store was exactly what I thought it would be. Crazy sounds and colors coming at you from every direction.

I ran into another JET, Lauren, who was trying to set up her internet. She passed a laptop back and forth with the clerk, typing into the babelfish translator. I wonder if she got hooked up. I was actually pretty shocked to see her, since I have no idea who is close to me. People are probably still trying to get their internet and cell phone set up, and the directory given to us at orientation is a little misleading. It lists people by what school they are teaching at, not where they live. So according to the map, no one teaches in my city, not even me. There must be a better way.

I forgot to mention the best thing about my bike in yesterday's post: the name. Whereas my last bicycle was called "The Pickle," my Japanese bike is called "Nice Friend."

Ladies and gentlemen, start your bike engines?

2007-08-02T21:06:00.000+09:00

It might be a good time to mention that I'll be working at two different technical high schools during my stay in Japan. Today, I was shown around by my main contact/team-teacher at Norin Koku.

I don't think Sano sensei received a picture of me the way Kagami sensei did, so when I opened the door to my apartment, she wasn't sure if she was in the right place. "Ke-vin?" she asked. In the car, she said, "I don't want to be rude, but can I ask where you are from? Because you look Japanese."

I mentioned my name stamp in a previous post, but I didn't mention (or know) that I'd have to get it officially registered at the city office. That's what we tried to do today. Again, the process is quite detailed, so I am now waiting for a letter in the mail to prove I live where I say I do. Sano sansei apologized for the red tape, and she said that it's become even more difficult in recent years due to "evil people" doing "evil things." People like R. Kelly?

The best part of the whole ordeal was Sano sensei's reference to "Kevin" Costner. This is not the first time this has been said. I fear it is not the last. Part of the confusion stems from the whole reversal of first and last names, not to mention the fact that Japanese people don't have middle names. For the record, I am not related to Costner Kevin.

Next, we visited Norin High School, an agricultural school, and I was served a succulent piece of yellow watermelon grown by the students. Sano sensei asked if I got yellow watermelon in Atlanta, or just red. Yellow is not THAT common here, but she tells me it is a special occasion. Another teacher says the same thing, and he kind of laughs. If this were in the States, I'd suspect sarcasm. I'm told sarcasm doesn't exist here, so I will not be able to tell any jokes. Or talk, period.

A trend that I am noticing is how favors are often explained. For instance, people usually have to pay several months of rent in advance, called "Thank You" money. The whole process of "Thank You" money is explained to me before I am told I will not have to pay it.

When I meet the vice principal, he kind of points at me and then grasps at his cheeks and says something to Sano sensei. She says "Taiwan," so I can only guess that the vice principal liked my Asian face.

Just like at Nirasaki High School, everyone is incredibly nice and sorta taken aback that an Asian person could speak American English.

When we leave Norin, we go to the train station so I can figure out how to get to school before I get my car insurance, title, etc. An interesting thing about Japanese laws is how a lot of them rely on the school system. To get car insurance, the school must first approve. The train system seems very efficient, and Sano sensei tells me that the trains are rarely behind schedule. On Saturday, I will have to hop on one by myself to go to a gathering in Kofu city. The cost is 180 yen, about 1.50 USD.

Last, we go to a hardware store to buy a bike. Sano sensei tells me I'll have to bike home if I buy one, since she has a small car. She probably has one of the larger cars I've seen, and it's still tiny. When I sit in the passenger seat (on the left), I feel as if someone has stolen my steering wheel. I pretend to use mind control to drive the car.

After living in Philly, it's remarkable how the bike system works here. And by "remarkable," I mean there is actually a bike system. I paid 500 yen, less than 5 dollars, to have my bike registered with the police department. Every bike has its own lock on the back wheel, and you have to keep the key in the slot in order to bike! People usually don't lock the bikes to structures, so they are very much like cars. I also get a free year-long warranty.

I just ate dinner at McDonalds. The fries taste the same, and the burger is a little juicier. The Big Mac is called the Mega Mac. McFlurries are still McFlurries.

Glory, glory

2007-08-01T21:50:00.000+09:00

I've made it to Ryuo. I've met important people. Ridiculous things have happened.

The Yamanashi group took a bus this morning and headed to Kofu, the prefecture's capital. The ride was through some beautiful mountains, and I had some time to bond with Tiffany (a journalism and arts major from NorCal) and Irish Dave (he's Irish).

But flash forward for a second while I explain how I am even able to be posting this right now.

Mark (my predecessor) left a nice map in the apartment (more on this later), so I took it upon myself to walk to the "internet cafe." I found a curry restaurant along the way, and I sat down and ate curry. I walk in and say, "Sorry, I don't understand Japanese." The waitress says a lot, very quickly, and seats me. I find a picture of rice and curry that looks appetizing and I point to it. The waitress opens the menu and points at some random numbers, so I say "I don't understand" (in Japanese). She points at them again, and I say "OK" (in Japanese). The curry is delicious.

Here comes the fun part. I decide that saying "Do you understand English?" might be better than "I don't understand Japanese," as the latter could imply that I only speak some other Asian language. I say this to the clerk at the internet cafe, and she runs away. She brings back another clerk, who I assume speaks English. She certainly does not. A dance of limited vocabulary ensues, as she keeps saying "use" and "time," and I keep saying "yes" and "one hour." This goes nowhere. I start to consult my Japanese-English dictionary, and she flips through it to find the Japanese meanings of "use" and "time." This does not help. She keeps telling me prices while I keep saying OK, but apparently I am missing something. This goes on for roughly ten minutes. Finally, she runs to the computer and does a Yahoo search (do they not Google over here?) for Japanese-English translation.

This is what pops up:

"Sightseeing trip."

She points at it and says "Yes?"

I say "No." I really wonder what she put in there.

Next comes "It is near Yamanashi this?"

I say "Ryuo," which in hindsight is really stupid because that's where we both are. I thought maybe she wondered where I lived.

Finally, "Only this time, free for use" pops up on the screen. It's a short term fix because I might want to walk in here tomorrow. I decide to call my supervisor (more on Kagami sensei later) and have her translate over the phone. It turns out I needed to fill out an application with my name and address and show my passport. I heard the clerk say "passport" over the phone! Why didn't she didn't say it to me? It's all I needed!

Then again, it was totally worth it to see "Sightseeing trip" on the screen.

Let's take it back to the start. I think I just quoted Coldplay.

Kagami sensei was waiting for me at the Kofu station with a giant yellow sign that read "KEVIN." That's me. Kagami sensei is fluent in English, and she whisks me away for lunch. We go to a sushi place, and it's some of the best I've had. The sushi spirals around this long track in between all the booths, and you just grab what you want. If you place a special order (on a touch screen at your table), this toy bullet train shoots up to your table carrying the dish.

Kagami sensei has a son and two daughters, and her son seems to share all the same interests as me. He plays music, loves soccer, etc. Kagami sensei is very interested in my time as a music journalist, and she is extremely gracious that I express an interest in her son's music.

Next, we go to get my alien registration card, set up my bank account, and turn on the utilities in my apartment. This comes as no shock to me, but there is a LOT of paperwork involved. There are minute details with no room for error. What's funny is that even Kagami sensei is surprised by the amount of detail. I fill out the same form at the bank about four times, once because I didn't capitalize my entire name. I made an error on the year (it's year 19 according to the Japanese calendar), and I have to stamp my name next to the error. Yes, I have a stamp. I need to use it on everything. (Later, my English signature will make people laugh. I do not know why.)

We head over to the school, where I'm delighted to see a huge soccer field out front. There is a game or practice going on (there are no fans yet full uniforms).

We enter the teacher's room, and the teachers give me a passing glance. Kagami sensei introduces me, and the looks are priceless. This guy speaks English?, they seem to say. One teacher says something to Kagami sensei, and she says to me: Do you know "ni hao?" I certainly do. It means hello.

I meet the headmaster, who gives off this almost palpable sense of honor. They plan for when I will meet with the teachers more formally. We visit another room where I fill out some more paperwork. I am served cold tea (didn't know this was a thing here) and given a school calendar. Everyone seems incredibly nice and happy to meet me. The attitude is very jovial.

Ah, now the apartment. It's gorgeous. There's one room with a traditional mat (which feels amazing on your feet), a living area, and a large kitchen/eating area. The apartment feels very large since all the rooms are connected by sliding doors. I have an outdoor deck where I can hang my clothes. When you flush the toilet, the tank fills up from above/outside so you can save water by washing your hands right there!

The utilities man shows up, and he's overly sincere. I figure utilities workers are simply nicer in Japan, but Kagami sensei later mentions how uncommon it is. She jokes that he was almost like a woman!

Lastly, I got a cell phone. This is a ridiculous cell phone. It was free. I don't think I will ever understand all the features on it. If this phone could talk (by itself, smartass), it would be like, "Whaddup, iPhone. You lame." Kagami sensei jokes that we can change my plan to a family one when I get a girlfriend or wife. She's funny. I like her.

Tomorrow, I will hopefully find out how to use the train to get to school.

Some closing remarks

2007-08-01T07:30:00.000+09:00

I'm leaving Tokyo today, and I'm headed for my host institution in the Yamanashi prefecture by bus. Here are a few things you should know:

1. Last night, the Yamanashi group went out for dinner and karaoke. I literally made it "Suntory time," and I got my whiskey on. There is no tipping in Japan, so the waiters (at least last night) can pull some Houdini action. In the karaoke rooms, there is a phone to order drinks. There was a max per order of four beers, but the waiters seemed to both abide by and break this rule. Remember Sugar Ray? We sang Sugar Ray.

2. The mirror in the bathroom is magical. When you take a hot shower and steam it up, there is a section of the mirror that does not fog. I can look at myself as I exit the shower. Thanks, Japan.

3. The toilet handle is not connected to the toilet. Is the entire bathroom magical?

4. I will miss the ATLiens I have come to know over the past few days. Mr. Tyler (co-conspiritor from the ATL group), we must represent in the nasty 'Nashi.

5. It might be a while before I have consistent internet action again. I apologize for the inconvenience, but please stay tuned.

Lost in Shinjuku

2007-07-31T06:44:00.000+09:00

Simumasen, Keio Plaza Hotel wa doko desu ka?

This is a sentence that can save your life. Figuratively speaking, of course. Then again, it’s not as if I was gonna actually say it. Not until we were really (that’s an English word, italicized for emphasis) lost. You see, even a million miles from home (figurative speaking, of course), men cannot ask for directions. And I wasn’t going to do it despite the torrential rain, the blinded eyes (precipitation + glasses = suck), and general sense of ‘where are we?’ among the group. Anna finally asked at a point when we were caddy-corner from the hotel. That’s always how it is, no?

Let’s rewind for a moment: Eight Americans enter the HUB English Pub in Shinjuku. They attempt to cram into a half booth/half seat section, and they almost succeed. They are asked to move to a different area with more room because, and I’m paraphrasing, “your seating would make it inconvenient for the girl next to you to get up.” Ironically, I love this sentiment. After the Americans move, they order four liters of beer. The beer is either Kirin Lager or the house brew. The Americans do not know. The beer will cost ¥5,400, about $54, and the Americans will try to figure out if this is a good deal or not. The Americans do not succeed. There’s too much metric/standard, yen/dollar conversion involved. Instead, they are wowed by the presentation; the liters arrive in plastic, graduated cylinders. The Americans can see exactly how many mL they are pouring, if they were into that sort of thing. Drinks are poured (never for yourself, as is the custom), and people bond.

Now back to first person: I’m sitting off to the side with Anna and Jason, a guy who spent the last few years in Bolivia in the Peace Corps teaching business practices. He went to teach English, but that somehow turned into business practices. The flat panel TVs first show a Japan vs. Kuwait basketball game. Japan is winning by a lot. Later, the programming will switch to soccer juggling tricks. A man climbs a power line in order to juggle a ball. I love this sentiment.

A red, fruity drink arrives for Caitlin at the next table. We all applaud, thinking it’s from a Japanese man with a crush. Caitlin is a pretty blonde, and we think that this is the type of thing that happens in Tokyo. We are all let down when we later realize it is from another JET. Damn Americans. Wait, I think he was British.

The toilet has two different directions you can flush. There’s “Large” and “Small.” This makes me laugh… while I pee.

We leave the bar around midnight, and we try to find another place to go. We have a tiny map, yet we can’t quite find where we are. There is no star that says ‘you are here.’ We ask a few different people for help, and the reactions are great. Mostly, there’s a lot of pointing at the map and laughing. Then there's pointing in a direction and more laughing. Many people stop to help, but to no avail. There is a white man who offers help in perfect English, and for some reason, we brush him off. This makes me laugh… while I stand in the pouring rain.

Everything in its right place

2007-07-30T05:57:00.000+09:00

The ship has landed. After roughly 14 hours and a connection in Minneapolis, I’ve made it to Japan.

I’m currently in my hotel room, and it’s 2:41 AM local time. That means it’s 1:41 PM in my mind and body. I am typing in a dark room. Drew, one of my two roommates, is also typing. He is in the same room, so it is also dark for him. Our other roommate, Cody, is sleeping. About ten minutes ago, Cody said he couldn’t sleep. I have not known Cody for long, but it seems he is a liar.

As I previously posted about a slew of lasts, I will now mention some fabulous firsts.

First album played in Japan while on the bus from Narita Airport to Keio Plaza Hotel in Shinjuku, Tokyo: Radiohead’s Kid A. “Yesterday, I woke up sucking a lemon,” Thom Yorke sang to me. Hey, Thom. You’re right, if you are somehow subtly suggesting that leaving America had a certain sour taste to it. But I’m OK, Thom. Dad was there. The Snows were there. I’ve made it to Japan. I drank 7-UP on the plane.

First meal in Japan: Udon noodles. A small group of Atlantans wandered around the pleasantly small streets near the hotel to find food. There were neon lights and neoner lights. There was severe trepidation in deciding on a spot to eat, which does not bode well for our collective, near futures as teachers. Following the crowd, it turned out, just led to long lines comprised of other future teachers. At last, we found a restaurant with a name I’ll never know, and we ordered by putting money into a vending machine. There are pictures of the food outside each restaurant, and you get a ticket to hand to the cook when you’ve decided what to eat. It felt nice to slide a 1,000 yen (≈10 dollar) bill into the slot, and the machine did not spit the bill out the way it has happened countless times in America. I do not know if this is some marvel of Japanese technology. It’s possible I just had a crisp bill.

First acquaintances: Here’s a quick run-down of the major movers and shakers.

Matt: I sat next to him on the flight from Atlanta to Minneapolis, and the conversation quickly picked up when we discovered a shared interest in indie rock. He's quite a fan of Magnet, so we obviously, inevitably dissected the greatness of NMH’s In The Aeroplane Over The Sea. He went to UNC, and he’s considering starting a Mates of States-esque band with his girlfriend when he returns from Japan. I later saw him in the lobby of the hotel, and he was surrounded by four Japanese women, who all seemed quite taken with him. I decided not to say hi at that point.

Cody: I lied earlier when I said I hadn’t known him for that long. In fact, I knew him intimately for 12 hours straight since we were seated next to each other from Minneapolis to Narita. I liked him immediately after he said he was a light sleeper and could not sleep on airplanes or trains. I, too, have this problem. Between the two of us, we got about 1.5 hours of sleep on the plane.

Anna: I met her way back in June at the Atlanta Q & A session. She speaks Japanese, so she acted as our impromptu tour guide on our quest for food. I felt bad that everyone was relying on her, but she appeared to enjoy being helpful. Anna is a small-town girl from Missoura.

After dinner, a few of us went to a convenience store to buy celebratory beer to bring back to the hotel. It was 8:30 PM local time, meaning we essentially wanted booze at 7:30 AM. Hey, when in Japan. A few girls bought Sapporo, I bought Asahi. The clerk asked if I wanted a bag, but I did not understand him. Fortunately, he gestured by pointing at the bag in question. At this point, even saying simple words such as arigato is awkward, but I am certain that will pass.

There is so much more to say, but I suppose that is always the case.

Paint the town red (army)

2007-07-27T02:41:00.000+09:00

In the words of my college roommate and current artisan extraordinaire Jon Levin, "the days are growing shorter."

And what better way to enjoy my last days in the States than to take part in the things we do best here: bathe in our excess.

As a going-away gathering of sorts, last night my high school crew went out to the International House of Pancakes, our old stomping ground. "International" turned out to be merely a misnomer unless, in fact, it was referring to the world of pain I experienced after eating:

1) hash browns with ketchup
2) two pancakes smothered in milky butter and "hot, regular" syrup
3) chicken fried chicken covered in peppered gravy
4) three eggs, scrambled well with a smattering of tabasco
5) two sweet teas

If it ended there, it would still be too much.

We (Farbod, Aaron, Scott, Keith — he's alive!) returned to the home of the first two (Ira had other plans) for another hometown favorite, Risk: The game of world domination.

I'd like to say that I controlled Japan for the majority of the game, but that would be a lie. I employed my typical strategy of bunkering down in Australia, and I held it for a decent amount of time. As it goes with Risk, the power struggle lasted for six hours (from 10 pm-4 am), and the warfare ended as I conceded to Keith after one last stand. Ukraine, it turned out, was not so weak.

Oh, did I mention we got a pepperoni and feta cheese pizza at 2 am? When it rains, it pours.

It's now the day-to-day.

2007-07-25T08:48:00.000+09:00

As I'm currently on the verge of being employed (quite different from being unemployed), I've been taking a few tips from the main character of Nick Hornby's About A Boy (no doubt, Nick Hornby himself). Namely, I pass the hours of the day by setting up specific goals to accomplish. And by hours of the day, I really mean days of the week.

Monday: the aforementioned omiyage. (From this point on, I will italicize all Japanese words. It looks cool, and I've seen it in reputable sources. I will continue to do this until a) I forget or b) I immerse myself so completely into Japanese culture that I begin to italicize English words.)

I drove up to my old haunt (Gwinnett Place Mall) with my mom, and we made our way to a shop that specializes in delicacies made in the good ol' South. I purchased candied pecans, peach preserves and a fancy tin with a peach logo and "Atlanta, GA" emblazoned on the front. The tin will be filled with jelly beans from Sam Walton's club.

Afterward, we examined the mall directory to locate a store that might specialize in trinkets of the Atlantan variety. No such luck, but we did pick up some keychains and a pewter Georgia spoon from a card shop. One point of interest: the mall directory has gotten a lot less specific from when I last perused one. Instead of letters and numbers to indicate location, there were simply letters. Thus, a rather huge portion of the mall was labeled "E." It took a few awkward left-right-left looks before I knew where to go.

Today: I got a haircut. Seeing as how it is roughly four weeks before I begin teaching, I will certainly need another one in order to make a good impression. It will be a Japanese haircut.

Tomorrow: I will go to the bank. I will begin packing.

A taste of the future?

2007-07-23T11:30:00.000+09:00

Last night, I drove out to Athens with my buddy Aaron to visit the Snows. (That's Matt and Cindy Snow, née Lo!) The event: Ka-ra-okay!

We got a private room for the low, low cost of $40/hour (though free to me), and the festivities were grand, to say the least.

Highlights of the night include Mr. Big's "To Be With You," which Cindy sang with adolescent glee, finally hearing Matt sing (he's a dead-ringer for his main man J.B. Jovi), and Aaron's baritonian rendition of the Beach Boys' "Kokomo." Because, after all, that's where we want to go.

I saké bombed (twice) and got the cute, partially-Japanese (?) waitress' phone number. Wait, no I didn't.

If this is a sign of things to come, I welcome the incoming flood.

But it has my name in it!

2007-07-21T12:24:00.001+09:00

It has quickly come to my attention that the title of this blog could easily be read as "Loin Translation." I welcome the misinterpretation, though the content to follow will hopefully dispel the notion.

Yesterday, in a weak attempt to immerse myself in something Japanese, I watched Letters From Iwo Jima. I realized I am not a huge fan of war movies. Pleasantly, I could pick out a few words here and there. SPOILER: To save face, Japanese soldiers committed suicide when the battle was lost. I do not yet know how I feel about this.

I am told that, at the end of my stay in Japan, I will bring back double what I originally brought. I will attempt to pack all that I need into a large suitcase and a backpack carry-on. Let's see how minimal I can be.

ETD: 9 Days

2007-07-20T04:29:00.000+09:00

It's almost time.

I'll be departing for Japan a week from Saturday, and there's little left to do:

1. omiyage: The Japanese give gifts. Often. My predecessor recently thanked me for existing because his (soon to be my) classes have been busy preparing gifts for my arrival. I need to do the same. First purchase (thanks to mom) was a batch of Coca-Cola gummy candies.

2. indoor/outdoor shoes: Notice the specific use of backslash over hyphen. Shoes that are worn outside cannot be worn inside. Shoes that are worn inside cannot be worn outside. How ever will I match my outfit?

3. get my cash on: I am somewhat convinced that no one knows anything. I called a branch of my bank to ask how I'd get my hands on some Japanese yen.
"Come in to any branch," the nice man said. "Or, better yet, there's an American Express store across the street."
Whaa? You don't want my business? My own bank? I called another branch closer to my home.
"You should call the 1-800 number," the nice lady said.
"1-800..."
"Wachovia."
See: I know nothing.
"Is that easier than coming in?" I asked.
"Yes, because we'd have to call anyway."
Sigh.