Some of my students are great. Working in a school is just like working in an office: there are some people with whom you will strike an easy rhythm and have an enjoyable time; some people will drive you up the wall. Of course I have a healthy mix of both.
Many Japanese women fit the shy stereotype that tv and movies have led us to expect, though the younger generations are exhibiting this less and less. One of the students, in particular, I find simply intolerable. Her English is for crap and her laugh is a nauseating high-pitched twitter she unleashes without the slightest provocation.
There are several bookshelves right outside my classroom. When she walked in for the first time she started up with her laugh, she wouldn't look anywhere near me and, I kid you not, moved hand to hand and foot to foot as if the only way to enter my classroom were to shuffle across the ledge of the 40th story of a Manhattan high rise. Most students lose the majority of their qualms after the first lesson. She scaled her way back into the second. To top it off, she's 30-something, unmarried, lives off her parents, thinks laughing is a permissible response to any English question, and is in serious need of a punch to the bracket.
Some of my students with whom I'm willing to hang out with ask me how my classes are, so I give them an honest answer.
- Oh, you know, some are a lot of fun, some are pretty tough, mostly because it's hard to teach the students who don't really want to learn or don't have any goals.
- [Is that so?] (Often they reply in Japanese... it's sort of like a conversation between Han Solo and Chewbacca, except I occasionally throw in some Wookie of my own)
- ...but your class is by far the worst.
- [You're lying!] (shock and exasperation painted across the face)
- No, I really can't stand it.
- [Really?!]
- No... no, not really.
- [Thank god! (~close approximation)] (huge sigh of relief)
It's as if the sarcasm ship docked right outside of Himeji and I'm the first person to offload any of the cargo. You know the overdone "look over there" routine you see in many movies (the better of which follow it up with a swift kick to the groin)? Some of my students fall for that.
I could probably play "got your nose" with them all day if someone hadn't already taken them all. Hello, yes, Hell Airlines? I'd prefer an aisle seat, preferably in hand-basket class.
Some days, I get called "Prince Andrew" by a 70-year-old woman in that creepy tv-grandma sort of way where she waves and smiles a coy little smile as she walks out the door, face last, to the "Ooooooo" of the live audience followed immediately by laughter. This particular student wants only to talk about her late husband (of 30 years) and her medical problems. She met him when she was 13. He was 23 at the time. Most of her days she spends at home, writing poetry about him and she insists he's constantly perched behind her shoulder. She is a walking cry for attention.
I have another student who's a Jehovah's witness. We haven't started talking about religion yet (it's coming, I've been plenty warned of that), but at the end of the last class she said, "I hear you like animals." This comes as no surprise because I showed her pictures from my Galapagos trip the week prior. "I thought you might like to look at this," she said, handing me a pamphlet with some brightly colored animals entitled something or other about Creation. "I'm sorry, did you mistaken me for a weak-minded fool who will succumb to your laughable religious arguments? I speak some Wookie, damn it! This one's strong with the force!"
One of my advanced students is a very nice woman in her mid-fifties who I enjoy talking with in spite of (or maybe because of) her very strange ideas. We were discussing the judicial system and politics and how a politician might want to try a convicted criminal with a life sentence in his own jurisdiction for attention and political gain. "I don't understand American politics." I read the Japanese paper every day. Every day I read stories about scandal and corruption. She's not so much wearing blinders as she just has her own hands over her eyes. "Child abuse came from America." I'm sorry, what?! "The term 'child abuse' may have originated or identified in America, I don't know, but child abuse has been happening for thousands of years all across the world."
And then Nao, one of my students (with a car) that I hang out with frequently, is a riot. Yesterday after a very satisfying meal of yakiniku, I slumped down in my seat, eyes droopy, content as all could be. "You look like stupid," she said. I laughed for a good five minutes, assuring her it wasn't at her expense and that I understood what she was saying, but that the grammar was slightly askew. I dutifully explained "you look adjective" or "you look like a/an [noun]" and she took it in stride. It goes both ways though, as she frequently laughs at my Japanese, but for the other reason -- my Japanese sometimes sounds like native Japanese. This makes for an annoying predicament, as sometimes they'll forget I don't speak the language and they'll go on and on and I won't have a clue. Family Guy illustrated this best:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TklFxYN44CU
Monday, October 30, 2006
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Rites of passage in a day-trip town
There are several things one must do to try to assimilate oneself with Japanese culture, even though assimilation for a foreigner is impossible: an outsider will never be treated as Japanese. Even some insiders, because of their blood, are never wholly welcomed into society -- it can be pretty complicated. But for those who wish to try to understand Japan, there are several initiation rites that one should undergo:
1) Get a bike
My students are very giving people. Their charity usually extends to edible omiyage, which tend to be shared among teachers and students at the school. I've been gifted with candy and I've been gifted with movie tickets. I've been gifted with a fan bearing calligraphy spelling out who knows what (most Japanese cannot read Japanese calligraphy unless they've been trained, and even then styles can be vastly different and confusing). And I've also been gifted with a loaner-bike. It's nothing state-of-the-art, but it managed to hold up for a 14km round-trip excursion a few weekends ago.
2) Live without a washing machine, clothes dryer, oven, and central air
Wah.
3) Sleep on the floor
A student actually has an extra bed that she said I could borrow, but I think that would be a little much to ask. And I'm actually pretty comfortable on my futon (apartment pictures).
4) Ride tandem on a single-seat bike
Several weeks ago after a long night of eating and drinking at Big O's apartment, though I was offered the couch, I decided I'd rather wake up cotton-mouthed in my own place. So at about four in the morning I headed home (in Japan this is generally pretty safe). Another dinner guest (with a bike) also took off, so instead of walking 25 minutes, I rode and she clutched from behind. There was something very romantic about this in a distinctly Japanese way, not a sexual way (she's married), and as we climbed an overpass and I was pumping away at the pedals on the one-speed bike, she said, "Gambatte!" (In Japan, they have a much-used verb that translates to: "do your best") and something rang very true about the moment.
5) Look at naked Japanese man-ass
Onsens are public hot spring baths much-frequented by the Japanese, who take their bathing very seriously. Some have multiple pools of different sizes and temperatures. You must wash with soap and shampoo before you enter the hot springs. And you must be naked. Thankfully, I've lost most all of my naked-shame so my first Onsen experience was very relaxing.
6) Experience an earthquake
On the morning of Sept. 26 I was convinced that my room was shaking and that I was experiencing a minor earthquake. I asked about it at the school and no one else felt it, so I checked an online seismic monitor. Nothing. I have no idea what caused my room to shake or if it was just a vivid dream, but soon, I'm sure, I will experience an earthquake. Then my checklist will be complete, which is a shame, because I need more to do.
There is nothing to do in Himeji. Yes, there's Himeji Castle, which takes all of two hours to explore (the castle is relatively uninteresting, though its grounds and neighboring garden are beautiful). 7km away there's also Mount Shosha, a peaceful little mountain where part of The Last Samurai was filmed. I visited both of them several weeks ago (some crappy pictures I took), and that pretty much exhausted Himeji's tourist options. As such, I have no typical weekend, no day-off routine, and will likely venture farther and farther as the days go by.
Last weekend I went back to Kokoen (the garden beside the castle, more crappy pictures) to experience my first Japanese tea ceremony. Tea ceremony is inordinately complex, each skillful motion made by the kimono-laden hosts was delicate and easy though heavy with meaning. I took cues from the people next to me and discovered my part was as follows: bow, bow, eat, bow, drink, bow, bow, bow. You'd think it pretty easy, but no, I had to sit "seiza" style. After 20 minutes of that, pins and needles became swords and daggers, and for the subsequent 10 minutes walking around was an exercise in futility. Even some of the Japanese have trouble with it (ok, she was like 65 and stumbled once, but still...).
Last weekend I also went to Izushi (even more crappy pictures), which is famous for its soba (buckwheat) noodles, Harimaya, which is famous for its rice crackers (curry, seaweed, etc) and sweet-bean restaurant, a no-name Onsen, and more karaoke. It's good to have students with cars.
1) Get a bike
My students are very giving people. Their charity usually extends to edible omiyage, which tend to be shared among teachers and students at the school. I've been gifted with candy and I've been gifted with movie tickets. I've been gifted with a fan bearing calligraphy spelling out who knows what (most Japanese cannot read Japanese calligraphy unless they've been trained, and even then styles can be vastly different and confusing). And I've also been gifted with a loaner-bike. It's nothing state-of-the-art, but it managed to hold up for a 14km round-trip excursion a few weekends ago.
2) Live without a washing machine, clothes dryer, oven, and central air
Wah.
3) Sleep on the floor
A student actually has an extra bed that she said I could borrow, but I think that would be a little much to ask. And I'm actually pretty comfortable on my futon (apartment pictures).
4) Ride tandem on a single-seat bike
Several weeks ago after a long night of eating and drinking at Big O's apartment, though I was offered the couch, I decided I'd rather wake up cotton-mouthed in my own place. So at about four in the morning I headed home (in Japan this is generally pretty safe). Another dinner guest (with a bike) also took off, so instead of walking 25 minutes, I rode and she clutched from behind. There was something very romantic about this in a distinctly Japanese way, not a sexual way (she's married), and as we climbed an overpass and I was pumping away at the pedals on the one-speed bike, she said, "Gambatte!" (In Japan, they have a much-used verb that translates to: "do your best") and something rang very true about the moment.
5) Look at naked Japanese man-ass
Onsens are public hot spring baths much-frequented by the Japanese, who take their bathing very seriously. Some have multiple pools of different sizes and temperatures. You must wash with soap and shampoo before you enter the hot springs. And you must be naked. Thankfully, I've lost most all of my naked-shame so my first Onsen experience was very relaxing.
6) Experience an earthquake
On the morning of Sept. 26 I was convinced that my room was shaking and that I was experiencing a minor earthquake. I asked about it at the school and no one else felt it, so I checked an online seismic monitor. Nothing. I have no idea what caused my room to shake or if it was just a vivid dream, but soon, I'm sure, I will experience an earthquake. Then my checklist will be complete, which is a shame, because I need more to do.
There is nothing to do in Himeji. Yes, there's Himeji Castle, which takes all of two hours to explore (the castle is relatively uninteresting, though its grounds and neighboring garden are beautiful). 7km away there's also Mount Shosha, a peaceful little mountain where part of The Last Samurai was filmed. I visited both of them several weeks ago (some crappy pictures I took), and that pretty much exhausted Himeji's tourist options. As such, I have no typical weekend, no day-off routine, and will likely venture farther and farther as the days go by.
Last weekend I went back to Kokoen (the garden beside the castle, more crappy pictures) to experience my first Japanese tea ceremony. Tea ceremony is inordinately complex, each skillful motion made by the kimono-laden hosts was delicate and easy though heavy with meaning. I took cues from the people next to me and discovered my part was as follows: bow, bow, eat, bow, drink, bow, bow, bow. You'd think it pretty easy, but no, I had to sit "seiza" style. After 20 minutes of that, pins and needles became swords and daggers, and for the subsequent 10 minutes walking around was an exercise in futility. Even some of the Japanese have trouble with it (ok, she was like 65 and stumbled once, but still...).
Last weekend I also went to Izushi (even more crappy pictures), which is famous for its soba (buckwheat) noodles, Harimaya, which is famous for its rice crackers (curry, seaweed, etc) and sweet-bean restaurant, a no-name Onsen, and more karaoke. It's good to have students with cars.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
You are what you eat and sadly I smell it
I practice good oral hygiene. I brush at least three times a day: my teeth, my tongue, the roof of my mouth. I floss, I use a fluoride mouthwash, and I have my own dental pick and scalar. I am hyper-aware of halitosis and I do what I can to offset it. My teeth aren't perfect, but in Japan I've received several compliments about how beautiful and clean they appear. Thus, there is a stark contrast between my teeth and Chicken Hamburger's, which are about the color of dead toe skin. I assumed his death-dealing mouth-farts were a result of a poor dental regimen -- I suspected he brushed with a paste made from a mixture of expired meat puree and the sweat of fat junior high schoolers who tried (but failed) to run "the mile." But the other day I was twice shocked.
I returned from lunch and saw something frightening, amazing, and downright disturbing. Chicken Hamburger was brushing his teeth! He brings an electric toothbrush to work so that he can clean up after his meal. So why oh why does his breath cause hamsters to curdle? (If you've never seen a hamster curdle, consider yourself lucky.) It didn't make sense! I had to know, so I lingered around the office for a few more moments to await "Shock Number Two: The Elucidator." After he finished brushing, he rinsed his mouth out with coffee. He rinsed... his mouth out... with coffee. May as well brush with chocolate syrup and sleep with a night guard filled with vanilla frosting. There's no explanation for that oral transgression. It's not like he picked up some newfangled brown bottled water from the store: It's New! It's Brown! It cleans your mouth! He shouldn't be making that kind of mistake.
But I have every excuse. One of the problems with learning to live in Japan is the written language. There are three alphabets: one phonetic alphabet for Japanese words, one phonetic alphabet for foreign words, and Kanji, which are derived from Chinese letters. The latter is not phonetic and must be memorized, and many of the characters have several meanings by themselves, when they're grouped, when you wake up facing east and the wind blows south at less than five knots.
My first week in Japan, I bought the wrong kind of milk. That's not to say I couldn't drink it, but because I couldn't read it, I didn't realize until I started eating my cereal that I had purchased coffee-flavored soy milk. Other than that (and the dreaded one-ply twelve-pack incident), I've done ok.
For breakfast, I usually eat a banana, muesli (with milk), and a piece of toast with peanut butter or jam. This past week I upped my toast ante to two pieces, because the more I eat for breakfast, the less starved I am during my crazy 11:50 - 9pm hours. For lunch, standard fare comes cheaply at the local grocery store, Bon Marche. I can get several pieces of fish, some vegetables, and other assorted buffet items, along with a container of rice and miso soup, for under $5. Pretty good deal and it beats having to pack a lunch every day. Dinner, when I don't go out, is usually pasta, curry, or stew along with chopped fruit in yogurt. If I could find a gym that catered to my hours (almost all Japanese gyms go from 10am to 10pm) I would be the healthiest kid in town. If I had an oven, I'd be champion of the world. Alas.
Today's blog was brought to you by the letter A, which stands for both absurd and arbitrary. It was made possible by contributions to your PBS station from viewers like you.
I returned from lunch and saw something frightening, amazing, and downright disturbing. Chicken Hamburger was brushing his teeth! He brings an electric toothbrush to work so that he can clean up after his meal. So why oh why does his breath cause hamsters to curdle? (If you've never seen a hamster curdle, consider yourself lucky.) It didn't make sense! I had to know, so I lingered around the office for a few more moments to await "Shock Number Two: The Elucidator." After he finished brushing, he rinsed his mouth out with coffee. He rinsed... his mouth out... with coffee. May as well brush with chocolate syrup and sleep with a night guard filled with vanilla frosting. There's no explanation for that oral transgression. It's not like he picked up some newfangled brown bottled water from the store: It's New! It's Brown! It cleans your mouth! He shouldn't be making that kind of mistake.
But I have every excuse. One of the problems with learning to live in Japan is the written language. There are three alphabets: one phonetic alphabet for Japanese words, one phonetic alphabet for foreign words, and Kanji, which are derived from Chinese letters. The latter is not phonetic and must be memorized, and many of the characters have several meanings by themselves, when they're grouped, when you wake up facing east and the wind blows south at less than five knots.
My first week in Japan, I bought the wrong kind of milk. That's not to say I couldn't drink it, but because I couldn't read it, I didn't realize until I started eating my cereal that I had purchased coffee-flavored soy milk. Other than that (and the dreaded one-ply twelve-pack incident), I've done ok.
For breakfast, I usually eat a banana, muesli (with milk), and a piece of toast with peanut butter or jam. This past week I upped my toast ante to two pieces, because the more I eat for breakfast, the less starved I am during my crazy 11:50 - 9pm hours. For lunch, standard fare comes cheaply at the local grocery store, Bon Marche. I can get several pieces of fish, some vegetables, and other assorted buffet items, along with a container of rice and miso soup, for under $5. Pretty good deal and it beats having to pack a lunch every day. Dinner, when I don't go out, is usually pasta, curry, or stew along with chopped fruit in yogurt. If I could find a gym that catered to my hours (almost all Japanese gyms go from 10am to 10pm) I would be the healthiest kid in town. If I had an oven, I'd be champion of the world. Alas.
Today's blog was brought to you by the letter A, which stands for both absurd and arbitrary. It was made possible by contributions to your PBS station from viewers like you.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
A cultural entree with a side of uncertain death
* Long entry warning. If you want to skip to the illustrated version, go to http://www.bunker89.com/japan/matsuri; if you want to skip to one of the only two pictures I think is worth its salt go to http://www.bunker89.com/japan/matsuri/Untitled-39.jpg *
What better way to celebrate my one month anniversary in Japan than finally to step foot on a Japanese train. No, wait. What better way to celebrate my one month anniversary in Japan than to drink sake and beer for breakfast! Er, hang on a second. What better way to celebrate my one month anniversary in Japan than to be nearly trampled by a hundred drunk Japanese men lugging a 4-ton portable shrine (mikoshi). Yeah, that's the one, the portable shrine one.
Big O cautioned me early on that Sachiko and Nao, two of my students, would probably invite me to do something every other weekend. He was right, but while he didn't take to the warm welcome, I'm happy with my free cultural immersion. October 15 was the Autumn Festival in Houshi, Sachiko's town. The largest Autumn Festival in this area (in Nada, also on the 15th this year) brings in nearly 100,000 people, I'm told, and reserving a good seat/vantage point can cost around one million yen. The festival in Houshi maybe brought in a few thousand. They still like to claim theirs is bigger though.
There are various Autumn Festivals all throughout the Kansai area, starting in early October and ending a few weeks later. The festivals are most famous for their portable shrines. Basically, large groups of drunk men (I'm told 100, but it looked more like 50) run into each other carrying shrines weighing a few tons. It's like a cross between football and the "World's Strongest" competition on ESPN2 -- you know, the one with Magnus von Magnusson that's always on and somehow always entertaining -- except the spectators are all in the way. People sometimes get hurt, but it's a rare occasion when someone dies. I didn't.
Sachiko invited me and Nao to her mother's house for a traditional breakfast and I didn't hesitate to accept her invitation. Not heeding their warnings of the immensity of the meal, I expected a medium-large breakfast for the three of us that would take me a few extra minutes to polish off -- I do loves to eat. After a 15-minute walk from the train station, however, we entered her family's home to be greeted first by Sachiko's mother, whom we appropriately gifted, and then a gray head that poked around a corner in a meerkat sort of fashion that greeted me with a "Herro! Nice-oo to meet-oo you!" and I knew I was in for something different.
Arranged around a large table were about 13 men, all in similarly styled navy blue track suits. Sachiko's father has a reunion every year on the day of the Autumn Festival with friends and friends of friends from his school days. They alternate which house hosts, and this year fortune smiled on me as one of my students was able to invite me. Though they were dressed to play, I later learned that the only activity they'd be participating in would be drinking. All day. Many of the men had been there since about 7am. Some, however, were more able to hold their liquor than others. And of the men only the meerkat (aka Karate-san) knew more than ten words of English. He maybe knew 50.
Soon after I sat down and was offered drink, I was bestowed with my festival regalia: a rented happy-coat (that's what they called it, though I could easily have misheard) with a large character "North" written on the back to show our area, and a hachimaki that could be worn around the head as a headband or around the neck as a whatever. The latter I got to keep, so it's now up on my wall. I was thrilled that Sachiko's family had gone out of their way to include me, while it seemed that several of the men around the table would've been just as happy (maybe happier) had I and my students not been there at all.
"Andyyyyy!" Andrew was too hard for Drunk-san (he was the drunkest by several fathoms) to say. Truth be told, Andrew causes some of my students trouble as well, and often emerges as it's written in Japanese: An-do-ryu. But this particular sake-jockey was beyond phonetic futility. "Rokko oroshi! Preeeease sing!" The Hanshin Tigers is one of the major league Japanese baseball teams and he wanted me to perform their fight song. I didn't know it, so Drunk-san, halfway down the lengthy table, enlisted Sachiko who was sitting at my left (performing much like a geisha one of the men commented). She started up and eventually they were all singing, save for one, who likes a rival team so left the room until they were done.
Drunk-san was momentarily appeased, so I turned my attentions to Karate-san on my right. Like all drunk men, Karate-san wished to demonstrate his physical prowess, despite his diminutive size, or, perhaps, because of it. He had us feel his middle knuckle on his right hand. Or rather, he had us feel his total lack thereof. He's been using that fist to punch so much that the knuckle has completely worn away. The word for that, I believe, is "gross." Also, all of his top front teeth are false because they were punched out.
I've noticed a direct correlation between urban living and oral hygiene. Country-folk (we were just a stone's throw away from Hicksville) tend to be lacking in good dental care. Himeji isn't a big city -- 500,000 is about a step above village --, but they're definitely better here. Seated around the table, there was probably a visible half set of teeth missing, though I wouldn't be surprised if in actuality it was four times that. But whatever state their teeth were in, it didn't stop the group from breakfasting on sake, beer, fish, meat, and who knows what else I had.
Drunk-san got drunker and soon called me over to chat and drink. I couldn't understand a single word he said, so he called Nao (who gave a "who me?!" look) and eventually Sachiko. Sachiko's English is not very good and she was having trouble translating so Drunk-san gave her an audible smack on the top of the head. I don't know how rare this is, or what the correlation is between head-smacking and bumpkin-folk, but Sachiko did not take kindly and silently stormed out of the room where quiet tears were shed. Sachiko's mother entered and, curiously, said to me and Drunk-san "tempura" to which, being a good-mannered guest, I replied in Japanese: "oishii" [delicious].
Turns out, though Sachiko's mom can't speak a single sentence in English, she was trying both to placate Drunk-san by telling him tempura was on the way (it wasn't really) and to explain to me that Sachiko has a bit of a temper. I realized this about five seconds after I said "delicious" in response to "temper," and this was confirmed to me several hours later. Sadly. it was no surprise that instead of the incident that this would cause in the west, Sachiko's father didn't so much as blink. Japan's gender roles are still grossly misbalanced, but at least there are distinct signs of progress. Just not that day.
Soon the men left and Sachiko, Nao, and I were treated to yet more food from her mother (who prepared all of it, starting the previous day) and then we were off to the first part of the festivities. We arrived at what looked like any carnival with a few generic water games and a slew of different types of food from hot dogs to sweet bean paste. Sachiko's sister manned a candy vendor so slipped us a few things on the sly. We then walked to the temple to check out the portable shrines.
I expressed to several of my students the week before that I wanted to help carry a portable shrine, having no real concept, at the time, of what a portable shrine was. Aside from the danger, I was told that most shrine groups are very exclusive and you have to be a high-ranking member of the village or area to have a shot. I also told my students I wanted to wear mawashi, which are similar to what you see sumo wrestlers wear. Usually that elicits a pretty good laugh, but I would've liked to, just for a day. It's a comfort thing.
So I didn't get to play dueling shrines, but I did pop open a can of cool and refreshing Gaijin-Awesome (tm) and was invited into one of the shrines for a couple pictures. Nao and Sachiko were shocked, as it's apparently a rarity for a total stranger to be granted such privilege. I'm not sure women are even allowed to touch the shrines, so they immediately wanted to see a picture of the inside.
After a quick trip to the grocery store for a lesson in how-not-to-buy-coffee-flavored-milk-again (future blog), we returned to the temple for the shishi-mai (a ritual dance with a lion's mask). And we waited. And we waited some more. And then the procession began and we waited even longer because we were toward the end of the procession and the lions moved about five feet every five minutes (to say one foot a minute would be inaccurate -- every five minutes they moved about five feet). By the time the mawashi-wearing troupe reached us, all the men smelled like fermented ass-beans, and they looked tired as all get-out, having had to carry one another on and off for a very long time, inebriated, no less. But it was still beautiful and I can hear echoes of the eerie flute music with which each group accompanied their lion.
After the procession, we returned to Sachiko's house for yet more food and Sachiko's mother explained to me (through Nao) that Drunk-san is the only member of the group that isn't married. "Sabishii?" [lonely] I asked. Probably, and pretty persistent when he gets drunk. They told me I had been a good sport. Actually I told them I had been a good sport, because its what they intended to say so I doled out another free English lesson (these are always well-received -- I wouldn't bother if ever it were perceived to be offensive).
And then we walked back to the main event where the shrines progressed slowly into an area a few hundred feet by a few hundred feet. "What happens if they can't lift one?" I asked, because most of the men had been drinking all day. "Then they drag it in," I was told. Finally it began and with a large crack, two shrines collided. Our shrine broke and it took about 45 minutes to get a replacement beam installed. "Do they repair them every year?" "No." "Really?" "Oh, actually... yes, probably."
Though our shrine was temporarily out of commission, the other shrines didn't waste any time. Or rather, they wasted a ton of time, but they were really freakin' heavy so I don't blame them. The shrine groups would rock the shrine back and forth until it dipped enough on one side to hoist up the other side and then they'd all try to rise. Most of the time they couldn't, but when they finally lifted up and momentum took over, you moved or you got squashed. It was absolutely reckless and I loved it. In Nada it's a lot more active, maybe because it's more popular so the shrine bashers are more motivated (who knows, maybe they drink less too), but it's harder to find a place to watch and there's no room to maneuver away from an incoming shrine so you're at the mercy of the mass.
And that was it. The shrine-bashing went on for about 4 hours, and then they moved to a point right near the train station where they'd continue on into the night as a show of manliness. I was done after about the first hour, but after being treated as such an honored guest, the only complaint I'd utter was that I'm really hungry, which is always good for a laugh because I'm always really hungry.
If you want to read more about festivals, go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matsuri
What better way to celebrate my one month anniversary in Japan than finally to step foot on a Japanese train. No, wait. What better way to celebrate my one month anniversary in Japan than to drink sake and beer for breakfast! Er, hang on a second. What better way to celebrate my one month anniversary in Japan than to be nearly trampled by a hundred drunk Japanese men lugging a 4-ton portable shrine (mikoshi). Yeah, that's the one, the portable shrine one.
Big O cautioned me early on that Sachiko and Nao, two of my students, would probably invite me to do something every other weekend. He was right, but while he didn't take to the warm welcome, I'm happy with my free cultural immersion. October 15 was the Autumn Festival in Houshi, Sachiko's town. The largest Autumn Festival in this area (in Nada, also on the 15th this year) brings in nearly 100,000 people, I'm told, and reserving a good seat/vantage point can cost around one million yen. The festival in Houshi maybe brought in a few thousand. They still like to claim theirs is bigger though.
There are various Autumn Festivals all throughout the Kansai area, starting in early October and ending a few weeks later. The festivals are most famous for their portable shrines. Basically, large groups of drunk men (I'm told 100, but it looked more like 50) run into each other carrying shrines weighing a few tons. It's like a cross between football and the "World's Strongest" competition on ESPN2 -- you know, the one with Magnus von Magnusson that's always on and somehow always entertaining -- except the spectators are all in the way. People sometimes get hurt, but it's a rare occasion when someone dies. I didn't.
Sachiko invited me and Nao to her mother's house for a traditional breakfast and I didn't hesitate to accept her invitation. Not heeding their warnings of the immensity of the meal, I expected a medium-large breakfast for the three of us that would take me a few extra minutes to polish off -- I do loves to eat. After a 15-minute walk from the train station, however, we entered her family's home to be greeted first by Sachiko's mother, whom we appropriately gifted, and then a gray head that poked around a corner in a meerkat sort of fashion that greeted me with a "Herro! Nice-oo to meet-oo you!" and I knew I was in for something different.
Arranged around a large table were about 13 men, all in similarly styled navy blue track suits. Sachiko's father has a reunion every year on the day of the Autumn Festival with friends and friends of friends from his school days. They alternate which house hosts, and this year fortune smiled on me as one of my students was able to invite me. Though they were dressed to play, I later learned that the only activity they'd be participating in would be drinking. All day. Many of the men had been there since about 7am. Some, however, were more able to hold their liquor than others. And of the men only the meerkat (aka Karate-san) knew more than ten words of English. He maybe knew 50.
Soon after I sat down and was offered drink, I was bestowed with my festival regalia: a rented happy-coat (that's what they called it, though I could easily have misheard) with a large character "North" written on the back to show our area, and a hachimaki that could be worn around the head as a headband or around the neck as a whatever. The latter I got to keep, so it's now up on my wall. I was thrilled that Sachiko's family had gone out of their way to include me, while it seemed that several of the men around the table would've been just as happy (maybe happier) had I and my students not been there at all.
"Andyyyyy!" Andrew was too hard for Drunk-san (he was the drunkest by several fathoms) to say. Truth be told, Andrew causes some of my students trouble as well, and often emerges as it's written in Japanese: An-do-ryu. But this particular sake-jockey was beyond phonetic futility. "Rokko oroshi! Preeeease sing!" The Hanshin Tigers is one of the major league Japanese baseball teams and he wanted me to perform their fight song. I didn't know it, so Drunk-san, halfway down the lengthy table, enlisted Sachiko who was sitting at my left (performing much like a geisha one of the men commented). She started up and eventually they were all singing, save for one, who likes a rival team so left the room until they were done.
Drunk-san was momentarily appeased, so I turned my attentions to Karate-san on my right. Like all drunk men, Karate-san wished to demonstrate his physical prowess, despite his diminutive size, or, perhaps, because of it. He had us feel his middle knuckle on his right hand. Or rather, he had us feel his total lack thereof. He's been using that fist to punch so much that the knuckle has completely worn away. The word for that, I believe, is "gross." Also, all of his top front teeth are false because they were punched out.
I've noticed a direct correlation between urban living and oral hygiene. Country-folk (we were just a stone's throw away from Hicksville) tend to be lacking in good dental care. Himeji isn't a big city -- 500,000 is about a step above village --, but they're definitely better here. Seated around the table, there was probably a visible half set of teeth missing, though I wouldn't be surprised if in actuality it was four times that. But whatever state their teeth were in, it didn't stop the group from breakfasting on sake, beer, fish, meat, and who knows what else I had.
Drunk-san got drunker and soon called me over to chat and drink. I couldn't understand a single word he said, so he called Nao (who gave a "who me?!" look) and eventually Sachiko. Sachiko's English is not very good and she was having trouble translating so Drunk-san gave her an audible smack on the top of the head. I don't know how rare this is, or what the correlation is between head-smacking and bumpkin-folk, but Sachiko did not take kindly and silently stormed out of the room where quiet tears were shed. Sachiko's mother entered and, curiously, said to me and Drunk-san "tempura" to which, being a good-mannered guest, I replied in Japanese: "oishii" [delicious].
Turns out, though Sachiko's mom can't speak a single sentence in English, she was trying both to placate Drunk-san by telling him tempura was on the way (it wasn't really) and to explain to me that Sachiko has a bit of a temper. I realized this about five seconds after I said "delicious" in response to "temper," and this was confirmed to me several hours later. Sadly. it was no surprise that instead of the incident that this would cause in the west, Sachiko's father didn't so much as blink. Japan's gender roles are still grossly misbalanced, but at least there are distinct signs of progress. Just not that day.
Soon the men left and Sachiko, Nao, and I were treated to yet more food from her mother (who prepared all of it, starting the previous day) and then we were off to the first part of the festivities. We arrived at what looked like any carnival with a few generic water games and a slew of different types of food from hot dogs to sweet bean paste. Sachiko's sister manned a candy vendor so slipped us a few things on the sly. We then walked to the temple to check out the portable shrines.
I expressed to several of my students the week before that I wanted to help carry a portable shrine, having no real concept, at the time, of what a portable shrine was. Aside from the danger, I was told that most shrine groups are very exclusive and you have to be a high-ranking member of the village or area to have a shot. I also told my students I wanted to wear mawashi, which are similar to what you see sumo wrestlers wear. Usually that elicits a pretty good laugh, but I would've liked to, just for a day. It's a comfort thing.
So I didn't get to play dueling shrines, but I did pop open a can of cool and refreshing Gaijin-Awesome (tm) and was invited into one of the shrines for a couple pictures. Nao and Sachiko were shocked, as it's apparently a rarity for a total stranger to be granted such privilege. I'm not sure women are even allowed to touch the shrines, so they immediately wanted to see a picture of the inside.
After a quick trip to the grocery store for a lesson in how-not-to-buy-coffee-flavored-milk-again (future blog), we returned to the temple for the shishi-mai (a ritual dance with a lion's mask). And we waited. And we waited some more. And then the procession began and we waited even longer because we were toward the end of the procession and the lions moved about five feet every five minutes (to say one foot a minute would be inaccurate -- every five minutes they moved about five feet). By the time the mawashi-wearing troupe reached us, all the men smelled like fermented ass-beans, and they looked tired as all get-out, having had to carry one another on and off for a very long time, inebriated, no less. But it was still beautiful and I can hear echoes of the eerie flute music with which each group accompanied their lion.
After the procession, we returned to Sachiko's house for yet more food and Sachiko's mother explained to me (through Nao) that Drunk-san is the only member of the group that isn't married. "Sabishii?" [lonely] I asked. Probably, and pretty persistent when he gets drunk. They told me I had been a good sport. Actually I told them I had been a good sport, because its what they intended to say so I doled out another free English lesson (these are always well-received -- I wouldn't bother if ever it were perceived to be offensive).
And then we walked back to the main event where the shrines progressed slowly into an area a few hundred feet by a few hundred feet. "What happens if they can't lift one?" I asked, because most of the men had been drinking all day. "Then they drag it in," I was told. Finally it began and with a large crack, two shrines collided. Our shrine broke and it took about 45 minutes to get a replacement beam installed. "Do they repair them every year?" "No." "Really?" "Oh, actually... yes, probably."
Though our shrine was temporarily out of commission, the other shrines didn't waste any time. Or rather, they wasted a ton of time, but they were really freakin' heavy so I don't blame them. The shrine groups would rock the shrine back and forth until it dipped enough on one side to hoist up the other side and then they'd all try to rise. Most of the time they couldn't, but when they finally lifted up and momentum took over, you moved or you got squashed. It was absolutely reckless and I loved it. In Nada it's a lot more active, maybe because it's more popular so the shrine bashers are more motivated (who knows, maybe they drink less too), but it's harder to find a place to watch and there's no room to maneuver away from an incoming shrine so you're at the mercy of the mass.
And that was it. The shrine-bashing went on for about 4 hours, and then they moved to a point right near the train station where they'd continue on into the night as a show of manliness. I was done after about the first hour, but after being treated as such an honored guest, the only complaint I'd utter was that I'm really hungry, which is always good for a laugh because I'm always really hungry.
If you want to read more about festivals, go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matsuri
Friday, October 13, 2006
My friend Sugi is the best Japanese teacher I know
I hate Two-face. I've observed an interesting phenomenon (one of many) exhibited by some bilingual Japanese. They don't so much speak English as they wear it. Two-face is a horrible caricature of an American. She speaks without an accent and overall her English is good, save for the occasional spoonerism or malapropism or, I suppose, the rare outright error (the other day she asked for someone's "birth of date" and later discussed allergies and "pollens"). But she does it with the patronizing enthusiasm of a clown hepped up on coke. Pop your favorite Ravi Shankar collection on the record player at 45. Sounds pretty nice. Now crank it up to 72. Her laugh is a disgusting parody, a harsh, grating squeal as forced and horrible as a Star Wars prequel. And to top it all off, she's not a very good teacher.
The first week, I sat in several of her and Big O's respective classes. Big O mostly dealt with conversation, so teaching was not a priority. Two-Face teaches more beginners, so often is stuck with grammar and vocabulary on a regular basis. In one of her group classes, she spent a solid five minutes trying to coax a single word out of a single person to create a single sentence. Pardon me, I know she has 20-years experience, but it all amounts to crap if that's how she's going to waste her students' time.
I've picked up a thing or two about teaching and learning in my mere month here. I enrolled in a local Japanese language course which I have subsequently dropped. My intro course in America was a breeze and I scored the top grade on the exam. Our teacher, from Japan, spoke English very well and the class moved at a reasonable pace, if not too slowly. The course I started here is Intro B, but the teacher speaks only Japanese and the class uses a book that moves at twice the speed as my first one. Not only did I have to learn the current chapter, but I also had scores of catching up to do. It didn't make sense to continue, so I quit. It was ~$30 for 10 lessons, so no big loss there, considering each lesson in the states cost about the same as the whole course here.
Sitting in class, understanding one out of every 10 words (on a good day) was frustrating and didn't impart much. I've discovered that learning words is often a three step process. First is the recognition of a word and its accompanying pronunciation. Second is the association with the meaning. Finally is the transition to permastore (?) memory through protracted use and association, a sort of paving of the neural pathway. Likewise is the recognition of people. Trying to learn my students names has been taxing. First I have to remember the face (psychology books will tell you that distinguishing the facial features of a foreign race is much more difficult that distinguishing those among your own). Then is the association with a name. And finally, the constant hammering of the association into my tired brain. Listening in my Japanese class was like watching all 130 million Japanese people run a marathon, knowing they all have names and faces, but not recognizing more than 10.
I study every day. I'm drowning in vocabulary and sentence patterns, but I have more motivation and determination than I know what to do with. Today an elderly woman struck up a "conversation" with me at the grocery store and I actually understood about half of what she said. Granted, she was probably using baby Japanese, but it's a big improvement over where I was a month ago.
The key to my success? My friend Sugi. Sugi knows.
tsugi (no) - next
I make associations for everything I can't remember, and when I use a word enough, it finally crosses some mental threshold that makes it mine. When I forget how to say "next" I think, "Sugi knows!" and there it is: tsugi (no).
jitensha - bicycle
Some of my associations are visual. I had trouble remembering that bike, in Japanese, is jitensha, so I imagined a large G on the front wheel of a bicycle. After the G, the rest rolls off my tongue.
kotae - answer
This one was also visual, but I just remembered the shape of the Japanese characters. After recalling it enough times, I no longer had to visualize.
asobimasu - (v) having fun, enjoying oneself
Some of my associations are hilarious (to me), which makes them easy to remember. I think Asobi sounds like asshole bean. I don't know what an asshole bean is (I've decided that it's definitely not a dingleberry), but I assume it's fun. Thus, asobimasu is having fun.
hatarakimasu - (v) work
What happens when you're swamped at work? You have a hot rocky mess (if you are a geologist and you work in a volcano).
tsukaremashita - I/You/He/She was/were tired
Then, there are the really weird ones. This sounds to me like the carrot master. I don't know who he is, but I bet he's pretty tired.
shinakerebanaranai - I must do
And finally there are those that I just have to say over and over and over again until they finally stick. Not a good time, but useful. For example, knowing shinakerebanaranai, I can now say tabenakerebanaranai - I must eat. That’s not really useful, I don’t think, but still good to know. Sentaku o shinakerebanaranai may have a little more value – I must do the laundry.
And so continues the association game. Sugi is also applicable in several other associations, hence the title. And yes, I've disabled comments for the time being. Feel free to email.
The first week, I sat in several of her and Big O's respective classes. Big O mostly dealt with conversation, so teaching was not a priority. Two-Face teaches more beginners, so often is stuck with grammar and vocabulary on a regular basis. In one of her group classes, she spent a solid five minutes trying to coax a single word out of a single person to create a single sentence. Pardon me, I know she has 20-years experience, but it all amounts to crap if that's how she's going to waste her students' time.
I've picked up a thing or two about teaching and learning in my mere month here. I enrolled in a local Japanese language course which I have subsequently dropped. My intro course in America was a breeze and I scored the top grade on the exam. Our teacher, from Japan, spoke English very well and the class moved at a reasonable pace, if not too slowly. The course I started here is Intro B, but the teacher speaks only Japanese and the class uses a book that moves at twice the speed as my first one. Not only did I have to learn the current chapter, but I also had scores of catching up to do. It didn't make sense to continue, so I quit. It was ~$30 for 10 lessons, so no big loss there, considering each lesson in the states cost about the same as the whole course here.
Sitting in class, understanding one out of every 10 words (on a good day) was frustrating and didn't impart much. I've discovered that learning words is often a three step process. First is the recognition of a word and its accompanying pronunciation. Second is the association with the meaning. Finally is the transition to permastore (?) memory through protracted use and association, a sort of paving of the neural pathway. Likewise is the recognition of people. Trying to learn my students names has been taxing. First I have to remember the face (psychology books will tell you that distinguishing the facial features of a foreign race is much more difficult that distinguishing those among your own). Then is the association with a name. And finally, the constant hammering of the association into my tired brain. Listening in my Japanese class was like watching all 130 million Japanese people run a marathon, knowing they all have names and faces, but not recognizing more than 10.
I study every day. I'm drowning in vocabulary and sentence patterns, but I have more motivation and determination than I know what to do with. Today an elderly woman struck up a "conversation" with me at the grocery store and I actually understood about half of what she said. Granted, she was probably using baby Japanese, but it's a big improvement over where I was a month ago.
The key to my success? My friend Sugi. Sugi knows.
tsugi (no) - next
I make associations for everything I can't remember, and when I use a word enough, it finally crosses some mental threshold that makes it mine. When I forget how to say "next" I think, "Sugi knows!" and there it is: tsugi (no).
jitensha - bicycle
Some of my associations are visual. I had trouble remembering that bike, in Japanese, is jitensha, so I imagined a large G on the front wheel of a bicycle. After the G, the rest rolls off my tongue.
kotae - answer
This one was also visual, but I just remembered the shape of the Japanese characters. After recalling it enough times, I no longer had to visualize.
asobimasu - (v) having fun, enjoying oneself
Some of my associations are hilarious (to me), which makes them easy to remember. I think Asobi sounds like asshole bean. I don't know what an asshole bean is (I've decided that it's definitely not a dingleberry), but I assume it's fun. Thus, asobimasu is having fun.
hatarakimasu - (v) work
What happens when you're swamped at work? You have a hot rocky mess (if you are a geologist and you work in a volcano).
tsukaremashita - I/You/He/She was/were tired
Then, there are the really weird ones. This sounds to me like the carrot master. I don't know who he is, but I bet he's pretty tired.
shinakerebanaranai - I must do
And finally there are those that I just have to say over and over and over again until they finally stick. Not a good time, but useful. For example, knowing shinakerebanaranai, I can now say tabenakerebanaranai - I must eat. That’s not really useful, I don’t think, but still good to know. Sentaku o shinakerebanaranai may have a little more value – I must do the laundry.
And so continues the association game. Sugi is also applicable in several other associations, hence the title. And yes, I've disabled comments for the time being. Feel free to email.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
This is Little African's World
There's an oft-used expression I've found to be regularly appropriate here, one that can be exercised in most every situation one might encounter during one's daily routine: "Japan is fucking crazy." Actually, it's a local expression, so I wouldn't be surprised if you've never heard it before. Actually, it's really local, generally only expressed by myself when I'm ironing my underwear.
I iron my underwear. I iron my socks, bedsheets, and everything under the sun (ha). I have to dry my clothes on a clothesline outside on my balcony and you never know what kind of bugs might've decided to take a siesta in a comfortable 85% cotton, 15% polyester. And you certainly don't want to find out halfway into a 2-hour class when the bugs wake up and explore their new surroundings. So my theory is that the iron kills bugs and I'm sticking to it, if only to placate any insect related anxieties.
In a country where phones can do everything from send videos to pay for train tickets (and, if you can believe it, make regular calls), where the forefront of robotics is ushering in a new age of convenience, where cars are parked in giant automated towers to take advantage of the tiny spaces between buildings, I find convenience lacking. I have no dryer. I have no garbage disposal. I have neither oven nor central air. When I want to use my stove, I have to switch on the gas. When I want to use my bath or washing machine, I have to switch on the hot water. Japan, I say, is fucking crazy.
The other day I went to an imported goods store that's called, you'll never guess, Japan. Best I can tell, most of the goods are imported from Osaka (an hour or so away). The store carries everything from electronics to dried goods. It has candy and it has tupperware. It has beer and it has children's toys. In the same aisle. Yes, right across from the Kirin and Sapporo (types of Japanese beer) you can find the latest model of Power Ranger and Transformer and whatever the kids are playing with these days. Maybe Japan has it right, not sheltering their children from adult vices, exposing them to alcohol and building a safe and healthy understanding from their youth. You can, after all, buy beer at many streetside vending machines. So maybe Japan has taken a logical and sensible approach. Or maybe Japan is fucking crazy.
My walk to work takes about 10 minutes and it's a straight shot down one road (which is good, because few streets have names). I have to cross several intersections, about half of which have pedestrian crossing signals. By the time I leave work, it's around 9:15, and the roads are usually fairly empty. And yet, if there's not a car in sight and the crossing signal is red, almost all Japanese people will wait. They will wait until it changes, few daring to anticipate the switch and start moving prematurely. The two or three times I've ventured to cross against the light, the locals looked at me as if I had just dropped my pants and started to urinate in the middle of the road (which, I'm told, is perfectly legal, though I'm not fully confident in my source). So now I only cross against the light when I'm in an extreme rush or when there's no one else around. After all, I don't want to risk offending a local who is almost assuredly Japanese, and, consequently, fucking crazy.
I spoke to one of my students about religion and tradition the other day. Many Japanese go to church to get married, practice Buddhist rituals during funerals, and perform a slew of other religious-inspired traditions. "Do you know anything about Buddhism?" Nope. "How about Shinto?" Not really. "That doesn't seem weird to you?" Of course not, because she grew up with it. I suppose that makes sense. She also told me she loves Korean food and tv, but hates Koreans. The Japanese, she says, are very superficial. The way I see it, however, the Japanese are very fucking crazy.
I study pretty much every day. I rarely watch tv (I can't understand it) and I've given up on reading in favor of force-feeding myself vocabulary in my spare moments. I am driven to learn the language. Whether or not that's feasible, I have no idea, but language aside, I don't think I will ever understand the people. After all, Japan is fucking crazy.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Comment Round-up I
What the heck is a toilet hood?
The toilet hood covers the toilet lid, obv.
How's the food?
Delicious... every single thing I've had so far has been better than all the other things combined.
What the heck is a tatami?
Traditional Japanese flooring (click)
How is sleeping on the floor?
Surprisingly comfortable!
How's the all-you-can-eat sushi?
That doesn't seem to exist here unless you swoop into a restaurant garbed in ninja gear and steal from all the paying customers (after which, of course, they will all thank you profusely and apologize for not having provided more).
How much longer will Big O be there?
A year or so.
Is the brand of potty a Toto?
Yes! Aunty Em would be proud.
Octopus does have something in common with spiders, don't you think?
Sadly, yes, and spiders are in abundance here. One lived above my mailbox for a good (?!) week and a half until it "mysteriously" disappeared.
"Cool" wa nihongo de nan to imasu ka?
Sugoi desu ne. Literally a Japanese idiom for "too much" but it's used for cool, wow, super, etc.
The toilet hood covers the toilet lid, obv.
How's the food?
Delicious... every single thing I've had so far has been better than all the other things combined.
What the heck is a tatami?
Traditional Japanese flooring (click)
How is sleeping on the floor?
Surprisingly comfortable!
How's the all-you-can-eat sushi?
That doesn't seem to exist here unless you swoop into a restaurant garbed in ninja gear and steal from all the paying customers (after which, of course, they will all thank you profusely and apologize for not having provided more).
How much longer will Big O be there?
A year or so.
Is the brand of potty a Toto?
Yes! Aunty Em would be proud.
Octopus does have something in common with spiders, don't you think?
Sadly, yes, and spiders are in abundance here. One lived above my mailbox for a good (?!) week and a half until it "mysteriously" disappeared.
"Cool" wa nihongo de nan to imasu ka?
Sugoi desu ne. Literally a Japanese idiom for "too much" but it's used for cool, wow, super, etc.
A Big O Story
Big O, also 27 years old, does not like to be tied down. His near-year at the school, for example, is the longest single job he's ever held. He lives with his wife in an apartment they rent independently of the school, so he has no school-related obligations or debts. At work, Big O dressed as casually as possible within the constraints of the contract, which dictates that a tie, button-down shirt, pants, shoes, etc. be worn. His pants were nearly cargo style, his top button was unbuttoned, and his ties were simple, narrow, and unprofessional (not a slight, just an observation).
When they first moved here, they borrowed some furniture from the school (reluctantly, I'm sure, but everyone likes a chair or two). Once they had accrued enough of their own furniture through donations and purchases, Big O let Sakura know and Chicken Hamburger came to pick it up.
Trash collection in Japan is a world of complications. I still don't have a good grasp on it, though it doesn't help any that the instruction booklet (yes, there's a whole booklet) is written in Japanese. Anyway, Big O's friend needed a place to dump his trash for whatever reason so Big O let him unload his trash bags in front of his place.
Chicken Hamburger, in his stunted English, expressed his disapproval about the location of the trash in the frequently indirect way that most Japanese approach points of contention -- passive aggressive tendencies abound here. Big O said that it was out of the way and not a big deal since it's his apartment. Chicken Hamburger persisted, claiming that it was ugly, and things began to heat up until Big O had enough and, with an emphatic wave of his arm, said, "Get the fuck out of here!" They never spoke again through all the months Big O worked here. (This actually surprised me because Big O and his wife are very laid back -- in a year or two they will be traveling to India to try to obtain Yoga licenses.)
Big O tells me, "You know, if we were westerners, a few weeks later we'd talk about it, have a good laugh, and apologize, and then soon after be drinking at the pub. But this is Japan." I can't remember if it was after this altercation or another, but the boss-peoples were pretty mad and asked every student if Big O was doing a good job. Big O is charismatic, and at a conversation school, that goes a long way, so the verdict was made unanimously, and no action was taken.
The week I started "teaching," Mrs. Eh and Two-Face sat me down with Chicken Hamburger to explain to me the apartment rules. I can't remember what they were, probably because they were pretty innocuous. When they concluded, Mrs. Eh asked the two if there was anything else, and Chicken Hamburger said to them in Japanese (making accompanying gestures) that I should wear my tie tight with my shirt buttoned to the top. Apparently once Big O broke rank, I guess they lost the reins, so I can only assume Chicken Hamburger is trying to break in the new horse. Though I resent the inherent meaning in the self-imposed analogy, I won't let it get in the way of doing a good job and cross him out of spite. But if Chicken Hamburger gets out of line, it's gaijin-smashing time.
Really, aside from breath that causes the hair on my arms to wilt and perpetual sweat-mopping with a large hand-towel, he's not bad. Yesterday he installed some new curtains in my apartment (while I, with my innate Western paranoia, stood by and lent a hand) so the morning light doesn't blind me through the rice paper screens. I believe, for now, Chicken Hamburger is tolerable, but I thank Big O for clueing me in to the bigger picture.
When they first moved here, they borrowed some furniture from the school (reluctantly, I'm sure, but everyone likes a chair or two). Once they had accrued enough of their own furniture through donations and purchases, Big O let Sakura know and Chicken Hamburger came to pick it up.
Trash collection in Japan is a world of complications. I still don't have a good grasp on it, though it doesn't help any that the instruction booklet (yes, there's a whole booklet) is written in Japanese. Anyway, Big O's friend needed a place to dump his trash for whatever reason so Big O let him unload his trash bags in front of his place.
Chicken Hamburger, in his stunted English, expressed his disapproval about the location of the trash in the frequently indirect way that most Japanese approach points of contention -- passive aggressive tendencies abound here. Big O said that it was out of the way and not a big deal since it's his apartment. Chicken Hamburger persisted, claiming that it was ugly, and things began to heat up until Big O had enough and, with an emphatic wave of his arm, said, "Get the fuck out of here!" They never spoke again through all the months Big O worked here. (This actually surprised me because Big O and his wife are very laid back -- in a year or two they will be traveling to India to try to obtain Yoga licenses.)
Big O tells me, "You know, if we were westerners, a few weeks later we'd talk about it, have a good laugh, and apologize, and then soon after be drinking at the pub. But this is Japan." I can't remember if it was after this altercation or another, but the boss-peoples were pretty mad and asked every student if Big O was doing a good job. Big O is charismatic, and at a conversation school, that goes a long way, so the verdict was made unanimously, and no action was taken.
The week I started "teaching," Mrs. Eh and Two-Face sat me down with Chicken Hamburger to explain to me the apartment rules. I can't remember what they were, probably because they were pretty innocuous. When they concluded, Mrs. Eh asked the two if there was anything else, and Chicken Hamburger said to them in Japanese (making accompanying gestures) that I should wear my tie tight with my shirt buttoned to the top. Apparently once Big O broke rank, I guess they lost the reins, so I can only assume Chicken Hamburger is trying to break in the new horse. Though I resent the inherent meaning in the self-imposed analogy, I won't let it get in the way of doing a good job and cross him out of spite. But if Chicken Hamburger gets out of line, it's gaijin-smashing time.
Really, aside from breath that causes the hair on my arms to wilt and perpetual sweat-mopping with a large hand-towel, he's not bad. Yesterday he installed some new curtains in my apartment (while I, with my innate Western paranoia, stood by and lent a hand) so the morning light doesn't blind me through the rice paper screens. I believe, for now, Chicken Hamburger is tolerable, but I thank Big O for clueing me in to the bigger picture.
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