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.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Boys will be boys.
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.
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.
Friday, December 7, 2007
I'm not here. This isn't happening.
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."
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."
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Don't go breakin' my heart
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.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Frankie Goes To Onsen
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Can I dress you up in my love?
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?
Friday, November 2, 2007
Amy hit the atmosphere
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.
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.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
A low-quality video is worth 30 pictures a second.
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.
He's so intent on wiggling the arms!
There's just enough cowbell.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
I already used that festivus quote.
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?
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
soccer boppers, soccer boppers!
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"
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"
Monday, October 1, 2007
Todo sobre mi madre
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!
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.
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?
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.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Ventforet olay olay!
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.
----
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.
----
(Photos by Tiffany Minaret Sakato)
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.
----
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.
----
(Photos by Tiffany Minaret Sakato)
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Getting cut up
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.
"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.
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.
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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!
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.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Don't mind me. Americans are immune to earthquakes and typhoons.
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
His name was Robert Paulsen (Smith).
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.
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.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Rollercoaster... of whaa?
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.
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.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
The internet, sorta
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.
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.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Let me clear my throat
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.
---
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.
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.
---
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.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Football is football
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.
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.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
With our powers combined
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.
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.Sunday, August 12, 2007
Tokyo Drifting
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.
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.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Hello, hello
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Surely illegal in other countries
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.
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.
Monday, August 6, 2007
School's out for summer
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.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Townies + Downtown
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 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.
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.
Friday, August 3, 2007
So many lights
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."
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."
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Ladies and gentlemen, start your bike engines?
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.
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.
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