I am alive and well in Bangkok, although I've spent a pretty rough couple of days. I was on Phra Nang beach in southern Thailand when the tidal wave hit. We were in a small boat when our Thai guide said "I think there's a big wave coming", rather casually. Then he said "GETOUT! GETOUT!" and we got the hell out. We watched as the first series of waves wreaked havoc on the longtail boats. Then the next waves started coming, larger than the first ones, and we ran for shelter. We ran up the mountain, every man, woman and child, some of them in bare feet. I was looking out for another JET, Richelle, and she had no shoes which was hellish. We ran over sharp rocks and through slashing bushes. Some of the tourists had been picked up by the wave and thrown through the bushes, and were now cut up. We waited a long time in the mountains - six hours - and there was a lot of panic and misinformation. They kept urging us to go higher, though we must have been about 150 metres up. I kept thinking "what kind of wave could possibly get this high?", but I followed the crowd led by Thais. Some had walkie-talkies and they were in contact with emergency personnel who kept warning of further tidal waves. But in fact this had never happened before, and the emergency personnel didn't know much more than any of us. It was a 9 on the Richter scale - an earthquake of this magnitude has happened only four other times in world history.
We spent five hours in the mountains. An American-Thai woman was helpful in translating. Her husband, an American, was all cut up as he had been thrown through the trees. She sometimes talked about the boats full of people that she had seen out on the water, and cried. The wave had hit around 11 am and we stayed on the mountain till 5:30, when we began our treacherous descent down the other side. It was really unsafe, almost vertical in some places with no foothold - only the water pipe and a rope which they had tied to a tree on the top. I helped Richelle over the most difficult spots as she didn't have shoes.
That afternoon we followed massive groups of emigrating tourists and locals. The resorts were smashed and flooded. We eventually congregated at a very posh resort up a long path in a high valley between mountains. There were about a thousand of us there, and they were operating the resort as though it was business as usual. They were selling beer and overcharging for food. All my money was away at my guest house, and Richelle was hurt. She's hypoglycemic and needed food, or she would start shaking and getting ill. I was pretty pissed off at the attitude, but I asked at the bar and they said food would be coming in one hour. They were giving out free water, and said we'd have to sleep on the lawn. We ended up spending the night on the wooden deck draped in a towel borrowed from some friendly Thais. My back was on a concrete block that was cleverly built into the deck. The tourists were very wealthy and several had cellphones. One guy was talking for about half an hour to his friend, describing what had happened. After he finished I asked him if I could make a short call to my home to tell them I was okay. He refused! He said he wanted to save batteries. I kept asking and finally he relented, saying "as long as it's literally just one second". Fucker. I left a message with my father - as it turns out he was in Ottawa and my family remained worried till I phoned again, about ten hours later.
The next morning we tromped off to the beaches, hearing different reports about rescue boats. Although we were on the mainland, it's inaccessible by road because of the mountains, so it might as well be an island. We waited on one beach but the waters were too dangerous on that side, so we all marched off to the other side. Several hours later two large boats moored out a ways in the bay, each with a capacity of 250 people, and the migration of hundreds of tourists began.
I only just made it to Bangkok this morning, 48 hours after the tidal wave hit. I'm going to Vien Tien, Laos tonight by bus. I'll try to make it to Hanoi, Vietnam on my remaining money, then back to Bangkok on January 8th to catch my flight. If anyone knows how to get cash from a credit card (td visa) please tell me.
I hope you are all safe and sound.
Love, Anthony
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
Friday, December 24, 2004
Thailand, Day 5
We arrived in Ao Nang Bay, a small beach town, this morning. We took a night bus for eight hours from Chiang Mai in the North to Bangkok in the middle, then a flight early this morning from Bangkok to the famous Krabi. It's not quite Koh Phang An which is the island of the massive Full Moon Party happening on the 27th. I thought of going there but then realized I'd rather spend a quieter time on the beach, so I chose the west coast instead of the east.
Originally the plan was to stay at a somewhat secluded gorgeous beach called West Railay, near Krabi, but we found that our guest house was really quite nice so we decided to book three nights here. It's called the Andaman Inn, and I really should get some pictures of the place posted. There's this shifty looking Thai man who helps run the inn who goes by the name of Oddly Beckham, and always wears Beckham jerseys. His first name is Thai and I suspect he adopted Beckham so that tourists would recognize him more easily. He's quite nice and helps us out with getting into town and pretty much anything we need. the Andaman Inn is not in town, you see, it's across a river and around a large rock outcropping, and we must take a "longtail" water taxi to get there.
The scenery is basically white sand beaches, jungle, clear blue waters and monolithic rock formations in impossible shapes. It is just gorgeous here and I heartily recommend it to everyone who isn't a boor, which means everyone who is reading this pinnacle of literary acheivement, obviously. I haven't gone into the water yet, as I've spent most of my day trekking around Ao Nang trying to get a feel for the place. It's very touristy and the main things to do in Ao Nang are shop, book tours, drink, or get a massage. I think there might be other things you can get in Ao Nang, but I'm not into trading my self respect for cheap thrills. As far as I know, no one in the group I've been travelling with is into that either.
Ao Nang is arranged as a long street lined with shops on one side and a beautiful beach on the other. Toward the south it curves inland, away from the beach, and becomes less touristy and more local. Much construction is going on here, and I came across a local market in which raw beef and chicken was on display in the sun for all the flies to feast on. Mmmm delicious. I suppose that's what I eat when I get chicken and noodles in a restaurant. I also went down a side street because it looked more run-down and therefore less touristy. It turned out to be an alley of bars full of Thai whores. They called to me but I was too scared, until one of them started asking about where I was from and so on, and this is a question I can rarely refuse. For some reason I like people to know I'm Canadian. I told her and she asked where I was going, and I explained but she didn't seem to understand, so I left. Walking out of the alley I saw that the last place was a "restaurant" consisting of a cart and a shack, and several tables under an awning. A family was having lunch there, so I decided it was safe. It was safe, except for the full hot green peppers they put into the rice and chicken, sneakily masquerading as normal green peppers.
With a burning belly I ventured further along Ao Nang and had a broken English conversation with a Thai policeman. It was about 10 minutes in when a tour guide came up and he immediately called to her and told her in Thai that he didn't understand what I was saying. Very polite and friendly fellow, though. He really had me convinced that he understood.
Tonight is Christmas eve and we JETs have played some card games - a game called shithead mainly. It's pretty fun and I was only the shithead a couple of times. Then they all drank at the bar and I watched a bit of "Home Alone 2" which was playing in the restaurant area of the hostel, and then went to bed.
Originally the plan was to stay at a somewhat secluded gorgeous beach called West Railay, near Krabi, but we found that our guest house was really quite nice so we decided to book three nights here. It's called the Andaman Inn, and I really should get some pictures of the place posted. There's this shifty looking Thai man who helps run the inn who goes by the name of Oddly Beckham, and always wears Beckham jerseys. His first name is Thai and I suspect he adopted Beckham so that tourists would recognize him more easily. He's quite nice and helps us out with getting into town and pretty much anything we need. the Andaman Inn is not in town, you see, it's across a river and around a large rock outcropping, and we must take a "longtail" water taxi to get there.
The scenery is basically white sand beaches, jungle, clear blue waters and monolithic rock formations in impossible shapes. It is just gorgeous here and I heartily recommend it to everyone who isn't a boor, which means everyone who is reading this pinnacle of literary acheivement, obviously. I haven't gone into the water yet, as I've spent most of my day trekking around Ao Nang trying to get a feel for the place. It's very touristy and the main things to do in Ao Nang are shop, book tours, drink, or get a massage. I think there might be other things you can get in Ao Nang, but I'm not into trading my self respect for cheap thrills. As far as I know, no one in the group I've been travelling with is into that either.
Ao Nang is arranged as a long street lined with shops on one side and a beautiful beach on the other. Toward the south it curves inland, away from the beach, and becomes less touristy and more local. Much construction is going on here, and I came across a local market in which raw beef and chicken was on display in the sun for all the flies to feast on. Mmmm delicious. I suppose that's what I eat when I get chicken and noodles in a restaurant. I also went down a side street because it looked more run-down and therefore less touristy. It turned out to be an alley of bars full of Thai whores. They called to me but I was too scared, until one of them started asking about where I was from and so on, and this is a question I can rarely refuse. For some reason I like people to know I'm Canadian. I told her and she asked where I was going, and I explained but she didn't seem to understand, so I left. Walking out of the alley I saw that the last place was a "restaurant" consisting of a cart and a shack, and several tables under an awning. A family was having lunch there, so I decided it was safe. It was safe, except for the full hot green peppers they put into the rice and chicken, sneakily masquerading as normal green peppers.
With a burning belly I ventured further along Ao Nang and had a broken English conversation with a Thai policeman. It was about 10 minutes in when a tour guide came up and he immediately called to her and told her in Thai that he didn't understand what I was saying. Very polite and friendly fellow, though. He really had me convinced that he understood.
Tonight is Christmas eve and we JETs have played some card games - a game called shithead mainly. It's pretty fun and I was only the shithead a couple of times. Then they all drank at the bar and I watched a bit of "Home Alone 2" which was playing in the restaurant area of the hostel, and then went to bed.
Thursday, December 23, 2004
Thailand, Days 2 to 4
After taking the train into Chiang Mai we found a place to stay at the Family Trekking Inn. They were very friendly and the high-energy lady at the desk, located on a tiled porch that blurred the distinction between inside and outside, organized our airfare down to the beaches in the south. But first we went on the trek!
The trek was loads of fun and I made friends with a number of other travellers, especially an Italian couple named Stefano and Eliza, two U.K. girls named Laura and Viviane, and an Israeli guy named Noam. For the first day of the trek I called him Norm by mistake. There were many other trekkers there, including some Germans - oops I mean Austrians, I kept calling them German - with whom I bathed naked in the river after a day's trek. The river bath was refreshing, but getting out and standing on the viny, leafy, bushy bank while putting on my shorts I was attacked by an army of mean red ants. Also there was a cricket in my shorts that seriously gave me a surprise. I whipped those shorts off quickly, let me tell you!
But that was day two of the trek - or was it? It's all getting confused and will have to be sorted out by the pictures which are date-stamped. I remember walking along treacherous trails wearing my black dress shoes, purchased at City Shoes in the Eaton's Centre. They're pretty much dead now and I think I'll buy some trekking shoes in Thailand for cheap. I also remember speaking lots of different languages with people from all over the world - some German, some French with Stefano, and of course the universal language - English. I'm somewhat embarrassed by the prevalence of English because it forces everyone else in the world to learn my language. I think everyone ought to learn one extra language - but frankly it's quite convenient to have everyone learn the same second language. It means that Germans can talk with Italians who can talk with Thais and so on. All the instructions were given in English by our tour guide, the intrepid and ever-smiling Deng.
The first day was a simple hike up into a small village of the Mong hill tribe, which is a semi-nomadic tribe from China. Our guide, Deng, is from the Mong people but he is very internationalized. They pressed bead bracelets on us for 10 baht each, which is about 30 cents. I bought a bracelet and two necklaces. The bracelet I don't wear because it's too small for me, but the necklaces are now my constant adornment. I think they make me look rather touristy - if the "Bangkok, Thailand" hat doesn't quite do the trick. I explored around the camp by myself when I got in, and met up with some Germans (ethnically Chinese - surprise!) with whom I had a long discussion in German. It was nice to speak in the language, and they clearly appreciated finding someone else who spoke German. I couldn't do the same with the Austrians as their German is very different from the one I learned in school. That night I decided to partake in the rum-drinking activities with my JET companions. Deng performed magic tricks with pink plastic packing string and cards. Then he showed us how to do them and we tried. We tried and failed. I drank a full mini bottle of rum - perhaps 220 mL - and became happily intoxicated. However when I went to lie down in the bamboo hut I felt ill, and I was in and out of the hut all night with the nauseau and the vomiting in the clear jungle moonlight. How romantic.
Day two of the trek I was hung over, but surprisingly, trekking actually helped me to feel better. I had managed to get about 5 or 6 hours of sleep - not bad considering the night I had. This was the day of wide open canyons and forested mountains. It was also the day of stopping at a waterfall and swimming.
Day three of the trek involved a rafting experience down the river on bamboo rafts - which were literally just a bunch of bamboo lashed together. I used a large bamboo pole to guide the raft, in alternation with Noam - although really the native rafter did most of the guidance from the front. The two English girls rafted with Noam and I. I find that most of the time I spent with the other tourist outside my "JET group". At the end of the rafting jaunt - in which we occasionally slammed into rocks and once I even fell full on my face - haha - we arrived at the elephants! The elephants were to be our transportation for the next segment of our journey. Noam and I shared an elephant and we traded cameras with Laura and Vivienne (I don't know how to spell her name so I figure I'll change it each time). We took many bumpy photos of each other in the fading battery power of our digicams. Noam actually sat up on the elephant's head, but I decided to stay in the chariot of steel mounted on his back. At the end we gave the elephants bananas and sugar cane, and they would sneak up behind us and ambush us in search of these treats. And yes, an elephant can actually sneak up behind you and ambush you. Clever little devils. On the way back to Chiang Mai we watched a snake show. The snake show is an exciting event in which the "snake charmer" abuses the snakes by chucking them around the ring in order to arouse their anger. Meanwhile an announcer booms over a mike - I don't know why he did this as there were only about 20 people there - about how the snake charmer is brave and then makes off-colour jokes about snake love. I resolve not to see another.
The trek was loads of fun and I made friends with a number of other travellers, especially an Italian couple named Stefano and Eliza, two U.K. girls named Laura and Viviane, and an Israeli guy named Noam. For the first day of the trek I called him Norm by mistake. There were many other trekkers there, including some Germans - oops I mean Austrians, I kept calling them German - with whom I bathed naked in the river after a day's trek. The river bath was refreshing, but getting out and standing on the viny, leafy, bushy bank while putting on my shorts I was attacked by an army of mean red ants. Also there was a cricket in my shorts that seriously gave me a surprise. I whipped those shorts off quickly, let me tell you!
But that was day two of the trek - or was it? It's all getting confused and will have to be sorted out by the pictures which are date-stamped. I remember walking along treacherous trails wearing my black dress shoes, purchased at City Shoes in the Eaton's Centre. They're pretty much dead now and I think I'll buy some trekking shoes in Thailand for cheap. I also remember speaking lots of different languages with people from all over the world - some German, some French with Stefano, and of course the universal language - English. I'm somewhat embarrassed by the prevalence of English because it forces everyone else in the world to learn my language. I think everyone ought to learn one extra language - but frankly it's quite convenient to have everyone learn the same second language. It means that Germans can talk with Italians who can talk with Thais and so on. All the instructions were given in English by our tour guide, the intrepid and ever-smiling Deng.
The first day was a simple hike up into a small village of the Mong hill tribe, which is a semi-nomadic tribe from China. Our guide, Deng, is from the Mong people but he is very internationalized. They pressed bead bracelets on us for 10 baht each, which is about 30 cents. I bought a bracelet and two necklaces. The bracelet I don't wear because it's too small for me, but the necklaces are now my constant adornment. I think they make me look rather touristy - if the "Bangkok, Thailand" hat doesn't quite do the trick. I explored around the camp by myself when I got in, and met up with some Germans (ethnically Chinese - surprise!) with whom I had a long discussion in German. It was nice to speak in the language, and they clearly appreciated finding someone else who spoke German. I couldn't do the same with the Austrians as their German is very different from the one I learned in school. That night I decided to partake in the rum-drinking activities with my JET companions. Deng performed magic tricks with pink plastic packing string and cards. Then he showed us how to do them and we tried. We tried and failed. I drank a full mini bottle of rum - perhaps 220 mL - and became happily intoxicated. However when I went to lie down in the bamboo hut I felt ill, and I was in and out of the hut all night with the nauseau and the vomiting in the clear jungle moonlight. How romantic.
Day two of the trek I was hung over, but surprisingly, trekking actually helped me to feel better. I had managed to get about 5 or 6 hours of sleep - not bad considering the night I had. This was the day of wide open canyons and forested mountains. It was also the day of stopping at a waterfall and swimming.
Day three of the trek involved a rafting experience down the river on bamboo rafts - which were literally just a bunch of bamboo lashed together. I used a large bamboo pole to guide the raft, in alternation with Noam - although really the native rafter did most of the guidance from the front. The two English girls rafted with Noam and I. I find that most of the time I spent with the other tourist outside my "JET group". At the end of the rafting jaunt - in which we occasionally slammed into rocks and once I even fell full on my face - haha - we arrived at the elephants! The elephants were to be our transportation for the next segment of our journey. Noam and I shared an elephant and we traded cameras with Laura and Vivienne (I don't know how to spell her name so I figure I'll change it each time). We took many bumpy photos of each other in the fading battery power of our digicams. Noam actually sat up on the elephant's head, but I decided to stay in the chariot of steel mounted on his back. At the end we gave the elephants bananas and sugar cane, and they would sneak up behind us and ambush us in search of these treats. And yes, an elephant can actually sneak up behind you and ambush you. Clever little devils. On the way back to Chiang Mai we watched a snake show. The snake show is an exciting event in which the "snake charmer" abuses the snakes by chucking them around the ring in order to arouse their anger. Meanwhile an announcer booms over a mike - I don't know why he did this as there were only about 20 people there - about how the snake charmer is brave and then makes off-colour jokes about snake love. I resolve not to see another.
Monday, December 20, 2004
Thailand, Day Two
I landed in Thailand day before yesterday and spent the night in Bangkok near the infamous Khao San road. Many tails to tell about this place, I have. Speak like Yoda, I do. You want to avoid tuk-tuks, as a general rule, or really you should use them with careful bargaining in advance. They are these little three wheeled vehicles somewhere between a motorcycle and a tiny truck. They burn some kind of really noxious diesel and weave crazily across lanes. Oncoming traffic is not that daunting to these tuk-tuk drivers and several times we headed right for it. I'm travelling with a group of 5 JETs, by the way, Ben, Mike (not Dobkin - he headed south on his own yesterday), Dan and Richelle. So far. We pack two and three to a tuk-tuk and get lost around the city and the tuk-tuk drivers try to scam us. This is what you do. They love to bring you to suit stores and gem stores that you didn't for because they get a comission for every tourist they bring in. When there's little chance of you going there, there's little chance of getting a tuk-tuk.
We decided to head to Chiang Mai and experience elephant rides, trekking through the jungle and river rafting before heading down to the beaches. Chiang Mai is in the North, the beaches are in the south - which means there will be a long day of travel in between when we decide to head down there. We decided to take the overnight train to Chiang Mai, somewhat more expensive than the bus but it affords a sleeping berth. We all went to this office we had seen on the tourist map from the airport called the Tourist Authority of Thailand (TAT). Lonely Planet recommended it as more reliable than tour places on Khao San road. We arranged the trek and train tickets around noon and were told to come back to the TAT at 4:30 to pick up our train tickets for the 7:40 train. He gave us a business card and said "Don't lose this card" a number of times. We didn't know why but found out later. After shopping along Khao San road for a while - I bought a giant backpack for a great price; now I don't have to lug around that gym bag anymore - we decided to head back to the TAT. We tried getting tuk-tuks but they didn't know where the TAT was or they wanted to charge 20 times their usual fare (no chance of a diversionary side-trip with comission). So we found a couple of taxis that would take us there and went off. I got in the cab with Ben and Richelle, which proved fortuitous as Ben was carrying the TAT card. We didn't recognize the cab driver's route, and our nervousness increased when he stopped at an office that said TAT on the sign but was completely unfamiliar to us. "No no! Not this TAT. Other TAT" we told the driver. Luckily Ben remembered he had the card and we got there, but Mike and Dan were not so lucky. They ended up cruising around the city in tuk-tuks and taxis, getting more desperate all the time. The drivers would pretend to know where they were going, then stop in the middle of a random intersection and let them out. Eventually the cab driver asked a random stranger where the TAT is, and he happened to be an employee of the very one they were looking for. Ben, Richelle and I were sweating about their fate in the meantime, and we went ahead to the train station, hoping they'd arrive. Which they did.
Now we know to have backup meeting places if the group gets seperated. Simple lesson which we might have realized beforehand. Today I plan on exploring Chiang Mai in a relaxed way for a while. Richelle will probably take a Thai cooking lesson and the other three are thinking of drinking. Always thinking of drinking. (We downed a couple of bottles of rum and a litre of coke on the train over last night). Oh yes, quick train story. We offered the conductor a drink of our rum to placate him, in case it wasn't allowed. He didn't want it, but he did accept some shrimp chips. Thereafter, every time he walked by our group he would simply reach over and grab very generous handfuls of whatever food we were eating while staring one of us directly in the eyes, kind of surly-like. Then he'd say thank you in a sarcastic way. We are noticing some biiiiig differences between the Thai and the Japanese.
I'll keep you posted as to further developments. Right now we're having a blast.
We decided to head to Chiang Mai and experience elephant rides, trekking through the jungle and river rafting before heading down to the beaches. Chiang Mai is in the North, the beaches are in the south - which means there will be a long day of travel in between when we decide to head down there. We decided to take the overnight train to Chiang Mai, somewhat more expensive than the bus but it affords a sleeping berth. We all went to this office we had seen on the tourist map from the airport called the Tourist Authority of Thailand (TAT). Lonely Planet recommended it as more reliable than tour places on Khao San road. We arranged the trek and train tickets around noon and were told to come back to the TAT at 4:30 to pick up our train tickets for the 7:40 train. He gave us a business card and said "Don't lose this card" a number of times. We didn't know why but found out later. After shopping along Khao San road for a while - I bought a giant backpack for a great price; now I don't have to lug around that gym bag anymore - we decided to head back to the TAT. We tried getting tuk-tuks but they didn't know where the TAT was or they wanted to charge 20 times their usual fare (no chance of a diversionary side-trip with comission). So we found a couple of taxis that would take us there and went off. I got in the cab with Ben and Richelle, which proved fortuitous as Ben was carrying the TAT card. We didn't recognize the cab driver's route, and our nervousness increased when he stopped at an office that said TAT on the sign but was completely unfamiliar to us. "No no! Not this TAT. Other TAT" we told the driver. Luckily Ben remembered he had the card and we got there, but Mike and Dan were not so lucky. They ended up cruising around the city in tuk-tuks and taxis, getting more desperate all the time. The drivers would pretend to know where they were going, then stop in the middle of a random intersection and let them out. Eventually the cab driver asked a random stranger where the TAT is, and he happened to be an employee of the very one they were looking for. Ben, Richelle and I were sweating about their fate in the meantime, and we went ahead to the train station, hoping they'd arrive. Which they did.
Now we know to have backup meeting places if the group gets seperated. Simple lesson which we might have realized beforehand. Today I plan on exploring Chiang Mai in a relaxed way for a while. Richelle will probably take a Thai cooking lesson and the other three are thinking of drinking. Always thinking of drinking. (We downed a couple of bottles of rum and a litre of coke on the train over last night). Oh yes, quick train story. We offered the conductor a drink of our rum to placate him, in case it wasn't allowed. He didn't want it, but he did accept some shrimp chips. Thereafter, every time he walked by our group he would simply reach over and grab very generous handfuls of whatever food we were eating while staring one of us directly in the eyes, kind of surly-like. Then he'd say thank you in a sarcastic way. We are noticing some biiiiig differences between the Thai and the Japanese.
I'll keep you posted as to further developments. Right now we're having a blast.
Saturday, December 18, 2004
Friday, December 17, 2004
A Winter Morning in My Kitchen
Typing an email to Ilir, I realized upon describing my attire that this was a perfect Fuji moment. And so I set up my camera in timer mode, placed it on my fridge and stood in my makeshift skirt.
A winter morning in my kitchen
That's A-OK though. I'm going to Thailand tomorrow with Mike, Richelle, Big John, Ben and Dan. Who knows what will happen with our merry band? Will we split up instantly in Bangkok? Fairly likely. Stay tuned folks, and I'll try to keep the posts coming for the next three weeks.
A winter morning in my kitchen
That's A-OK though. I'm going to Thailand tomorrow with Mike, Richelle, Big John, Ben and Dan. Who knows what will happen with our merry band? Will we split up instantly in Bangkok? Fairly likely. Stay tuned folks, and I'll try to keep the posts coming for the next three weeks.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Taniguchi revisited
Every JET (for anyone just joining, a JET is an English teacher in Japan) has to write an essay and submit it to the JET Journal which is published in the spring, or sometime or other. It's limited to half a page and the other half page is a Japanese translation. Since it's so short I figured I would just dash off something generic about how surprised I was by the lack of Samurai in Japan - silly nonsense and general gape-jawed admiration of a foreign culture. Little did I know I had strayed into the realm of controversy by saying this:
"I arrived with the stereotype that Japanese people are the very model of industrious hyper-efficiency. I should have realized that the truth is a dilution of the ideal. Japanese teachers work long hours and work hard, but I've come to realize that much of that time is spent in community socialization. The difference between here and home is not in work ethic, but rather in the boundaries of free time, work time and work relationships."
My tantosha (supervisor) came to me after translating it [side note: she didn't translate it - she gave it to Nick to translate and then looked it over] and remarked that the teachers will read this and that they will be offended. She asked if I meant that they spend a lot of time just talking. I said yes, but I also think you work very hard. Nick and I concur on this point: much of the time the teachers are just doing whatever they like, though we didn't say so in front of our tantosha just then. Taniguchi sensei did not seem pleased at all and said that in Japanese it sounds bad. So I asked her if she could change the translation.
"The whole thing? I don't think so."
"No, just the part that sounds rude."
"No. I don't know what to say."
"I'll write it in English and you can translate that."
"No, I don't know how to do it."
She doesn't know how to..... !!! She speaks English fluently and is the best translator in the room.
"The other teachers will be reading this," she said, "and they will not like you."
"Well why don't you change it then?"
"Hmmmm. I don't think I can do it."
Pause.
"It's rude to the teachers. They will think you are calling them lazy."
"If you can't change it, then just leave it, OK?"
Why is she haranguing me if she's not going to change it? She returns to her desk and sits down. Angrily, I continue correcting English compositions. Then two minutes later she calls me over, asking "How should I change it?"
"I'll write it down."
"Don't write it down."
We're having this conversation across the room. My neighbour, Kitazawa sensei asks whats going on. "I really don't know," I say, and walk over with a pen and paper. Taniguchi sensei is talking to me but I just write the sentence and say "Please translate this sentence."
Finally she assents. Moments later she's all smiles and inquiring about my viewpoint and cultural differences, etc, etc. May I just say "What The Fuck?"
"I arrived with the stereotype that Japanese people are the very model of industrious hyper-efficiency. I should have realized that the truth is a dilution of the ideal. Japanese teachers work long hours and work hard, but I've come to realize that much of that time is spent in community socialization. The difference between here and home is not in work ethic, but rather in the boundaries of free time, work time and work relationships."
My tantosha (supervisor) came to me after translating it [side note: she didn't translate it - she gave it to Nick to translate and then looked it over] and remarked that the teachers will read this and that they will be offended. She asked if I meant that they spend a lot of time just talking. I said yes, but I also think you work very hard. Nick and I concur on this point: much of the time the teachers are just doing whatever they like, though we didn't say so in front of our tantosha just then. Taniguchi sensei did not seem pleased at all and said that in Japanese it sounds bad. So I asked her if she could change the translation.
"The whole thing? I don't think so."
"No, just the part that sounds rude."
"No. I don't know what to say."
"I'll write it in English and you can translate that."
"No, I don't know how to do it."
She doesn't know how to..... !!! She speaks English fluently and is the best translator in the room.
"The other teachers will be reading this," she said, "and they will not like you."
"Well why don't you change it then?"
"Hmmmm. I don't think I can do it."
Pause.
"It's rude to the teachers. They will think you are calling them lazy."
"If you can't change it, then just leave it, OK?"
Why is she haranguing me if she's not going to change it? She returns to her desk and sits down. Angrily, I continue correcting English compositions. Then two minutes later she calls me over, asking "How should I change it?"
"I'll write it down."
"Don't write it down."
We're having this conversation across the room. My neighbour, Kitazawa sensei asks whats going on. "I really don't know," I say, and walk over with a pen and paper. Taniguchi sensei is talking to me but I just write the sentence and say "Please translate this sentence."
Finally she assents. Moments later she's all smiles and inquiring about my viewpoint and cultural differences, etc, etc. May I just say "What The Fuck?"
Monday, December 13, 2004
thank you Beatles, CC top and Calhoun Tribune
I listened to some music, the beatles "within you, without you", and some other nice soothing music, read Claire's and Crissy's blogs and now I feel so much better. Relaxing, slowly... relaxing ... and .. getting ready.. for bed. sluuummmp. So much good can come from reading the shared thoughts of these two people.
I did have an hour long conversation with Veronica tonight so I suppose her nonblogging is fine. WRITE. please.
And I should have written down my dream because now I've forgotten it, and it contained the seed of a story I wanted to write. No big loss. I remember it wasn't going to be that great of a story. I'd better think up a great story soon though. Perhaps tomorrow I'll sit down and concentrate for 10 minutes at a time between classes. Or better yet, during lengthy Japanese grammar explanations during class.
. . . . . . time passes
Veronica our conversation was equally refreshing to my soul - thank you ever so much for your vivacity. I realize this entry kind of came off sounding like the blogs were good and the conversation was mediocre but that definitely was not the case.
-the editor
I did have an hour long conversation with Veronica tonight so I suppose her nonblogging is fine. WRITE. please.
And I should have written down my dream because now I've forgotten it, and it contained the seed of a story I wanted to write. No big loss. I remember it wasn't going to be that great of a story. I'd better think up a great story soon though. Perhaps tomorrow I'll sit down and concentrate for 10 minutes at a time between classes. Or better yet, during lengthy Japanese grammar explanations during class.
. . . . . . time passes
Veronica our conversation was equally refreshing to my soul - thank you ever so much for your vivacity. I realize this entry kind of came off sounding like the blogs were good and the conversation was mediocre but that definitely was not the case.
-the editor
Don't watch Dawn of the Dead
I just watched Dawn of the Dead and it was brutal and sickening. There was no benefit in watching that. Don't watch it. It made me sad and angry for wasting my time and peace of mind.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
Castles in the sand & Woburne
Soon, oh so very soon, I'll be boarding a jet plane - destination Bangkok - short stopover in Soeul. And then, oh yes, then, it's sandcastles and sun, full-moon parties and starlight, jungle raves and vine-twisted temples. And of course over it all the insidious doom of "terrorists", "insurgents", "Islamic militants". I come to think that the Japanese are like us in our views of foreign developing economies as lands of lurking treachery. It's the discourse of the non-European, the islamic, the exotic and it's simply fear-mongering.
But before I claim that Japan is the sanitized society I have to tell you about my tap water. Echoes of Walkerton ring through my memory as I read my latest book, "A Civil Action", which is the true tale of the town of Woburne, it's water supply tainted by tetrachloroethylene, it's residents afflicted by cancer, neurological disorders, nauseas, rashes and headaches. This highly detailed account describes the medical discovery leading up to trial, and outlines the symptoms and presentation of the tainted water in the population. It smells like bleach. My tap water smells like bleach - I bought a water filter in my first week here. It causes headaches. In my time here I've had an increased incidence of headaches. And the pollutant, TCE, is a common degreaser used in machine shops to clean metal parts. There is an auto repair shop within 200 feet of my building. Sometimes the strong odour of industrial solvents and airborne paints wafts from there.
Before you freak out, although I do drink the tap water, the filter removes the taste of bleach. I don't know if this means the water is properly clean, though. However, in the investigation of how the TCE entered the body it was discovered that 60 times the concentration of TCE from drinking water entered during hot showers, as vapour absorbed in the lungs and as molecules through the skin's heat-enlarged pores. Yet the residents of Woburne complained of burning eyes during showers, and I don't think I've had that experience at all.
I told Nick about the water situation today and he was interested. I'm going to tell all the other JETs in the building and ask what their water experiences are. I would like to organize to have the water tested by a lab and be done with it - just find out whether it contains any contaminants. I'll just be glad to be in clean, safe Thailand for a while.
But before I claim that Japan is the sanitized society I have to tell you about my tap water. Echoes of Walkerton ring through my memory as I read my latest book, "A Civil Action", which is the true tale of the town of Woburne, it's water supply tainted by tetrachloroethylene, it's residents afflicted by cancer, neurological disorders, nauseas, rashes and headaches. This highly detailed account describes the medical discovery leading up to trial, and outlines the symptoms and presentation of the tainted water in the population. It smells like bleach. My tap water smells like bleach - I bought a water filter in my first week here. It causes headaches. In my time here I've had an increased incidence of headaches. And the pollutant, TCE, is a common degreaser used in machine shops to clean metal parts. There is an auto repair shop within 200 feet of my building. Sometimes the strong odour of industrial solvents and airborne paints wafts from there.
Before you freak out, although I do drink the tap water, the filter removes the taste of bleach. I don't know if this means the water is properly clean, though. However, in the investigation of how the TCE entered the body it was discovered that 60 times the concentration of TCE from drinking water entered during hot showers, as vapour absorbed in the lungs and as molecules through the skin's heat-enlarged pores. Yet the residents of Woburne complained of burning eyes during showers, and I don't think I've had that experience at all.
I told Nick about the water situation today and he was interested. I'm going to tell all the other JETs in the building and ask what their water experiences are. I would like to organize to have the water tested by a lab and be done with it - just find out whether it contains any contaminants. I'll just be glad to be in clean, safe Thailand for a while.
Sunday, December 05, 2004
Some Limits of Reason
The heart has its reasons that the mind knows nothing of.
So said Blaise Pascal. What are the limits of reason, I wonder, and especially in reference to the emotions or intuition? So much of our experience comes hard-wired into us, rather than rationally constructed through chains of reasoning. Optically, we know that an object is defined by the lines that enclose it, and we know this at a neural level that is unlearned. When an infant is able to focus his eyes he reacts to objects as separate from each other, indicating that object-recognition is hard-wired into our perceptual systems. Similarly, the other perceptual modalities are highly inborn and mediate our experiences of the world. These experiences are not rational, yet they do influence action and inform belief and understanding in ways similar to reason.
As for intuitions, they might be the product of background processing in the mind, and could lead to better choices in certain circumstances than pre-frontal cortical reasoning. As you can see I'm approaching this philosophical question from a scientific perspective. I'm doing this because it's a field that I know and because the question can be answered this way. It can be approached other ways, such as from the perspective of tastes and aesthetics, which can provide unreasoned reasons, though they don't necessarily do so (especially if you're in the habit of making aesthetic decisions after prolonged analysis).
Perhaps you're wondering why I put this in my blog at all. It's because I find it difficult to think through the problems posed by my "Introduction to Philosophy" by Pojman without resorting to verbal expression. As McLuhan says, the text inspires passive responses.
So said Blaise Pascal. What are the limits of reason, I wonder, and especially in reference to the emotions or intuition? So much of our experience comes hard-wired into us, rather than rationally constructed through chains of reasoning. Optically, we know that an object is defined by the lines that enclose it, and we know this at a neural level that is unlearned. When an infant is able to focus his eyes he reacts to objects as separate from each other, indicating that object-recognition is hard-wired into our perceptual systems. Similarly, the other perceptual modalities are highly inborn and mediate our experiences of the world. These experiences are not rational, yet they do influence action and inform belief and understanding in ways similar to reason.
As for intuitions, they might be the product of background processing in the mind, and could lead to better choices in certain circumstances than pre-frontal cortical reasoning. As you can see I'm approaching this philosophical question from a scientific perspective. I'm doing this because it's a field that I know and because the question can be answered this way. It can be approached other ways, such as from the perspective of tastes and aesthetics, which can provide unreasoned reasons, though they don't necessarily do so (especially if you're in the habit of making aesthetic decisions after prolonged analysis).
Perhaps you're wondering why I put this in my blog at all. It's because I find it difficult to think through the problems posed by my "Introduction to Philosophy" by Pojman without resorting to verbal expression. As McLuhan says, the text inspires passive responses.
Saturday, December 04, 2004
The Mid-Year Seminar
Thursday and Friday I was in Otsu along with one hundred other JETs for the mid-year seminar. Speeches and seminars were afoot. Mainly it was exciting to be able to walk down the street and accidentally overhear English. In the interest of brevity, I will summarize my experience at the seminar in a best / worst list.
Worst point:
When we all rushed over to the mall, Parco, to eat our lunches during lunch break. The lunch counter was overwhelmed and there were long waits. It was a strange lunch purchase system: first you buy a ticket from a machine, indicating which meal you want; then you wait in line at the counter to give them your ticket; when they get your ticket, they start making the lunch, and they give you a remote beeper; you sit at a table until the beep, then get up and receive your steaming plate of... whatever. I got to the waiting in line with my ticket stage, spent about 20 minutes in line, and just as the chef was taking the tickets of everyone and my hopes were up, he says 'no' to me. They ran out of rice. Go over there and refund your ticket. Wait in another line. Buy more tickets... I don't have the time!! So I left Parco, leaving my beeper for a curry bun behind (150 yen) in search of a super-quick lunch at a combini (convenience store). No money. Lent 300 yen to some guy, I think it was a guy named Guy. As I'm searching for a bank machine and a lunch, everyone is streaming back to the seminars, asking me if I forgot something, and I'm surly and hungry. Did I eat lunch? Yes, but it sucked.
Best Point:
Friday at 5:00 pm a large group of us head over to the German pub, Kupper's Kolsch, for happy hour. Ahhhh. Such heavenly good fun! Beer was a flowing, JETs were making asses of themselves, and conversations both serious and lewd went on and on. As Veronica and I were leaving the pub around 10pm, with the party still going strong I might add, the aforementioned Guy accosts me from his perch on a barstool. "Don't go too far south." he drawls in an Aussie accent, indicating my crotch. "What???" I reply, confused as hell. "When you're 80% there, don't give up on the last 20 or 30 percent," he says, as though in explanation. "OHHH. I GET IT," I say. Was he talking about sexual stamina? Not quite sure. I bumped into him this morning (Saturday), as I was getting into the Nagahama train station and he was running for his train. Odd fellow. I like him.
Worst point:
When we all rushed over to the mall, Parco, to eat our lunches during lunch break. The lunch counter was overwhelmed and there were long waits. It was a strange lunch purchase system: first you buy a ticket from a machine, indicating which meal you want; then you wait in line at the counter to give them your ticket; when they get your ticket, they start making the lunch, and they give you a remote beeper; you sit at a table until the beep, then get up and receive your steaming plate of... whatever. I got to the waiting in line with my ticket stage, spent about 20 minutes in line, and just as the chef was taking the tickets of everyone and my hopes were up, he says 'no' to me. They ran out of rice. Go over there and refund your ticket. Wait in another line. Buy more tickets... I don't have the time!! So I left Parco, leaving my beeper for a curry bun behind (150 yen) in search of a super-quick lunch at a combini (convenience store). No money. Lent 300 yen to some guy, I think it was a guy named Guy. As I'm searching for a bank machine and a lunch, everyone is streaming back to the seminars, asking me if I forgot something, and I'm surly and hungry. Did I eat lunch? Yes, but it sucked.
Best Point:
Friday at 5:00 pm a large group of us head over to the German pub, Kupper's Kolsch, for happy hour. Ahhhh. Such heavenly good fun! Beer was a flowing, JETs were making asses of themselves, and conversations both serious and lewd went on and on. As Veronica and I were leaving the pub around 10pm, with the party still going strong I might add, the aforementioned Guy accosts me from his perch on a barstool. "Don't go too far south." he drawls in an Aussie accent, indicating my crotch. "What???" I reply, confused as hell. "When you're 80% there, don't give up on the last 20 or 30 percent," he says, as though in explanation. "OHHH. I GET IT," I say. Was he talking about sexual stamina? Not quite sure. I bumped into him this morning (Saturday), as I was getting into the Nagahama train station and he was running for his train. Odd fellow. I like him.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
Rowing Your Boat
Today I taught Row, Row, Row Your Boat to the developmentally disabled class. It consists of four, sometimes five students, all but one are boys. Who knew that I had such a lovely singing voice? I think I'm a tenor. And yet, those high notes, like when the "merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily" kicks in, there's usually some voice cracking. I've got one of those voices that is neither high enough nor low enough for singing. Limited range. But still - whoah - good singing. The kids were good too, I guess.
Ahhh. I would never have guessed that I'd be singing the rowboat and Old Macdonald when I finished my degree. And reading Foucault in my spare time. That bugger is difficult. Oh yes, my history of images professor, Paul Rutherford, said he'd recommend me for a graduate program in communication/media studies. This is heartening mainly because it means that the other profs whose recommendations I despaired of getting will probably recommend me. I had more interaction with Tafarodi, O'Conner and Bagby than I did with Rutherford, and I think their recommendations will paint a more flattering picture of me. Oh this is exciting! I sometimes think of what graduate school will be like, and the opportunities it will open up. I basically conduct my own course of post-graduate studies right now, so I won't be too disappointed if I don't make it in.
Ahhh. I would never have guessed that I'd be singing the rowboat and Old Macdonald when I finished my degree. And reading Foucault in my spare time. That bugger is difficult. Oh yes, my history of images professor, Paul Rutherford, said he'd recommend me for a graduate program in communication/media studies. This is heartening mainly because it means that the other profs whose recommendations I despaired of getting will probably recommend me. I had more interaction with Tafarodi, O'Conner and Bagby than I did with Rutherford, and I think their recommendations will paint a more flattering picture of me. Oh this is exciting! I sometimes think of what graduate school will be like, and the opportunities it will open up. I basically conduct my own course of post-graduate studies right now, so I won't be too disappointed if I don't make it in.
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Jaundice from your Bento
Discovering that your finances are crumbling, even though you've gone halfway around the world to earn better money, is the sort of thing that fucks up your day. In fact, several days have been dampened by this revelation. I'm still going to Thailand, and I'm still paying the bills, but some of the bills back home will be relegated to "Later". Namely, my credit cards. Had I known the state of my financial disequilibrium I wouldn't have bought that "Introduction to Philosophy" on the internet a week ago, spending $80 in credit card magic money in the process.
Crumbling is perhaps too strong a word. I can get by, so don't worry all you worrisome folks. It looks like I won't be buying lunches at the combini anymore (except on special occasions, like when I'm too lazy or don't have the time to go home and prepare lunch). Today all my classes were cancelled because the students had exams, so I went home on the pretext of going to the post office and prepared myself a nice lunch. There's a neat trick that can be done with the rice cooker. I set it to turn on at 12:00, put in rice, water and chopped carrot, and then when I arrive for lunch it's all ready. The carrot was a tad soft though because it sat in the rice cooker after it had finished cooking, and the remaining heat mushed it. Must get green vegetables. I can see in the dark just fine (which is what carrots do for ya - but that may just be a myth propogated by the allies to trick the German pilots into eating too many carrots and pumpkins). Come to think of it, I've been eating carrots and pumpkins myself. Pumpkin is a very popular vegetable in Japan and is often served as a small side dish to a bento. Please note the absence of "box" after bento, as bento means box. So maybe I'm a German pilot or just in danger of getting jaundice.
With the rest of my day I read a few entries on BigDaikon.com, a JET website. One true story described a foreign teacher's experience with the police after a racist Japanese man jumped him. The cops were just as bad and wanted him to bow down to the man, who claimed that he was the victim. The teacher didn't submit though, and after hours of interrogation he was released from the police station when the punk-ass dropped the charges. Forgive my use of punk-ass, I just couldn't think of anything better. Maybe that's because the other rest of my day was spent trying to follow the extremely long strings of logic/illogic constructed by Foucault. That man makes a lot of references to French authors. It makes me think that my exposure is severely limited by reading in English. And I used to think that all the ideas were available in English through translation and synthesis.
Crumbling is perhaps too strong a word. I can get by, so don't worry all you worrisome folks. It looks like I won't be buying lunches at the combini anymore (except on special occasions, like when I'm too lazy or don't have the time to go home and prepare lunch). Today all my classes were cancelled because the students had exams, so I went home on the pretext of going to the post office and prepared myself a nice lunch. There's a neat trick that can be done with the rice cooker. I set it to turn on at 12:00, put in rice, water and chopped carrot, and then when I arrive for lunch it's all ready. The carrot was a tad soft though because it sat in the rice cooker after it had finished cooking, and the remaining heat mushed it. Must get green vegetables. I can see in the dark just fine (which is what carrots do for ya - but that may just be a myth propogated by the allies to trick the German pilots into eating too many carrots and pumpkins). Come to think of it, I've been eating carrots and pumpkins myself. Pumpkin is a very popular vegetable in Japan and is often served as a small side dish to a bento. Please note the absence of "box" after bento, as bento means box. So maybe I'm a German pilot or just in danger of getting jaundice.
With the rest of my day I read a few entries on BigDaikon.com, a JET website. One true story described a foreign teacher's experience with the police after a racist Japanese man jumped him. The cops were just as bad and wanted him to bow down to the man, who claimed that he was the victim. The teacher didn't submit though, and after hours of interrogation he was released from the police station when the punk-ass dropped the charges. Forgive my use of punk-ass, I just couldn't think of anything better. Maybe that's because the other rest of my day was spent trying to follow the extremely long strings of logic/illogic constructed by Foucault. That man makes a lot of references to French authors. It makes me think that my exposure is severely limited by reading in English. And I used to think that all the ideas were available in English through translation and synthesis.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
A leafy paradise
Yesterday we went to Ishiyamadera. Ishi means pebble, yama means mountain, dera means temple - so we visited the Temple of Pebble Mountain.
It's the season of leaf watching. This is an actual thing that Japanese people have a name for. The leaf-watching event - I don't know the name. Don't assume it's dull till you've seen the leaves in Japan. They're smaller and the colours are more intense than the leaves back home. It was really quite splendid as the Buddhist monks have devoted their lives to creating the proper setting for leaf-watching, which is essentially what they're doing by creating an architecture that's in proper harmony with nature. The paths among the trees are mossy, and old carved stones festoon the hillsides. Round the rugged rocks no ragged rascals ran, but lichens, mosses and rich, dark soil made a carpet or a living tapestry out of the ground. I've posted one picture of one small part of this temple complex, which runs up a mountainside and includes several structures, whose use and history I do not know and can only assume.
The ritual cleansing of the hands at the temple. (notice the fish in the pond!)
click on the pictures to enlarge them
I will post another picture when I get the opportunity, because these images are amazing.
It's the season of leaf watching. This is an actual thing that Japanese people have a name for. The leaf-watching event - I don't know the name. Don't assume it's dull till you've seen the leaves in Japan. They're smaller and the colours are more intense than the leaves back home. It was really quite splendid as the Buddhist monks have devoted their lives to creating the proper setting for leaf-watching, which is essentially what they're doing by creating an architecture that's in proper harmony with nature. The paths among the trees are mossy, and old carved stones festoon the hillsides. Round the rugged rocks no ragged rascals ran, but lichens, mosses and rich, dark soil made a carpet or a living tapestry out of the ground. I've posted one picture of one small part of this temple complex, which runs up a mountainside and includes several structures, whose use and history I do not know and can only assume.
The ritual cleansing of the hands at the temple. (notice the fish in the pond!)
click on the pictures to enlarge them
I will post another picture when I get the opportunity, because these images are amazing.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
The Archaeology of Knowledge
In "The Archaeology of Knowledge", Foucault says that history has moved from the use of the documents as a means to the ends of a timeline, to the focus on the document as object and constitutive element of history itself. Documents are arranged into a monument which is the focus of history - the seriation, stratification and interfunctionality of the monument. Now this is a bold claim and one which threatens to pull history away from non-academics. Is a child in school practicing history when she tries to learn the chronology of 20th century European battles? Is a history textbook even a summary of history by this definiton? It would be not a tome containing history, but an element of history itself, it's content relegated to infantile significance through it's staid insistence on treating events as though they actually occurred. I realize that the view that there are actual concrete events which took place that can be storied and delineated is hopelessly old-fashioned and modernist, as opposed to post-modernist. I still appreciate that historical documents leave more gaps than they fill in, and I think Foucault's point that the gaps can be used as a tool of analysis (for example a lack of publishing following a document that warns of an oncoming disruption in economies, paper supplies, etc can be taken as evidence supporting the event) is quite brilliant. However I feel that he is flying at such lofty heights of abstraction that the phenomena of original interest are too far below him to be seen. They are obscured by the clouds. And his thesis brings up the question of who history belongs to? Is it solely in the domain of the academics? I could almost believe this, if there are fractious definitions of "history". Academic history being the high culture history, and common understand of history being the low-culture history. But what purpose would this serve except to establish a field which can only exist in academia? Perhaps there is a purpose. I shall read on.
Sunday, November 21, 2004
goodnight
as fitful night creeps darkly forward i drift toward my couchbed, my shamble-room strewn with the collected mess of a spent time. green tiles, curtains, cardboard Kleenex box and ironpill bottle enshrine me in verdure. i miss the grass. once i kissed the good grass goodnight, yet now my lips are lipless met, and kisses miss.
Friday, November 19, 2004
The Reading Dream-state
I’m riding on the train. In Spain. Or I wish I were riding on the train in Spain. Instead it’s rainy old Japan. Which is funny because there’s that rain train Spain rhyme. Maybe you think I hate Japan, now that I’m writing doggeral about it in my posts. But in fact, I like Japan. It’s just hard to reconcile my worklife with the experience I know is possible here. Possible, but just out of reach, at least during the weekdays. On weekends such as this I find myself rediscovering the pleasure I get from exploring a land that’s fresh and new to my senses. The whole land lies in possibility before me, only restricted to the Kansai region on weekends. I could travel to the Sea of Japan or to the Pacific on any given weekend, though I haven’t done this yet. My neighbour Colin visited Kobe on the Pacific coast just last weekend, and he went up a tower and looked out over the bay. That sounds like good fun to me.
Nishi Chu (my school) is my recurring nightmare, or perhaps it’s merely a dreamless immobility that brings no rest. This is how I feel some mornings when I wake up to go to Nishi Chu. My eyes and body are still tired, but it’s not sleep that will cure me. It’s the tantalus hope of not going to work. I haven’t yet had that cruel experience of waking up and thinking it’s the weekend, only to find it’s a workday. Come to think of it, when I was a boy it always happened the other way: I’d wake up on Saturday and think it was mid-week or think it Monday on a Sunday morning. Then the realization hits and it’s even better than knowing it’s the weekend. Now my bewildering sleeps come at odd times in the afternoon, when the office has cleared out and I’m sitting at my desk with nothing to do but read. My head is over the book, and the words of McLuhan begin to cluster like an impenetrable forest. I venture in, and passing each word, a silent tree that refuses to speak its meaning, I’m too entranced to realize I’m no longer awake. By then I’m in the midst of a forest of McLuhan’s mind and my own - my unconscious, unfettered mind - and I begin to see the meanings in such a strange and wonderful way. The insight that accompanies those problems I fall asleep to is complex beyond normal conscious imagining, and only a glimpse remains when I wake to the sound of a phone, ringing.
Cursed lucidity! Why won’t you retain the cipher of my recombinant dream-mind? Instead, seive-like only the granules of ideas remain. Spending my free moments - make that free hours – at school reading re-organizes my consciousness away from the everyday stream of consciousness and into a forced awareness. My mind keeps wanting to drift, unused as it now is to extended concentration, and as I force myself to continue reading I’m also forced to explore different ways of connecting to the material. Usually it’s depth connection – the engagement that McLuhan says is fostered by a youth of television. Then as my ability to maintain that understanding slackens it becomes a race. My eyes running over the page just faster than my ability to second-guess and misunderstand. It’s a forced understanding that must be McLuhan’s lineal textual engagement. A means of engagement suggested by the medium itself, by it’s unimodal sensory demands and tersely coded meaning. Heidegger, who struggled to contain the multiplicity of meanings in the written word would have a bone to pick with McLuhan. Like any great thinker McLuhan can sweep aside these inconsistencies as unknown, irrelevent, or merely obstacles in the way of his strident exposition.
I try to imitate this to gain confidence in my writing, however weak and random my expression. I have so much work to do. Please forgive this self-indulgent entry.
Nishi Chu (my school) is my recurring nightmare, or perhaps it’s merely a dreamless immobility that brings no rest. This is how I feel some mornings when I wake up to go to Nishi Chu. My eyes and body are still tired, but it’s not sleep that will cure me. It’s the tantalus hope of not going to work. I haven’t yet had that cruel experience of waking up and thinking it’s the weekend, only to find it’s a workday. Come to think of it, when I was a boy it always happened the other way: I’d wake up on Saturday and think it was mid-week or think it Monday on a Sunday morning. Then the realization hits and it’s even better than knowing it’s the weekend. Now my bewildering sleeps come at odd times in the afternoon, when the office has cleared out and I’m sitting at my desk with nothing to do but read. My head is over the book, and the words of McLuhan begin to cluster like an impenetrable forest. I venture in, and passing each word, a silent tree that refuses to speak its meaning, I’m too entranced to realize I’m no longer awake. By then I’m in the midst of a forest of McLuhan’s mind and my own - my unconscious, unfettered mind - and I begin to see the meanings in such a strange and wonderful way. The insight that accompanies those problems I fall asleep to is complex beyond normal conscious imagining, and only a glimpse remains when I wake to the sound of a phone, ringing.
Cursed lucidity! Why won’t you retain the cipher of my recombinant dream-mind? Instead, seive-like only the granules of ideas remain. Spending my free moments - make that free hours – at school reading re-organizes my consciousness away from the everyday stream of consciousness and into a forced awareness. My mind keeps wanting to drift, unused as it now is to extended concentration, and as I force myself to continue reading I’m also forced to explore different ways of connecting to the material. Usually it’s depth connection – the engagement that McLuhan says is fostered by a youth of television. Then as my ability to maintain that understanding slackens it becomes a race. My eyes running over the page just faster than my ability to second-guess and misunderstand. It’s a forced understanding that must be McLuhan’s lineal textual engagement. A means of engagement suggested by the medium itself, by it’s unimodal sensory demands and tersely coded meaning. Heidegger, who struggled to contain the multiplicity of meanings in the written word would have a bone to pick with McLuhan. Like any great thinker McLuhan can sweep aside these inconsistencies as unknown, irrelevent, or merely obstacles in the way of his strident exposition.
I try to imitate this to gain confidence in my writing, however weak and random my expression. I have so much work to do. Please forgive this self-indulgent entry.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
Why I'm Not Studying Japanese
Britney Spears is actually not bad on the track "Dance Mix". She's the consumate pop star. I also like that song she does with Madonna. This is what happens when I play my music on random - I get the one Britney track I have. And suddenly it's the melancholy harmonica of Mazzy Star, light-years from Britney's galaxy.
I'm burning through McLuhan now, after letting it lie for days while reading histories and "The Rule Of Four", an exciting piece of bibliophile Princeton fiction. A novel about a book. It was actually this novel that inspired me to re-invigorate my studies and now I'm reading 60 pages a day in a race to get through McLuhan. I don't think I'm learning any less than when I read it slowly - I still garble the theoretical points in my mind while the anecdotes stand out in high relief. Such as: Germany is a tribal society; that tribalism was encouraged by Hitler and the technology of radio. I think it's through anecdote that I'll understand McLuhan, as it was through metaphor that I understood Baudrillard. Anyone who wants to see the bizarre extremes of linguistic manipulation should read Baudrillard (not in the original French for me, alas).
I hope to be able to read authors in their original German and French someday soon. Time must be spent in France and Germany. I'm going to Kyoto this weekend to buy another book - an introduction to ancient Greek if I can find it. What can I say? I don't enjoy studying Japanese.
Leaving to the sounds of John Lee Hooker... no wait... a harpsichord... The Magnetic Fields.
I'm burning through McLuhan now, after letting it lie for days while reading histories and "The Rule Of Four", an exciting piece of bibliophile Princeton fiction. A novel about a book. It was actually this novel that inspired me to re-invigorate my studies and now I'm reading 60 pages a day in a race to get through McLuhan. I don't think I'm learning any less than when I read it slowly - I still garble the theoretical points in my mind while the anecdotes stand out in high relief. Such as: Germany is a tribal society; that tribalism was encouraged by Hitler and the technology of radio. I think it's through anecdote that I'll understand McLuhan, as it was through metaphor that I understood Baudrillard. Anyone who wants to see the bizarre extremes of linguistic manipulation should read Baudrillard (not in the original French for me, alas).
I hope to be able to read authors in their original German and French someday soon. Time must be spent in France and Germany. I'm going to Kyoto this weekend to buy another book - an introduction to ancient Greek if I can find it. What can I say? I don't enjoy studying Japanese.
Leaving to the sounds of John Lee Hooker... no wait... a harpsichord... The Magnetic Fields.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Grimness begone!
As the cold and dark nights creep up on us, making the afternoons cold and dark, I find myself cycling home along the red patched sidewalk in darkness instead of afternoon sunshine. It's amazing how a place can be transformed by the absence of light, and that's all darkness is. Darkness is actually the norm - it's light that's the periodic visitor. Da Vinci suggested that a painter begin the canvas with a wash of black, because only the illuminated portions should be anything but black.
Grimness begone!
I am trying to get back on the path of righteousnous, if righteousness can be described as attention to learning, physical exercise and creative activity. A very humanistic description to be sure, and really the term righteousness is far to laden with book-burning tradition to serve my purposes here. Has anyone heard of the bonfire of the vanities? Savonarola, an upstart preacher in renaissance Florence started the tradition of a giant bonfire, burning all the "vanities" that he felt were condemning his city to moral turpitude. These included the writing of ancient philosophers, poets, playwrites as well as paintings and sculptures by great masters. It seems astounding to me, and an example of the brand of righteousness that seems to be afflicting politics in the United States right now.
Grimness begone!
Tonight, I'm looking forward to an easy evening of watching exciting tv episodes of "Alias" and possibly "Lost". This is what we do at the Highlife Morii, an apartment complex inhabited by an inordinate number of foreign English teachers.
And thus, I have updated my much-neglected blog.
Grimness begone!
I am trying to get back on the path of righteousnous, if righteousness can be described as attention to learning, physical exercise and creative activity. A very humanistic description to be sure, and really the term righteousness is far to laden with book-burning tradition to serve my purposes here. Has anyone heard of the bonfire of the vanities? Savonarola, an upstart preacher in renaissance Florence started the tradition of a giant bonfire, burning all the "vanities" that he felt were condemning his city to moral turpitude. These included the writing of ancient philosophers, poets, playwrites as well as paintings and sculptures by great masters. It seems astounding to me, and an example of the brand of righteousness that seems to be afflicting politics in the United States right now.
Grimness begone!
Tonight, I'm looking forward to an easy evening of watching exciting tv episodes of "Alias" and possibly "Lost". This is what we do at the Highlife Morii, an apartment complex inhabited by an inordinate number of foreign English teachers.
And thus, I have updated my much-neglected blog.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
What you waiting, what you waiting, what you waiting for?
What is the point in writing anything unless it's a comment, a broadcast of the current, disguised or undisguised in theme? So I thought as I sat at my desk with nothing to do in the waning hours of the afternoon. I thought about the story I was writing, which is themed on optics, and it seemed to me to be so divorced from anything real or now. Reading about the revolutions that wracked South and Central America I remembered stories by Jorge Luis Borges that entranced me with their intricate paranoid conspiracies, and I realized it was all based on reality for him. Burroughs took it to the next level for fantasy by inducing realities that could be written with authenticity. That's why Naked Lunch is possibly the best book ever written. It's a true fantasy.
IN the words of Gwen Stefani:
What you waiting, what you waiting, what you waiting for?
Take a chance cause you might grow
.....
look at your watch now
you're still a super hot female
which seems applicable to me, except for the last part. This is the problem with a super hot male listening to female singers - the inspiration is usually just slightly off. I've just listened to her song nine times in a row now. It's good.
The Japanese I learned today: migi ni magaru = turn right.
IN the words of Gwen Stefani:
What you waiting, what you waiting, what you waiting for?
Take a chance cause you might grow
.....
look at your watch now
you're still a super hot female
which seems applicable to me, except for the last part. This is the problem with a super hot male listening to female singers - the inspiration is usually just slightly off. I've just listened to her song nine times in a row now. It's good.
The Japanese I learned today: migi ni magaru = turn right.
Sunday, November 07, 2004
ZeZe
magic bunny
What's in the fridge?
We went to ZeZe this weekend. There was a shopping mall, a red fridge and a bunny at the foot of the stairs. We bought mushrooms and molasses cookies at Waco. What's in the Redfridgerator?
I've updated this post with another picture of Veronica because really the atrium picture doesn't do her justice. This new picture is from our Mountain hike in the summer. It's also a nice reminder of warmer days and jungly foliage.
Mount Ibuki in my backyard
The Oncoming Cold
I just got home from Ishiyama. Took the train part way with Veronica, who was heading out to a lunch with her Vice Principal, still full after our bolted breakfast of french toast and bacon. The sky is grey today, but we agreed that it is a nice day, a good day for being outside, as it is so warm.
We both dread the cold. I refuse to be "shut in" by the cold. I put "shut in" in quotation marks, because it's something that happens to Japanese people, not so much from cold as from shyness. Some people never leave their houses except to go to the combini for a snack or to the video store for a movie. Well I come from Canada, dammit, and even if my apartment is not heated, I refuse to be shut in by this oncoming cold. In fact, since my apartment is not heated it gives me even more reason to go out, because it's like I'm outside already. Only my massive goose down duvet will protect me. That thing is so warm! I had it on one morning, and I got out of bed and puttered around the kitchen for about forty minutes, then I crawled back into bed and it was still warm! So my duvet will be my heat saviour. Either that or I'll have to pitch a tent with Veronica and we can camp in her bedroom, conserving valuable heat. This is life in Japan!
We both dread the cold. I refuse to be "shut in" by the cold. I put "shut in" in quotation marks, because it's something that happens to Japanese people, not so much from cold as from shyness. Some people never leave their houses except to go to the combini for a snack or to the video store for a movie. Well I come from Canada, dammit, and even if my apartment is not heated, I refuse to be shut in by this oncoming cold. In fact, since my apartment is not heated it gives me even more reason to go out, because it's like I'm outside already. Only my massive goose down duvet will protect me. That thing is so warm! I had it on one morning, and I got out of bed and puttered around the kitchen for about forty minutes, then I crawled back into bed and it was still warm! So my duvet will be my heat saviour. Either that or I'll have to pitch a tent with Veronica and we can camp in her bedroom, conserving valuable heat. This is life in Japan!
Friday, November 05, 2004
Sunny Day corn flakes
A few bright beams are sneaking through my morning curtains, promising a sunny day for Kansai. On a sunny day, usually anything is possible, and mediocre things are great. The proper sort of music must be played for a sunny day, and now it's relaxed guitar songs. Of course I couldn't have a playlist going without a few electronic elements, supplied this morning by Royksopp. That's such a cool name. I love Nordic names and Nordic stories. Bjorn Ulvaeus, Ragnarok, Knut Hamsun, Valkyrie, Strom Thurmond. Heh heh I have no idea if Strom Thurmond was Nordic, I just read his name in the US history text I was reading yesterday. I read for about four full hours yesterday - no joke! To me, this is a productive day. I hope more of my classes are cancelled today so I can do more reading. I'm a great teacher, aren't I?
Hello to all my friends who have been reading this and sorry about the infrequent contact. I'll send out a mass email soon. I wish I knew who was reading this!
Hello to all my friends who have been reading this and sorry about the infrequent contact. I'll send out a mass email soon. I wish I knew who was reading this!
Sunday, October 31, 2004
I live in the Kinki Region (It's true!)
Didn't go to the Hallowe'en party, but did go to Kyoto this weekend. Together, Veronica and I saw the glorious GOLDEN TEMPLE, also known as Kinkakuji temple, also known as The Most Touristy Temple In Kyoto. And there's a good reason for that, which is: it's really beautiful.
The Golden Temple (Kinkakuji)
It's covered with gold paint or gold leaf and it really looks amazing, sitting out on stilts that support it right over a pond. The landscaping of the garden was really beautiful too, and we got to walk through on a mini tour along the nicely guided path (there are low wooden fences to guide us). The forest was a very strange sort of man-made wildness that was eery in it's controlled, measured randomness. A contradiction, but we both wanted to step over the little barrier and explore. Except that it was raining. It started raining almost as soon as we got to the temple, after a confusing bus ride and much map-consulting at Kyoto train station. I must tell you about Kyoto train station some time. So our tour was rained upon, as were our noggins. Veronica had her waterproof gore-tex space-age coat on, because she's into space-age materials, and I had my recycled plastic pop bottle fleece coat, which is not waterproof. I hooded it over my head like a babushka and took pictures trying to keep my camera dry. I have yet to see how they turned out. Actually I got a preview on the little screen and they look pretty good.
All in all it was a nice experience, despite much complaining about rain. Then we went to see Resident Evil 2, called Biohazard 2 in Japan. It was scary as all get out and I cringed like a little girl and jumped out of my seat when the zombies attacked. The first one was much better though. However, the second one is filmed entirely in Toronto so it was interesting to see the streets of the city that I know and love. But they kept calling the Don Valley "Raven's Gate Valley" and some school, maybe Loretto Abbey in the Annex, was called "Raven's Gate School" which it so obviously wasn't. And then I was sad it was filmed in Toronto. It was so-so. So this critic says: "go see it when it comes out in the repertory theatres, or rent the video".
And now I'm drinking a can of Kirin Beer and eating a bento which has nasty fish tempura but good other stuff. I shall soon watch one of three movies that I rented. That's kind of pathetic, I know.
The Golden Temple (Kinkakuji)
It's covered with gold paint or gold leaf and it really looks amazing, sitting out on stilts that support it right over a pond. The landscaping of the garden was really beautiful too, and we got to walk through on a mini tour along the nicely guided path (there are low wooden fences to guide us). The forest was a very strange sort of man-made wildness that was eery in it's controlled, measured randomness. A contradiction, but we both wanted to step over the little barrier and explore. Except that it was raining. It started raining almost as soon as we got to the temple, after a confusing bus ride and much map-consulting at Kyoto train station. I must tell you about Kyoto train station some time. So our tour was rained upon, as were our noggins. Veronica had her waterproof gore-tex space-age coat on, because she's into space-age materials, and I had my recycled plastic pop bottle fleece coat, which is not waterproof. I hooded it over my head like a babushka and took pictures trying to keep my camera dry. I have yet to see how they turned out. Actually I got a preview on the little screen and they look pretty good.
All in all it was a nice experience, despite much complaining about rain. Then we went to see Resident Evil 2, called Biohazard 2 in Japan. It was scary as all get out and I cringed like a little girl and jumped out of my seat when the zombies attacked. The first one was much better though. However, the second one is filmed entirely in Toronto so it was interesting to see the streets of the city that I know and love. But they kept calling the Don Valley "Raven's Gate Valley" and some school, maybe Loretto Abbey in the Annex, was called "Raven's Gate School" which it so obviously wasn't. And then I was sad it was filmed in Toronto. It was so-so. So this critic says: "go see it when it comes out in the repertory theatres, or rent the video".
And now I'm drinking a can of Kirin Beer and eating a bento which has nasty fish tempura but good other stuff. I shall soon watch one of three movies that I rented. That's kind of pathetic, I know.
Friday, October 29, 2004
The Freakshow Runs Every Day
Indeed there's a Hallowe'en party tonight, but I am not in attendance as I don't FEEL LIKE IT. School is difficult these days as my fellow foreigner, Nick, is a raging bull and I have to placate his bullheadedness. He's a Detroit scuzzy mean-talking, bad-rap-loving, mean-to-his-japanese girlfriend, resentful kind of guy. But he's usually ok and he's funny. It's just that two days ago he said, out of the blue and very matter-of-factly, "Pluto is not a planet". Actually I don't think it was entirely out of the blue. I believe the subject of planets had come up. But naturally I was surprised by this claim and I said, with joking fervour "yes it IS!". Good-naturedly. And he's a big joker and he calls his friend Goi sensei a "fuck" just for laughs (this is their humour), so I didn't think this would be taken amiss. But apparently it was, and it continued to be for about 15 minutes of clueless joshing by me, as Nick ever more stubbornly, and without evidence or support, insisted that it was not a planet. We looked it up on the internet and found several websites like "ashleylavigne.com" or something and "kidscience.com" saying it wasn't a planet, but a NASA site saying it was a planet. Then Nick declared that clearly popular opinion meant that it wasn't a planet. Then we talked about whether random websites or NASA are more trustworthy on matters of planetary debate. Apparently if enough people say it's not a planet, it doesn't matter what the scientists say, it's simply not a planet. I was laughing, but then I realized he was pissed off.
The next day the first thing he said to me in the morning was not "good morning!" or "how are you?" it was "Pluto is not a planet,". He became belligerent and said that I was not allowed to ever mention it a again to him. Then he sulked for the rest of the day until I asked what was wrong. He was very angry at me because I had been disrespectful to him. "And," he said "you have to give me more respect, because you depend on me, and I don't depend on you. I speak Japanese, and I don't see you speaking Japanese. So I was thinking 'why would he disrespect me?'. It doesn't make sense. You have to show me more respect than I need to show you, because I don't get anything from you, but you get a lot from me."
I was stunned. I mentioned that I was stunned. I also said he was very bold, and I explained that although I don't speak Japanese, I don't think of human relationships in the same way that he does, and I consider the two of us to be equals. I told him that the day before was mainly a misunderstanding, and that it shouldn't ruin our relationship, which I thought had been pretty good. I attempted to placate him, basically. I had even apologized for being rude even before we got started, but he said "people say 'sorry' a lot, but it doesn't mean anything". I don't even think I was particularly out of line. I was just taking liberties that he had taken with me in the past.
Anyway, the next day he was absent from school due to "illness". I wonder if it was caused by a desire to avoid me. Or maybe he was avoiding cleaning the school bathroom, which is something every teacher has a turn at (crazy, ain't it?) and which he has been avoiding assiduously. Or maybe he was avoiding me and the dirty bathroom. But he came to school today, and didn't say good morning when he came to his desk (right in front of mine). Knowing that I'll be sitting opposite him for another 8 months I tried placating him, and even bought him a dessert bean bun, I forget the name of it, ends in KA and sounds like a place in Japan. And although he refused it, as I suspected he might, he finally seemed to accept that I'm not his enemy and maybe even could be his friend, at least while we're at work. Because frankly I don't like him enough to want to be his friend outside of work.
So I wasn't feeling very sociable at the end of the day and decided not to go to the big JET Hallowe'en party in Omihachiman. I only sort of wanted to go and the idea of having to avoid Nick there was not appealing. Not that that was the deciding factor. Mainly I just don't have the energy for a social occasion tonight. Instead I'll have a good time this weekend in Kyoto at this crazy golden temple that looks like its on stilts in a pond. I'll file a report on it. I asked Veronica, my fellow Kyoto-traveller, to invite Mike, Shannon, Warren and Steffi on the trip. I know it was a disappointment for Veronica that I wasn't coming to the Hallowe'en party. She wanted me to see her costume and I wanted to see her costume - she's a cat and she sewed it herself! And it would have been cool to dress up - I was going to be a green leaf man. But I hope she understands.
The next day the first thing he said to me in the morning was not "good morning!" or "how are you?" it was "Pluto is not a planet,". He became belligerent and said that I was not allowed to ever mention it a again to him. Then he sulked for the rest of the day until I asked what was wrong. He was very angry at me because I had been disrespectful to him. "And," he said "you have to give me more respect, because you depend on me, and I don't depend on you. I speak Japanese, and I don't see you speaking Japanese. So I was thinking 'why would he disrespect me?'. It doesn't make sense. You have to show me more respect than I need to show you, because I don't get anything from you, but you get a lot from me."
I was stunned. I mentioned that I was stunned. I also said he was very bold, and I explained that although I don't speak Japanese, I don't think of human relationships in the same way that he does, and I consider the two of us to be equals. I told him that the day before was mainly a misunderstanding, and that it shouldn't ruin our relationship, which I thought had been pretty good. I attempted to placate him, basically. I had even apologized for being rude even before we got started, but he said "people say 'sorry' a lot, but it doesn't mean anything". I don't even think I was particularly out of line. I was just taking liberties that he had taken with me in the past.
Anyway, the next day he was absent from school due to "illness". I wonder if it was caused by a desire to avoid me. Or maybe he was avoiding cleaning the school bathroom, which is something every teacher has a turn at (crazy, ain't it?) and which he has been avoiding assiduously. Or maybe he was avoiding me and the dirty bathroom. But he came to school today, and didn't say good morning when he came to his desk (right in front of mine). Knowing that I'll be sitting opposite him for another 8 months I tried placating him, and even bought him a dessert bean bun, I forget the name of it, ends in KA and sounds like a place in Japan. And although he refused it, as I suspected he might, he finally seemed to accept that I'm not his enemy and maybe even could be his friend, at least while we're at work. Because frankly I don't like him enough to want to be his friend outside of work.
So I wasn't feeling very sociable at the end of the day and decided not to go to the big JET Hallowe'en party in Omihachiman. I only sort of wanted to go and the idea of having to avoid Nick there was not appealing. Not that that was the deciding factor. Mainly I just don't have the energy for a social occasion tonight. Instead I'll have a good time this weekend in Kyoto at this crazy golden temple that looks like its on stilts in a pond. I'll file a report on it. I asked Veronica, my fellow Kyoto-traveller, to invite Mike, Shannon, Warren and Steffi on the trip. I know it was a disappointment for Veronica that I wasn't coming to the Hallowe'en party. She wanted me to see her costume and I wanted to see her costume - she's a cat and she sewed it herself! And it would have been cool to dress up - I was going to be a green leaf man. But I hope she understands.
Sunday, October 24, 2004
Veronica in Ishiyama
This weekend we were supposed to go to Kyoto and watch foreign movies at the Goethe Institut. Instead we woke up late Saturday morning and missed our chance, so we stayed in and ate breakfast at a very leisurely pace and just spent some quality time together. Yesterday we explored the rice field in her backyard and did some nature-watching. There's a little stream that runs between the fields, and we tromped along beside it and looked for frogs. We didn't find any, but there were many crickets that would hop away as our feet brushed the grass, and we saw some red dragonflies and several butterflies. She said that dragonflies are a sign of a healthy ecosystem. I was worried that the clear water of the stream meant that it was acidic so that no algae would grow. The dragonflies meant there were mosquitos, which are their food, just as we were the mosquitos food. I guess this means the dragonfly is very high up on the food chain. At one point we sat by the river and watched a butterfly fanning it's wings, with a motion that made me think of mechanical things. Was it drying its wings? It would flit from one flower to another, then perch and flutter in jerky movements. Then it flew toward us and we were rewarded in our nature watching by a close-up view as it perched on a blossom very near us.
The sun was warm this weekend and I remarked that this would be great if it were the regular winter weather. I hope the winter goes by quickly, and is warm. They say the ocean water around Japan is unusually warm this year, and that's why there have been so many typhoons. So perhaps the warm water will make for a warm winter.
The sun was warm this weekend and I remarked that this would be great if it were the regular winter weather. I hope the winter goes by quickly, and is warm. They say the ocean water around Japan is unusually warm this year, and that's why there have been so many typhoons. So perhaps the warm water will make for a warm winter.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
The Tani, The Guchi, The Taniguchi
Curious boops and clicks serenade me.
By way of explanation, Taniguchi sensei is my tantosha, aka supervisor or the teacher who is directly responsible for me at my school. Nick sensei and I concur: she is not a pleasant individual.
Today was a mixture of triumphs and defeats with the beast that is Taniguchi. It began when I entered the classroom to "team-teach" with her. This name is an irony which will soon be appreciated. I walked in and saw her standing at the desk, looking at a textbook. There were four girls in the class. I said "Hi!" to her with some enthusiasm. No response. With less enthusiasm, I said "hi" again. She didn't even look up. I was standing right next to her. So, feeling like I shouldn't be there, like I've come in at some crucial moment in the covent's meeting, I ask her quite honestly "Do you want me to leave?".
She looks at me for a moment. "No. It's ok." Nose returns to book.
The class was off to a good start. Before each class begins the two teachers greet the students with a formula:
Japanese Teacher: "Good morning class."
Class: "Good morning ___."
Anthony: "Good morning class."
Class: "Good morning Nick, garble garble uh Anthony"
JT: "How are you?"
Class: "I'm-fine-thanks-and-you?"
JT: "I'm fine. How are you Mr. Anthony?"
Anthony: "I'm a-ok, thanks." or "I'm superb." etc.
With the Taniguchi, this formula is corrupted to the point that I am not addressed by the class. After she greets the class and asks how they are and they have a nice little chat, maybe some tea and crumpets, then, oh yeah, you can say hello Anthony. So today I asked her "Today is it okay if I say good morning class right after you?".
She grimaced and mumbled "anything is ok". Which is not strictly true, as yesterday when I corrected her ("What do you mean vegetable? What do you mean fire truck?") mode of questioning, she gave me a serious talking to after class. I must not interrupt the flow of the class. Even if that flow is a brown river of poop, apparently.
I am a human tape-recorder. I am told when to speak. Generally I read sentences from the "tekistbook" or off giant flash cards. I am not allowed to hold these flashcards. Other teachers let me hold the flashcards godammit! I want that! She speaks in Japanese to the class pretty much all the time. Then there is a pause. People look expectantly at me. OH! I'm supposed to read something now. It would be nice if she told me when to speak or what to read, instead of making me look like a foreign devil in front of the class.
But the triumph came today after lunch. I was in class again with the Taniguchi, and I had had a particularly filling lunch. She asked me to read a passage. The class grew quiet, and at that moment a long, low burp escaped me, relatively quietly, but not unlike the call of a distant bullfrog. Burping in Japan is like farting in North America. I wasn't sure who heard it, and I started to giggle. Then I started reading, but as I read I just started laughing. Soon the whole class was laughing, and even the Taniguchi. I still don't know who heard it.
By way of explanation, Taniguchi sensei is my tantosha, aka supervisor or the teacher who is directly responsible for me at my school. Nick sensei and I concur: she is not a pleasant individual.
Today was a mixture of triumphs and defeats with the beast that is Taniguchi. It began when I entered the classroom to "team-teach" with her. This name is an irony which will soon be appreciated. I walked in and saw her standing at the desk, looking at a textbook. There were four girls in the class. I said "Hi!" to her with some enthusiasm. No response. With less enthusiasm, I said "hi" again. She didn't even look up. I was standing right next to her. So, feeling like I shouldn't be there, like I've come in at some crucial moment in the covent's meeting, I ask her quite honestly "Do you want me to leave?".
She looks at me for a moment. "No. It's ok." Nose returns to book.
The class was off to a good start. Before each class begins the two teachers greet the students with a formula:
Japanese Teacher: "Good morning class."
Class: "Good morning ___."
Anthony: "Good morning class."
Class: "Good morning Nick, garble garble uh Anthony"
JT: "How are you?"
Class: "I'm-fine-thanks-and-you?"
JT: "I'm fine. How are you Mr. Anthony?"
Anthony: "I'm a-ok, thanks." or "I'm superb." etc.
With the Taniguchi, this formula is corrupted to the point that I am not addressed by the class. After she greets the class and asks how they are and they have a nice little chat, maybe some tea and crumpets, then, oh yeah, you can say hello Anthony. So today I asked her "Today is it okay if I say good morning class right after you?".
She grimaced and mumbled "anything is ok". Which is not strictly true, as yesterday when I corrected her ("What do you mean vegetable? What do you mean fire truck?") mode of questioning, she gave me a serious talking to after class. I must not interrupt the flow of the class. Even if that flow is a brown river of poop, apparently.
I am a human tape-recorder. I am told when to speak. Generally I read sentences from the "tekistbook" or off giant flash cards. I am not allowed to hold these flashcards. Other teachers let me hold the flashcards godammit! I want that! She speaks in Japanese to the class pretty much all the time. Then there is a pause. People look expectantly at me. OH! I'm supposed to read something now. It would be nice if she told me when to speak or what to read, instead of making me look like a foreign devil in front of the class.
But the triumph came today after lunch. I was in class again with the Taniguchi, and I had had a particularly filling lunch. She asked me to read a passage. The class grew quiet, and at that moment a long, low burp escaped me, relatively quietly, but not unlike the call of a distant bullfrog. Burping in Japan is like farting in North America. I wasn't sure who heard it, and I started to giggle. Then I started reading, but as I read I just started laughing. Soon the whole class was laughing, and even the Taniguchi. I still don't know who heard it.
Monday, October 18, 2004
In words, music, a temple
I've been downloading a bunch of songs by a band called Giant Sand lately, which I read about on the Strange Fruit music review website. I'm listening to their track called "drab" right now. It's an eclectic smattering of piano and triangle. Oh my. A person just spoke "and upon the union they lay their cloth..." in a James Dean voice. So I'm not sure if I agree with Strange Fruit's glowing review, but I sure liked reading it.
Today Nick was talking about the face he makes during sex. He speaks very openly in the teachers room, as it is his belief that the teachers have no idea what he's saying. I think he's in for a surprise. He said he looked up into the mirror at a "Love Hotel" during sex and saw for a moment his own expression before he had a chance to realize what he was seeing and adjust. Quickly he returned his gaze to his girlfriend because it was too embarrassing. Then he tried to recreate the expression for me, but he was laughing and it wasn't quite right. So I suggested he get serious and then try again. He actually started making the motions of sex with his chair, which I thought was hilarious, especially since he seemed unaware that he was performing in front of the five or so teachers that were still in the room with us. He confuses communication with speech. I pointed out the spectacle he was making of himself and he stopped. The great thing is, even though the other teachers know what Nick's doing, and understand so much of his put-on pissed-off commentary, they just don't react because it's the crazy gaijin (foreigner) and he's outside the rules.
I'm experimenting with being inside and outside the rules. I take off for the convenience store when I have a spare period without asking if I can leave, although strictly that's against the rules. However it's common practice to come and go among the JETs, and I make sure I get my work done. I'm also trying to make friends with the other teachers and students. I help clean the school during the daily cleaning sessions in which the students are all out en force, strange prog-rock music playing over the P.A. I've got to make a compilation of The Cleaning Music of Nish Chu. Cleaning with the students has led to a lot of positive feedback. Students often say "Anthony sensei. You are cool," when they see me cleaning. Teachers say "subarashi!" (Wow!) when I fulfill my cleaning duties. At first the idea of having to clean bothered me, and I shirked even after the vice principal told me I had to. But now I don't mind at all. It's very casual and it gives me a chance to get up, move around and interact with the students informally. So this is part of the compromise that I'm creating between being "good" and doing things differently.
This weekend I went to Kyoto with Veronica and bought a book at Maruzen, the bookstore famous for its foreign selection. It's a book of American History, inspired by the man himself. I think it's important to have a grounding in history to understand our time, and I really don't know the details of US history. We also looked at a temple in Kyoto, and got to go inside. It was amazing being inside this huge room with tatami mats and sliding rice paper doors for walls, in the center of downtown Kyoto. Outside we could here the traffic passing, but inside it was calm and peaceful, meditative. A japanese man was praying at the altar, and another foreign girl had come in with us and sat on the other side of the room. I sat facing Veronica, rather than the front of the temple, because I like to experience the temple my own way rather than according to the script. Buildings control behaviour in their layout, in their history, to the point that action is scripted. Stepping outside that script lets me see the building.
Now I'm listening to a 1 hour 14 minute set of club music dj'ed by Bjork, and featuring the music of Llorca, Tosca, Bjork herself, and some other people I don't know. It's really good, and I like the idea of Bjork up there mixing it. What is it about aging female pop musicians that makes me sad? Bjork and Madonna, both with children, attention divided between music and family. But it's sweet and I wouldn't wish it otherwise. And I like Bjork's lyrics, especially off Homogenic and the one about going up onto a mountain top with a radio. Something about the Nordic writer really appeals to me. Read Knut Hamsun, he's brilliant, simple. The Hemingway or maybe Kerouac of Northern Europe (Norway I think?). I also have a book of poetry by a Norwegian whose name I forget (Christian something) but it's in Toronto. Could somebody send me all my books please??
I miss you sister and hope you're still reading these blogs.
Today Nick was talking about the face he makes during sex. He speaks very openly in the teachers room, as it is his belief that the teachers have no idea what he's saying. I think he's in for a surprise. He said he looked up into the mirror at a "Love Hotel" during sex and saw for a moment his own expression before he had a chance to realize what he was seeing and adjust. Quickly he returned his gaze to his girlfriend because it was too embarrassing. Then he tried to recreate the expression for me, but he was laughing and it wasn't quite right. So I suggested he get serious and then try again. He actually started making the motions of sex with his chair, which I thought was hilarious, especially since he seemed unaware that he was performing in front of the five or so teachers that were still in the room with us. He confuses communication with speech. I pointed out the spectacle he was making of himself and he stopped. The great thing is, even though the other teachers know what Nick's doing, and understand so much of his put-on pissed-off commentary, they just don't react because it's the crazy gaijin (foreigner) and he's outside the rules.
I'm experimenting with being inside and outside the rules. I take off for the convenience store when I have a spare period without asking if I can leave, although strictly that's against the rules. However it's common practice to come and go among the JETs, and I make sure I get my work done. I'm also trying to make friends with the other teachers and students. I help clean the school during the daily cleaning sessions in which the students are all out en force, strange prog-rock music playing over the P.A. I've got to make a compilation of The Cleaning Music of Nish Chu. Cleaning with the students has led to a lot of positive feedback. Students often say "Anthony sensei. You are cool," when they see me cleaning. Teachers say "subarashi!" (Wow!) when I fulfill my cleaning duties. At first the idea of having to clean bothered me, and I shirked even after the vice principal told me I had to. But now I don't mind at all. It's very casual and it gives me a chance to get up, move around and interact with the students informally. So this is part of the compromise that I'm creating between being "good" and doing things differently.
This weekend I went to Kyoto with Veronica and bought a book at Maruzen, the bookstore famous for its foreign selection. It's a book of American History, inspired by the man himself. I think it's important to have a grounding in history to understand our time, and I really don't know the details of US history. We also looked at a temple in Kyoto, and got to go inside. It was amazing being inside this huge room with tatami mats and sliding rice paper doors for walls, in the center of downtown Kyoto. Outside we could here the traffic passing, but inside it was calm and peaceful, meditative. A japanese man was praying at the altar, and another foreign girl had come in with us and sat on the other side of the room. I sat facing Veronica, rather than the front of the temple, because I like to experience the temple my own way rather than according to the script. Buildings control behaviour in their layout, in their history, to the point that action is scripted. Stepping outside that script lets me see the building.
Now I'm listening to a 1 hour 14 minute set of club music dj'ed by Bjork, and featuring the music of Llorca, Tosca, Bjork herself, and some other people I don't know. It's really good, and I like the idea of Bjork up there mixing it. What is it about aging female pop musicians that makes me sad? Bjork and Madonna, both with children, attention divided between music and family. But it's sweet and I wouldn't wish it otherwise. And I like Bjork's lyrics, especially off Homogenic and the one about going up onto a mountain top with a radio. Something about the Nordic writer really appeals to me. Read Knut Hamsun, he's brilliant, simple. The Hemingway or maybe Kerouac of Northern Europe (Norway I think?). I also have a book of poetry by a Norwegian whose name I forget (Christian something) but it's in Toronto. Could somebody send me all my books please??
I miss you sister and hope you're still reading these blogs.
Friday, October 15, 2004
Hussle for Husserl
Greetings, blog.
Due to technical difficulties, my access to this page has been restricted. I will not blame the recent dearth of posts on this. It is due only to my inwardness and fixation on the aforementioned author, McLuhan. I have spent the better part of every day since that last post reading his book. The fever finally broke today on page 181. Perhaps this is a page many have trouble with. The earlier troubles in "engaging" were readily resolved almost immediately upon further perusal, only to be replaced by greater complexities. Reading McLuhan has now become an issue of memory. There's so much text that it's difficult to keep ready what has been said. There's a processing lag of about one chapter. Much like Freud's Interpretation of Dreams, the significance of the text only dawns with the keys that are found later. It's a circle with multiple entry points, none of which are perfect. I know for sure that the alphabet is very important. It's the cause of lineal thinking. It's one of the extensions of man that caused a revolution of thought.
What would McLuhan have thought about the internet? He was almost hinting at it in 1963 with his accelerated communications and the convergence of things toward information. The internet is the perfect culmination of his theory of an abstracted, unified space. McLuhan seems more and more to be a mystic. This bothers me. I don't like to deal with mysticism in my media studies. But those who leave the mystical out of their writing are pedantic documenters and sorry scribes, so I'll take what I get. This idea of media as the extensions of man's existing faculties - the senses, reason, rationality - now seems perfectly natural to me and I wonder that it wasn't obvious. It's naturalness gives it the ring of genius. I no longer doubt that this book has massive merit.
The book continues to astound me, and McLuhan astounds me with the range of his reference. I'm inspired to begin my preparation for grad studies in earnest. Tomorrow I will travel to Kyoto with Veronica and choose a book of history. I don't know nearly enough history to make a proper attack on modern communication theory. I should get a book on communication theory. I might buy one on philosophy, whether modern or ancient. Philosophy is always a difficult read for me, although the Republic was dull but straightforward. I didn't finish it. I've got to get a book of twentieth century philosophy, although I always think I should read the full publication of a work to understand it properly. I could use the survey as a jumping-off point. It is apparent to me how little educated I am and how much reading I have ahead of me.
Due to technical difficulties, my access to this page has been restricted. I will not blame the recent dearth of posts on this. It is due only to my inwardness and fixation on the aforementioned author, McLuhan. I have spent the better part of every day since that last post reading his book. The fever finally broke today on page 181. Perhaps this is a page many have trouble with. The earlier troubles in "engaging" were readily resolved almost immediately upon further perusal, only to be replaced by greater complexities. Reading McLuhan has now become an issue of memory. There's so much text that it's difficult to keep ready what has been said. There's a processing lag of about one chapter. Much like Freud's Interpretation of Dreams, the significance of the text only dawns with the keys that are found later. It's a circle with multiple entry points, none of which are perfect. I know for sure that the alphabet is very important. It's the cause of lineal thinking. It's one of the extensions of man that caused a revolution of thought.
What would McLuhan have thought about the internet? He was almost hinting at it in 1963 with his accelerated communications and the convergence of things toward information. The internet is the perfect culmination of his theory of an abstracted, unified space. McLuhan seems more and more to be a mystic. This bothers me. I don't like to deal with mysticism in my media studies. But those who leave the mystical out of their writing are pedantic documenters and sorry scribes, so I'll take what I get. This idea of media as the extensions of man's existing faculties - the senses, reason, rationality - now seems perfectly natural to me and I wonder that it wasn't obvious. It's naturalness gives it the ring of genius. I no longer doubt that this book has massive merit.
The book continues to astound me, and McLuhan astounds me with the range of his reference. I'm inspired to begin my preparation for grad studies in earnest. Tomorrow I will travel to Kyoto with Veronica and choose a book of history. I don't know nearly enough history to make a proper attack on modern communication theory. I should get a book on communication theory. I might buy one on philosophy, whether modern or ancient. Philosophy is always a difficult read for me, although the Republic was dull but straightforward. I didn't finish it. I've got to get a book of twentieth century philosophy, although I always think I should read the full publication of a work to understand it properly. I could use the survey as a jumping-off point. It is apparent to me how little educated I am and how much reading I have ahead of me.
Sunday, October 10, 2004
McLuhan
I figured out how to connect my laptop to the tv for stereo music listening pleasure. It's exactly the same as how I've been watching movies from the laptop to the computer, only I listen to music, so I didn't figure it out so much as realize it all of a sudden.
I've been reading McLuhan, Understanding Media, and I have a problem with hot and cool media. How can tv be a cool medium? A cool medium is defined by McLuhan as "low definition", and "high in participation or completion by the audience". Hot media is "high definition", "well filled with data" and passively received. McLuhan says film is a hot medium and tv is a cool medium. Now, I can see that film in a movie theatre is a more immersive experience, and that film has a longer narrative than tv, but I just don't see tv as requiring so much more participation than film. Perhaps it has something to do with the advertising segments breaking up the program. If anyone has an idea on this, please post a comment. Other than this, I wonder how much the terminology of hot and cool media contribute to a real understanding of media. McLuhan seems to be weaving a very compelling theory, but is there such a thing as a "cool society" and a "hot society"? He says that tribal societies are cool societies. This is so vague and unelaborated that it's meaningless. I could be misunderstanding. He does elaborate on cool, tribal societies, but not in the direction of establishing them as such.
I am having trouble engaging with these ideas. Not that the ideas are unengaging. It's just that in engaging with them, so many problems crop up. I'm not sure that I understand properly. Is this going to be a problem for me in getting into grad school?
I've been reading McLuhan, Understanding Media, and I have a problem with hot and cool media. How can tv be a cool medium? A cool medium is defined by McLuhan as "low definition", and "high in participation or completion by the audience". Hot media is "high definition", "well filled with data" and passively received. McLuhan says film is a hot medium and tv is a cool medium. Now, I can see that film in a movie theatre is a more immersive experience, and that film has a longer narrative than tv, but I just don't see tv as requiring so much more participation than film. Perhaps it has something to do with the advertising segments breaking up the program. If anyone has an idea on this, please post a comment. Other than this, I wonder how much the terminology of hot and cool media contribute to a real understanding of media. McLuhan seems to be weaving a very compelling theory, but is there such a thing as a "cool society" and a "hot society"? He says that tribal societies are cool societies. This is so vague and unelaborated that it's meaningless. I could be misunderstanding. He does elaborate on cool, tribal societies, but not in the direction of establishing them as such.
I am having trouble engaging with these ideas. Not that the ideas are unengaging. It's just that in engaging with them, so many problems crop up. I'm not sure that I understand properly. Is this going to be a problem for me in getting into grad school?
Friday, October 08, 2004
God 1, Nietszche 0
Tonight I went to Joshin with Monjun to buy some blank media. On the rainy way back we stopped at Mos Burger (a Japanese Burger joint) for dinner. I have discovered that MOS stands for Mountain, Ocean, Sky, which are the wide regions of this burger chain's love and benevolence. In the blessed seats of Mos Burger, what began as a casual mention that my girlfriend is Catholic turned into a discussion of religion. I actually enjoyed it, which is rare.
(flash forward to October 9th)
Inspired by this conversation with Monjun, I decided to finally bring up the subject with Veronica. Religion. I like Veronica's take on Catholicism, because she rejects so many aspects of it that I also disagree with, such as the control over sex, the condemnation of gays, and the sexism that doesn't allow women to take the same role as men in the church (clergy). It was interesting to talk about transubstantiation with her, in part because she sees it as dubious. I never knew that Catholics were the interpretive Christians. That's the best way to read the bible, unless you want to live in the 4th century B.C.
In the end I think we're similar in our general idea of "god", or the space-time-continuum, or krishna, whatever you would like to call it. The thing is, people believe things fundamentally according to the way they were raised (unless they change!). In a scientific-skeptical household like mine my sisters and I were taught to try to understand things rather than to blindly believe them. (This proved to be a problem for our early political indoctrination, but my parents have mellowed, so I really shouldn't bring that up, except who reads this anyway? Hi Cris!). Thus, I like to think of myself as rational, skeptical and scientific, even if I'm usually not all those things. Usually I'm experiential, impressionable and scientific, which is not such a bad combination. Even given Veronica's re-evaluation of her religion and her compromises she is a religious person. Instead of thinking of this as a problem, I like to see this as another interesting aspect of her. Her difference helps make her the person I'm so attracted to. May it remain as a seed of interest rather than become a kernel of discord.
(flash forward to October 9th)
Inspired by this conversation with Monjun, I decided to finally bring up the subject with Veronica. Religion. I like Veronica's take on Catholicism, because she rejects so many aspects of it that I also disagree with, such as the control over sex, the condemnation of gays, and the sexism that doesn't allow women to take the same role as men in the church (clergy). It was interesting to talk about transubstantiation with her, in part because she sees it as dubious. I never knew that Catholics were the interpretive Christians. That's the best way to read the bible, unless you want to live in the 4th century B.C.
In the end I think we're similar in our general idea of "god", or the space-time-continuum, or krishna, whatever you would like to call it. The thing is, people believe things fundamentally according to the way they were raised (unless they change!). In a scientific-skeptical household like mine my sisters and I were taught to try to understand things rather than to blindly believe them. (This proved to be a problem for our early political indoctrination, but my parents have mellowed, so I really shouldn't bring that up, except who reads this anyway? Hi Cris!). Thus, I like to think of myself as rational, skeptical and scientific, even if I'm usually not all those things. Usually I'm experiential, impressionable and scientific, which is not such a bad combination. Even given Veronica's re-evaluation of her religion and her compromises she is a religious person. Instead of thinking of this as a problem, I like to see this as another interesting aspect of her. Her difference helps make her the person I'm so attracted to. May it remain as a seed of interest rather than become a kernel of discord.
Thursday, October 07, 2004
Fear and loathing in Otsu
My dad called tonight. It was good to talk to him. He asked me about class and I told him about my morning class which went like this. I come into the room and Fukuhara sensei is there, as is the rest of the class. He's discussing something with one of the notorious girls. She wants to leave. He says stay. She continues to move toward the door and argue. He keeps saying sit down. (By the way I'm assuming this is what they're saying, because it's all in Japanese). Finally we have the "Hai please stand up!" and the students stand for the greeting. "good morning class-" I begin to say but Fukuhara sensei asks me to wait. The girl is in the hall and he's trying to negotiate her in. I ask her "please". She smiles for a second but it doesn't matter to her. We manage a greeting and the girl is flopped on her desk. As Fukuhara sensei begins the lesson she walks over to her other desk and flops overtop it, her butt in the air, rummaging for her books and pencils. Then as I start reading out passages, she complains to Fukuhara sensei. During the first ten minutes of class I just have to speak over her voice. The other girls are amused at her audacity, but the class is not with her on this one. So that was that.
Later today I went to Otsu due to a surprise granting of permission to get my re-entry visa immediately. By 1:00 I was finished with my business so I wandered down to the waterfront and sat on the rocks, looking out on Lake Biwa. The sky was a flat grey without any evidence of individual cloud forms, but they stood sentry against the sun. The lake, which seemed a sea, rose and fell in thousands of choppy waves. I began to feel it draw me in, in the very pit of my stomach, so I rose and walked along the waterfront. I wandered dizzy and thinking of many strange things, till I found myself in a small open amphitheatre. It was made from cut stone in the side of circular bank, and I walked up the few steps and sat at the top. It was quite empty. In the centre stood a lone tree, and concrete columns marched off from the opening of the theatre. What plays where held here, and to what drama would it one day be stage? I thought of these things as a helicopter roared in the sky, and looked for all the world like a goldfish, swimming perfectly straight, a thousand metres up in the air.
I began to feel unfixed from humanity's affairs. And so I took the train up to Ishiyama, which is quite close to Otsu, and paid Veronica a surprise visit at her school. She said I knocked her socks off with the surprise of it all. It was great to see her. She put me back on track and made me laugh. I took the mid-evening train home later, reading my latest book.
Later today I went to Otsu due to a surprise granting of permission to get my re-entry visa immediately. By 1:00 I was finished with my business so I wandered down to the waterfront and sat on the rocks, looking out on Lake Biwa. The sky was a flat grey without any evidence of individual cloud forms, but they stood sentry against the sun. The lake, which seemed a sea, rose and fell in thousands of choppy waves. I began to feel it draw me in, in the very pit of my stomach, so I rose and walked along the waterfront. I wandered dizzy and thinking of many strange things, till I found myself in a small open amphitheatre. It was made from cut stone in the side of circular bank, and I walked up the few steps and sat at the top. It was quite empty. In the centre stood a lone tree, and concrete columns marched off from the opening of the theatre. What plays where held here, and to what drama would it one day be stage? I thought of these things as a helicopter roared in the sky, and looked for all the world like a goldfish, swimming perfectly straight, a thousand metres up in the air.
I began to feel unfixed from humanity's affairs. And so I took the train up to Ishiyama, which is quite close to Otsu, and paid Veronica a surprise visit at her school. She said I knocked her socks off with the surprise of it all. It was great to see her. She put me back on track and made me laugh. I took the mid-evening train home later, reading my latest book.
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
Some things
Some things that I love...
the music of Lamb
the music of Goldfrapp
the music of the spheres which appears to my ears when autumn nears
This boy's in heaaaaven and I don't know why. I just love the air today. I'm excited about going to Thailand. Beaches, jungles, temples and drugs. Raves, beauty of the movement, dark nights on jungle beaches with beats. Mike and I are going to have a time to be written of. This praise is great praise.
I'm so happy to have great people in my life. Sometimes I think of Veronica and I just smile. I can see such strength in her. I just realized now that she's only 22. I wonder how she will change with time? People change slowly around that time, if my life is true to the pattern. I've changed since I was 22, become more patient and come to know myself, my direction better. I still have so much work to do.
I'm practicing the art of not slouching during long periods in the English lessons where I'm not needed and the Japanese teacher is speaking. I was surprised to discover how little energy it requires when I think about it as important. The students should see an engaged, listening teacher instead of a slouch whose attitude they will copy.
I saw my students today in the McDonald's in Heiwado as I finished my grocery shopping. Two boys and a girl wearing their navy blue uniforms, so crisp with navy style for the girls and Mao collar and brass buttons for the boys. They called out to me, "Anthony!". I sat down with them and ate a french fry (remember when some people called them "freedom fries"?) and we talked about simple things in simple English and Japanese. I asked them if they liked school and they said "so-so". Me too, I said. But I like Japan.
I can trust these young people far enough to tell them that truth. I love telling the truth, being open, and it's a fine line to walk between truth and appearance in the fiction of teaching at Nishi Chu in Japan. I'm learning. I'm also learning that there's truth in the fiction, which is amazing.
On the subject of appearances, one word will be deleted from this post later, plus this sentence (maybe).
the music of Lamb
the music of Goldfrapp
the music of the spheres which appears to my ears when autumn nears
This boy's in heaaaaven and I don't know why. I just love the air today. I'm excited about going to Thailand. Beaches, jungles, temples and drugs. Raves, beauty of the movement, dark nights on jungle beaches with beats. Mike and I are going to have a time to be written of. This praise is great praise.
I'm so happy to have great people in my life. Sometimes I think of Veronica and I just smile. I can see such strength in her. I just realized now that she's only 22. I wonder how she will change with time? People change slowly around that time, if my life is true to the pattern. I've changed since I was 22, become more patient and come to know myself, my direction better. I still have so much work to do.
I'm practicing the art of not slouching during long periods in the English lessons where I'm not needed and the Japanese teacher is speaking. I was surprised to discover how little energy it requires when I think about it as important. The students should see an engaged, listening teacher instead of a slouch whose attitude they will copy.
I saw my students today in the McDonald's in Heiwado as I finished my grocery shopping. Two boys and a girl wearing their navy blue uniforms, so crisp with navy style for the girls and Mao collar and brass buttons for the boys. They called out to me, "Anthony!". I sat down with them and ate a french fry (remember when some people called them "freedom fries"?) and we talked about simple things in simple English and Japanese. I asked them if they liked school and they said "so-so". Me too, I said. But I like Japan.
I can trust these young people far enough to tell them that truth. I love telling the truth, being open, and it's a fine line to walk between truth and appearance in the fiction of teaching at Nishi Chu in Japan. I'm learning. I'm also learning that there's truth in the fiction, which is amazing.
On the subject of appearances, one word will be deleted from this post later, plus this sentence (maybe).
Monday, October 04, 2004
Growing on me
I crossed the Pacific ocean to get here, but I didn't have to swim. That's a relief. Does it even matter that it's so big? If I could fly back for 21 cents in 21 minutes, would there be any significance to being so far away from home? Toronto will always be home, at core, but I don't know if I'll live there for the rest of my days, may they be long. I bless myself. But I don't bless myself when I sneeze, because my superstition doesn't go that far. I'd feel naked without it though.
You ever notice how a conversation can be toneless or toned (or tony) on instant messenger, but it'll have a different feeling, a totally different spin in person? That's because sometimes I do want to talk to people, but I don't feel like face to face talking. It's freedom from the tyranny of the expression. I like to be able to have a face of concentration or confusion without someone thinking "what's he mean by that?". I'm tired. Hence this ludicrous antisocial rant, which is attempting to salvage itself by claiming a place for written conversations. Well, if you think about it people used to communicate over long distances by letter all the time. And written letters - epistles - were far more cogent than the careless conversations we have these days. People wrote down a sequence of ideas that moved in some direction, maybe not a conclusion, but at least it was long. There's something to be said for continuing for a while. An idea can form given enough space.
That's enough space, I say! On to the next idea. Chestnuts. I've been eating roasted, salted chestnuts. That's a thing people eat here, much like a bag of pretzels back home. I can't say I love them, nor can I say I hate them. They're growing on me. Their taste is growing on me, not the chestnuts. Chestnuts, however, are hardly an idea. It's random like my conversations. Why do people find random conversations so disturbing? And yet many people like them too.
Hmm. I'm afraid this entry is not too concrete. But I really didn't feel like writing a concrete entry today. So that's it.
You ever notice how a conversation can be toneless or toned (or tony) on instant messenger, but it'll have a different feeling, a totally different spin in person? That's because sometimes I do want to talk to people, but I don't feel like face to face talking. It's freedom from the tyranny of the expression. I like to be able to have a face of concentration or confusion without someone thinking "what's he mean by that?". I'm tired. Hence this ludicrous antisocial rant, which is attempting to salvage itself by claiming a place for written conversations. Well, if you think about it people used to communicate over long distances by letter all the time. And written letters - epistles - were far more cogent than the careless conversations we have these days. People wrote down a sequence of ideas that moved in some direction, maybe not a conclusion, but at least it was long. There's something to be said for continuing for a while. An idea can form given enough space.
That's enough space, I say! On to the next idea. Chestnuts. I've been eating roasted, salted chestnuts. That's a thing people eat here, much like a bag of pretzels back home. I can't say I love them, nor can I say I hate them. They're growing on me. Their taste is growing on me, not the chestnuts. Chestnuts, however, are hardly an idea. It's random like my conversations. Why do people find random conversations so disturbing? And yet many people like them too.
Hmm. I'm afraid this entry is not too concrete. But I really didn't feel like writing a concrete entry today. So that's it.
Friday, October 01, 2004
Nick and the Escape hatch
Feeling encouraged by my last journal entry to address the situation with Nick, I went ahead and asked him about it today.
"Nick, how are we doing? You're not annoyed with me or something are you?" I asked. Nick looked up with a quizzical expression.
"I've just noticed that you haven't been very talkative lately," I added.
"Oh, that's just because it's morning. I'm not a morning person," he responded matter-of-factly.
I was about to pursue it further, but Goi sensei glided towards Nick - he doesn't seem to take steps, he glides - and then leaned his expressionless face toward him and started talking about something in Japanese. This is not a racial generalization. Goi sensei truly keeps his expression flat most of the time, and he bends at the waist rather than curving his body toward the seated Nick. He's tall and slim and his hair is spiked, and he wears a dress t-shirt and tie every day.
After a while they finished talking. Nick was looking at his papers on the desk in front of him. I spoke.
"Uh, Nick. I just wanted to make sure there's no problem between us. You seem to be quiet with me most of the time."
"Yeah, as I said that's just morning. I'm not a morning person".
"No. Actually you do it in the afternoon, too. I'll say something to you and you don't reply. Or you'll say 'What? Sorry I didn't hear..." and I explained the situation. He reacted at first with surprise. Then he admitted that he had been worried about being too closely associated with me because he thought I was going to explode! He talked about my angry reaction to trying to get my couch delivered, and he said that some of the teachers had asked him if I was unhappy. I was unhappy. I was very frustrated with the lack of help from my tantosha, the general bad attitude of the school, and being unable to speak the native language. Nick knew all this, but he was trying to maintain the easy truce he had established with Nishi Chugakko, our Junior High. He was maintaining a zero-energy-expenditure policy, and the volatile new foreign teacher was making waves.
BUT the good news is that I had given in. I was in zero-energy mode myself, and Nick saw this. It was ok. We were two lazy gaijin together, because the school was too big to fight. He didn't have to worry that I would try to change the system, to make things better (to make things right!).
I don't love this solution. I don't love to slip unnoticed into the corners. Today I actually escaped from the principal's extended speech in the gym by slipping out the window! I was shocked that I actually did this, but I was tired and it was past 4. We had the culture show today. The kids put on FOUR different plays, each with elaborate sets and costumes. There were art displays, and a darkened classroom filled with painted lanterns (one was mine!). They take their culture show very seriously here. I was generally impressed - only the extended speech at the end was unnecessary for me, as I couldn't understand a word and the principal is generally recognized as being full of hot air anyway. I used this as a justification, and then slipped out. Only two people saw me do it, I think. Yasuda sensei, who can be trusted as she's a part-time teacher and dating Goi sensei, and someone who saw me walk by the window. Maybe it was a student. I'll find out in the next couple of weeks if I caused a scandal.
"Nick, how are we doing? You're not annoyed with me or something are you?" I asked. Nick looked up with a quizzical expression.
"I've just noticed that you haven't been very talkative lately," I added.
"Oh, that's just because it's morning. I'm not a morning person," he responded matter-of-factly.
I was about to pursue it further, but Goi sensei glided towards Nick - he doesn't seem to take steps, he glides - and then leaned his expressionless face toward him and started talking about something in Japanese. This is not a racial generalization. Goi sensei truly keeps his expression flat most of the time, and he bends at the waist rather than curving his body toward the seated Nick. He's tall and slim and his hair is spiked, and he wears a dress t-shirt and tie every day.
After a while they finished talking. Nick was looking at his papers on the desk in front of him. I spoke.
"Uh, Nick. I just wanted to make sure there's no problem between us. You seem to be quiet with me most of the time."
"Yeah, as I said that's just morning. I'm not a morning person".
"No. Actually you do it in the afternoon, too. I'll say something to you and you don't reply. Or you'll say 'What? Sorry I didn't hear..." and I explained the situation. He reacted at first with surprise. Then he admitted that he had been worried about being too closely associated with me because he thought I was going to explode! He talked about my angry reaction to trying to get my couch delivered, and he said that some of the teachers had asked him if I was unhappy. I was unhappy. I was very frustrated with the lack of help from my tantosha, the general bad attitude of the school, and being unable to speak the native language. Nick knew all this, but he was trying to maintain the easy truce he had established with Nishi Chugakko, our Junior High. He was maintaining a zero-energy-expenditure policy, and the volatile new foreign teacher was making waves.
BUT the good news is that I had given in. I was in zero-energy mode myself, and Nick saw this. It was ok. We were two lazy gaijin together, because the school was too big to fight. He didn't have to worry that I would try to change the system, to make things better (to make things right!).
I don't love this solution. I don't love to slip unnoticed into the corners. Today I actually escaped from the principal's extended speech in the gym by slipping out the window! I was shocked that I actually did this, but I was tired and it was past 4. We had the culture show today. The kids put on FOUR different plays, each with elaborate sets and costumes. There were art displays, and a darkened classroom filled with painted lanterns (one was mine!). They take their culture show very seriously here. I was generally impressed - only the extended speech at the end was unnecessary for me, as I couldn't understand a word and the principal is generally recognized as being full of hot air anyway. I used this as a justification, and then slipped out. Only two people saw me do it, I think. Yasuda sensei, who can be trusted as she's a part-time teacher and dating Goi sensei, and someone who saw me walk by the window. Maybe it was a student. I'll find out in the next couple of weeks if I caused a scandal.
Thursday, September 30, 2004
Berry Pocky and Old People
My tantosha was smiling and inquisitive today. With her, this always makes me suspicious. Nick seems to have relegated me to the periphery of his concern. Most things I say to him are neither met with eye contact nor comprehension. A second or two after I finish speaking, he'll usually look at me and say "Sorry. What did you say?". But then when he thinks of something to say, he'll tell it to me with genuine interest in his face. I think our mode of dialogue developed after I became disenchanted with his and Goi sensei's perpetual drone of despair about the school and started to ignore it. Now he's returning the favour.
Hell, at least the school custodian is a mensch. He loaned me a spanner for the weekend to make adjustments to my bike seat during my 16 hour Biwako bicycle trip. Just when I'm ready to dismiss the entire junior high school, someone shows me kindness. Interesting that it always seems to come from people with nothing to lose... the older woman whose an art teacher and whose career is fixed, the older male gym teacher reject (who may well have been coming on to me), and the older grungy custodian. All work physically. All are old and dismissive of the petty politics of Nagahama Nishi Chu.
I just ate a pack of strawberry Pocky. I'm on an eating kick today. I listened to the speeches of 35 junior high school students in the "Lute Plaza" in Biwa-cho today. Mostly I read my book. But the point is the food. We had to bring our lunches and I brought a huge pile of leftover curried vegetables and rice from the dinner I cooked with Veronica last night. It was too much, but after sharing some with Arica I consumed the entire contents of my generous tupperware container (except for one piece of tofu that had turned green. I ate the other green one though). And now I'm eating Pocky. Must be nerves.
berry pocky wrapper
Hell, at least the school custodian is a mensch. He loaned me a spanner for the weekend to make adjustments to my bike seat during my 16 hour Biwako bicycle trip. Just when I'm ready to dismiss the entire junior high school, someone shows me kindness. Interesting that it always seems to come from people with nothing to lose... the older woman whose an art teacher and whose career is fixed, the older male gym teacher reject (who may well have been coming on to me), and the older grungy custodian. All work physically. All are old and dismissive of the petty politics of Nagahama Nishi Chu.
I just ate a pack of strawberry Pocky. I'm on an eating kick today. I listened to the speeches of 35 junior high school students in the "Lute Plaza" in Biwa-cho today. Mostly I read my book. But the point is the food. We had to bring our lunches and I brought a huge pile of leftover curried vegetables and rice from the dinner I cooked with Veronica last night. It was too much, but after sharing some with Arica I consumed the entire contents of my generous tupperware container (except for one piece of tofu that had turned green. I ate the other green one though). And now I'm eating Pocky. Must be nerves.
berry pocky wrapper
Wednesday, September 29, 2004
Rain and wind
My pants are wet from riding my bike slowly in the rain, an umbrella held in one hand providing shelter for my upper body. Nick, poor fellow, walked next to me on our errand to fix my bike seat which broke yesterday. I had been cycling to the post office to post some money to Toronto when I went over a small bump, the low curb of a sidewalk, and there was a snap and a piece of my bike fell to the ground. It was a seat connecting piece, and though my seat remained on the bicycle, it was not nearly so shock-absorbent. As I'm going on a 16 hour bike trip around Lake Biwa this weekend I decided to brave the rain (along with Nick my guide and translater) and have my seat fixed.
A new seat sits atop my bicycle, and I now have a bell instead of half a bell casing, which was my imaginary bell. I never actually resorted to saying "Ding! Ding!" as Nick recommended. The seat is at a strange angle, but after asking the bike shop mechanic to change it twice, I felt a third time would be too much. I'll be on that thing for a long time this weekend, so I hope it's ok. I'm sure I'll be in pain on Monday.
A typhoon is coming tonight. Hence the rain and wind now, a foretaste of the coming fury. I'm not sure if Veronica will visit tonight, given the weather, though that was our plan. At the moment she's the only one that reads this, so it's odd that I don't say hi ("hi!"), but that's because maybe other people will read it later, and because it's a journal for myself. I just share it.
Lunch and afternoon school await me...
A new seat sits atop my bicycle, and I now have a bell instead of half a bell casing, which was my imaginary bell. I never actually resorted to saying "Ding! Ding!" as Nick recommended. The seat is at a strange angle, but after asking the bike shop mechanic to change it twice, I felt a third time would be too much. I'll be on that thing for a long time this weekend, so I hope it's ok. I'm sure I'll be in pain on Monday.
A typhoon is coming tonight. Hence the rain and wind now, a foretaste of the coming fury. I'm not sure if Veronica will visit tonight, given the weather, though that was our plan. At the moment she's the only one that reads this, so it's odd that I don't say hi ("hi!"), but that's because maybe other people will read it later, and because it's a journal for myself. I just share it.
Lunch and afternoon school await me...
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
Another day at Nishi Chu...
Yes, it was a day like any other at Nishi Chu, the junior high school where I "teach" English. But wait, there was something strange about today. I was sitting on my ass in the teachers' room, alternating between reading and staring blankly at Nick, who sits in front of me, when Nick commented that "the battle royale is coming to the palace". I thought this a strange comment, but I assumed he was referring to the raised voices of the bad girls out in the hall, a pretty everyday occurence. Maybe he has a sense for these things, because the group drifted into the teachers' room and the raised voices seemed to be an argument. It was still relatively muted, and I dismissed the intrusion and returned to my book: "The Book of Tells" by British psychologist Peter Collett. But the bad girls spread out in the room, and one girl intentionally slid an umbrella and some books off a shelf onto the floor.
"What the hell?", I asked. "What does she think she's doing?"
Nick gestured to the other corner of the room where three teachers where standing by one of the makeup-covered bad girls. She was arguing heatedly with a tall woman with a long face drawn out in sad, serious lines. She looked serious, but wasn't doing anything about this girl. Nick translated. The girl was demanding her cell phone back, as the teachers had confiscated it. She then began to scream, and would punctuate her demands by slamming her hands down on the counter. She kicked the cupboards. Her two friends stood and watched. One of them took out her cell phone and stated "I still have my cell phone!" in a provocation to the teachers. I was most amazed by the teachers' reactions: nothing. They stood around when she yelled, and gathered near here when she was violent, but did nothing. One or two teachers spoke to her. The principal emerged from his office and walked toward the scene, fear written on his face. As he approached he put his hands on his hips to show he was the authority (a tell which Peter Collett discusses) but when he reached the huddle he paused, then pivoted on his foot and walked back into the safety of his office. He is a principal of pomp and circumstance, but not of action.
Eventually the situation was defused because the girl could tell she wouldn't get her way. She gave a last scream of fury and frustration and stormed out. Nick described the incident as a "show", and that's what the girl's friends seemed to treat it as. In my junior high in Japan, cell phones come in conflict with proper school behaviour but they just don't have the balls to do anything about it.
"What the hell?", I asked. "What does she think she's doing?"
Nick gestured to the other corner of the room where three teachers where standing by one of the makeup-covered bad girls. She was arguing heatedly with a tall woman with a long face drawn out in sad, serious lines. She looked serious, but wasn't doing anything about this girl. Nick translated. The girl was demanding her cell phone back, as the teachers had confiscated it. She then began to scream, and would punctuate her demands by slamming her hands down on the counter. She kicked the cupboards. Her two friends stood and watched. One of them took out her cell phone and stated "I still have my cell phone!" in a provocation to the teachers. I was most amazed by the teachers' reactions: nothing. They stood around when she yelled, and gathered near here when she was violent, but did nothing. One or two teachers spoke to her. The principal emerged from his office and walked toward the scene, fear written on his face. As he approached he put his hands on his hips to show he was the authority (a tell which Peter Collett discusses) but when he reached the huddle he paused, then pivoted on his foot and walked back into the safety of his office. He is a principal of pomp and circumstance, but not of action.
Eventually the situation was defused because the girl could tell she wouldn't get her way. She gave a last scream of fury and frustration and stormed out. Nick described the incident as a "show", and that's what the girl's friends seemed to treat it as. In my junior high in Japan, cell phones come in conflict with proper school behaviour but they just don't have the balls to do anything about it.
Monday, September 27, 2004
First Post
I'll post more later, because right now Mae is making dinner two apartments over and I'm invited!
... a few hours later ...
To use that most favourite descriptor of Japanese food conversation, the meal was delicious. I made garlic bread and Mae created a dish of pasta and vegetables that would only be done justice if it had it's own name. I'll call it pasta al Mae. With a base of spaggetti, this dish was elevated with the subtle aromas of fresh basil and a healthy sauteeing of garlic. The texture of the slightly crisp yet soft eggplant was rare to encounter, and entirely delightful. Green pepper, baby tomatoes and mozzarella cheese rounded out this scrumptious adventure in Italian ad libitum. I feel like I just wrote a food column. The dinner overshadowed the conversation, which seemed to be lulled by either sleepiness or unease. I'll chalk it up to sleepiness as I've had good talks with Mae in the past. But of course, I offered to do the dishes. Yet she stoically refused, a number of times, and so I left her with coffee pocky and a sinkload of dishes, just the way she likes it.
... a few hours later ...
To use that most favourite descriptor of Japanese food conversation, the meal was delicious. I made garlic bread and Mae created a dish of pasta and vegetables that would only be done justice if it had it's own name. I'll call it pasta al Mae. With a base of spaggetti, this dish was elevated with the subtle aromas of fresh basil and a healthy sauteeing of garlic. The texture of the slightly crisp yet soft eggplant was rare to encounter, and entirely delightful. Green pepper, baby tomatoes and mozzarella cheese rounded out this scrumptious adventure in Italian ad libitum. I feel like I just wrote a food column. The dinner overshadowed the conversation, which seemed to be lulled by either sleepiness or unease. I'll chalk it up to sleepiness as I've had good talks with Mae in the past. But of course, I offered to do the dishes. Yet she stoically refused, a number of times, and so I left her with coffee pocky and a sinkload of dishes, just the way she likes it.
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