Too Perfect

The Japanese love of baseball is almost as famous as their love of strict gender roles, which is why, when my girlfriend asked me what a good movie to watch with her night class would be, I immediately thought of A League of Their Own. Watched in any country it's an enjoyable movie full of important lessons including the essential, "there's no crying in baseball!," but it seems especially poignant in a country like Japan where they are, in many ways, behind when it comes to gender equality. This makes the Japanese version's title of, "Pretty League," telling AND hilarious.

Behind a Window

The sun, bright outside
I watch the seconds fall and
rise, aged, from my desk

Unicycles Leaning Against a Wall

Activities not on Rick Steve's list of things to do while in Perugia...

This is a bizarre story about a murder in Italy involving a young girl from Seattle and other folks from various parts of the world, maybe. I read about it a while back but had forgotten how strange it was until I stumbled across this feature in The Stranger.

http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/Content?oid=504236

Intimacies

I want to mention something that has been throwing my subconscious off for as long as I've been in Japan but which I have just brought to my conscious mind today: after lunch tooth-brushing. I'm not sure whether all Japanese do this or just teachers, but everday after lunch brushes emerge from hello-kitty cases and I become ever so slightly perturbed. Today, like I said, I realized this and have deduced the reason why. Brushing one's teeth in another's presence, to me, seems an intimate act; something done with family, girlfriends, and friends whom accompany you on poorly funded vacations. Watching my co-workers brush their teeth is just a few steps below brushing the sleep from their eyes. We're not that close. Plus, if this is general practice in Japan we have to conclude that it is largely ineffective.

Did I neglect to mention...

that one of the top candy bar makers in Japan goes by the utterly great name of Crunky? I would not be surprised to learn that one of Lil Jon's dreams was crushed when they got that copyright.

The Coolest Kid in School

Often, the "coolest" kids in junior high school are not those who are the most academically inclined. This temporary reverse meritocracy occurs in Japan as well. The girls whose affections are most sought after are those who hike their skirts the highest, enduring relentless and ineffective reprimands. These girls almost seem to compete to see who can say "I just don't seem to understand English" in the most cutesy Japanese possible. The boys are no different. This said, it should be unessesary to relate that Yusuke, whose status as ichiban kakoi (coolest) is apparent in his every action, whether it be meandering out of class in the midst of a lesson, fighting, or sagging his uniform like it was 1998 is no scholar of English. Thus, I found it endlessly amusing and endearing when while reading the students winter diaries (most of which were cookie cuttered right out of the book) I came across Yusuke's of which the entirety celebrates his girlfriend Mao.

I love Mao.
I enjoyed playing with Mao
Our anniversary is 2nd.
She is most important for me.
I had a good time with Mao.

Not only was Yusuke's the most creative; it was also the most honest. I also liked the hearts he illustrated it with.

Why The Mafia Doesn't Mess With Waste-Disposal In Japan

The Japanese love of organization, compartmentalization, and perhaps most press-it-to-your-heart-and-sigh-ingly, of unity (homogeneity?) is no secret. The flood of black-suited workers to the cities every morning, the uniformly uniformed students who greet the line of teachers waiting before the schools’ entrances, even the cookie cutter layouts and substance of every city seem to betray a reverence for similitude rarely seen elsewhere. With this said, it should come as no surprise that the disposing of one’s garbage would be a task almost Herculean in its exactitude and nearly reaching the tremendous heights of annoyance achieved by J-Pop singers. But who would have thought it’d be so well policed?
My section of my neighborhood has its refuse pick-up point about two blocks from my apartment. It is a rudimentary but sturdy metal box with grated sides that would comfortably fit about eight standing adults. (perhaps 5 if they were American) The regular collection dates are Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday. The former and the latter are for burnables-of which I have a very specific list-and Wednesday is for plastics. Other items have separate collection dates once a month. Were I a newspaper subscriber I would only be able to rid myself of the spent print once a month. Same goes for bottles, jars, and cans. What if you are out of town that one day? Then you have a couple of bags of paper sitting in a corner in your kitchen. And if you then miss it again, and again, and two more times after that you likely have a kitchen that looks similar to mine.
I take my recyclables and trash to the collection site on my way to school-approximately 7:30-as it remains locked the night before. One might think that by this point it would be easy, that I would simply sling the bags from my bike’s handlebars and leave them in their place. Well it surely would be, were it not for the vigilant morning-trash-volunteer who waits, with possible sadistic glee, to reprimand me every collection day.
The first scolding I got occurred when, after running out of the designated burnables bags, I had resorted to using the recyclable materials bag instead. I was promptly turned away, bags in hand. I was also turned away later for trying to skate by with grocery bags. My thoughts were being that everything there was trash, and that all the neighborhood was doing trash, the truck would only be carrying trash leaving little possibility for confusion. This reasoning is beyond my grasp of Japanese and I had to leave it with a skeptical look.
The next time was perhaps a manifestation of the importance of respect in Japanese culture, perhaps just that of my trash-volunteer’s growing fondness for the subject of his free time. Either way, I was chastised for brazenly letting the bags fall from my hands to the piles of other trash bags rather than gentle setting them upon their kin-for which I was given a tutorial.
After that I was informed I needed to be writing my name and address on my bags in case they contained contraband.
Last Tueday, after gently positioning my named, address, and properly bagged trash atop the pile, I was feeling pretty confident. Trash volunteer, however, not to be deterred, looked at my bicycle and asserted cheerily, “You have no light on your bike. Very dangerous.”

Wish I could of seen the whole thing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ebhA6mdVzIU

I can't decide if the debates are getting better or worse.

　 I invented a great little activity yesterday. Great in many ways actually: It gives students the opportunity to speak, listen to, and write English. It requires actual thought and expression of said original thought in English, rather than the sadly standard regurgitation. The students love the element of competition. And, most importantly, it elicited this response to why New York City might be famous:

"It has a free she god." And
"Freedam gad is in there." And
"It has free Venus."

You got it yet? No? That would be The Statue of Liberty. I actually am pretty pleased with it because this is exactly the kind of English practice they don't usually get. Making combinations of related words when you don't know the exact word or phrase is an important skill which Japanese students can often be too shy (or just lacking in opportunity) to practice. Accordingly, and because it may just be a better name for her, the first of the above sentences got the points.

Tuesdays with sushi

Last Tuesday was progressing in a typical fashion (i.e. nothing much was happening) when my friend Hi-Kun called me up to see if I wanted to get some dinner. We drove around a bit, deciding what to have, and settled on a sushiya owned by one of Hi's friends. Takezushi is a small restuarant, though average by Japanese standards, with two tatami tables and and bar with stools for eight. The bar seats are the most coveted as you can pick your fish from the glass case in front of you and watch as it is prepared. Being a tuesday, it was slow and we sat at the bar. Gen-San, the sushi chef, was a very friendly guy and spoke very enthusiastically about everything whether in English, which he doesn't speak, or in Japanese which, in his enthusiasm was mostly too fast to pick up. Luckily I had Hi to translate and head up the ordering.
We were given a starter plate with various, perhaps experimental, rolls, one of which was described by Gen as Japanese fois gras. They were all delicious and we ordered some sake to accompany the meal. The sake was served in traditional fashion which means the glass is set inside a bamboo box and filled to overflowing. After you finish the spirits in your glass you tilt the square container to your mouth and finish the rest.
We had a perfectly fried tempura set with local mushrooms, fish, shrimp, and some delicate and pretty leaves-Japanese cuisine fully utilizes the array of flora found in Japan. After the Tempura Hi-kun ordered lamb. I was wary of this as I have never before enjoyed lamb, in fact, all previous experience I had with it involved some level of repulsion on my part. This, however, was ridiculously good. It arrived on a small plate, thinly sliced and raw, followed closely by a porous black stone beneath which a steady flame burned. We cooked each piece seperately, enjoying the hiss of the cooking meat. Like tiny steaks, we left the centers raw, while quickly charring either side. The delicate meat seemed to dissolve in my mouth and the taste was not strong like I remembered but flavorful, almost sweet. We had perfect, fresh maguro and salmon. We had another round of sake. Half-way through my glass I made the mistake of asking about some of the more mysterious items behind the transpicuous case. My questioning reached a stopping point when a particularly curious looking fish-part could not be adequately explained. Hi-Kun, seizing the moment, ordered me some before I could find out what it was. The nori served as a mere bowl for a collection of white organic undulations that, if it could produce sound, would surely have been making something of a "gluurg, glurrg" noise. I had to ask Gen-San whether I was expected to eat the whole thing at once as it was quite large but upon hearing his affirmation I went for it. It was not good. It was like cottage cheese though more slippery and less textured and much more unsettling. I finished it off and smiled, "oishi desu yo." I then made Hi-Kun eat the other one. After doing some reasearch later we found that Shirako, which is what the curious fish-part was callled in Japanese, is cod milt*.
After dinner we wandered around kakegawa a bit and met up with some friends for a beer later. Turned out to be pretty nice day, for a tuesday.

*milt is fish sperm.

bloody toes

So, here is some advice for anyone who ever runs more than 5 miles at a time: If your toes start feeling numb, look at them after you finish running; don't keep running for the next few days while wondering what the hell is wrong with your feet. It's good to take a careful look because you could be bleeding profusely into your sock like I was and it is most likely best to fix the situation.

How to Dismantle a School Lunch

Japan is a country that, while embracing modern western culture like a long-parted lover, still emanates a deep reverence for tradition and ceremony. The mere act of meeting a friend for a cup of tea can be, in Japan, a delicately orchestrated endeavor with more rules than sips, having more in common with a Freemason's meeting than the consumption of a beverage with company. In another remarkable complicating of a reasonably simple act, the actual dressing oneself (or another) in a kimono requires such refined skill that many Japanese women study it for years. Even the public waste disposal system leaves many an expat perplexed. It is, thus, unsurprising that dismantling one's tray after school lunch is, while simple compared to many activities (juggling and taxes come to mind), quite intense when weighed against the same chore elsewhere. It goes something like this: First set aside your straw and its accompanying wrapper. Then, reverse-engineer your milk carton until it is just a flat sheet no longer able to nobly contain liquids. Take the former-carton and rinse it thoroughly in the sink. When it has been cleansed of dairy, place it neatly atop the others in the gray Tupperware box. Next, empty any remaining food into the several, shining metal containers in which it was delivered, being careful to keep the various foods separate: salad with salad, fish with fish. If a spoon was necessary for the meal, rinse it and slide it onto the spoon rack. Place all plates and bowls in their corresponding slots-keeping the rice bowls separate though they are the same as the soup bowl. If there was a dessert (perhaps a small paper cup of yogurt or frozen jelly), make sure to separate all of the following: paper spoon, cup, cup lid, and paper wrapper from paper spoon. Place each in its designated plastic bag. Then, regardless of what your experiences may lead you to believe, take your straw and its wrapper and through them away. Now brush your teeth with the rest of the staff.

Halloween

I drove to school wednesday morning thinking only typical wednesday morning thoughts: "Weird, you'd think I'd be more tired. Why do they need so many old men in neon, reflective vests to supervise a single four-way stop? Do I have time to stop for an egg Mcmuffin? Damn, it's recyling day for milk cartons...now I have to wait till next month." So engrossed was I with nothing that I completely forgot what day it was. In my defense, the japanese don't seem to fancy halloween as much other western holidays like say, Christmas, and hence there is nothing to stir my memory. No skeletons hanging from doorsteps, no bats or cobwebs, no obnoxious talking witches, not even sales on candy. (I never thought I'd miss that candy corn stuff but I feel oddly melancholy without it) Excuses aside, when I walked into the teacher's room I was ready for a normal day's work and was just about to start staring blankly at my notebook when I was persuaded into the hallway by a gang of three of my 7th grade students. As soon as I stepped into the hallway-It took a minute because, though I have been here a while know, I still always forget that the japanese hand gesture for "come here" is what we use for "please go away"-I was accosted by three miniature voices chiming out "trick or treat!" One of them, Mizuho, even went so far as to make a jack-o-lantern mask. Needless to say, it was ridiculously cute and I felt like an idiot for not having any candy-especially after my attempt to convince them that we usually give out high-fives failed.

One of my schools,

one of my classes,

and one of my students.

The following are poems written by my third-year students. I especially enjoy how they often take two seemingly unrelated ideas or things and create a connection between them that we have, perhaps, not seen before. For instance, before reading them I had not yet pondered the relation of meat and peace.

Boiled meat
That smells good
Looks delicious
Peace


Mario
High jump
He is a destroyer
He has a red cap
Peace


Heaven
Happy place
Very beautiful here
Time passes so slowly
Interesting




*That last one reminds me of the Talking Heads song about the bar called heaven where nothing, nothing ever happens.

How much Peach is too much?

The Japanese enjoy repetition. This is apparant in oh so many ways. From language and food to the life of a junior high school student, this delight in similitude is everywhere, defending against the visscitudes of life.
You can see it in the speech patterns-one of the reasons simple spoken-japanese is quite easy to pick up is so much of what is said in normal conversations is said over and over, every day, with little variation. A glaring example of this unwavering use of the same words or phrases can be seen at Hanabi (fireworks) festivals where, while being dazzled by the fantastic colors and patterns above, you can also marvel at the echoes of "sugoi!" that surround you. The japanese all-purpose word "sugoi" meaning "great, big," or "cool," is practically the only exclamation inspired by the exploding sky. Picture yourself on the Fourth of July with people of all ages, everyone exclaiming only, "wow."
And, while japanese cuisine is certainly possessed of many flavors and styles it may be said that it all has a certain quality of subtlety and simplicity. There are no extremes in the food of japan, spice and flavor are mild and harmonious and, concordingly, the foreign food that can be found has been re-imagined in the japanese style and retains little of its original character.
This spirit of homogeneity naturally forms school life as well. The most obvious example is of course the uniforms worn by all students from Junior High on. Then there is the well-known group-oriented approach to everything that manifests itself in sports day events including the quite impressive 40-student simultaneous jump-rope competition whose execution would be laughable in many other countries or the general distaste for being singled out in any way. There are also not so commonly known examples. Let me relate what it is like to eat lunch at my school as a glimpse into one of these manifestations which strikes me as interesting in its unremarkability.
I have taken to eating lunch in the tiny windowed room adjacent to the PA room where all the announcements are made. It gets me out of the teachers room and I get to talk with the students who deliver the daily announcements. From this room I can clearly hear everything being projected through the schools speakers. A typical luncy period goes something like this (approximately):
12:35- Greeting: Good afternoon honorable everyone. Please, lets enjoy today's lunch together. It is rice, milk, fish, soup, and slice of apple. Please it it with gusto. Today we will be attending clubs and also will have time to practice each class's songs for the chorus festival. Thank you.
12:36- The song "Peach" by Otsuka Ai is played.
(note: "Peach" is a horrible song. Imagine if the backstreet boys were a girl and they teamed up with the creators of My Little Pony to write a theme song for Claire's mall jewlery store. It's like that but poppier.)
12:37- I note outloud and with an air of inevitability that we are listening to "Peach" again today.
12:40- The student in charge of the song rushes from her chair to the audio room.
12:41- "Peach" is restarted. (apparantly there is no replay option)
12:45- Same as 12:40's action.
12:46- We listen to "Peach" yet again.
12:50- See 12:45.
12:51 - Any guesses?

And thus lunch period is passed, everyday, without incident where surely, anyplace else where the students were not so accustomed to repetition the PA system would be quickly and systematically destroyed within days. Clearly then, it can be said that the Japanese admiration of predictability is pervasive and, occasionally, painful.

Cardboard Phones

It was another day spent predominantly in the classroom. Unlike much of my previous time working in Japanese schools I have been busy lately. Most days I have had at least four classes and during the remaining free periods rather than reading The Red Badge of Courage on Wikipedia's online library I have been planning and scheming for future lessons. Not surprisingly I have also found school much more entertaining and, in a strange twist, more relaxing. Today was exemplifying this new spirit quite perfectly until I came to one of the ni-nen (8th grade) classes where I attempted one of the new lesson plans I had been working on. You can never tell what will work and what will leave you with 30 Japanese kids dressed as 20th century british sailors staring at you, heads cocked to one side, completely willing to spend the rest of the hour silently not learning a damn thing. As entertaining as that may sound it loses its novelty rapidly and I could see today's lesson headed in this direction. The target language was basic phone etiquette, which seemed an easy sell but I took a wrong turn somewhere and they were getting bogged down. When a gust of wind blew the large curtain out against a student seated next to the window the rest of them tittered, glad for a distraction. When I began the final activity, wherein the students would use oversized cardboard phones to call each other up and ask one another to accompany them somewhere, I had pretty low expectations. Fortunately the first student I gave the phone to, Sho-Kun, called up his friend Ryota and together they brought the class back. Their conversation followed the prescribed pattern at first, "Hello."
"Hello"
"Is this Ryota?"
"Yes, what's up?" And then, incorporating his outside research into the final bit, Sho said to Ryota, "I will go to Hell...why don't you come?" He couldn't of done the role-play better and as Suguri-senseii and I laughed I watched the mood of the classroom change completely in seconds.

What's in a name?

Now, you may have gathered, provided you've been reading my previous posts, that the japanese like to use english in all sorts of ways, many of which appear quite odd to those who actually understand it. This is not to say americans don't do things like this as well, we do, just not nearly to the same extent. I brought up tattoos before and I will bring them up again now just to point out that while the Japanese misuse english to an extent that is staggering, and sometimes oddly poetic, I have yet to see a Japanese person with a tattoo in any language but their own-which means none of them are walking around thinking their permamant skin-art says "peace" when it actually says "gyoza." Okay, that said, they do however name their bars things that would not fly outside of San Fransisco.
Let's say you are opening a bar/cafe and you wish to attract a young surfer/stoner clientele. You've got a good location, hip employees, an above average selection of drinks; all you need is a name. Maybe something to do with surfing or the ocean? Nope, too obvious. How about a reference to some recent cultural movement or even something more retro, maybe swipe a few words from some literary or cinematic classic? What about just something about booze? No, no, and no. If you are the entrepreneurs in Kikugawa you go with, The Pony's Toy. I can't explain exactly why this sounds like the epitome of gay bar names to me but it is definately up there. Kind of like the equivalent of the Wildrose in Seattle, but not exclusively for women. The Pony's Toy, however, pales in comparison to the outright brazenness or random-chance-iness of those who named nearby Fujieda's, The Skin Flute. Seriously. Seriously! All in all though, a pretty nice bar...full of women. Somehow I didn't think to ask about the name while I was there but I did take a photograph of the sign for the incredulous.