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.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Hey, wolves. Meet Kevin after I've thrown him to you.
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.
-----
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!
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.
-----
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
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?"
I can picture school speech competitions where the teachers say, "OK, now try speaking for three minutes without an eto or ano."
"Ehhhhhhhhhh?"
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Can't say they don't try
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.
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.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Party don't stop 'til (blank) in the morning.
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.
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.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Dance, too much booty in the pants
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)