Thursday, April 14, 2005
Women Are Not Psychic
This post is a result of me thinking about my last post, and realizing that I had painted women as somewhat alien, even if definitely powerful. I do think that women are better at understanding human relationships, but I'm not saying that as an excuse to get me off the hook for being an understanding boyfriend, friend, son or brother. I think lately I haven't been much of any of those. So this entry appears to be a confession, not of any dark, deep secret, but of my inability to connect with people lately. I guess it does have some benefits in that I can think deep, dark thoughts and be ever-so-slightly more creative in thinking up ideas for stories and scripts. I'd rather just be happy and get over it. So in honour of that I'm going to start making more of an effort to get out there with the people who are important to me. And I'm also going to start running and working out in the cheap gym near my apartment.
Monday, April 11, 2005
Snarky Comments
Due to a snarky comment on the previous post, I feel compelled to continue my blogging endeavours.
Today we shall discuss the tv shows called "Survivor: Vanuatu" and "The Apprentice". Vanuatu is last season's survivor, and I just finished watching my downloaded episodes. I like to wait till the season is finished before downloading because then I can watch them over the course of a couple of weeks, with episodes back-to-back. That way I avoid that terrible feeling of dreading what might happen next on the show. Both Survivor and The Apprentice are good at instilling dread, though for the Apprentice it only lasts during the tasks and the judging, and is extinguished after Trump has finished lambasting the three "disappointing" or "stupid" executives. Then everything is a-ok because I don't give a fuck about the future executives of America. Those people are mostly full of shit anyway. Except Bren, the trial lawyer from Georgia (or some southern state) - he always has a Southern drawl going on and looks like he'd rather be sipping bourbon and discussing plantations. I like that. (I mean, other than the whole slavery thing.)
Survivor episodes, I get caught up in the truly petty but hubristic personalities of these people. They are like the squabbling gods of Greek lore, with all the legendary powers of instant celebrity and being on a desert island competing for a million bucks to draw out their natural characters in full fauvist bloom. And when the women's and men's teams mingled, but the editors showed us viewers clips to make it clear that the women were still a team, damn! That was scary stuff for me, as a man.
It spoke to some atavistic fears in me that women know stuff that men don't. I mean, why else do the girls laugh at me instead of replying to my "Konnichi wa"? The boys just say Konnichi wa right back at me. I have occasionally considered the possibility that all women have psychic powers, and that men were simply born without; we are necessary for the procreation of the race, we can create cool things, but we just don't quite have the same level of understanding in a conversation. Especially about alliances. Needless to say, the women were much better at playing the game than the men, and they wittled the men's numbers down at every tribal council, by convincing the remaining men to vote one of their own gender off. Because "it's good strategy to vote him off now. We'll get her next round." What fools - the men fell for it until they were a tiny minority. Interesting that the two leaders of the female coalition were lesbians. Interesting, also, that these two - young Amy and old Scout - hated each other. Scout was a cool customer. Amy was pure, vilest, blackest manipulation. God I felt good when she got the boot.
If I were a Survivor contestant I think I'd make it at least to the final 9. Maybe even final 4. The key would be to not use big words, so as not to alienate people. Clever.
Today we shall discuss the tv shows called "Survivor: Vanuatu" and "The Apprentice". Vanuatu is last season's survivor, and I just finished watching my downloaded episodes. I like to wait till the season is finished before downloading because then I can watch them over the course of a couple of weeks, with episodes back-to-back. That way I avoid that terrible feeling of dreading what might happen next on the show. Both Survivor and The Apprentice are good at instilling dread, though for the Apprentice it only lasts during the tasks and the judging, and is extinguished after Trump has finished lambasting the three "disappointing" or "stupid" executives. Then everything is a-ok because I don't give a fuck about the future executives of America. Those people are mostly full of shit anyway. Except Bren, the trial lawyer from Georgia (or some southern state) - he always has a Southern drawl going on and looks like he'd rather be sipping bourbon and discussing plantations. I like that. (I mean, other than the whole slavery thing.)
Survivor episodes, I get caught up in the truly petty but hubristic personalities of these people. They are like the squabbling gods of Greek lore, with all the legendary powers of instant celebrity and being on a desert island competing for a million bucks to draw out their natural characters in full fauvist bloom. And when the women's and men's teams mingled, but the editors showed us viewers clips to make it clear that the women were still a team, damn! That was scary stuff for me, as a man.
It spoke to some atavistic fears in me that women know stuff that men don't. I mean, why else do the girls laugh at me instead of replying to my "Konnichi wa"? The boys just say Konnichi wa right back at me. I have occasionally considered the possibility that all women have psychic powers, and that men were simply born without; we are necessary for the procreation of the race, we can create cool things, but we just don't quite have the same level of understanding in a conversation. Especially about alliances. Needless to say, the women were much better at playing the game than the men, and they wittled the men's numbers down at every tribal council, by convincing the remaining men to vote one of their own gender off. Because "it's good strategy to vote him off now. We'll get her next round." What fools - the men fell for it until they were a tiny minority. Interesting that the two leaders of the female coalition were lesbians. Interesting, also, that these two - young Amy and old Scout - hated each other. Scout was a cool customer. Amy was pure, vilest, blackest manipulation. God I felt good when she got the boot.
If I were a Survivor contestant I think I'd make it at least to the final 9. Maybe even final 4. The key would be to not use big words, so as not to alienate people. Clever.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
The Bike Ride of Anthony and Myles
myles in front of junky boulders
myles and anthony get crouchy
rice field and sunset
more rice field and sunset
a japanese cemetery
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Holding for Loans
I'm currently on hold on an outsourced phone centre which handles calls for my student loans. They are playing 80's music from bands you've never heard of. My loan officer - nearly parole officer - huffed and put me on hold when I asked him to fax me the forms I had already filled out, instead of new forms.
When did it become a problem to do exactly what your job is? When companies started calling employees a resource and called in efficiency experts to do team-building exercises, that's when. The customer service centre is definitely the first sector to develop cracks in the facade of corporate unity and "we're all on the same page"-ness. What gets me are the catch phrases these poor, angry bastards have to spout at the beginning and end of calls. "Thanks for calling National Bank of Monopoly, customer service division, this is Todd Rundgren speaking, how may I help you today?". "Well i was wondering about...". The answer is usually "Can I have your name, social insurance number, address, telephone number, and code for verification purposes please", or it could be "please hold", at which point they go off and have coffee for a few minutes, chat about Jennifer Garner's ass, remember they have a "client" on the phone and run back. "Sorry to keep you waiting sir. I was on hold myself with another department. I'm going to have to speak to my supervisor about this." Hold.
Granted, that's the only way you can keep the spark of human intelligence in you if you work at these places. I know, I did. It was in another form - not quite so faceless, not quite so important - hell it was a chain camera store, but I got my taste. It tasted like the metal of robots and the cardboard of display signs.
When did it become a problem to do exactly what your job is? When companies started calling employees a resource and called in efficiency experts to do team-building exercises, that's when. The customer service centre is definitely the first sector to develop cracks in the facade of corporate unity and "we're all on the same page"-ness. What gets me are the catch phrases these poor, angry bastards have to spout at the beginning and end of calls. "Thanks for calling National Bank of Monopoly, customer service division, this is Todd Rundgren speaking, how may I help you today?". "Well i was wondering about...". The answer is usually "Can I have your name, social insurance number, address, telephone number, and code for verification purposes please", or it could be "please hold", at which point they go off and have coffee for a few minutes, chat about Jennifer Garner's ass, remember they have a "client" on the phone and run back. "Sorry to keep you waiting sir. I was on hold myself with another department. I'm going to have to speak to my supervisor about this." Hold.
Granted, that's the only way you can keep the spark of human intelligence in you if you work at these places. I know, I did. It was in another form - not quite so faceless, not quite so important - hell it was a chain camera store, but I got my taste. It tasted like the metal of robots and the cardboard of display signs.
Monday, April 04, 2005
Happy Birthday To Me
Happy Birthday To ME!
I watched these guys sumo the hell out of each other a couple of weeks ago in Osaka. And now they're spicing up my birthday page.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Sick Days
I'm hanging around in my apartment wearing the same pj's I've been wearing for the past 2 days. Occasionally reading "the wealth of nations" and occasionally watching downloaded tv programs. Yesterday I watched a little bit of a Japanese cartoon in which a family had a little spirit as a guest for dinner, and the spirit commented on their table manners throughout dinner. The family actually liked this spirit. Personally I would have kicked it out, but I guess that's what makes me different from the Japanese.
Reading Adam Smith.
Reading Adam Smith.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Sucker for taunts
Something I noticed about living in Japan is that people will never say hi to me on the street unless they are under the age of 15. And I'm not talking about white people, or even people who know me. Maybe that's not so strange after all. Maybe it's strange that 12 year olds will frequently give me long drawn-out herro's. The bratty kids have a way of accentuating the r's in English words that don't even have r's, as if to say: "Your language has r's, loser. And I can't speak it, loser." Oddly enough the taunt works. Of course I've always been a sucker for taunts, as Sarain can attest.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Boomerang
The aussies say a boomerang is a thing you lend to someone that comes back. They applied that label to a corkscrew they lent me, and it turned out to be true. Well I'm a boomerang in my ideas about Japan. It seems like staying in Japan could be feasible: i.e. I could remain sane. Only if I start working hard on a project so that I have something to show for the extra year here, will it be an acceptable decision. In that vein, I've begun to learn Dreamweaver, scope out webspace, and think about content for my long-passed-off culture/media commentary website. Perhaps I told some of you my readers about this. It's nice to be finally taking action - as of last Wednesday.
BUT the best laid plains may something something. And in my case that means a debilitating lower back pain that saps my will to live, compose, do anything. Except that this morning I feel well enough to type zee blog. Don't worry folks, it's not that bad. Mainly it's annoying and a pain in the ass, er, back. [Ahhh, the intentional 'er'. Propper-up of old chestnuts!] My other project, which may never emerge from it's gestation sack due to the absence of a video camera, is dun-da-daaa.... to make a video! About.... something!! I figure it's been several years since my grade 7 masterwork in neo-dada confusionism, replete with dream sequences, stomping football players, and yours truly as the young-voiced narrator. I need the balls of that young me! Not literally, obviously, but the chutzpah, the drive, the disregard.
BUT the best laid plains may something something. And in my case that means a debilitating lower back pain that saps my will to live, compose, do anything. Except that this morning I feel well enough to type zee blog. Don't worry folks, it's not that bad. Mainly it's annoying and a pain in the ass, er, back. [Ahhh, the intentional 'er'. Propper-up of old chestnuts!] My other project, which may never emerge from it's gestation sack due to the absence of a video camera, is dun-da-daaa.... to make a video! About.... something!! I figure it's been several years since my grade 7 masterwork in neo-dada confusionism, replete with dream sequences, stomping football players, and yours truly as the young-voiced narrator. I need the balls of that young me! Not literally, obviously, but the chutzpah, the drive, the disregard.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
Communist Japan!
Last night I heard the klok-klok of the gas man as I hung my laundry in the warming air. He is the volunteer who walks through the neighbourhood after the sun has fallen, striking a pair of hollow wooden blocks together, reminding the people tucked away in their sony filled apartments that they have to turn off the gas. If the gas is left on and there's a small earthquake, the gas pipe may crack, or the hose may come loose, and then gas will flow into the house, either poisoning or exploding. To prevent this the Japanese have invented a new position in society which is the night-walker gas man. This is the benefit of having over 90% of houses outfitted with the same heating system, and having a society that responds well to tradition and office. A few of the foreign teachers here have taken to calling Japan the world's only communist-capitalist society. Oddly enough, it seems to have more of a communist esprit than the more obvious example of communist-capitalism, the giant Middle Kingdom across the straits of Japan.
The examples of the Japanese communist esprit are many. Perhaps more accurately I should say it's a group orientation and sense of responsibility that tempers the individualism of capitalism. The school is rife with them. At cleaning time, all the students go out into the hallways and sweep up, and use sticky-rollers to pull dust up from the carpets. They wash the concrete passages outside, and wipe the floors and desks with rags. That's the ideal version. Mostly they just talk, but they are all out there with cleaning implements. The teachers go out too to provide a leadership example. There is something curious in the workplace as well, at least in the teaching workplace. Teachers who don't pull their weight are pulled along by the efforts of the other teachers. Instead of being fired, these incompetents or lazy people can rely on their peers to carry them for years, even till retirement if they fulfill their group obligations. This also has a very dark side when conflicts arise between teachers and students.
I don't think this is an example of communalism, but strange nonetheless: construction workers all wear bright overalls in a single colour, which are usually immaculate. I've passed by a house construction site to see a group of four immaculate workers on the second floor of a plywood support structure, standing and having a meeting. Their arms move with robotic precision as they gesture, not at all like the movements of Canadian construction workers I have known. I get the feeling the meeting has been going on for a while - the workers seem committed to their poses. I've seen workers disposing of garbage stacked neatly and by type, not throwing it but carrying it to the receptacle. The garbage site looked clean!
The examples of the Japanese communist esprit are many. Perhaps more accurately I should say it's a group orientation and sense of responsibility that tempers the individualism of capitalism. The school is rife with them. At cleaning time, all the students go out into the hallways and sweep up, and use sticky-rollers to pull dust up from the carpets. They wash the concrete passages outside, and wipe the floors and desks with rags. That's the ideal version. Mostly they just talk, but they are all out there with cleaning implements. The teachers go out too to provide a leadership example. There is something curious in the workplace as well, at least in the teaching workplace. Teachers who don't pull their weight are pulled along by the efforts of the other teachers. Instead of being fired, these incompetents or lazy people can rely on their peers to carry them for years, even till retirement if they fulfill their group obligations. This also has a very dark side when conflicts arise between teachers and students.
I don't think this is an example of communalism, but strange nonetheless: construction workers all wear bright overalls in a single colour, which are usually immaculate. I've passed by a house construction site to see a group of four immaculate workers on the second floor of a plywood support structure, standing and having a meeting. Their arms move with robotic precision as they gesture, not at all like the movements of Canadian construction workers I have known. I get the feeling the meeting has been going on for a while - the workers seem committed to their poses. I've seen workers disposing of garbage stacked neatly and by type, not throwing it but carrying it to the receptacle. The garbage site looked clean!
Monday, March 07, 2005
Read "Cloud Atlas"
Today I mainly read Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell. I took it to my four classes and read it during the stretches of inanity, inanity for me at least, when the Japanese teacher was teaching and I would normaly be hum-drumming. It's a novel with multiple personalities that switches after a good satisfying chunk, and I think the writer wrote it this way to avoid getting bored. I think Mitchell stitched together several disparate strands that he'd written ex-post-facto, which is something that I plan on doing with my ramblings, if they should ever acquire that critical mass that would pull them together thematically.
It begins with a colonial sea-traveller's tale, then moves eras and genres. It blends narrative frames so that earlier chapters are read by characters in later chapters as books. There are cross-referenced character names, and a McGuffen that I won't spoil.
Late in the afternoon I fell asleep with my head propped up by my arm, book in front of me. The teachers' room was empty except for Nick, a secretary and me, with everyone else at a meeting. My matronly, kindly neighbour is cooling to me as I come ever late in the morning. If only she knew how difficult it is for me to feel any connection to the workplace. I'm investigating jobs in London tonight.
It begins with a colonial sea-traveller's tale, then moves eras and genres. It blends narrative frames so that earlier chapters are read by characters in later chapters as books. There are cross-referenced character names, and a McGuffen that I won't spoil.
Late in the afternoon I fell asleep with my head propped up by my arm, book in front of me. The teachers' room was empty except for Nick, a secretary and me, with everyone else at a meeting. My matronly, kindly neighbour is cooling to me as I come ever late in the morning. If only she knew how difficult it is for me to feel any connection to the workplace. I'm investigating jobs in London tonight.
A brand new world... (morning entry)
New post time! That means I have four minutes to write a post and then get out of my apartment. In the news today Elvis has married Kareem Abdul Jabar, and their genetically engineered children will be kung-fu stars of the future. Both giants of popularity were unearthed from their graves and reconstituted using bacteria that was found beneath the toes of the worlds oldest animal: the drosophila methusela, a fruit fly that lives to be a thousand years old and has toes. More to come later.
Friday, March 04, 2005
Veronica and Mike and Food and Movie
Veronica and Mike are over at my house. We watched "My Own Private Idaho" which has River Phoenix and Keanu Reeves as young male prostitutes in Idaho and Portland. They go to Rome in search of someone's mother and quote shakespearean non-shakespeare that's really amusing. Mike didn't like it. We almost watched "The Manchurian Candidate" which would have been a Mike-Anthony pleaser. Instead we watched a Veronica-Anthony pleaser. I guess I'm easy to please in the movie department.
Veronica was sent on a mission to take pictures of Mike and I and herself. We shall see what turned out. And then it will be posted.
We are being silly and I am being slightly drunkennated.
Veronica is sleepy. Maybe a little confused too...
Mike and I MSN even while in the same apartment.
Mike looking coolio and up
The Canadian couple! This is the state of my bedroom adornment...
Veronica was sent on a mission to take pictures of Mike and I and herself. We shall see what turned out. And then it will be posted.
We are being silly and I am being slightly drunkennated.
Veronica is sleepy. Maybe a little confused too...
Mike and I MSN even while in the same apartment.
Mike looking coolio and up
The Canadian couple! This is the state of my bedroom adornment...
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Scurrilous Sam
I wish I had a pet squirrel named Sam who could talk. He would often be coarse and vulgar, and I'd call him Scurrilous Sam, and we'd tour the country (not this one, that one over there with the English) going from nightclub to nightclub, spreading joy.
This post is for two people: one who is named dan and the other who got bored of the previous post.
Today I looked into grad schools in London on Claire's recommendation. Apparently I got too discouraged by her initial description of LSE. She thinks I'd get more out of it than she did (nevermind that she got the highest mark you could possibly get!). The good thing about England is I've always wanted to live there and I think the schools are cheaper than American schools. The bad thing is it's rainy and there are too many English people.
Also I went to the doctor today. I was feeling sharp shooting pains in my left lung, that emanated from the centre and went through my torso and arms. Alarmed, I corresponded with Veronica, who told me to go to the doctor. Already leaning in this direction, I was galvanized and took off for my school and translation services to be supplied by my lovely tantosha. Small spat ensued (of course) and then we were on our way. The doctors (a husband-wife team in a tiny clinic) were friendly and spoke English. Also she gave birth to her son in Toronto, of all things. Mr. Doctor told me I had a benign neuralgia, and not to worry. That just means it's some random nerve pain that is insignificant. Or is it perhaps over-laden with signification? It's just such a relief to be able to see an English-speaking doctor. I had saved up many medical questions and I think I overwhelmed them a little, but they were very gracious and even gave me some compresses for my shoulder which has been painful of late. I hope to go back soon!
On the Claire visit tip, she's gone. I'm sad, and was ever so glad that she came and visited. Yesterday she insisted on going through the sketchy part of Osaka that alternated strip clubs with pricy good restaurants, but I'm glad she did because I would have taken us to a mall and how lame a last Japanese meal would that have been. Instead our Japanese meal was Korean, and bulgogi, which is their version of yakiniku. I think Claire has now tried every food that Japan has to offer. She really did have a foodish trip, and I'm inspired to do the same next time I travel to a weird place. Japan is definitely a weird place. At the Korean joint there was a matronly matron who helpfully helped us cook our meal. We didn't know what the hell we were doing with the lettuce leaves and the grill and meat, but she did it for us, hovering over us. There were garlic chunks and miso paste and cabbage salad and those go on the meat, and it is wrapped in a lettuce leaf. Then you eat it in one or two bites and it's delicious!
This post is for two people: one who is named dan and the other who got bored of the previous post.
Today I looked into grad schools in London on Claire's recommendation. Apparently I got too discouraged by her initial description of LSE. She thinks I'd get more out of it than she did (nevermind that she got the highest mark you could possibly get!). The good thing about England is I've always wanted to live there and I think the schools are cheaper than American schools. The bad thing is it's rainy and there are too many English people.
Also I went to the doctor today. I was feeling sharp shooting pains in my left lung, that emanated from the centre and went through my torso and arms. Alarmed, I corresponded with Veronica, who told me to go to the doctor. Already leaning in this direction, I was galvanized and took off for my school and translation services to be supplied by my lovely tantosha. Small spat ensued (of course) and then we were on our way. The doctors (a husband-wife team in a tiny clinic) were friendly and spoke English. Also she gave birth to her son in Toronto, of all things. Mr. Doctor told me I had a benign neuralgia, and not to worry. That just means it's some random nerve pain that is insignificant. Or is it perhaps over-laden with signification? It's just such a relief to be able to see an English-speaking doctor. I had saved up many medical questions and I think I overwhelmed them a little, but they were very gracious and even gave me some compresses for my shoulder which has been painful of late. I hope to go back soon!
On the Claire visit tip, she's gone. I'm sad, and was ever so glad that she came and visited. Yesterday she insisted on going through the sketchy part of Osaka that alternated strip clubs with pricy good restaurants, but I'm glad she did because I would have taken us to a mall and how lame a last Japanese meal would that have been. Instead our Japanese meal was Korean, and bulgogi, which is their version of yakiniku. I think Claire has now tried every food that Japan has to offer. She really did have a foodish trip, and I'm inspired to do the same next time I travel to a weird place. Japan is definitely a weird place. At the Korean joint there was a matronly matron who helpfully helped us cook our meal. We didn't know what the hell we were doing with the lettuce leaves and the grill and meat, but she did it for us, hovering over us. There were garlic chunks and miso paste and cabbage salad and those go on the meat, and it is wrapped in a lettuce leaf. Then you eat it in one or two bites and it's delicious!
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Hairy head of hair
Normal life is resuming and let me tell you, it sucks to be at Nishi Chu. Sort of. Mainly it's so boring I could eat a live squirrel. Today was especially boring, I think because I had such a good time in Kyoto with Claire and she told me about London, which sounds mainly fun. Ironically she hates her job too. Nevertheless, it was a reminder of good times outside Japan and it was just so good to see her that I guess I realized how much I miss home.
Dan has a blog too, and it's a million times cooler than this one. He writes about books he's reading. Funny that it's attached to his family's auction house website.
I got a haircut today and played the game of "I'll nod my head and say 'okay' in frustration while you (the hairdresser) tell me what you're about to do to me. And I don't understand a word you're saying." It's amazing how a little thing like a haircut can drive home the point that I am next to retarded in this country. It's no wonder that practically every Japanese person studiously avoids and shuns foreigners. We can't speak! I think this feeling I'm experiencing is called "culture shock", and yes it can occur six months into a stay in Japan. I know because they showed us a nice graph of our future mental stability during orientation in Tokyo, and it took a dive after six months. Welcome to crazyville. Population: root two.
I'm tempted to put up a picture of myself with my new head of hair, but I realize that would be too many pictures of me on the blog. I guess I just love showing everyone my picture. Look, it's me. The hairdresser really wanted to give me spiky hair. He asked three times if I wanted it and I told him no each time. He kept showing me pictures of Japanese guys with weird feathery hair and saying {I have no idea what he said} as if I wanted to have a weird Japanese haircut. I saw a picture of Colin Farrell and indicated that. Yes! A good-looking white person. That's who I want to look like. People inevitably choose a good-looking model, even if the model's hair and the person's hair are completely different. I actually considered indicating a bald photo J Timberlake before I came to my senses.
Dan has a blog too, and it's a million times cooler than this one. He writes about books he's reading. Funny that it's attached to his family's auction house website.
I got a haircut today and played the game of "I'll nod my head and say 'okay' in frustration while you (the hairdresser) tell me what you're about to do to me. And I don't understand a word you're saying." It's amazing how a little thing like a haircut can drive home the point that I am next to retarded in this country. It's no wonder that practically every Japanese person studiously avoids and shuns foreigners. We can't speak! I think this feeling I'm experiencing is called "culture shock", and yes it can occur six months into a stay in Japan. I know because they showed us a nice graph of our future mental stability during orientation in Tokyo, and it took a dive after six months. Welcome to crazyville. Population: root two.
I'm tempted to put up a picture of myself with my new head of hair, but I realize that would be too many pictures of me on the blog. I guess I just love showing everyone my picture. Look, it's me. The hairdresser really wanted to give me spiky hair. He asked three times if I wanted it and I told him no each time. He kept showing me pictures of Japanese guys with weird feathery hair and saying {I have no idea what he said} as if I wanted to have a weird Japanese haircut. I saw a picture of Colin Farrell and indicated that. Yes! A good-looking white person. That's who I want to look like. People inevitably choose a good-looking model, even if the model's hair and the person's hair are completely different. I actually considered indicating a bald photo J Timberlake before I came to my senses.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
The Great Kyoto Protocol, Starring Claire G and Tony B
THEN we went to Kyoto on Monday. I was late getting going, as is my wont, but we got there before noon, and headed directly for the temple. It was actually a bit of a temple complex, rather than a temple per se. We followed the guidebook directions to walk up a hill for ten minutes but after only a minute we saw the temple. How strange, we thought, and were about to enter when Claire suggested that we walk further up the hill because maybe that wasn't the temple. Maybe that was just someone's house. And it was. And we did. And there we were, walking up the hill, taking side-paths and running into German tourists who took good pictures of us, and Japanese tourists who took bad pictures of us. Who knew? They're both supposed to be good at photography. I think Claire was getting a little annoyed by my need to document everything in photos. I got that feeling when she threatened to kill me if I took another picture, and then started making jokes, saying I should ask the same Japanese girl to take our picture again moments after she had just done so. But she'll be glad I got them later on, especially since my camera has better resolution than hers. Heh heh. (But hers is lighter and smaller.)
We walked through a sort of village of shops on the mountain-side, very picturesque (and I've got the pictures to prove it!) with narrow uphill streets, terraced to accomodate the mountain slope. Many of them offered pickled delights, and many of those offered free taste tests. This is common in Japan. Claire started strong with the samples, but eventually the pickles won. She was bested by Japanese pickles; there were just too many. And there was also an omiyage shop with sweets on sample - usually there are many more such sweet shops as I recall from Veronica's mochi-sampling predilictions - but there was just one this time. An old man was sitting behind the counter offering cinnamon cookie shards and a bowl of mochi (a sweet rice flour pastry). As soon as he saw us he pulled away the bowl of mochi so that we couldn't have any! So later when we were coming back down the mountain I made a point of asking him directly for a mochi sample, and then took two. Ha!
At the temple we drank blessed water that has now imbued us both with eternal life. Also, Claire had a sesame ice cream cone that tasted like tahini.
Due to the size of the tahini cone, Claire wasn't that hungry for lunch. But we ate it anyway, of course. This was back down the mountain in a nice, second-floor woody atmospheric restaurant. I got some bowl of noodles and Claire got some bowl of noodles. But while my bowl had soup, Claire's was a bowl of snot. Don't worry Claire! Not all Japanese food is gelatinous!
Later we wandered through the old imperial palace grounds, but the palace was closed to the public. It was mainly dead grass and giant gravel promenades, and was about as exciting as sanding wood. LUCKILY we then decided to go to Karaoke, where I proceeded to make an off-key fool of myself and Claire proceeded to complain that her voice wasn't doing what she wanted it to even while singing like the freaking Vienna boys choir. She sings good. As Nick would say.
Check out the bizarre lyrics... apparently they're wrong. Claire likes to sing the Claire song to herself a lot.
Today morning's breakfast: Spidey-grip on pumpkin-bean-yam granola.
We got home late and took a cab from the station (thanks Claire!) and then Claire did her email and now she's in TOKYO!!!! I look forward to seeing you in Osaka on Saturday!! Or was it Sunday?!
We walked through a sort of village of shops on the mountain-side, very picturesque (and I've got the pictures to prove it!) with narrow uphill streets, terraced to accomodate the mountain slope. Many of them offered pickled delights, and many of those offered free taste tests. This is common in Japan. Claire started strong with the samples, but eventually the pickles won. She was bested by Japanese pickles; there were just too many. And there was also an omiyage shop with sweets on sample - usually there are many more such sweet shops as I recall from Veronica's mochi-sampling predilictions - but there was just one this time. An old man was sitting behind the counter offering cinnamon cookie shards and a bowl of mochi (a sweet rice flour pastry). As soon as he saw us he pulled away the bowl of mochi so that we couldn't have any! So later when we were coming back down the mountain I made a point of asking him directly for a mochi sample, and then took two. Ha!
At the temple we drank blessed water that has now imbued us both with eternal life. Also, Claire had a sesame ice cream cone that tasted like tahini.Due to the size of the tahini cone, Claire wasn't that hungry for lunch. But we ate it anyway, of course. This was back down the mountain in a nice, second-floor woody atmospheric restaurant. I got some bowl of noodles and Claire got some bowl of noodles. But while my bowl had soup, Claire's was a bowl of snot. Don't worry Claire! Not all Japanese food is gelatinous!
Later we wandered through the old imperial palace grounds, but the palace was closed to the public. It was mainly dead grass and giant gravel promenades, and was about as exciting as sanding wood. LUCKILY we then decided to go to Karaoke, where I proceeded to make an off-key fool of myself and Claire proceeded to complain that her voice wasn't doing what she wanted it to even while singing like the freaking Vienna boys choir. She sings good. As Nick would say.
Check out the bizarre lyrics... apparently they're wrong. Claire likes to sing the Claire song to herself a lot.
Today morning's breakfast: Spidey-grip on pumpkin-bean-yam granola.
We got home late and took a cab from the station (thanks Claire!) and then Claire did her email and now she's in TOKYO!!!! I look forward to seeing you in Osaka on Saturday!! Or was it Sunday?!
Monday, February 21, 2005
Claire is in my kitchen....
Claire is even now leafing through a Lonely Planet Japan guide - which she probably thought she could avoid by having friends who already know the scene living here but she never counted on me. She arrived yesterday morning and my place was still a mess because I thought she was coming in the evening! Ooops. Let me tell you how good and strange it is to have a friend from Toronto here in my Nagahama kitchen. Last night Adam and Kristen the aussies from upstairs came by to visit and I had a weird moment when my Japan friends were talking to my Toronto/London friend. I guess Claire is really my Toronto friend, not my London friend until I can visit her in London. That's silly.
We've decided to visit Kyomizu-dera, the holy water temple in Kyoto instead of Kinkakuji, the Golden temple. This is based on Veronica's recommendation. I've seen the Golden temple and liked it a lot but I've never seen Kyomizu-dera.
Well we had better get going so that we don't miss our 10:15 train! I'll update more later...
We've decided to visit Kyomizu-dera, the holy water temple in Kyoto instead of Kinkakuji, the Golden temple. This is based on Veronica's recommendation. I've seen the Golden temple and liked it a lot but I've never seen Kyomizu-dera.
Well we had better get going so that we don't miss our 10:15 train! I'll update more later...
Friday, February 18, 2005
Scorpion-free since 1983
There are no scorpions in my apartment, but there is one spider. It bit my head while I was exhaustedly napping one after-school afternoon. And I am not a nappper. That's why I think the spider just got angry that I was sleeping out of turn. You should be safe Claire, as long as you don't sleep out of turn. Veronica was scared of it but then I told her that the bites were just itchy, that's all. So then she was okay with it and she didn't get bitten - right V?
So, Claire is coming on Sunday. !!!!!! That's so soon and awesomely amazing! Even though I should be cleaning my apartment, I'll actually be going to Kusatsu to drink fine Starbuckian coffees and teas of the world with Veronica and Mike today after school. Tomorrow I'll lounge around in Ishiyama for a while, and maybe - possibly - go to the "dress as a sexual fantasy" costume party. I really don't want to dress as a sexual fantasy and then hang around with other English teachers. I believe that is lame. And so, if I do go, I shan't dress at all.
Claire - what time does your flight get in to Kansai airport? Do you know what train you'll likely be on? Keep me posted!
So, Claire is coming on Sunday. !!!!!! That's so soon and awesomely amazing! Even though I should be cleaning my apartment, I'll actually be going to Kusatsu to drink fine Starbuckian coffees and teas of the world with Veronica and Mike today after school. Tomorrow I'll lounge around in Ishiyama for a while, and maybe - possibly - go to the "dress as a sexual fantasy" costume party. I really don't want to dress as a sexual fantasy and then hang around with other English teachers. I believe that is lame. And so, if I do go, I shan't dress at all.
Claire - what time does your flight get in to Kansai airport? Do you know what train you'll likely be on? Keep me posted!
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
I am chubby
Yes, it's true. If my sister will freely admit it in her blog, I'll do so in mine. And this is coming from two people who have decent metabolisms (metabolisisms, metaboli). I blame it on the weather and the months of November, December, January and February. And a little blame to October, too (hallowe'en bastardry...!). Please note that I still have the small plastic jack-o'-lantern that was filled with candy on my desk four months later. Yesterday for Valentines day my neighbour gave me chocolate. And so did the woman whose job it is to follow the bad girls around the school and gently suggest they do the right thing.
Is this a good story idea: Anthony and Veronica hang out in her apartment and are visited by unlikely people and events which eventually build to some sort of existential climax? Sounds kinky. Where does one put the question mark in a sentence like that?
Is this a good story idea: Anthony and Veronica hang out in her apartment and are visited by unlikely people and events which eventually build to some sort of existential climax? Sounds kinky. Where does one put the question mark in a sentence like that?
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Afternoon Raid on Nishi Chu (that's my school)
The raiding party came in the cold light of late afternoon. Most of us were semi-asleep at our desks when the clamour of voices shattered the calm. Our vice principal rushed into the hall to investigate; in a few minutes he returned and addressed us in as stentorian a tone as he could muster: "Some students from South NagahamaMiddle School are in our school. I don't know where they are or what they're doing, but let's all pull together now and solve this problem." He sounded worried but determined. These were bad kids. Kids whose attendance records read like rap sheets, and who seldom scored above 50 percent in aptitude tests. Clearly, they were a force to be reckoned with. Kyoto Sensei (vp) and Muratta Sensei, the perennially sleepy blunderer of English class, located and neutralized the threat with aplomb, I am sure. Peeking through the hall window with Nick - who had narrated the call to arms for my ignorant ears - I saw the two teachers guarding our gravel driveway, and three or four middle school students milling about on the sidewalk sheepishly.
Once calm had returned to the temple of learning, I returned to watching downloaded tv on my laptop.
Once calm had returned to the temple of learning, I returned to watching downloaded tv on my laptop.
Yuki Ga Sen (Part Deux)
THEN what happened was this....
I looked around in the snow for what seems like forever. Actually it must have been about an hour. Some friends helped me to look for a bit. We were kicking snow with our sodden shoes, trying to uncover the hidden treasure as it had snowed since the battle royale. (All battles are better if they're royale, and I help to make them thus). Eventually I gave up on the search and went inside, demoralized.
The next day I asked my Kyoto Sensei (vice principal) if I could go to a glasses shop in the afternoon, which was free. He commandeered a car; or rather he commandeered a driver for his own car, one Goi Sensei of the crazy tree. Nick also came along, despite an ongoing dispute between the two of them about Goi's ex-girlfriend. A jolly trio we made, but we were united on one front at least: the desire to be out of Nishi Chu. We visited first one, then another glasses shop. I distrusted the aesthetic advice of these two, but I depended on it because I distrusted my own aesthetic tendencies even more, which oscillate between the dully conservative and the gaudily bizarre when shopping alone. At last I settled on a pair of frames whose Timberland imprimatur recommended them to Nick, hard- core rapper that he is. Their ultra-cheap price tag recommended them to me. The optometrist beckoned to me and I sat in the seat of automatic eye judgment. They use a machine that figures out your prescription by watching the eyes focus on displayed images. Very impressive. Then I went to the industrial revolution-era round glasses apparatus with removable lenses, looking like Johnny Depp in Sleepy Hollow with his inspection headgear. At least I hope I looked like Johnny Depp, but I suspect I looked like Anthony Boylan with funny, round, lever-bristling glasses on.
To make a long story short (too late!) I got some glasses, and walking home in the snow with Nick he spotted my old pair partially hidden in the snow outside our building. They were embedded in an icy tire track, having been completely RUN OVER by a car, and were preserved from destruction by their icy casing. Amazingly, they were only a little bent at the arms, but otherwise unharmed. Now I have two pairs of glasses; a back-up pair in case I lose one in a battle royale.
I looked around in the snow for what seems like forever. Actually it must have been about an hour. Some friends helped me to look for a bit. We were kicking snow with our sodden shoes, trying to uncover the hidden treasure as it had snowed since the battle royale. (All battles are better if they're royale, and I help to make them thus). Eventually I gave up on the search and went inside, demoralized.
The next day I asked my Kyoto Sensei (vice principal) if I could go to a glasses shop in the afternoon, which was free. He commandeered a car; or rather he commandeered a driver for his own car, one Goi Sensei of the crazy tree. Nick also came along, despite an ongoing dispute between the two of them about Goi's ex-girlfriend. A jolly trio we made, but we were united on one front at least: the desire to be out of Nishi Chu. We visited first one, then another glasses shop. I distrusted the aesthetic advice of these two, but I depended on it because I distrusted my own aesthetic tendencies even more, which oscillate between the dully conservative and the gaudily bizarre when shopping alone. At last I settled on a pair of frames whose Timberland imprimatur recommended them to Nick, hard- core rapper that he is. Their ultra-cheap price tag recommended them to me. The optometrist beckoned to me and I sat in the seat of automatic eye judgment. They use a machine that figures out your prescription by watching the eyes focus on displayed images. Very impressive. Then I went to the industrial revolution-era round glasses apparatus with removable lenses, looking like Johnny Depp in Sleepy Hollow with his inspection headgear. At least I hope I looked like Johnny Depp, but I suspect I looked like Anthony Boylan with funny, round, lever-bristling glasses on.
To make a long story short (too late!) I got some glasses, and walking home in the snow with Nick he spotted my old pair partially hidden in the snow outside our building. They were embedded in an icy tire track, having been completely RUN OVER by a car, and were preserved from destruction by their icy casing. Amazingly, they were only a little bent at the arms, but otherwise unharmed. Now I have two pairs of glasses; a back-up pair in case I lose one in a battle royale.
Friday, February 04, 2005
Yuki Ga Sen [The Snowball Fight]
A couple of days ago it snowed big, soft flakes of snow all day. It was perfect packing snow, with lots of moisture. Coming home from school, I saw many of the foreign teachers outside the apartment that most of us share - the Highlife Morii. Monjun and Myles were there, and I winged the first snowball at Myles. It soon developed into a battle royal when T.R. (Theodore Royce, of all names!) and Colin joined, and then Jennifer took the cowards position on the second floor balcony above the fray. As punishment for this cowardly act and unfair tactical advantage, Myles took the top half of her stunted, two-ball snowman and hurled it at Colin. Fortunately the weight of the snowboulder was too much for a proper throw, or it would have instantly killed Colin instead of smashing upon his back of fearful defiance. Ha ha!
My main strategy of attack was the multiple scoop, rapid winging of snowballs, in which I stoop close to the ammunition and try to keep up a barrage of snowballs so that my opponent doesn't have the chance to aim properly. This works best at medium range and if you're too tired to aim carefully, which I was. It was quite effective against Myles and I felt no qualms about pelting him, because he knows Judo and he likes to make mother jokes from SNL. Myles then came after me and I ran to avoid the inevitable fury of his judo, but we ran out of driveway (the driveway in front of the Highlife was our staging ground, and it is about 40 metres long) so I slowed up, and he tackled me. I was unharmed.
Once we were too exhausted to throw snow at each other we all gave up and went inside. My pants were soaked, as were my shoes, my jacket, and my backpack, which I had been wearing all the while. I stripped and turned on the kerosene heater, even though I was radiating heat myself. I turned to getting a snack and checking my email, but I didn't have my glasses on. I looked in the usual spots and they weren't there, and immediately thought I had lost them in the snowball fight. You see I had taken them off and hung them one arm over the neck of my sweater so that I could see, because they were covered in ice from a head shot. Maybe they had fallen into the snow... I looked through my apartment carefully just in case. Twenty minutes later I went out into the snow with a flashlight to work against the dying light. But the flashlight was a cheap one I had picked up in Chiang Mai, and the batteries were dying.
To be continued...
My main strategy of attack was the multiple scoop, rapid winging of snowballs, in which I stoop close to the ammunition and try to keep up a barrage of snowballs so that my opponent doesn't have the chance to aim properly. This works best at medium range and if you're too tired to aim carefully, which I was. It was quite effective against Myles and I felt no qualms about pelting him, because he knows Judo and he likes to make mother jokes from SNL. Myles then came after me and I ran to avoid the inevitable fury of his judo, but we ran out of driveway (the driveway in front of the Highlife was our staging ground, and it is about 40 metres long) so I slowed up, and he tackled me. I was unharmed.
Once we were too exhausted to throw snow at each other we all gave up and went inside. My pants were soaked, as were my shoes, my jacket, and my backpack, which I had been wearing all the while. I stripped and turned on the kerosene heater, even though I was radiating heat myself. I turned to getting a snack and checking my email, but I didn't have my glasses on. I looked in the usual spots and they weren't there, and immediately thought I had lost them in the snowball fight. You see I had taken them off and hung them one arm over the neck of my sweater so that I could see, because they were covered in ice from a head shot. Maybe they had fallen into the snow... I looked through my apartment carefully just in case. Twenty minutes later I went out into the snow with a flashlight to work against the dying light. But the flashlight was a cheap one I had picked up in Chiang Mai, and the batteries were dying.
To be continued...
Monday, January 31, 2005
Pinning rampant combatants with mere mind control
Childishly sudden pitch variation on vocals and trumpets, up and down like a stereolab track, especially with trumpet accompaniment plays in the background, and I can't tell whether they're singing in French or Japanese, because it's the sweetest sounding Japanese I've ever heard. But whoever expected the sudden strum of a harp? As the other song says, the jingle of a dog's collar would go well right here, and I think I understand their whimsical sentiment, if not their musical choice. But this band is all loved.
Claire, I don't know if your band has whimsical trumpets or otherwise trumpets, but may I suggest them? And also, who would ever call an album "Bitches Brew"? But he was a genius and must be excused, and now this is just another musical side note, like that Orff was a sympathizer and Wagner was a downright nazi, and maybe that can be heard in their music of power and destructive perfect tenths.
A teacher and a student came to near fisticuffs before my eyes today, and all I could do was say "calm down, calm down... " and get ready to pin the kid if he should start swinging. Really poor control over the students here... not what I expected in Japan.
Must catch up on sleep lost to Saturday night's 11:30 to 5:30am karaoke session in Kyoto...
oyasuminasai minasan
Claire, I don't know if your band has whimsical trumpets or otherwise trumpets, but may I suggest them? And also, who would ever call an album "Bitches Brew"? But he was a genius and must be excused, and now this is just another musical side note, like that Orff was a sympathizer and Wagner was a downright nazi, and maybe that can be heard in their music of power and destructive perfect tenths.
A teacher and a student came to near fisticuffs before my eyes today, and all I could do was say "calm down, calm down... " and get ready to pin the kid if he should start swinging. Really poor control over the students here... not what I expected in Japan.
Must catch up on sleep lost to Saturday night's 11:30 to 5:30am karaoke session in Kyoto...
oyasuminasai minasan
The cat came back
This cat is going to stay. I've decided to stay for a second term in office, mainly due to the calls from my many wonderful supporters for me to continue in my position. It is a truly thankless position, and I am capable of so much more, but it's for the people. And for the money.
It would be so much cooler if I could move to a different part of Japan though. I mean, if I could move there, and Veronica could move there too, but I don't know if she would want to as her school is pretty decent and Ishiyama is pretty decent. Nagahama really is not the best place in Japan. I've heard this from many JETs who came from different areas of Japan and are now teaching in Japan. The only way you can do that is if you finish three years on JET and then continue as an elementary school teacher.
But now I must go to work, infused with a sense of purpose.
It would be so much cooler if I could move to a different part of Japan though. I mean, if I could move there, and Veronica could move there too, but I don't know if she would want to as her school is pretty decent and Ishiyama is pretty decent. Nagahama really is not the best place in Japan. I've heard this from many JETs who came from different areas of Japan and are now teaching in Japan. The only way you can do that is if you finish three years on JET and then continue as an elementary school teacher.
But now I must go to work, infused with a sense of purpose.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Threats have forced me back
Well I got two emails from two of my male friends back in the T-dot, and both of them referred to my blog. Ilir said what's the point of having a blog - it's just a cry for attention. And I suppose that's true, but then what's the point in trying to become a movie director if not to get your stories on the screen for all to see. I suppose you could counter that your stories are not a play-by-play of your life, but we all know the same motives are in operation. Ilir also mentioned his near-miss at getting some girl-action at his latest party. I mention this only for symmetry, because now we must move on to David.
David scolded me and said I should update my blog (the reverse of Ilir) and he downplayed his girl-chasing, saying it takes up only 8% of his time. (I have to use David's jokes in my blog because he's funnier than me.) Now if this isn't a case of parallel lives I don't know what is. Interestingly, David and Ilir met at a party once and didn't like each other. I think it's because they're both demi-Italian, witty, urbanite intellectuals with short brown hair and no girlfriends. Thus, they are natural competitors for both lavish intellectual attention and lavish vapid females, which they secretly desire while actually spending all of their time pursuing overly nerdy or JAP-y females. (N.B. JAP is an acronym for Jewish American Princess, not a WWII racist slur against my neighbours, nay, my human brothers and sisters.). And thus, as natural competitors they will eventually come into direct combat and bloody each others noses in a perfect mirror of Morley Callahan and Ernest Hemingway's infamous fisticuffs.
That's why I suggest you both go into some serious Chuck Norris-style training so that this fight will be brilliant, and I can watch and videotape it, and later sell the videotape to Biography when Ilir Pristine has won his Palme D'Or and is embroiled in a sex scandal, and David Marchese has ascended to CEO of some advertising firm with a contract to do PR for George Bush III's campaign. Not that David is right wing, it's just good business, dammit. Would you turn down that kind of cash if it was thrust at you? And besides, Bush 3 is new blood and he's running as an outsider, "against peace, prosperity and incumbency" - just like his dad when he was re-elected.
Insincerely,
A. Boylan
David scolded me and said I should update my blog (the reverse of Ilir) and he downplayed his girl-chasing, saying it takes up only 8% of his time. (I have to use David's jokes in my blog because he's funnier than me.) Now if this isn't a case of parallel lives I don't know what is. Interestingly, David and Ilir met at a party once and didn't like each other. I think it's because they're both demi-Italian, witty, urbanite intellectuals with short brown hair and no girlfriends. Thus, they are natural competitors for both lavish intellectual attention and lavish vapid females, which they secretly desire while actually spending all of their time pursuing overly nerdy or JAP-y females. (N.B. JAP is an acronym for Jewish American Princess, not a WWII racist slur against my neighbours, nay, my human brothers and sisters.). And thus, as natural competitors they will eventually come into direct combat and bloody each others noses in a perfect mirror of Morley Callahan and Ernest Hemingway's infamous fisticuffs.
That's why I suggest you both go into some serious Chuck Norris-style training so that this fight will be brilliant, and I can watch and videotape it, and later sell the videotape to Biography when Ilir Pristine has won his Palme D'Or and is embroiled in a sex scandal, and David Marchese has ascended to CEO of some advertising firm with a contract to do PR for George Bush III's campaign. Not that David is right wing, it's just good business, dammit. Would you turn down that kind of cash if it was thrust at you? And besides, Bush 3 is new blood and he's running as an outsider, "against peace, prosperity and incumbency" - just like his dad when he was re-elected.
Insincerely,
A. Boylan
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
How do I manage to get on their bad side?
Well, it happened. Again. I wonder if this is me or just everybody. Last Friday I had a difficult class with Goi. The class was loud, and I was delivering a prepared speech of my tsunami experience, the students were filling in the blanks, but most of them couldn't hear me because a few of them were carrying on a conversation. Goi sat at the back of the class, arms folded, with a surly pout planted on his face. Whenever there was an English word that the students didn't understand, there was confusion. I tried to communicate it in English, or use the little Japanese I have, but to no avail. And Goi wasn't doing anything to help. So from time to time I would ask him to translate the word into Japanese. He is, after all, my team teacher and he is a JTE, a Japanese Teacher of English. But his idea of teamwork was to snarl at me.
After class I spoke to him and said that he should help me to deliver the lesson and keep order. He made many excuses, and said there should only be English in the English class, which is bullshit. It's not an immersion class and every JTE uses Japanese in the classroom. Including Goi. We walked downstairs while talking, when I suggested that Goi shouldn't be sitting at the back of the class, silent, Goi countered with his philosophy of teaching which is: "I have my own way of teaching." Okay. I finished off basically asking him to fulfill the requirements of his job and said "that's not asking too much is it?" His response was "I'll think about it".
I had a feeling he was pissed off, and on Monday I found out. I looked at my schedule and saw we had a class together during third period. Third period rolled around and I walked over to his desk where he quickly looked the other way and hunched over his papers.
"Hi Goi sensei."
"We have a class together now."
Goi managed a grunt of assent. He hadn't looked at me yet. He finished writing on his paper and then sprang out of his chair and exited the room. I followed rather quickly, trying to keep up. He entered the classroom for the developmentally disabled kids - our current class - and we had only two students today. The other three were in the neighbouring classroom with their homeroom teacher. Without a word to me Goi gave out the two sheets to the kids and instructed them in Japanese. Then he studiously avoided looking at me and gazed out the window. Then, deciding that some communication was in order, I asked,
"What are the students working on?" No answer.
"What are they doing on the sheet?"
Goi: "They're doing the words."
"Are they writing them out?"
Goi: "Yeah."
He has a petulant way of talking, like a teenager who resents the existence of his parents. I wonder if this has something to do with the childish obedience Goi has to give to his parents, which Nick has told me about.
Then the weird thing happened. The two students left the room. Then Goi walked out of the room, and smirked at me as he slid the door shut. I was then in an empty room - and that's not good for teaching. I walked to the door, opened it, glanced outside. One of the kids was sitting on the floor in the hall. I don't know where the other kid went. I suspect that Goi bolted as soon as he slid the door shut, as he was nowhere in sight. I went to the neighbouring room and asked the homeroom teacher where Goi was. Dismayed, she ran downstairs to the teachers' room and I followed. From outside, I heard her call to Goi, who was at his desk, "You should go back to the classroom!" I came in and went over to Goi. He was shuffling papers on his desk.
"Why did you come here?!" Goi says angrily, almost snarling.
"I didn't know where everyone went. Where are the students?"
"WHY DO YOU HAVE TO ASK SO MANY QUESTIONS?? YOU CAN'T DO ANYTHING BY YOURSELF!" Goi was clearly enraged. I'm not sure why, except that he doesn't want to teach with me. He got up and rushed off to the class, and I followed. The students were back there, and I said "Goi sensei, we have to be able to communicate." His response was "That's a problem, because I don't want to talk to you."
"Okay. Well until you can talk to me, I'll be downstairs."
I went downstairs and told the vice principal about what happened. Unfortunately there was a communication barrier, so we got one of the English teachers involved, Muratta sensei, but his English was no better and they only got the general idea that there was some conflict with Goi. Possibly they understood that he flipped out. I hope so.
Later that day Goi got into an in-depth discussion with my tantosha, Taniguchi sensei. She is certainly not too keen on the ALTs. This did not bode well for me. First Goi flips out, then suddenly he's making a case against me with the woman who's my direct superior and the head of the English teachers. So after Goi finished I had a little talk with her. She said I had to change my teaching style to be more creative. More creative? Yes, like using my own little cards that I make up myself. Okaaaaaay. And this has what to do with that psycho Goi sensei? Oh. Apparently it's because I should not use Japanese in class. I must not rely on any Japanese translation.
She had no idea of what had happened with Goi that day, or on Friday. I started explaining what had happened and Taniguchi started to change her tune. She then said that he was a new teacher - less than one year - he hadn't actually gone to teachers' college and hadn't passed the teachers' test. This is how they do things in Japan. You can actually be a teacher for seven years without passing the teachers' test. You can fail it every year for seven years, and still be a teacher for that whole time. Suddenly his laissez faire teaching style starts to make more sense. The guy doesn't know what he's doing! On top of that, he's about as well-equipped psychologically as a fifteen-year-old with a grudge. Anyway, Taniguchi doesn't want to capitulate completely but she's clearly shocked by his behaviour. Hell, even Nick was shocked by his behaviour, and he's Goi's friend. We finish the conversation with lots of good advice on how I can adapt to Goi, who's too stressed to accomplish anything in the classroom except something resembling a Hieronymus Bosch. Which is not to say masterly, rather it's more like a medieval gathering in which people wander aimlessly and crawl out of hellish cracked eggs or have rooster legs. In the end I was supposed to talk to Goi. Tomorrow.
Today is that tomorrow, and we had our discussion. It was a meeting, in fact, with both Taniguchi and Nick in attendence, a full-on conference table, and an opposing-sides seating arrangement with full symmetry and proper symbolism. Great. Much bullshit was spewed. I was conciliatory and worked hard to get a resolution. I suggested we shake on it. We shook hands. Then Taniguchi left and he said "You're in Japan now, you should learn Japanese. I went to Canada...," yes, this nutjob was in Canada for a year, "... and I learned English." Well great, thanks for the scintillating advice. I'm glad we could rise above our petty differences.
After class I spoke to him and said that he should help me to deliver the lesson and keep order. He made many excuses, and said there should only be English in the English class, which is bullshit. It's not an immersion class and every JTE uses Japanese in the classroom. Including Goi. We walked downstairs while talking, when I suggested that Goi shouldn't be sitting at the back of the class, silent, Goi countered with his philosophy of teaching which is: "I have my own way of teaching." Okay. I finished off basically asking him to fulfill the requirements of his job and said "that's not asking too much is it?" His response was "I'll think about it".
I had a feeling he was pissed off, and on Monday I found out. I looked at my schedule and saw we had a class together during third period. Third period rolled around and I walked over to his desk where he quickly looked the other way and hunched over his papers.
"Hi Goi sensei."
"We have a class together now."
Goi managed a grunt of assent. He hadn't looked at me yet. He finished writing on his paper and then sprang out of his chair and exited the room. I followed rather quickly, trying to keep up. He entered the classroom for the developmentally disabled kids - our current class - and we had only two students today. The other three were in the neighbouring classroom with their homeroom teacher. Without a word to me Goi gave out the two sheets to the kids and instructed them in Japanese. Then he studiously avoided looking at me and gazed out the window. Then, deciding that some communication was in order, I asked,
"What are the students working on?" No answer.
"What are they doing on the sheet?"
Goi: "They're doing the words."
"Are they writing them out?"
Goi: "Yeah."
He has a petulant way of talking, like a teenager who resents the existence of his parents. I wonder if this has something to do with the childish obedience Goi has to give to his parents, which Nick has told me about.
Then the weird thing happened. The two students left the room. Then Goi walked out of the room, and smirked at me as he slid the door shut. I was then in an empty room - and that's not good for teaching. I walked to the door, opened it, glanced outside. One of the kids was sitting on the floor in the hall. I don't know where the other kid went. I suspect that Goi bolted as soon as he slid the door shut, as he was nowhere in sight. I went to the neighbouring room and asked the homeroom teacher where Goi was. Dismayed, she ran downstairs to the teachers' room and I followed. From outside, I heard her call to Goi, who was at his desk, "You should go back to the classroom!" I came in and went over to Goi. He was shuffling papers on his desk.
"Why did you come here?!" Goi says angrily, almost snarling.
"I didn't know where everyone went. Where are the students?"
"WHY DO YOU HAVE TO ASK SO MANY QUESTIONS?? YOU CAN'T DO ANYTHING BY YOURSELF!" Goi was clearly enraged. I'm not sure why, except that he doesn't want to teach with me. He got up and rushed off to the class, and I followed. The students were back there, and I said "Goi sensei, we have to be able to communicate." His response was "That's a problem, because I don't want to talk to you."
"Okay. Well until you can talk to me, I'll be downstairs."
I went downstairs and told the vice principal about what happened. Unfortunately there was a communication barrier, so we got one of the English teachers involved, Muratta sensei, but his English was no better and they only got the general idea that there was some conflict with Goi. Possibly they understood that he flipped out. I hope so.
Later that day Goi got into an in-depth discussion with my tantosha, Taniguchi sensei. She is certainly not too keen on the ALTs. This did not bode well for me. First Goi flips out, then suddenly he's making a case against me with the woman who's my direct superior and the head of the English teachers. So after Goi finished I had a little talk with her. She said I had to change my teaching style to be more creative. More creative? Yes, like using my own little cards that I make up myself. Okaaaaaay. And this has what to do with that psycho Goi sensei? Oh. Apparently it's because I should not use Japanese in class. I must not rely on any Japanese translation.
She had no idea of what had happened with Goi that day, or on Friday. I started explaining what had happened and Taniguchi started to change her tune. She then said that he was a new teacher - less than one year - he hadn't actually gone to teachers' college and hadn't passed the teachers' test. This is how they do things in Japan. You can actually be a teacher for seven years without passing the teachers' test. You can fail it every year for seven years, and still be a teacher for that whole time. Suddenly his laissez faire teaching style starts to make more sense. The guy doesn't know what he's doing! On top of that, he's about as well-equipped psychologically as a fifteen-year-old with a grudge. Anyway, Taniguchi doesn't want to capitulate completely but she's clearly shocked by his behaviour. Hell, even Nick was shocked by his behaviour, and he's Goi's friend. We finish the conversation with lots of good advice on how I can adapt to Goi, who's too stressed to accomplish anything in the classroom except something resembling a Hieronymus Bosch. Which is not to say masterly, rather it's more like a medieval gathering in which people wander aimlessly and crawl out of hellish cracked eggs or have rooster legs. In the end I was supposed to talk to Goi. Tomorrow.
Today is that tomorrow, and we had our discussion. It was a meeting, in fact, with both Taniguchi and Nick in attendence, a full-on conference table, and an opposing-sides seating arrangement with full symmetry and proper symbolism. Great. Much bullshit was spewed. I was conciliatory and worked hard to get a resolution. I suggested we shake on it. We shook hands. Then Taniguchi left and he said "You're in Japan now, you should learn Japanese. I went to Canada...," yes, this nutjob was in Canada for a year, "... and I learned English." Well great, thanks for the scintillating advice. I'm glad we could rise above our petty differences.
Monday, January 17, 2005
Can't... do... it.... !!X¿¿
My internet is very iffy lately. Usually I can't connect. Thus, I can't communicate with people. Also, I can't communicate with tech support because they only speak Japanese. My friend Monjun is giving them a call for me now. I hope this gets sorted out.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Vietnam Photo Journal
Part II of the photo journal is Vietnam. All of these pictures are from Hanoi, which is the big city in the north. I'm embarrassed to say I don't even know if it's the capital, or if that's Ho Chi Minh in the south. I'll find out. I also spent some time in Nha Trang and Hoi An, two cities further south.
Ha Long bay, near Hanoi, Vietnam. The view from the steps to the cave.
Me and my backyard - Ha Long Bay.
Our luxurious Junk.
Relaxing at the Puku cafe. From left it's Steffi (the German), Michelle (the Scott), Me (the Martian) and Veronica (the Canadian). Puku was so wonderfully chill and had good food, friendly people and funky music. I spent many hours there reading Grisham pulp.
A railway that passes right through a narrow residential road.
The delicious Tamarind cafe, where we ate far too many meals because it was veggie and we had many vegetarians and it was cheap. Steffi and Veronica are accosted by one of the ubiquitous fruit merchants who walk the streets. Michelle observes, amused.
A busy but normal street in Hanoi. I almost got hit by a motorcycle that day. She stopped with the tire touching my toe.
Unsanitary meat. I guess that was my lunch the next day.
Michelle, Steffi and Veronica eating on the street. Dirty-licious!
Ha Long bay, near Hanoi, Vietnam. The view from the steps to the cave.
Me and my backyard - Ha Long Bay.
Our luxurious Junk.
Relaxing at the Puku cafe. From left it's Steffi (the German), Michelle (the Scott), Me (the Martian) and Veronica (the Canadian). Puku was so wonderfully chill and had good food, friendly people and funky music. I spent many hours there reading Grisham pulp.
A railway that passes right through a narrow residential road.
The delicious Tamarind cafe, where we ate far too many meals because it was veggie and we had many vegetarians and it was cheap. Steffi and Veronica are accosted by one of the ubiquitous fruit merchants who walk the streets. Michelle observes, amused.
A busy but normal street in Hanoi. I almost got hit by a motorcycle that day. She stopped with the tire touching my toe.
Unsanitary meat. I guess that was my lunch the next day.
Michelle, Steffi and Veronica eating on the street. Dirty-licious!
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Freezing my ass off in Ishiyama
It is really incredible how cold it is indoors. It's got to be close to zero degrees in Veronica's apartment. I'm sitting with a heater aproximately 6 inches from my ass and my flanks are cold!
The gang of Mike D, Shannon, Warren and I came down south to Ishiyama tonight (on a schoolnight!) to watch a movie and - to my surprise - eat dinner. Veronica prepared a lovely stir fry and potato furai (fries) and some salad, but I wasn't sure if there would be dinner so I ate nikuman on the way. How boorish of me. Nikuman are these doughy balls that have meat in the middle and are only available in the winter in Japan. They sell them in the combinis for 100 yen (convenience stores for a dollar). So I was only half hungry but I enjoyed the well-prepared feast, and then we all sat down and flipped through some of the dvds I bought in Vietnam for a dollar each. We ended up choosing "The Whole Ten Yards" which was filmed in the theatre by someone with a video camera, and the sound would cut low every time gunshots happened. Also it was one of the most rambling, pointless movies I've seen. The evil Hungarian boss was funny though. "You want a slice of the pee?" etc. in a non-Hungarian way.
I got a slight reprieve in my work hours tomorrow morning so that I don't have to get up at 5:30 to catch an early train from Ishiyama to Nagahama. I'll be able to get a regular sleep, which is good because I need it.
Started reading Atwood's "The Blind Assassin" today. It's nice to read about Toronto, makes me feel at home even in far-away Japan. I can't help thinking Atwood was consciously referring to the other Margaret's "The Stone Angel" in some parts, and to "A Bird in the House" in others. This is what taking a Margaret Laurence seminar does to one.
Did I mention it's cold?
The gang of Mike D, Shannon, Warren and I came down south to Ishiyama tonight (on a schoolnight!) to watch a movie and - to my surprise - eat dinner. Veronica prepared a lovely stir fry and potato furai (fries) and some salad, but I wasn't sure if there would be dinner so I ate nikuman on the way. How boorish of me. Nikuman are these doughy balls that have meat in the middle and are only available in the winter in Japan. They sell them in the combinis for 100 yen (convenience stores for a dollar). So I was only half hungry but I enjoyed the well-prepared feast, and then we all sat down and flipped through some of the dvds I bought in Vietnam for a dollar each. We ended up choosing "The Whole Ten Yards" which was filmed in the theatre by someone with a video camera, and the sound would cut low every time gunshots happened. Also it was one of the most rambling, pointless movies I've seen. The evil Hungarian boss was funny though. "You want a slice of the pee?" etc. in a non-Hungarian way.
I got a slight reprieve in my work hours tomorrow morning so that I don't have to get up at 5:30 to catch an early train from Ishiyama to Nagahama. I'll be able to get a regular sleep, which is good because I need it.
Started reading Atwood's "The Blind Assassin" today. It's nice to read about Toronto, makes me feel at home even in far-away Japan. I can't help thinking Atwood was consciously referring to the other Margaret's "The Stone Angel" in some parts, and to "A Bird in the House" in others. This is what taking a Margaret Laurence seminar does to one.
Did I mention it's cold?
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Ah, those were the days...
Having picnics and chasing butterflies on green lawns in the sunshine, beneath the humming power lines at the suburban park, I remember all too fondly my days in Ajax and wonder if almost anything can be romanticized with the passing of time. It's what I grew up with and one day I'll have to return there, maybe not to the suburbs, but at least to live in Toronto when I'm old if I never go back while I'm young. But I think fond memories favour the summers, though I can recall the winters well enough, and even some heart-pumping snowball matches with Sarain and the local kids at James S. Bell, and the few good shots I got in. Sarain was always on my side because I was never a good enough shot to go it alone, and she could be counted on for the right amount of indignation if someone started packing iceballs instead of snowballs. The kids usually listened to that, I think. But summer days beat the wintertime hands down, and that's why I'd better live in a warm clime - maybe France or mild England though it's got it's share of rain for sure - and make some memories there. Then I can be nostalgic for those places when I'm older, and how much better is that than chilly old Nagahama?
Went back to school today and distributed Vietnamese candies and some bowls to the very special four people who got them by virtue or by station. My tantosha definitely got hers by station. She didn't even welcome me back or ask about the tsunami, though everyone else did, including teachers who had never spoken to me before. I told the story so many times it's getting to be a little polished. I'm having fun with it. I have my first solo class tomorrow - long overdue - but I'm not eager for it. Photocopied activities from the book. I'm sure they'll love it.
Went back to school today and distributed Vietnamese candies and some bowls to the very special four people who got them by virtue or by station. My tantosha definitely got hers by station. She didn't even welcome me back or ask about the tsunami, though everyone else did, including teachers who had never spoken to me before. I told the story so many times it's getting to be a little polished. I'm having fun with it. I have my first solo class tomorrow - long overdue - but I'm not eager for it. Photocopied activities from the book. I'm sure they'll love it.
Return to Nagahama
I'm back in the 'Hama, safe and cold again in my apartment. Veronica visited for the afternoon because we were both lonely. How sad to be lonely so quickly, but it really is isolating being in Japan in the wintertime. People don't go out much. I don't even feel like walking in my kitchen, the floor is so cold. Where are those slippers?
School tomorrow morning. Bed now.
p.s. I slept fifteen hours after getting in yesterday.
School tomorrow morning. Bed now.
p.s. I slept fifteen hours after getting in yesterday.
Monday, January 10, 2005
Tidal Wave Photo Journal
This fateful day fell almost midway in my vacation in south-east Asia. Since the second day I had been at odds with most of the group I was travelling with. Ben, Dan and, to a lesser extent, Mike (not Mike Dobkin - other Mike) had established a kind of power triumvirate and had ceased listening to outside input. Unfortunately I had already bought tickets to Ao Nang and reserved a room at the guest house. I should have gone my own way after Chiang Mai. On December 26th we decided to go on a snorkelling trip. I was tempted to do something else, just to have time away from them, but the thought of snorkelling compelled me to come along.
Remember, you can click on the picture to enlarge it.
We went out in a longtail boat, trying to ignore the tension in our group.
The coastline is rugged and beautiful. Many strange rock formations dot the coast.
This was our captain, who went by the curious name of Mr. Yes. After the tidal wave hit he walked several kilometres over mountainous terrain back to civilization.
A peaceful Phra Nang beach and our longtail boat. Twenty minutes later as we were climbing in the boat to take off Mr. Yes spotted the tidal wave.
The wave begins sucking in boats. In the background you can see the mast of a small sailboat whose fate I don't know.
The wave overpowers the captains and they have to give up their boats.
The boats abandoned, we retreat from the wave.
We ran up a mountain, a shaken band of sunbathers and Thai resort workers. In the chaos, Ben, Dan and Mike went their own way. I made sure to stay close to Richelle. She didn't have any shoes and the mountain was rough.
Confusion on the mountain. Information was unreliable and there were at least six different languages among us.
We had to sit on the lava rocks or a sliding dirt hill. Many people had no shoes. This couple is Czech and their 16 year old daughter was in tears a couple of feet away.
The Thai's took the highest ground, clambering nimbly up lava rock.
Richelle and I emerge from the jungle after rappelling down the mountainside along with children, injured people and all others. It was very dangerous.
A map of where we were. We started out on Phra Nang beach but crossed the mountain after 6 hours crouching and waiting for news.
Fish in the sidewalk, about 200 metres from the beach on the other side of the mountain from Phra Nang (where we started).
The resort at Railay beach. The pool is unnaturally full and has a deck chair in it. It felt strange that the evening sky was clear and beautiful.
Everything loose was picked up and thrown back somewhere else.
Boats were piled everywhere on their sides, upside down, and some where smashed. None were seaworthy to get us out of there.
We trekked up a hill to a safe resort between the mountains that evening. This is a view of the refugees from the Good View bar and hotel in the hills. They were still serving beer and overcharging for food when the refugees settled in.
The lawn in front of the hotel was filled with people who spent the night out there. Richelle and I slept on a wooden deck due to her grass allergy, and I had a concrete beam jutting beneath my back.
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The next morning, hundreds gathered on a boat-strewn beach to await evacuation.
Richelle waiting for the rescue boat. She really didn't want me to take this picture but it was too late. It had been taken. Now she's glad.
I'm waiting for rescue boats on Railay beach. In the end we crossed to another beach because the waves were too fierce here. Really? Fierce?
Remember, you can click on the picture to enlarge it.
We went out in a longtail boat, trying to ignore the tension in our group.
The coastline is rugged and beautiful. Many strange rock formations dot the coast.
This was our captain, who went by the curious name of Mr. Yes. After the tidal wave hit he walked several kilometres over mountainous terrain back to civilization.
A peaceful Phra Nang beach and our longtail boat. Twenty minutes later as we were climbing in the boat to take off Mr. Yes spotted the tidal wave.
The wave begins sucking in boats. In the background you can see the mast of a small sailboat whose fate I don't know.
The wave overpowers the captains and they have to give up their boats.
The boats abandoned, we retreat from the wave.
We ran up a mountain, a shaken band of sunbathers and Thai resort workers. In the chaos, Ben, Dan and Mike went their own way. I made sure to stay close to Richelle. She didn't have any shoes and the mountain was rough.
Confusion on the mountain. Information was unreliable and there were at least six different languages among us.
We had to sit on the lava rocks or a sliding dirt hill. Many people had no shoes. This couple is Czech and their 16 year old daughter was in tears a couple of feet away.
The Thai's took the highest ground, clambering nimbly up lava rock.
Richelle and I emerge from the jungle after rappelling down the mountainside along with children, injured people and all others. It was very dangerous.
A map of where we were. We started out on Phra Nang beach but crossed the mountain after 6 hours crouching and waiting for news.
Fish in the sidewalk, about 200 metres from the beach on the other side of the mountain from Phra Nang (where we started).
The resort at Railay beach. The pool is unnaturally full and has a deck chair in it. It felt strange that the evening sky was clear and beautiful.
Everything loose was picked up and thrown back somewhere else.
Boats were piled everywhere on their sides, upside down, and some where smashed. None were seaworthy to get us out of there.
We trekked up a hill to a safe resort between the mountains that evening. This is a view of the refugees from the Good View bar and hotel in the hills. They were still serving beer and overcharging for food when the refugees settled in.
The lawn in front of the hotel was filled with people who spent the night out there. Richelle and I slept on a wooden deck due to her grass allergy, and I had a concrete beam jutting beneath my back.
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The next morning, hundreds gathered on a boat-strewn beach to await evacuation.
Richelle waiting for the rescue boat. She really didn't want me to take this picture but it was too late. It had been taken. Now she's glad.
I'm waiting for rescue boats on Railay beach. In the end we crossed to another beach because the waves were too fierce here. Really? Fierce?
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