A Walrus in Japan

Fat Men Should Not Climb Mountains

2010-01-08T01:02:00.000-08:00

And so my story continues...

The next day I went to Miyajima Island to see my second of the three most beautiful sights in Japan. It was indeed beautiful, and took approximately 5 minutes to see. Not knowing what else to do on the island, I took the suggestion of the guidebook and decided to go up the local mountain. The guidebook said it was an easy climb. I hate that guidebook with all my soul.

As you know, I am fat. While I am smaller than I once was, I am still fat, and I need to make something abundantly clear: FAT MEN SHOULD NOT CLIMB MOUNTAINS! God himself should have decreed this in the form of an 11th Commandment or something. I don't know. But it should not happen. Yet still, I tried, I struggled, and I kept hauling my sweaty ass up that damn mountain. During the ascent, probably about 3/4ths of the way up, I was just too damn tired to carry on. I needed a rest, so I sat down on a stone step on the walkway.

At that moment, a group of four old women, once again probably 60+, rounded the bend with walking sticks in hand. They were quite alarmed at seeing me sitting there. Trying to reassure them, I smiled and said in Japanese I'm just taking a short rest because I'm out of shape and the climb is difficult for a fat man. They laughed at my joke, and told me I should get up and keep moving and try my best, or as the Japanese say, ganbarre. I told them I would in a moment, I just needed to rest a bit. That's when they turned serious.

The one in front gave me a bit of a lecture, and I didn't understand all of it, but from what I could make out, she was saying a young man like me should be able to beat some old women like them to the top of the mountain. I laughed, a little embarrassed, and said I will in one minute. Then she poked me with her walking stick. I was surprised, and so did nothing. She began to walk past me, and as she did, she kept poking me. The second walked past, face serious, and kept with the poking. Same with the third. The fourth, though, undoubtedly the oldest of the group, was not content with that.

She stood there, rapping me on my thigh. So, irritated by this, I stood up, ready to walk up the mountain. That's when she held her stick like a baseball bat, and with all of her might, cracked me in the ass with it, shouting the only English word I heard any of them say: "RUN!"

With no better ideas, and wanting her to stop hitting me, I started walking. Crack. She hit me again. "RUN!" Crack. While the blows were not painful (she was quite old), the combination of a small amount of shame and a whole lot of fear of this crazy old woman led me to start moving as fast as I could up the mountain, past the first three, who resumed the poking, and all the way to the top. The view was beautiful, but I was too bewildered by what just happened to appreciate it.

I did some other tourist stuff that day, nothing too exciting, ate some good food, and as night came I once again found myself bored. It is, I suppose, the main problem with traveling alone. So, I naturally decided to hit up the nightlife. In Hiroshima, there's an area not far from my hotel that is well renowned for its drinking establishments. That's where I had gone the previous night, but on this night, I took a different route, not wanting to accidentally run into the people I had met the night before (different story). This decision will doom me for the rest of my life.

As I was walking, I passed a building that caused me to pause and look closer. Upon inspection, I realized that this was exactly the same kind of strip club as the one I had visited on my last trip. I stopped for a little bit and thought it over. The last Japanese strip club I went to was quite bizarre, but it provided me with stories and Polaroid's that will last me the rest of my life. Realizing I really had nothing better to do, and as this could possibly be my only chance to enter this establishment, I decided to dare the gods and enter. After all, after the weird blindfold tree branch girl, how could this possibly be more bizarre? Dear god, I was wrong...

What I was presented with upon entering that club, I will not put into writing. I CANNOT put it into writing, because that will somehow make it more true. If you're reading this, you probably know me, and thus will probably speak to me at some point. Ask me about it. I will then tell you how horrible and cruel this world truly can be. I will only say this: that place has ruined me for all eternity.

After 15 minutes of a hell that was impossible for me to escape, other girls did rather tasteful and interesting numbers, but I was too damaged from the initial...... disturbance to enjoy or remember it clearly. I do recall one girl in a samurai like uniform giving sake to the handful of us watching, and then cutting melons in half with her sword. I also remember a drunk old man throwing a giant hollow basket onto the stage for reasons only known to him.

Afterwards, I found myself in the lobby, talking to the dancers after all the other customers have gone home. It was really interesting. Apparently, at these kinds of clubs, there are no regular workers. They tour the country, changing cities every 10 days. I learned a lot about their work, about how much time they put into their routines, and about how the buildings are getting few and the audiences getting smaller. There was a lot about what they did that reminded me somewhat of burlesque in the old days.

A professor in grad school, who I can't remember, once said that when doing resarch, you need to find a story that needs to be told, and then to tell that story. I think this form of theater, and I would say about 65% of it is performance art, the other 35% erotica, is a story that desperately needs to have it's history recorded and told, before it's lost. Unfortunately, I'm neither smart enough nor skilled enough at Japanese to do so. But goddamn I think it would make a fascinating book. I'm actually kind of sad that this story will probably never be told...

But then again, considering the fact that the first 15 minutes has rendered me unable to look at a woman again, maybe that's not such a bad thing.

Mental Scars

2010-01-07T22:04:00.000-08:00

I think that one of the things I will regret as I look back on my time in Japan is not having taken more solo trips. It's not so much that I like traveling by myself, but odd, interesting, and occasionally frightening things seem to happen to me when I do.

The past few days I went to Hiroshima. There, I saw images that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I went to the Peace Memorial Museum, and its images of what happened after the bombing were truly haunting. I highly recommend anyone to go there, as it was informative and impactful... but that's not what disturbed me during this trip.

I got there on Wednesday, and promptly went to the Peace Park. It was, like I said, informative, and I enjoyed it in the sense that I enjoy history stuff. But of course, you really can't enjoy such a thing in the normal sense of the word. After that I checked into my hotel, had dinner, and then went to the theater.

If you're reading this blog, you know me, and thus, you know I like the theater. Not as much as I once did, but still, I enjoy it. Not knowing what to do by myself in the evening in the city, I had checked the Internet and found a theater not far from my hotel. I couldn't tell exactly what kind of shows they had, but it looked Japanese-esque, so I thought I'd give it a shot. The fun begins upon finding the building.

It wasn't so big of a building, three floors and not overly wide. I check the map to make sure I'm at the right place. OK. I walk into the lobby and there are pictures of folks in traditional Japanese clothes on a stage. This is the right place, I find myself thinking. I walk a little further in, and notice the pictures had changed. Now, it was pictures of topless women who seemed to be in various states of distress. Ok, this is a little bit strange. I look around, hoping to find someone who works there, and find that I'm all alone. So, I start heading to what looks to be the doors to the main theater.

I never should have opened those doors. Why not? Because the warning was there. The pictures had changed again, now showing scantily clad men tied up by ropes. That should have been enough to keep me out. But I'd seen some weird things in Japan, figured it was just some random pictures (this is Japan, after all), and opened the door. The next 10 seconds will be etched in my brain for the rest of my life. All I saw was a giant movie screen, and on that screen were two men. One was tied up in a very complex rope web, and the other was... doing things to him. Painful things. Things that scarred me for life.

Naturally I hastily exited, shaken, and determined to find some way to scrub the image from my mind. Thankfully, I had no time to dwell on the matter, as I was immediately confronted by a man who seemed to be the owner/operator of this establishment. He looked quite irate, asking me what I was doing. I explained I was looking for the theater, the dramatic kind. He told me to go to the third floor, as this floor was a theater for gay bondage porn.

I should have gone home then, but I didn't want him to think I was trying to get a free look at some gay bondage porn, so I promptly went upstairs to the third floor. I do not know what was on the second floor. I do not want to know, and may god have mercy on whoever finds out.

I got off the elevator, and was confronted by a room of about 30 or so 65+ year-old women. All conversation in the room stopped as they began to stare at me. I bought my ticket. They stared. I went to the smoking corner. They stared. I went into the theater and took my seat. I assume they continued to stare, but I can't be certain as I tried to slink as far down into my chair as possible. This proved impossible, though, since I found that these seats were meant for use by old women, not for large, fat foreigners. I could not fit in, and I think there are still indentations on the sides of my legs from the seat. The old women filed in, and we sat there waiting for the show to start.

I have since learned that this particular brand of theater is known as Taishuu Engeki. What that means, I do not know. But it was a bit odd. The curtain went up, and on the stage were five men and two women dressed in feudal Japanese costumes. I say women, but I really couldn't tell. The Japanese theater convention of men filling women's roles may have extended here, but if it did, those two were the most convincing female impersonators I have ever seen.

While I expected a dramatic performance, I did not get one, at least not at first. What I did get was these seven people jumping around and dancing on the stage. I don't know what kind of dance, except that occasionally the lights would go out and the spotlight would focus on one of the performers' faces, and the old women would begin cheering wildly. This continued for about 30 minutes, non-stop dancing, spot light focusing, and old women cheering like crazy. At one point, there was only one guy on stage dancing, and as he neared the edge of the stage, a handful of old women ran up and began shoving what looked to be money into his clothes. I worried that somehow I had found myself in an old Japanese woman's version of a strip club, and found no comfort in the handful of old men that had filed in.

The dancing abruptly stopped, the house lights came up, and an announcement was made that there would be a short intermission. Thankful for the chance to get out of that godforsaken chair, I went back to the lobby and noticed the entrance of two young attractive ladies. They went into the theater, and lacking all common sense, I decided to sit behind them. Bored and curious, and since they looked about the same age as me, I tried to strike up conversation. They turned, looked at me with utmost revulsion and disgust, and moved to the opposite end of the theater.

What followed was a two hour play about samurai honor that in any language and circumstance would have been incredibly boring, but I was the only one that found it so, as evidenced by the constant wild cheering at odd times. This was followed by another short dance routine. During this second dance sequence, there was a point when the youngest member of the male cast was dancing solo. For reasons I cannot fathom, towards the end of his routine, a man in what looked to be his early forties ran down to the stage and gave the young dancer a case of canned coffee. He gave him a case of canned coffee. Not flowers, or money, or something else... Canned coffee. The dancer thanked the man and left, I hope as bewildered as I was. Not long after, I too left, having had my fill of whatever this was. I decided to go for a drink, and the places I went and the people I met are a story for another time. Afterward, I went to bed, believing the strangest of my experience for this trip were behind me. I was wrong.

TO be continued, possibly tomorrow.

And it continues.

2009-10-29T23:50:00.000-07:00

Let us continue where we left off, leaving the porno-theatrical performance and venture forth to a different brand of craziness.

We head out to Ken's girlfriend's bar. She's the owner/operater/mama-san of a hostess bar that only employs the most beautiful women or L's mistresses. Often they're one and the same. Though, this apparently causes scheduling problems, and any two of them can't work there at the same time.

Ken's girlfriend is Aya. She doesn't speak much English, but Ken's been teaching her little by little. The first thing she ever learned was "Fuck you, Asshole," which she pronounces quite well. Her vocabulary expanded from there. Really fun person. So, at the table is L, Cut, Aya, two hostesses named Chika and Rei, and myself. We learn at this point that Ken cannot come due to work.

At this point let me tell you a little about Ken. ken is half american, half japanese, lived all his life in Japan. He's built like a goddamn brick house. He is a massive human being, 115 kilos of pure
muscle. He claims that his job involves collecting electronics and selling them to China. Yeah... that in and of itself is pretty damn shady, but doing this until 1 in the morning? Hmmm...

Regardless, really fun guy, real nice guy, and he has a new passion for mixed martial arts. Apparently, about six months ago, he decided he was going to try to take it up. He's been training for six months. During that training, he has competed in 6 amateur fights and one... I dunno... semi-professional? Anyway, Aya has all his bouts on DVD. She put them on the TV, and we watched them. Every single one was won by knock out. None lasted longer then 30 seconds. I have never seen someone destroy a human being like Ken can. I honestly believe that one of his opponents is now dead. Or crippled. but probably dead. I decided then and there that, though Aya may be one of the hottest women I've met in recent memory, I will under no circumstances even make it appear like I'm hitting on her.

The rest of the night continues as usual when I hang out with the unsavory sort that was present. Lots of dick and sex jokes, more inquires over my masturbation habits then I care to say (or answer), and L shouting pussy about once every two minutes. Somehow I found myself standing on the table singing Eminem's "Lose Yourself" to a wildly cheering crowd. The one girl, Rei, it was discovered loves origami. I thought this was a little weird, and asked if she regularly folds origami. She says every day. I ask her if she could make something for me. Out comes a giant stack of origami papers. For the next 2 hours, Rei says nothing, looks at no one, does nothing but crank out origami after origami. There were mounds of god only knows what strewn all over the table. It was impressive. It was also a little creepy.

As the night starts coming to a close, about 2 am, my two new "brothers" as they insist I call them decide to leave. Since they were my ride, I make to call a taxi, when Aya demands that I allow her to take me home. I see Ken killing people. I decline. She insists. I see flashes of blood on Ken's fist. I decline. She refuses to take no for an answer, takes my hand, takes Rei's hand, and out the bar and into a van we go. I have no idea who this old guy driving the van was. The entire van was outfitted with that shag carpetting. there were no seats in the back. I could tell that this van had gotten a lot of usage, if you know what I mean, and I think you do, you sick bastard. Thankfully/unfortuantely, we arrived at my hotel without incident except for me getting Rei's phone number. Aya informs the driver that this is my stop. The van starts to slow. Aya says to me "get ready." Get ready for what? "You have to jump out." The van slows, does not stop, Aya opens the door, and yells "Go." Fearing the alternative, I leap out of the van and into the relative safety of the front of the hotel.

Rei and Aya wave goodbye from the open door as they speed away.

I tried to call Rei's number the next day. The number is not in service.

I then had various other adventures at this point, involving a toothless convenience store clerk, being tackled by a random college student I don't know, and having three beautiful women threaten to call the police on me. I wish I could completely relate that part of the story but, in all honesty, the drink has made that memory way too hazy...

I go up to my hotel room, intent on calling it a night. I get ready for bed, lie down, about to drift off to sleep. Suddenly, there's a knock on my door. I look at the clock. it's three in the morning.
Confused and a little disturbed, I open the door. Before me is a rather gorgeous girl, probably in her early twenties. She informs me that L sent her.

Now, this could have gone a variety of ways. She makes it known that L sent her over to... you get the idea. I was sleep deprived, very drunk, and very inclined to lay the pipe, as they say, at that particular moment. This girl was indeed beautiful, and really, let's face it, guys like me don't get to have sex with beautiful people unless there's money involved. This was a wonderful opportunity....

I really want to say that I did the right thing, that I brought this girl into my hotel room and rocked her world. I really want to say that I did that. Because I kind of wish I did. But, alas, I was an idiot. I politely informed the girl that I have a girlfriend, and that while I'm not sure about the current state of my relationship, I must decline her offer. She said she understands and left. I went to bed alone. For not fulfilling her duty, that girl is probably dead by now.

The next day, I woke up with the worst hangover of my life and a large amount of bewilderment.

An Adventure into the Underworld

2009-10-02T17:46:00.001-07:00

Warning, this post is both exceedingly long and... um... sexually explicit. Parts of this post are definitely a little... well... yeah, you probably shouldn't read this. Adults only, and may god have mercy on your soul.

So, I realize I haven't updated my blog in a long, long time. And, honestly, I had no plans to ever update it again. Just fell by the wayside. But this just seemed too sureal to not put into writing.

I recently went to visit my friend Ken in Ishikawa Prefecture. Ishikawa is a good ways away from Kyoto, so I don't get to hang out with Ken very often. But every time I do, it's good times. This time was something else.

I got to Ishikawa, checked into my hotel, and gave Ken a call. He said he's working, but he and his friends will meet me at the local convenience store at 8:30. I say ok, and spend the day wandering around a local mountain and getting attacked by all manner of wild
critters and almost falling to my death from some old tower. 8:15 comes along, and I head on over to the conbini. About that time, Ken calls me, telling me there's a problem at work, and he can't make it until later, maybe not at all. But his friend L and L's buddy will meet me and take me to "a place of interest."

Let me briefly tell you about L. L is a Japanese yakuza, and if you don't know what that means, well, wikipedia is a wonderful thing. Regardless, he's absolutely insane, rich, drinks like a fish, married and has an uncountable number of mistresses, and doesn't speak a word of English. Well, that's a lie. He actually knows the word "pussy." Which he yells. Constantly. Neverendingly. Out car windows. at random passersby, at police. Apparently, he likes the English word pussy. L's friend is a surprisingly normal person, except for his name. He told me to call him "Cut." Thinking I misheard, I asked him to repeat, and he once again says "Cut, like scissors cut!" I never asked why, and not sure I want to know.

The two of them pick me up, and we head over to a place that has no name. Honestly, the place has no name, so I was, at this point, still marginally confused as to where we were going. I happened to notice the pictures of beautiful women on the walls, so I figured it was your
standard hostess bar. I couldn't have been more wrong.

We enter, and there is a stage, built not unlike a runway at a fashion show. Surrounding the stage are about a hundred folding chairs. There are two of the dirtiest looking human being occupying two of them, and that's it. The toothless owner/operator and his friend who... well... I don't think does anything... told us to take a seat. I turned to L and asked in Japanese what this place was. His response was unintelligible. I told him I didn't understand. He said pussy. I said ok.

We sit down, and I learn very soon that this is a strip club. However, it is unlike any strip club I have ever been to. While I'm sure that somewhere in Japan there are what I would consider to be "normal" strip clubs, this definitely was not it. The bulk of this story is now attempting to describe what happened on stage...

The first dance comes out. She's attractive, long dark hair, maybe in her late 20s, and dressed in something like a robe. None of this surprised me. What did surprise me was that she was blindfolded and carried a........ tree branch in her mouth. I don't know. She has a tree branch. and she was biting it. And I don't know why. The music starts and it's something like traditional Japanese music: taiko drums, koto, woman wailing, that sort of thing. The dancer does the most intricate dance routine I've ever seen for a strip club. I was impressed. It was well choreographed. It was pretty much art. But through it all, I was confused, why was she still wearing the robe? And why did she still have the tree branch? As she moved closer to where the five of us were sitting, she threw off her robe, and she was naked, except I noticed something strapped to her left leg. I couldn't make out what it was, despite being only five feet in front
of me. I would soon find out.

As she gets in front of us, she drops down to her knees and does what I can only describe as interpretive dance. Then, she removes the black thing from her leg. I realize it was a dildo strapped to her. Not that I've seen many dildos, I don't think I've ever seen something like this. The sheer size of it made my outie become an innie out of intimidation. I will not get tooo graphic, but let's just say things were done on stage that I couldn't believe anatomically possible.
But, while with one hand, she's going to work like crazy with that.... bludgeoning device, her other hand is still doing interpretive dance moves. I can't think of how to describe it... it was like part pornographer, part art, and all ridiculous.

The song starts winding down, apparently she finishes what she came here to do, and stands up. But wait, I find myself thinking. where did that giant dildo go? I look, it's not in her hands. It's not strapped to her leg. It's not on the floor. I notice it's still half way in, and then, she does a little pirouet, and it's gone. Disappeared. I don't know, sucked in? What the fuck was that? How? It's not possible..... the woman is a magician.

There is scattered applause from the five of us, she takes a bow, and goes backstage. I figure that's the last of it. But then, the house lights come up, and she walks back out. And she comes up to us and starts jabbering away. I have no idea what she's saying. I turn to L, and he's gesturing madly at me. I turn to Cut. He's laughing hysterically. I realize they are no help. I turn back to the stage, and in one hand, the woman has a polaroid camera. The other is making
a "thumbs up/thumbs down" gesture. I learn that for a very small fee (about $5 U.S.) you can get a polaroid of you and the dance and you can choose the pose. Before I knew it, L was forcing me onstage and giving commands as to how she should pose, while Cut was readying the
camera.

I have never wished that I had a scanner so much as I do now. It is really and truly hilarious.

So, there is then a 15 minute intermission. Why that long, I don't know, but there you have it. It was at this time that the Old Men enter. Now I've seen dirty old men before. I will probably become a dirty old man myself. But I wasn't prepared for this. There were five of them, at an average age of early 70s. They were dressed in yukata's from the same hotel I'm staying at, and they were accompanied by an old woman, similarly dressed. During the next two shows (which
will be described, don't worry, cause they get weird... er.) the men have what can only be said to be the happiest faces on the face of the planet. I've never seen anyone look so happy as these men. Except when the Old Woman of Doom did her thing. She sat behind them, and periodically, for no discernable reason, would hit one of them at random on the back of the head, usually making his glasses fall off. She moved from seat to seat hitting these happy men and interrupting what seemed to be the happiest moment of their lives.

The next dancer came out on stage. She was dressed in a full kimono. I've seen traditional Japanese dances before. This was EXACTLY that. I feel like I've seen this exact dance before. She's moving in slow measured movements, and I was struck by just how out of place it seemed. It was a sad dance. The music... well... think of a movie, and think of, in that movie, the saddest part, where the hero's lover dies, or the little boy's dog slowly passes away. That heavy violin,
cello, depressing stuff. It didn't seem to fit anything about this place.

After about five minutes of this excrutiatingly boring (though impressive) performance, she disappears offstage. In what has to be the quickest costume change in the history of the world, she jumps back on stage in a completely different outfit. This was... i don't know what you'd call it. It was like a yukata, but really, really, really small and short. and the music starts blaring, this godawful super energy J-Pop crap. and she's bouncing around the stage like a Japanese idol singer... At this point, I didn't know what the hell was going on, and was about to turn to my companions to voice my confusion, when the music just suddenly stops. One second, bouncing happy idol with J-Pop music, next moment she's crawling around on the floor in front of us, naked, with the depressing dirge back. It kind of made me want to cry. The music, her sudden awkward movements and failed attempts to do anything even remotely sexy... it just... I
don't know... man, I was depressed.

Her performance was blissfully short, and I stepped outside for a smoke. Why is this place the only place where I can't smoke inside? Meh. Regardless, my guides joined me, and we chatted up the doorman for a few minutes. I have no idea of what was said, my Japanese is just not good enough to follow this conversation. I know there was a lot of laughing and facial expressions that made me decidedly uncomfortable.

I headed back inside, only to be faced with a truly, truly ridiculous performance that will haunt me for the rest of my life. A third girl was on the stage, and she was dressed in some sort of frilly outfit and she's jumping around, dancing to American golden oldies. I really wish I could remember what they were, but we're talking stuff like "Leader of the Pack" and "It's My party and I'll cry if I want to." It fit the uniform and the dance. What came next did not fit anything that humanity should accept. She jumps offstage for another magical total costume change in record time (how do they do that...) and comes back out in this multi layered robe. There's silence. She poses. Then, "Stand by Me" starts playing. And she starts doing this strange, interpretive dance, slowly moving down the runway. It was odd, that choice of song, I thought. I was feeling a little surprised and put off. As the song winds down, she's standing in front of us,
in an elegant pose. The song ends. Silence.

She drops to the ground, tosses off her robe, and gets to work like a DJ. By this point, I didn't find this odd. What I did find odd was that "Day Dream Believer" began playing. Followed by Presley's "I can't help falling in love with you." Followed by Madness "Our House." You haven't seen odd until you've seen a Japanese woman masturbating like crazy to that trio of songs. I felt... well... I just laughed. I laughed and probably offended everyone but y'know, this just wasn't right. Her routine ends, and I get another picture. We realize that there are only three dancers there that night, and not wanting to risk seeing the same routine twice, L decides it's time to go to part 2.

To possibly be continued

Posts Galore

2007-02-06T01:39:00.000-08:00

Wow, three posts in two days! What is going on here!

Despite the ferocity of anger in the previous post (and I doubt I was able to convey just how truly pissed off I am at the current situation) something did successfully calm me down from my fury. In case you don’t remember from the last time I was at this school (way back in November), here they have the “Top Top Top Top Secret” room.

The smoking room of immeasurable happiness.

Today I felt like having a smoke, so I asked the Vice Principal for the key to the room. He couldn’t find the normal key hanging on the wall, so instead he let me borrow his personal key. I walked into the room in complete bliss, relaxing in a lounge chair and praising the ability to smoke in a school.

Nothing has changed about the room. The table was sill covered with about 5 ashtrays, 7 packs of cigarettes, and no less than 30 lighters. I’m not even kidding about that. There are only five smokers at this school, including me, yet this is their supply. I respect their dedication. It also is now equipped with a rotating space heater to help combat the lack of normal heating in the room. So incredibly wonderful.

When I returned from my relaxation, I gave the VP his key back. He then presented me with something that, well, fuck, words can’t express the amount of joy it gave me.

He gave me my own personal key to the room for use while I’m at the school. Now, anytime I want, I can enter the room and enjoy the wonderful smell of stale tobacco and comfort of lounge chairs and an endless supply of cigarettes. All in school.

Some things in Japan sure are great.

While I’m talking about the few good things in this school right now (fuck the goddamn stupid ass schedule) I might as well mention the return of my own personal “favorite” student, CPG. Yes, he’s still crazy, and yes, he still wants to grab my penis.

While sitting at my desk doing nothing, he came into the teacher’s room because he said he wasn’t feeling well. Usually, the nurse at junior high schools here only shows up about twice a week or so. Thus, it is the teachers’ duty to take care of sick kids, and really, they don’t seem overly concerned with it. CPG was placed into a seat two desks down from me, given a thermometer, and promptly left alone. All the teachers at this moment decided to vacate the room.

So, CPG and I attempted to strike up conversation in the small amount of English/Japanese combination we are capable of. There were the standard bits of “Long time no see” and “how are you.” Then, in a brief break in talking, I decided to irritate him, which would turn out to be a mistake.

CPG’s real name sounds almost exactly like “reishuu” which is the Japanese word for “next week.” For whatever reason, I thus call him “next week,” and it seems to drive him absolutely crazy. I stood up to get another cup of coffee and said “I hope you are feeling better, Reishuu!” I should have said this while I was still sitting down, as I soon realized he was, in all likelihood, faking his apparent sickness.

He moved with blinding ridiculous speed as he took a stab at my dick. This was no grab attempt, nor was it even a jab. This was a full on attack to injure my most valuable areas. Relying on pure instincts, I moved to defend myself, and let me tell you, the fat man, when trying to protect his crotch, can move quickly. Instead of taking a shot to the groin, I was treated to a rather vicious Charlie horse.

Thankfully, that brief burst of speed was the extent of his capabilities at the moment as he sat back down laughing.

Kid, you are so lucky this is the last time we’ll see each other, because believe me, if I had more time here, war would begin, and it’s not one you can win.

I’m really going to miss these third years, penis grabbing not withstanding.

Why Am I Here?

2007-02-06T01:34:00.000-08:00

I apologize in advance, but I need to write an angry post. I’m talking pissed off, want to beat the shit out of things post. This has to do with my job.

Now, my job description is, essentially, to assist students in learning English and to enhance international awareness. Or something like that, I’m not so sure. Regardless, to be able to do either of those things, I have to actually interact with the students. That seems fairly easy, right? I mean, I’m in a school, I’m on the job, you’d think I’d be working with the students.

Oh, no, that’s not how it works here.

I am currently back at the very first school I went to this year (the one up the giant hill). This is the third and last time I’ll be here for this year (their school year ends in March). This school has, by far, my favorite students, who just happen to be third years. Third years means they graduate in March. Which means I’ll never see them again after this visit. When I got to school, you should have seen the excitement of the students, especially the third years. They were so happy to see me again because, I must admit, I am dynamic in the classroom and the students enjoy my teaching, for the most part.

I don’t have a single third year class. Not one. I will not see these kids in class. Why? I’ll be goddamned if I know.

Over the next two weeks that I’m at this school, I have a total of… 12 classes. Discounting the first day because that’s usually reserved for planning, I have a total of 48 possible class periods in which I can teach. I have 12. That’s 25% of the time I’m here.

Now, I know what you’re probably thinking. You’re thinking: “wow, Steve, you have the easiest job in the world! 75% of the time you don’t have to work! How can things get much better?”

This is true, my job is easy, and I should be happy. However, I did not travel to the other side of the fuckin’ world so I can sit at a desk and stare at a computer screen doing nothing. I did not become a teacher because it was easy. For the first time in my life, I love my job, but no matter how much I want to work, I can’t work! How often does that fucking happen?

I don’t know the exact reasons for this. I don’t know if it’s because the teachers just can’t speak enough English and therefore don’t want to make an attempt to try and cooperate with me. I don’t know if it’s because they’re too busy to try and incorporate me. I don’t know if it’s just because they think I’m too inept to help out. I don’t know if it’s because they feel having an AET in class must be some sort of fun time “event” and so my presence in class is taking away learning time. I just don’t know, and I don’t care.

And here’s something else. As I’m sitting here in the teacher’s room, I happen to notice one of the English teachers returning from a class he did not take me to. In his hand was a CD player. Which means, for class today, he was playing the shitty recorded come with the book English phrases. Why? Why in the name of all hell would you do that? You have a real live English speaking person who is more than willing to assist in class! Why use a fucking recorded voice that sounds like shit and is guaranteed to bore the students into not giving a fuck.

This is completely fucked up, and the bitch of it is that I can’t do a damn thing to help the situation. I have less power than the students when it comes to what happens in schools. I’m going to a meeting on Wednesday with some English teachers to try and persuade them to make changes… it won’t make a damn bit of difference.

I don’t want to generalize an entire culture, but I will make a generalization right now, based entirely on my brief stay so far in one section of Japan (which makes me a bit of an ignorant asshole, I know, but I’m angry enough to do it). If the Japanese have a major fuckin’ flaw it’s their complete unwillingness to accept change of any kind. They just want to keep things the same as it always has been rather than take the risk of accidentally upsetting one person by making a change. Even if a change is to be made, it has to go through about 15 levels of bureaucracy before anyone will even be willing to discuss it.

I recontracted for next year. I’ll be here another full year. I’m wondering if that’s now a mistake, simply because of the fact that I have the single most useless job in the world.

I don’t think that would be such a problem if I didn’t see the immense potential of my position, only to watch it get pissed away by incompetence and fear.

A Regular Sunday Night

2007-02-05T06:27:00.000-08:00

On Sunday, I went up to Guy’s Bar for some sort of “event.” The event was a few DJs and a… dance off. We’ll get to that in due time.

On my way to Guy’s, I stopped to pick up a pack of cigarettes. After opening my wallet, I realized that after buying smokes, I would only have 1400 yen. The cover for the event was 1000 (which thankfully included one drink) and so I went in search of an ATM. However, despite being an entirely cashed based society, Japanese ATMs, I discovered, are not open on Sundays after 7:00pm. It was 8:00pm. Why do the ATMS close? I have no idea, it makes no sense, and it pisses me off, but such is the logic of the country I have come to.

Armed with very little money, I went to Guy’s anyway. Upon entering the bar, I was immediately greeted by about 10 dudes yelling “Steve! Steve! Steve!” Nine of them I do not remember ever meeting, but I guess that’s what happens when you get trashed in Japan. I was hoping I could use my celebrity to obtain free drinks, but that settles itself in a completely different fashion. After the initial greeting, I was left more or less alone in a corner of the bar, listening to bad 80’s techno music. It was just me, my drink, and a wife beater who has been shunned by his friends for exactly that reason. Needless to say, it was awkward at first.

Eventually, the wasted emcee came over to talk to me. As with all the people here, our conversation was incredibly limited, really just him talking Japanese and me nodding and smiling. It was good that I made friends with him though, because in short order he went behind the bar (what he was doing being the bar, I don’t know) and started making me a drink or two. Do I know what was in these drinks? Hell no. I saw him making them, and it reminded me of my days in college. He would just grab bottles at random and pour stuff into a glass. Without a doubt, the concoctions were some of the foulest things ever created, but I will say they got me fucked up quick. Once his generosity ran out, thankfully, my fellow AET was able to hook up with a few drinks and, every so often, I would just randomly get a drink from random person.

My increasing intoxication was necessary to maintain my sanity for what was to come. The “event” kicked off with a pretty young girl singing horribly while a guy dressed in very bad “I want to be ghetto” clothes ran around her rapping. At least I think that’s what he was doing. What was hysterical, though, is that he kept yelling, “Everybody say Ho!” and pausing for audience response. There was none. But, he did not stop trying.

After the singing came the dance off. Now this… well… I want to write about it but really, words just fail me here. I mean, I don’t think I ever laughed so hard in my life. There were three teams of girls, one had two girls, another had three, and the last had 10. I felt already there was an unfair advantage, but I didn’t know the rules of the competition. The music started, and they battled. One group would start dancing together, using elaborate coordinated sequences. I’m pretty sure that the two smaller groups got “served” because they kept forgetting their moves.

Just thinking about the dance fight makes me laugh… I mean, I never figured I would be in a Japanese bar, in the middle of a large crowd, watching a dance fight. Japan has taken me to new and interesting places.

After the battle the dance floor was open. In typical Japanese style, no one except a 40-year-old guy was dancing, and he was doing the robot. So, as I kept drinking more and more, I had a really bad idea. I would show these folks how to bust a move, and I did so in typical horrible, drunk walrus fashion. I joined in doing the robot. It was like a train wreck, and the good people at the bar couldn’t stop watching.

Eventually, I became plastered. I grabbed the skullcap off some random guy I’ve never met before, put it on, went up onto the “stage,” grabbed the microphone off the DJ, and started freestyle rapping. Now, most places in America, I would have only lasted about .01 seconds before I was forcibly removed from the premises. Not here.

I’m frightened because they seemed to love it.

After repeated failed attempts at picking up a girl (I would just walk up to someone and start talking to her in English. There would then be much giggling on her behalf before I would realize she didn’t understand a word I was saying and would move to the next person, usually the girl standing right next to her) I decided to head home.

I lead an interesting life.

My Boss

2007-01-27T00:02:00.000-08:00

This past Wednesday I had yet another enkai, this time with the Board of Education. It was fairly fancy, really good food, and more alcohol than you could shake a stick at. See previous posts on how Japanese you work with typically react when drunk, and that goes the same for this one as well. What was interesting, however, was my interactions with my boss of bosses, the Superintendent.

Now, this is an interesting man to begin with. He’s the tallest Japanese person I’ve ever met, standing above even me. He’s one of my smoking buddies at the BoE, but never really says anything to me. Every so often he’ll just look at me, say something very quickly in Japanese, and then spend the rest of the break like I don’t exist. Sometimes I worry that he’s yelling at me for slacking or something, but then I figure I’m so far down the food chain that I don’t even rate his authoritative attention.

Then came the enkai, and while nothing has changed (he still ignores me on our smoke breaks), I had some interesting experiences that night.

While everyone was filing out of the banquet hall, Supes (as we like to call him) came up behind Ray and I and asked us if we wanted to join him for a few drinks. He was obviously trashed off his ass, and we figured it would be funny, so we decided to join him. The three of us and some other random drunk dude that never talked to me before went to this small little bar where Supes started drinking when he was 20, and goes there twice a week to this day. I’m pretty sure he’s about 60 now. I’m also pretty sure that the bartender there has been working there every day for the past 40-50 years.

At the bar, Supes kept telling me to drink more and more. I tried to respectfully decline at some point because, well, I had to teach elementary school the next day. He wasn’t having any of that, and so was attempting to, quite literally, force alcohol down my throat. My 60-year-old boss. I guess in the end I couldn’t resist and just kept drinking.

Eventually, as I got more trashed, I decided to ask Supes if he had any information on a teacher in the Joyo school district. Apparently, she’s a kindergarten teacher, was at the enkai that night, and is quite attractive, so I just wanted to know if she was married. When Ray asked for me, you’d think I just punched Supes in the face. He yelled several times “Dame!” which is Japanese for "bad." I was like, what, what’s going on, when he started hitting me and saying “You are now my rival! My rival!!” Thank god Ray was there to translate, as I don’t know what I’d do if I just thought my boss was randomly hitting me.

Thankfully, he stopped, and over the course of the remainder of the night, he would occasionally look at me, yell “DAME!” and move to hit me, muttering something about being rivals. Once I learned what to look for, it was no danger and I could avoid the beatings, but still, I figured it’s never a good thing to have your boss try to kill you over a girl.

Eventually, it was time to leave, but just as we were getting up, Supes orders a 40. Once he receives the 40, he immediately puts in into my trench coat pocket and says “for the way home.” Well, it’s a five-minute walk home, but ok, thanks. And so, we called it a night, having consumed a tremendous amount of liquor (none of which I paid for) and a 40 in my pocket. It was good times. Except for the whole hitting thing.

On a side note, I would like to mention that Japan has no open container laws, so you’re more than welcome to walk down the street drinking beer. However, this is not suggested, as if you live in a small town, no matter what time it is, you’re bound to run into your students, who will see you just as you’re in the middle of taking a swig, and then begin yelling things at you in Japanese… sigh, I am really worried about some of the rumors about me going around the schools.

Weird Little Bastards

2007-01-27T00:00:00.000-08:00

So, I am now back at elementary school. In no way is this a good thing. Admittedly, I’m starting to get used to this little bastards, at least to the point where I can make through classes with grades three to six without wanting to shoot myself in the face… or them in the face, either works. However, the first and second graders are still the very embodiment of why god hates me.

I’ve been here a week, and so far, I’ve only been anally violated once and groped twice. While anyone would agree that being anally violated by a 2nd grader is a bad thing, I find comfort in the fact that it only happened once in one week. That’s not to say, though, that other strange things haven’t been happening to me.

Take today, for instance. In case you never noticed, I have a birthmark on the back of my right wrist. If you never noticed, well, then, you’re not a very good friend, are you. Regardless, it’s there, and one little kid in the second grade happened to notice it as I was trying to leave the classroom. He bolts at me and grabs my arm. He then holds my wrist up to his face, and for a moment I was afraid he was about to bite me. Thankfully, all he did was stare at my birthmark for a few minutes. While that’s kinda weird, I’ve faced weirder, and so was willing to let it go for another few seconds.

Then, he sniffed my wrist.

I’m not talking trying to get a minor little whiff of what my arm smells like. Rather, he moved my wrist right up next to his nose and inhaled as powerfully as he could. I could feel the hairs on my arm entering his nostrils. Whatever the reason, whatever he smelled, he must have liked it, because he let out a mighty “YATTA!” and promptly ran back to his seat. I left bewildered.

Later today, I found out what it felt like to be Jesus. After yet another 2nd grade class, for some unknown reason, the little bastards swarmed me. 30 of the kids just ran straight at me, and I was backed into the chalkboard. Then, they all started reaching up, trying to touch my hands. I have no idea why they wanted to touch my hands, but they did. It was as if they were begging me to heal them from some sort of affliction. I mean, I do kind of look at them as if they’re lepers, but I haven’t noticed any pieces of them falling off.

Regardless, none of them would stop reaching up to touch me, even after they got a good grasp of one of my fingers, or my wrist. I yelled out to the teacher for help (in Japanese, I might add) and he just walked away, out of the room, and down the hall, leaving me to try and figure out how the hell I was going to get away from this mob. Even as I slowly started to push my way to the door, the kept me surrounding, pressing against each other to try and get a feel of my hands. I honestly became worried that one in the front would fall, and those behind would just trample him trying to get closer. Eventually, a small hole formed, and I ran out of there faster than I’ve ever run in my life.

I have a third grade class in about five minutes. I’m honestly thinking of escaping through a window.

Improvements... kinda

2007-01-20T20:20:00.000-08:00

I realized my Japanese is getting better last night. My speaking is still the level of a 2 year old, but my listening skills are really improving. Take last night. I was given the "Let's Just Be Friends" speech in lengthy, complex Japanese, and I understood almost every word. I would have preferred to realize my Japanese has improved from a lengthy, complex "Let's have lots of sex" speech, but hey, I take what I can get with my language ability.

One Day

2007-01-19T18:03:00.000-08:00

Today I learned that I truly have super powers. Admittedly, they’re not any type of super powers that anyone would actually want, but super powers none-the-less. I have the ability to completely immobilize old Japanese women.

Today, I was standing outside my school smoking when a car drove by. As soon as it passed me, the two incredibly old women in the car slowed to a crawl and just turned around in their seats to stare at me. I was rubbernecked like a train accident…

Anyway, they were so busy staring at me that the one completely forgot that she was driving. I tried to force her to turn around my waving my arms frantically and shouting “Look, look!” in Japanese. Really, I think that was counter productive, as they only continued to stare at me, and quite possibly the site of this already strange, large man now waving like crazy may have increased my hypnotic attraction. Since they weren’t watching where they were going, they drove straight into a parked car… thankfully they were driving slow enough that no one was hurt, but still, if ever the world is attacked by an army of old Japanese women, I can take care of it.

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I was walking around the classroom and just happened to notice one student’s folder. Now, I’ve told you about the pencil cases, and as I’m sure you guessed the folders are just as bad, but this particular one took the proverbial cake.

It was styled to look like an English newspaper, specifically the classified section. Now, most of the ads were for lowering your credit debt, or find a high paying job with little work. There was even one suggesting that it could help you find that special someone. But right in the center of the folder, in giant print (as opposed to the small newsprint of the rest of the folder) were the words “BREAST ENLARGEMENT.”

I’m not much of a breast man, but I must admit that most Japanese women would probably benefit from such an advertisement. However, I’d say that a 13 year old girl does not yet need to be worried about purchasing “all nature supplements” to “help increase breast size the quick and safe way.” Then again, she can't read the advertisement anyway, so it doesn't make a whole lot of difference. However, the kid with the bag that proudly proclaimed in large letters "I LOVE BEER!" probably can read that one.

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Today I had a special education class at one of my schools. Special ed here in Japan is… well… not well thought out. For one thing, I’m not entirely sure what the criteria for being placed into a special ed class is. As far as I can tell it’s almost entirely random. I’m also marginally convinced that if a student is just… well… different (as in doesn’t act like a typical Japanese robot at least 50% of the time) then they must have some sort of disability. That’s not to say that some of these kids don’t need the extra help, but others just seem randomly placed.

The teachers are also not the best. It seems as if they attempt to find the teachers worst suited to teach such a class and promptly give them the job. Take for instance my class today with Ass-sensei (I call him that for more reasons than I feel like getting into. Long story short, he’s an ass). Now here’s a guy that shouldn’t even be allowed to interact with other human beings, let alone teach a class.

I went into his classroom and found only one kid seated at her desk. That’s fairly normal, as Japanese special ed classes are typically quite small. About halfway into the lesson (a lesson in which I received no help from Ass-sensei) I started hearing strange noises from the back of the classroom.

At first I was willing to ignore them like the teacher, but after about 10 minutes or so, the bizarreness led me to investigate. I mean, these were not natural noises. So, at the back of the classroom, I found what could only be described as a fort made of desks and tables, cleverly disguised. Looking into the fort, I found four more students. They promptly requested my removal from the area of the fort by kicking me in the shins.

I have since learned that those students spend all day in their fort. They get to school and go into the fort, and do not leave the fort except to get provisions and to leave school. I also found out that Ass-sensei is in his first year, and that last year, none of these students behaved quite like they do now.

I guess I should have figured that Japanese hiring practices weren’t quite right when they took me on, but still, this seems a bit too much in the “No idea what we’re doing” category.

Home Style 3

2007-01-04T20:53:00.000-08:00

Day three was about as strange, but for the most part pleasant, of a day as I have had in Japan so far. The day started out innocently enough with going to Izumo Shrine, which was, by far the most beautiful place I’ve ever been in my life. It was just so incredibly calm and serene, I just felt invincible… until of course Arisa started praying for many babies, and I just kind of felt something wasn’t quite right there.

After going to the Shrine, I casually remarked in the course of conversation that I had never been to an onsen. This comment was met with gasps of shock and horror, and so it was immediately decided that we would travel to an onsen.

For those of you unfamiliar with the term onsen, well, I suppose you could google it, but I’ll just give you a very quick rundown. The Japanese love baths, more than they love deadly sushi and working overtime. An onsen is essentially a hot springs, and some can be quite elaborate. The one we went to was outside, and the water was boiling hot, but there was something really nifty about sitting in the water while snow (and eventually hail) is falling on you. I really should have enjoyed it. I mean, they are said to be quite comfortable and relaxing, and I must say I was looking for both of those things when I went.

I found neither.

Before entering a bath, you see, certain things must be done, including cleaning yourself to the point of almost removing all skin. There are certain ways you do it at an onsen, certain procedures and an order of events. I was aware of these things, but I was fearful of getting it wrong. You see, I had to venture into the men’s side of the onsen alone, with no guide. I asked Momma about it, and her response was “Oh, you’ll be fine, just do what everyone else is doing.” The flaw to this strategy was that I would have to be following the lead of a plethora of naked Japanese men.

At times, the Japanese are disturbingly open about their bodies, something I must say I am not. I’m also not particularly fond of seeing naked men. Well, at this onsen, I saw more naked Japanese men than I have in my entire life (and I’ve watched a lot of porn over the years). This, by itself, I could deal with, just close your eyes in the bath and when walking around just stare straight ahead at eye level. I figured this would be standard procedure when in a giant outdoor bathtub. The legions of naked Japanese men disagreed with me.

I’ve become accustomed to being stared at here in Japan. I mean, I’m a large westerner who apparently looks like either Santa or Hagrid. What I am not used to is being stared at by naked Japanese men while I too am naked. And I had nothing I could cover up with, as you do not bring your towel into the bathing area with you. It didn’t matter what I did. I got in the bath, they stared. I got out of the bath, they stared. I tried to cover myself with the small washcloth you are given, they stared. I walked along briskly, naked and free, they stared. No matter what, I had at least 15 pairs of naked Japanese man eyes on me. Eventually I was unnerved to the point that I retreat into the sauna, where you can’t see anything. Unfortunately for me, I found that the Japanese have a high tolerance for heat, and so I think I almost died from being in the sauna for a ridiculous amount of time.

And so, I think I left the onsen more exhausted than I was when I entered. When I related this story to Poppa that evening, his reply was (half in Japanese, part in English, part in gibberish, as we were drinking again) “Of course they stared! You’re a big guy. And I don’t mean just a big guy, I mean you are a BIG GUY!” He said this while thrusting his crotch outward, and then followed it with “If I was there, I probably would have stared too.” Thank you, slightly funny yet also creepy Japanese man.

After some more drinks, Arisa randomly, through use of Momma as interpreter (Arisa speaks almost no English), asked me what I thought of international marriage. At first I was confused, as I didn’t even know where the heck she was coming from, so she slightly changed the question to “Do you think international relationships can work and become a successful marriage?” Ok, listen honey, I don’t think about marriage, so we’ll just stick with the relationships part. I responded that I felt it was possible. It would be more work, but every relationship is work, and usually it’s worth it. I said nationality, culture, race, etc. don’t matter, what matters is how you feel about the person. Your standard answer.

Once I finished my answer, I was going to turn the conversation towards the only person at the table whose thoughts on international relationships mattered to me, but before I could, Arisa went into this giant speech of how she thinks international marriage is a great thing, and it is a lot of work, but it’s worth it, and that it’s a good way to help with language, because if you love someone you’ll work harder to learn their language, and that love conquers all, and she’s really trying hard to learn English… you see where this is going. Thankfully, Momma’s translation abilities were starting to run out and shortly after that it was time to head to bed, as we had to wake up early for the trip back, but I couldn’t help but feel like, somehow, this trip was a setup.

The next day, Arisa and I left. After saying our goodbyes to the wonderful family, we took the 6-hour bus ride (strangely the bus ride was shorter than the train) which passed by uneventfully as our seats were, somehow, on opposite ends of the bus. After the bus, though, I decided I had to ask Arisa something. My… friend… had previously said she was single, but after the events of this weekend, I had a funny feeling, and so I had to find out the truth. So, I asked Arisa “Hey, I have a question, does [my friend] have a boyfriend?” Without even missing a beat, there was a quick yes, said as if, “what? How could you not know? What are you talking about? Why do you want to know? I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME!” I met this girl three days ago… and yet somehow she was able to imply all that in “yes” and a look. After this, Arisa didn’t really talk to me on the local train back, and I got the strange impression that she was feeling just as crushed as I was.

Maybe I should have gone for a sexual massage with Poppa.

However, I will find out the truth of the matter soon, and then, well, we’ll see what happens.

Home Style 2

2007-01-04T20:51:00.000-08:00

On the second day of my trip, we went to Matsue Castle, a castle in the town of Matsue (could you have guessed that one). The weather, to most people, could be described as cold… or maybe freezing, harsh, arctic, and painful. Needless to say I loved it. The people I was with however did not.

Around Matsue Castle is a very large, very long moat. Momma decided it would be a good idea to take a boat ride in the moat. I saw no problem with this until I saw the boat, and realized that, should I step foot in this “boat” it would most likely sink. Much to my surprise it did not, but then again either because of my size or the old driver’s intoxicated state, there seemed to be very little steering or movement going on. It was a pleasant boat ride, as far as boat rides go, but was marked largely by the bridges. Many, many bridges. Bridges that the roof of the small boat could not fit under. So, when we would approach a bridge, everyone had to duck down and the roof had to be lowered. This was often done with less than a second remaining before the roof would be torn off.

Unfortunately, like most things here in Japan, the boat (and the roof) is made with Japanese people in mind, not Walruses. And so, I did not merely have to duck my head, I had to dive to the ground and lie still until the bridge was passed, often curled, by pure instinct, into the fetal position. It must have looked ridiculous.

Not much else exciting happened during the day (unless you’re really interested in normal sightseeing type stuff) but in the evening it was time for more, you guessed it, intoxication. However, we were not alone. Joining us was more family members: an aunt, uncle, and three young cousins.

Now, all five of these individuals (including the children, who ranged from 1st to 6th grade) were accomplished martial artists. I found this out when, after the dinner and he’s had a few, the uncle challenged his 2nd grade daughter to a fight… in the kitchen. Now, this, my friends, was, for no other way to put it, fucked up. The result of this brawl (and really, you have to call it that, as the two of them were going all out trying to kill each other) was the little girl beating the shit out of her father. I’m pretty sure he was bleeding from the nose and internally. It was exciting, and slightly disturbing, to watch.

After a liberal amount of alcohol was consumed (this time both sexes joined in, which is good) Momma proceeded to tell me something interesting. Before meeting me, she had asked my… friend… what kind of person I was. When my… friend… hesitated to answer, she instead asked what I looked like. After a few moments thought, my… friend… apparently answered, “Well, sorta like Hagrid, but less beard.”

Yesterday I’m Santa, today I’m Hagrid. Goodbye self esteem.

The final bit of weirdness for that night was when, somehow, we got on the subject of my hair. Questions were asked why I have it long, and if I ever thought of cutting it. Since (much to your shock) I am thinking of cutting it, I was trying to get opinions, should I or shouldn’t I. Poppa was the first to attack the issue saying, “well, you should find out what your future girlfriend thinks.” I was about to say that I currently don’t have a “future girlfriend” because your daughter is screwing with my head, but before I could say that, he didn’t skip a beat between “thinks” and “So, Arisa, what do you think?” She promptly replied that I apparently look good either way, but that maybe I would look better with it short. Poppa, in response, looked me straight in the eye and said, “cut it.”

Now, at the time, I thought nothing of this. It seemed marginally innocent, especially since Arisa is the friend of my… friend… so nothing registered. The next day, however, I soon realized that something wasn’t right, especially when Arisa started praying at the shrines we visited for a “good husband” and “many babies.”

I could not have known…

Home Style 1

2007-01-04T20:50:00.000-08:00

For three days, I took a trip to Shimane prefecture in the northwest area of Japan. I stayed with the family of a Japanese… friend… of mine, and it was kind of like a brief homestay. Traveling to Shimane was myself, said friend, and her friend named Arisa.

Before we left, I found out that Arisa’s birthday was on the day we left, and so I felt a little sad for the girl because her birthday was being spent on a train. Being the nice guy that I am, I purchased a small birthday cake to be consumed on the way. I thought, hey, it’s just a cake, there’s no problem. For the three of us, there wasn’t a problem. Yes, they were a bit embarrassed by the stares of other passengers, but it was such a nice gesture (I am the man, after all) that they couldn’t resist. I guess, though, the Japanese have a problem with cakes on a train, because it was fairly obvious the older folks did not approve. Then again, I did make things worse by pulling out candles and trying to light them (which was stopped fairly quickly) but still, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.

When we got to our destination 6 hours later, we were greeted by my friend’s family, Momma, Poppa, and grandma (that was how they preferred to be addressed by me). Momma teaches English, so I was delighted that there was someone I could have a normal conversation with. That didn’t stop, though, strange Japanese/American conversations from happening.

The first night we were joined by a friend of Poppa and his young son (the kid left fairly quickly… thankfully for him). Upon seeing me, the young little tike pointed at me with wide-eyed astonishment and yelled “Santa-san! Santa-san.” Thanks kid. When, in response, I playfully did my best “Ho, ho ho!” the kid’s face went from wonder to horror and he immediately began to cry… sigh…

As is customary in Japan, us three men proceeded to drink massive quantities while the ladies poured us drinks (ah, Japanese sexism). Thanks to the ridiculous immunity to beer I have built since coming here, I was just fine while the other two proceeded down the path of intoxication. I got along really well with the father (who spoke a little bit of English) though sometimes he would weird me out a little bit.

First, he proceeded to give me a lecture, half in Japanese, a fourth in English, and a fourth in intelligible sounds, on why, genetically speaking, opposites attract. I didn’t quite know where he was going, but eventually he launched into how Westerners and Japanese are opposites, and so it makes perfect sense for Westerners and Japanese to mate. Those words exactly (the English he did know was really random). This theme will come back later. Regardless, when he was done with this particular topic, he moved on to what we’re going to be doing over the next few days. I said I didn’t know. He suggested we go for a sexual massage.

Yeah…

After he eventually passed out, I attempted to take a shower in a traditional Japanese home, which is no easy feat. The bathtub, you see, if full of water, as the Japanese love their baths. But the water in the bath is shared by all, so you actually need to be clean before you enter it. So, instead of showering in the bathtub, you shower right next to it. The process is lengthy and complicated, at least for me, but it involved sitting on a ridiculously small stool that caused me to bend in places that haven’t moved in years. I went to bed perplexed and in pain… but that was not the end of my confusion.

Food Consumption

2007-01-04T20:43:00.000-08:00

I realize I have not been posting here very often these days. This is due to a combination of laziness, exhaustion, and lack of free time. However, to those undoubtedly few souls who still check this, we will now return to your regularly scheduled Walrus, undoubtedly with a few large updates in the span of, well, whenever I decide to upload them.

Eating in Japan can be quite the experience. The food is an adventure in itself. I never considered my diet to be overly varied. Give me some beef and I’m happy. Give me some fish and I am the opposite of happy: unhappy. I realized though that this would have to change quickly upon my arrival in this country, and to some extent it has. These days, put food in front of me, and so long as it’s not raw chicken, raw horse, or fugu and I guarantee I will eat it.

There are a plethora of things that I still have some slight difficulty with. For example, anything that still has eyes is difficult for me to eat. I mean, as it is traveling down my throat, I can just feel those eyes staring at the inner workings of my body. Octopus and squid, while tasting quite good, still just freak me out quite a bit… especially when the squid is dried, flat, and fully in squid shape, and I must cook it myself on a small grill.

Then there are the big three aforementioned non-consumable foods. All three are delicacies, but not matter what, I cannot get out of my brain the idea that raw chicken is bad for you. Raw Chicken! Who eats this? And why are they not dying? The horse issue, well, I dunno, it just feels like I’d be eating a part of John Wayne’s soul. I think if backed into a corner, I might be able to eat cooked horse, but raw? Hell no.

Finally, fugu. For those of you unaware of what fugu is, I will tell you. It’s a type of blowfish that contains one of the deadliest poisons found in nature. If it is prepared incorrectly, you die. If I’m not mistaken, much of the fish contains these venoms. In order to serve it and not die, you must delicately remove certain parts. A person must get a license to cook it, but somehow that’s not comforting… especially when it’s served raw. I’ll try most things once, but I’m not too big on eating certain death.

Going out to restaurants, though, is one of my favorite activities here in Japan, mainly because cooking Japanese food has become one of my most hated activities here in Japan (I can’t read the labels on food, so I can’t figure out what to buy… and the cartoon character pictures on the packaging rarely help). I typically don’t have too much of a problem going out to eat. Most menus at restaurants here have pictures next to each item, so you can see what you’ll be getting and helps us illiterate folk. Even when a menu doesn’t have a picture, I just usually point at some random food item and say, “please give me this.” The problem, of course, comes when I accidentally point to the drink section and find my meal consisting entirely of a beer, but that has its own rewards.

Finding a place to eat is a little more difficult, at least in Joyo. The restaurants here, for the most part, are hidden, and you must actively search them out as if on a treasure hunt. A disturbing number of them look exactly like a random home, both from the outside and inside. Many times I’d walk into a restaurant only to suddenly become ridiculously paranoid because I thought I walked into someone’s living room. I think maybe that did happen, but for fear of angering the sudden large, hairy westerner that stumbled into their home, the people there serve me anyway.

Sometimes, though, I feel the need to have some good American food. While I feel that need, that’s one thing I can never get. Oh, it’s true, I can go to McDonald’s, but honestly, who really wants to eat McDonald’s food? It tastes the exact same as the McDonald’s in America, but still, going to a McDonald’s here doesn’t quite seem like I’m eating American food. I think the main reason lies in the atmosphere of a Japanese McDonald’s.

All the workers are always, ALWAYS, dressed well in perfect uniforms. There’s always a smile on their face and indeed they seem way too eager go serve you subaverage food. If you plan on eating there, much like a real restaurant, they actually bring you your meal. Then, the two times I’ve been there, when I got up to throw away my garbage, I was immediately surrounded by two employees forcibly stopping me and insisting that this was their job. I cannot, could not, imagine the day when such a situation would happen in a McDonald’s back home.

Then, there’s the single, most beautiful thing about Japan ever: you can smoke there. I love this country.

Some American restaurants that you’ll find here aren’t quite what you expect. A Big Boy just opened in Joyo. That’s right, a Big Boy. Of all the random chains to open in a small town like this, well, I’m confused. Still, it’s definitely a Big Boy. The building looks just the same as the ones back home, complete with the statue out front. After five months of being here, my cravings for a burger, or a waffle, or, well, just anything that doesn’t remind me of Japanese food and is not McDonald’s kicked in, and the moment it opened I swear I was the first customer there.

Then I saw the menu.

It is a Big Boy. I’ve made inquiries about this. It is owned by the… um… Big Boy Corporation or whatever. Unfortunately, when coming to Japan, Big Boy decided to remove anything that even remotely appeared to be “Big Boy-like” food and instead turn it into… something else entirely. To say that I was disappointed would be a bit of an understatement. I think I died a little inside that day.

Goddamn, now I just really want a cheeseburger… at least a real one…

My Attraction to Insanity

2006-12-20T02:38:00.000-08:00

Saturday night I went to Twinkle Joyo with Naho. Beyond the simple amusement of the name “Twinkle Joyo,” the night was filled with bizarre experiences.

Twinkle Joyo is set up on a hill and is, essentially, a display of Christmas lights. It was surprisingly beautiful and well done, with the lights showing anything from your standard Christmas shapes to classic Japanese characters. I was impressed that such a small town as Joyo would have a massive display like this. The real entertainment, though, was at the bottom of the hill.

There was a small line of booths selling all kinds of food, and more than a few selling massive quantities of beer. At the end of the line of booths was a large stage. When Naho and I first got to Twinkle, some rock group was performing. However, after our tour of the lights, the events on stage got downright… bizarre.

I first noticed that something didn’t seem quite right when, on top of the hill, I heard gangster rap blaring loudly in English. Now, I’m sure you are quite aware of the obscenities often inherent in rap. Think of all your favorite popular and independent rap artists, and I can almost guarantee they were being played, with the only criteria being that djs, or whoever was choosing the music, picked the songs with the most offensive lyrics available. Between this and the overflowing amount of beer, I was trying to figure out how this was a family event… but it was.

After admiring the lights, I convinced Naho to join me in investigating the source of this hip-hop extravaganza. I don’t think my mind was truly prepared for the answer. I’m going to try and explain this, but really, no words of mine could ever do it justice. You had to be there to truly understand the complete lack of sanity.

Apparently, groups in Joyo were having some sort of… dance off… I guess. Now, Japan is in the middle of a huge hip-hop craze, and so that in itself is hysterical. It really looks like most Japanese 14-25 years old buy some “gangster in a can” clothing set, pop it open, and then walk around looking ridiculous. I’ve tried to explain to some of my students in the past just how silly they look, and that somehow wearing uniform pants down to their ankles don’t make them look cool, but all attempts failed. Regardless, as silly as Japanese sometimes look trying to be “ghetto” it looks even funnier when they are dancing.

I must say that the first group was decent. It was a bunch of guys doing some sort of break dancing, and I concede that they were fairly athletic and inventive. After that it just went downhill. Dear god, I wish I could describe this, but I just don’t have the words. Group after group of Japanese youth in various states of undress moving around onstage as if controlled by a spastic puppeteer. You just can’t pay to see things this bizarre.

While my mind was being systematically raped by the horrors presented onstage, the custodian of one of my schools happened to spot me. This is, by the way, the same individual that to communicate with me draws large, elaborate, and completely unintelligible pictures in the dirt. I give him credit for trying, but I never have any idea what the hell he’s saying. Anyway, he was trashed off his ass, and decided to introduce me to his entire extended family. He grabbed me by the hand and just pulled me all over the place, occasionally pausing to either have a drink or introduce me to his wife’s mother. All the while, his daughter and her boyfriend followed along trying unsuccessfully to stop him, as his actions were apparently embarrassing. I wish I knew what he was saying at any time, because it had to be hysterical, but unfortunately Naho is not very good at translating on the fly. The one thing I did understand, though, was when he asked her if she was my girlfriend, and she responded “oh no, just a friend.”

Now this led me to a small amount of confusion, mainly because she said it with such a “what? Why in the world would you think that?” Well, I personally was thinking more along those lines myself, but maybe only because some of the strange signals she’s been giving me. Now, yes, we’ve been on a few dates, but I didn’t think much of that. However, what would you think if you were: going out Christmas Eve with a girl (the biggest date night in Japan), invited to spend winter break with her family out by Hiroshima, and invited to join on the yearly family only ski trip, as well as been on a multitude of “date” like things such as dinner/movie deals and yes, even Twinkle Joyo. And here I thought that she was coming on to me a wee bit on the strong side.

What I found out later that night was that, while women are crazy, Japanese women are possibly batshit insane. After Twinkle Joyo, the two of us went to a local bar and had a few drinks. I mentioned the encounter with my teacher and her response, and suddenly, she lost all control of her bladder. At least, that’s one possible explanation for why, over the course of the rest of our conversation, she made about 10 trips to the bathroom. The other two options, of course, were that she was thinking of the proper English response (her English is good but not perfect) or consulting friends through a cell phone. In the end, I have no idea, but I’m leaning towards bladder control loss.

In the end, she answered my questions mainly in Japanese, which I’m proud to say that while I can’t speak, I’m getting pretty decent at understanding (as long as they’re talking slowly). Let me tell you, it sucks to have to translate as you’re being rejected. Or maybe rejected. I’m not quite sure. I think she said something like “I haven’t known you very long to date you.” And yet you’ve known me long enough to have me staying with your family and go on family vacations? I’m confused.

I think the kicker was when I asked a Japanese friend of mine for advice. She said that “Well, she’s probably thinking that two months isn’t long enough to know someone to start thinking about marriage.” Now, wait just one goddamn second here. Marriage? Wow… I think there’s some sort of cultural misunderstanding going on. I just am not sure if I want to know more about it.

Here I Come Again

2006-12-20T02:35:00.000-08:00

I am aware that I have not written here in quite a while. There are several reasons for this, from exhaustion as a result from sickness to having a shitton of work to do at any given time, but in the end, the main reason is pure unadulterated laziness. I’ll see if I can correct that.

Last week I went to my first bon enkai. The best translation for that is “a party to forget the previous year.” And what exactly is the best way to forget something? Massive quantities of alcohol, which the Japanese are all too happy to consume.

This particular bon enkai was for one of my junior high schools. It’s actually quite rare for an AET like myself to be invited to join, but still the invitation came out, and Suzie and I traveled to Kyoto to join in the festivities at a Chinese restaurant.

First, let me say this. The Japanese are, for the most part, a very reserved people. The adults are, at least (the kids are all too willing to grab my crotch or punch me in the balls. Sigh). At this particular school, maybe only three teachers spoke to me while I was there, with those three teachers being the English teachers. Beyond them, I was practically invisible, with everyone ignoring me. However, if you add alcohol, everything changes.

I discovered that no less then four additional teachers spoke English. What is this now? I tried talking to you people every day for two weeks and was only rewarded with blank stares. How is it that when sober, you can’t comprehend a single word I say, yet when drunk, you can ask me anything at all, from my weight to what kind of women I like? I am so incredibly confused by this.

In Japan, it’s customary for you to not pour your own drinks. It is, I suppose, something of an honor to pour drinks for other people, especially guests. I had a line of people waiting to pour me drinks, and god help me if my glass of beer was not finished by the time someone came around. If that happened, it would then be demanded that I chug my beer so that I may have another. That was fine at first, but then when it was sake and Japanese wine, well, the spiral towards intoxication came about quickly. I even wanted to try and moderate myself, but it’s difficult when you’re constantly being forced to drink more and more.

After the Chinese restaurant, about 10 of us went to Karaoke. It was me, Suzie, and 8 Japanese guys over the age of 40. Going to Karaoke. Wasted. Fun times were had by all. I was asked to try and sing a duet of Mamma Mia by Abba with one old guy who didn’t speak a word of English., but he was drunk enough to randomly shout out MAMMA MIA and dance around the booth. This is a guy who never spoke to me before, and when I next see him, won’t even acknowledge my existence, but for the evening, we were good friends. Such is the Japanese way, I suppose.

If you ever have the chance, get drunk with a group of old Japanese folk. There’s no one funnier… especially when they’re singing Nirvana.

I Beat the Drum Slowly

2006-12-12T04:15:00.001-08:00

Here is a brief clip of a practice for my first taiko concert. Just so you know, the sound is a little off (a bit on the low quality side) and the little kid playing the cymbol thing... well, it was his first time, so that's why he's all over the place. Still, though, here is a Walrus beating the drum:

It Would Save Me Pain Later...

2006-11-30T02:11:00.000-08:00

After a week of elementary school, I started doing a little research. I found out that, a) my health insurance will not pay for a vasectomy and b) the Japanese word for vasectomy is パイプカット. When written in roman characters, it reads "paipu cuto." Now say it loud. Yeah...

Elementary School

2006-11-28T04:18:00.000-08:00

So I have now begun my first trip to elementary school. Whatever amusement you may have imaged would result in me teaching Japanese elementary school kids English falls fall short of the reality. If you also laugh at my pain, then there’s more than enough to keep you laughing for years.

As one might expect, the students were completely fascinated with me. What I didn’t expect was their complete lack of any fear. Junior high kids fear me more than these little ones. I’m like a giant toy that has suddenly come into their midst. From the moment I walked into school, I was surrounded by a sea of children, all trying to grab my arms, or legs, or beard, or ride on my back, or grab my nipples, or shove their fingers into my ass. It was nonstop, and I think I came close to causing a riot simply by my presence.

At this school, not a single person speaks English. There are no English classes, and instead I just go into the students’ homeroom and work with the homeroom teacher and make some poor attempt to get them to understand simple words and phrases. Of course, since no one speaks any English, I get no help. For the first half hour I was at school, I sat in the principal’s office where the vice principal just get jabbering away at me in Japanese. Now, he knew I didn’t understand a word (mainly because I kept telling him) but he would not stop. When I speak to non-English speakers, I try to either throw in as many Japanese words as I know and use gestures, or eventually abandon the pursuit. He was determined, though, to learn me some Japanese. Or something. I don’t know, but he wouldn’t shut up.

Every class I’ve taught so far was, well, a failure. Students of any age couldn’t even retain “Good Afternoon,” so how the heck am I supposed to teach, “Hello, how are you? I’m fine thank you, and you?” It’s just absolutely insane what they expect me to do here. Really, all I did was provide something to poke and prod. Unfortunately, this ended up resulting in pain for me. See, me right hand is currently bandaged up from being hit by a car (long story to be told another day). When seeing the bandage, you’d think the kids would stay away from that hand, right? I mean, it doesn’t matter how old you are, you see a bandage you don’t pull on it, right? Not these kids.

It seems like the bandage was, to them, a giant neon sign that said “Hit me here!” and the kids were just way too happy to comply. One little fucker even had the brilliant idea to swing from that hand and then try to hang from it. Of course, teachers were no help, and I tried to say to the kids “stop, that fuckin’ hurts” but they didn’t understand. Sigh… raising my voice only seems to make them laugh.

However, the pain did lead me to make a new acquaintance. I went to the nurse’s office for some Tylenol or something. The nurse seems to be a nice lady (I have no idea, since her personality is entirely my own invention) and she’s marginally attractive. When she realized what I was asking for, she gave me two pills of questionable origin and pulled out her English phrase book. This phrase book, though, is for doctors, so it didn’t really help conversation much when she would randomly read from it to me.

Now, she keeps staring at me in the office. Every so often, she’ll get up, put her hands behind her back, and do this weird but cute swaying walk thing that she only does when she comes to talk to me. Then, she pulls out the phrase book and starts saying things. At first it was just “Are you in pain?” or “Do you need any help?” or “Would you like something to drink?” but then today she comes over, gives me this sheepish little smile, and says, “Maybe you need to lie down now.”

Yes, maybe I do. This is all just way too weird for me.

Furniture of Fear

2006-11-21T05:31:00.000-08:00

There is something strangely fun about carrying furniture in Japan. Twice in the past week I have had to do so, and it has amused me both times.

This past weekend a furniture store a few blocks from my apartment was having a gigantic sale. Some stuff was so cheap，I really have no idea why they were bothering to sell it. Since I went into the “damaged goods” section of the store, well, I just got some really good deals on really ugly furniture.

Anyway, as we all know, I don’t speak Japanese. I didn’t really have an idea how to buy the furniture here. I couldn’t walk up to an employee and just say “hey, I want that” because, well, I don’t have the language ability. Since it was a giant sale, there were employees everywhere, but for some reason, none of them would even look at me, instead opting to help the young Japanese couples pick out the furniture for their new homes. I realized that if I wanted to make a purchase, I had to take the initiative.

I found out later that, when buying furniture in this store, you’re supposed to pick what you want, they’ll write your name on a tag and place the tag on the piece, you go downstairs and pay for the furniture, and then they have some guy bring it down to you in an hour or so. Not sure why it takes that long, but it does. That’s what I found out now.

Lacking any other way to make my intentions known, I found a filing cabinet I wanted on the 5^th floor, picked it up, and just carried it downstairs to pay for it. Or run off with it, I wasn’t sure. The store was packed with customers and employees, and every one of them had the same look on their face when I would come barreling towards them with a filing cabinet: complete terror. Conversations would just completely stop as they would stare at me in awe and fear. Once I almost ran a guy over, as he was caught in my path like a deer in headlights.

After paying for my filing cabinet, I carried it home, and then returned for me. The woman at the front door saw me returning, and from the expression on her face I could read her mind: “Oh shit, he comes back, and now he’s going to kill us all.” I purchased another piece of furniture, this time an uber comfy chair, and the process repeated itself. In face, the process repeated several times throughout the day. I think maybe I should try to blend in more and not scare people, but this is just too much fun.

I had more fun with furniture and freaking people out last night. A JET in a nearby city had just moved, and for some reason, after moving, she had an extra couch she was giving away. Ray decided he needed a couch, and so the deal was made that if he comes get it, he can have it for free. Last night we went to get the couch.

Now, first let me say that this is a Japanese couch. It does not resemble, in any way, the sofa you have sitting in your family room right now. It’s small and rather uncomfortable, but it’s what you can get here.

The trip from the girl’s house back to Ray’s involves this process: a ten minute walk from her apartment to the bus station, a 15 minute bus ride, a 15 minute train ride, and then another 5 minute walk to Ray’s apartment. Now none of this is overly difficult, as the couch is exceedingly light and easily transportable. The problem was taking the couch on public transportation. After some debate, we decided that the best way to go about getting the couch to Joyo was for me to walk with it in the lead, and I just gaijin smash my way through any problems. It worked remarkably well.

Walking to the bus station was no real problem. We just looked like we stole a couch and were trying to get away, none too quickly though. We received a plethora of stares, but overall nothing all that interesting. We got off the bus at the train station, which is a really busy station so there was no end of people who became uncomfortable by the mere presence of a gaijin carrying a couch through the crowds. Much of the rest of the trip was uneventful. We received uncomfortable stares on the train, and once when I smiled back at the stare, a guy got up and jogged out of the car, looking a little worried. Coming down the stairs at our stop, two young women were talking at the bottom. Once they noticed us, the one girl stopped in mid-sentence to give us a look of complete confusion. I winked at them, which prompted much giggling and then the camera phones were out, taking pictures of what I can only assume is a unique sight in Japan.

The Futility of English

2006-11-20T04:00:00.000-08:00

I love English in Japan. Being a native English speaker here, you will encounter enough bizarre phrases to just blow your mind, especially on T-shirts.

Once a week, I take Japanese lessons from this really nice, 25 year old convenience store worker. The lessons were set up by the local international exchange association. They find out who’s interested in learning a language (in my case Japanese) and then search for volunteers to make a match between teacher and student. They’re kind of like a dating service, but substitute possible relationships with failed attempts at learning a language.

My teacher does not really know how to teach Japanese. She looks in a textbook she picked up and arbitrarily picks out a lesson to focus on. She does have some idea how to teach a language, as she studied in college to be an English teacher. I’d normally assume that the main reason she doesn’t have a job as an English teacher is because she doesn’t speak any English, but this is Japan where almost no English teachers speak English, so I’m guessing that’s not it. She admitted that she speaks better Korean than she does English, despite only taking a 6 week, once a week course in Korean yet studying English most of her life. It’s good to see I have any chance of successfully teaching my students.

Our lessons usually consist of her writing Japanese on the board, explaining the grammar points in Japanese, while I nod my head and copy the Japanese down, not having any idea of what is happening. I shouldn’t complain, though, since the lessons are free and she’s quite attractive.

This past lesson, though, I had more difficulty concentrating on not understanding than usual, as I spent the entire our trying to decode her shirt. On the shirt was a cartoon picture of a guy smoking a cigar riding in what looked like a cross between a hot rod and a tractor. Written in large bold letters above the picture were the words “Regnant Loiter!” At first I figured this might be some company name, but looking at the rest of the shirt, I had to conclude that it was just two random words thrown together.

Down the left side of the shirt was written “It is desirable to do an order well to learn things.” Both the bottom and the back contained “Think what as well to be deep on every.” Then, finally, splashed across the front in bold letters was “INSULATE!”

Seriously, here… just what the fuck was that… this goes to show a perfect example of the English ability of the people I teach with… and she’s teaching me…

I realized today that my job has no purpose whatsoever. I’m currently at one of my favorite schools I’ve gone to, where the kids are fun, energetic, and actually motivated to learn English (HOLY SHIT!).

On a random tangent, of the four English teachers, three are batshit insane. The lone male of those three is consistently described by current and former AETs, students, and fellow English teachers as “creepy.” I can do nothing to refute the observation, especially when he randomly touches students. Not sexually mind you, just… touches them. It’s way too weird to even describe. The fourth teacher, though, is one of the best teachers I’ve ever seen, and she more than makes up for the other three (she’s the one I went out with last month. Great girl).

Anyway, so I’m at this school, and it’s the last time I’ll be here until the next school year (the Japanese school year ends in late March and resumes in April). So, you would think that the teachers would make the most of my presence and incorporate me into classes, right? I mean, this is their last opportunity to relieve the tedium in their classroom with an exciting and fun Walrus. Think of what the kids can learn!

Ha Ha! Yeah right. Of the 30 possible class periods I’m at the school, I teach… 8. 8 classes. Plus, I have no ninensei or sannensei, just the ichinensei. So, what do I do during the other 22 class periods? Well, at the moment I’m typing this journal post. I also search the internet and study my Japanese, but mostly just search the internet. So, I sit in the teacher’s room, surrounding by people busy doing work, and I just stare at a computer screen.

And for this they pay me an American equivalent of $34 grand. This is the intelligence and logic found in the educational system of the culture I so diligently studied. I wonder if I wasted my time.

Possibilities for discomfortable atmosphere

2006-11-12T02:03:00.000-08:00

Let me tell you, there is something very uncomfortable about sitting in a movie theatre, watching an American film about WWII in the Pacific, with the theatre being full of Japanese folk. Bonus awkwardness if you went there on a date with a Japanese woman. At least I can say that she chose the movie.

However, a small Japanese girl wearing a coat made for a Walrus? Hysterical. It reached her knees, and it was even the nonthreatening not-a-trenchcoat coat.

The Final Battle... for four months, at least

2006-11-11T03:46:00.000-08:00

No peace exists for English teachers. Today, I had only two classes and then, because I had to work on my holiday on Monday, I got the rest of the day off. My last class at Higashi until February, though, could have gone a lot better. During class, we were playing a rousing game of Pictionary using English words. Unfortunately for my self esteem, I occasionally give words like Steven or English Teacher or anything such thing in which they’d have to draw me. This is a mistake, as in the eyes of the students, apparently, I am the size Godzilla. In fact, for most of them, I probably am Godzilla. While most pictures they draw take up a corner of the page, I take up the whole damn page. There go any positive perceptions of self…

When playing Pictionary, I’ll take the students out in the hallway to give them the words. Today, while in the hallway, we were standing next to another English class, this one being taught by Small One, a very, very tiny woman. The only things smaller then her are her English ability and her outgoing personality. I mean, she seems nice, but what the hell is she doing teaching? Regardless, in Small One’s class, for god only knows what reason, she was playing N’Sync as loud as humanly possible. I mean, N’Sync was just filling the hallways.

Now, there are two things wrong with this: first, what in the name of god could students learn by listening to N’Sync, except that there is no god in America? Second, why the hell did she have to play it so loud? I went back into my classroom, closed the door, and while trying to conduct class was still bombarded with “I want it that way” over and over again. She had the one song on repeat… and it was horrible.

In my class, as luck would have it, was Ninja Wannabe. He wasted no time in going for both my handkerchief and my monkey, and indeed spent the entire class completely focused on grabbing either item, or just my ass. I don’t think he cared which one he got, but by god, he was going to get one of them.

After class, the horrors truly began. The teacher had carelessly mentioned that this was my last day at Higashi. Thus, the need to steal my personal belongings or violate my personal space increased with a sense of urgency. I would estimate about ten ichinensei boys attacked me with a fury held for the insane. In an attempt to open my bag, now held in front of my covering my crotch, one student jumped on my back and literally tried to climb over my head to get to the bag. Several other students were grabbing at my stuff from all directions. I decided I had to get out of here, so, I just started to move forward. The ichinensei decided to stop me. I had the one kid on my back, one literally hanging off each arm, and a fourth wrapped around my leg. To make matters worse, several others kept getting in front of me and trying to push me back by the midsection. All this while trying to grab my handkerchief or bag.

Thank god I am significantly stronger than all of them combined. While I can’t say I moved forward effortless, they were unable to stop me, and I made forward progress with each step. By the time I got to the door to the teacher’s room, most had given up. Most. Ninja Wannabe was not going to stop his desperate attempts. As I opened the door to the teacher’s room, he wrapped his arms around my waste and tried to pull my back. The three other remaining students in turn grabbed him, and thus there was a chain of kids trying to keep me from entering the room. Promptly, all the teachers looked up and started to laugh… the bastards.

One English teacher walked by, laughing, and I pleaded in both English and Japanese “help me.” Her response was to keep walking forward… so, it seems I’m on my own. By this time most of the teachers returned to their work, shaking their heads and laughing. So, I kept walking forward until I got to my desk, by which time Ninja Wannabe gave up his desperate quest and disappeared from the room.

I’m just glad to know I have support.

Just What the Hell...

2006-11-09T21:24:00.000-08:00

The attack on my personal belongings continues. I was returning to the teacher’s room after a class with one of my teachers today, and when I left the classroom my handkerchief was in my back pocket. When I arrived at the teacher’s room, it was not. I did not feel or notice a thing, so ninja-like are these students. Since I walked down the ichinensei hallway, I knew exactly where to look and who to find.

Now, since the last assault, I’ve taken to folding up my handkerchief as small as possible and stuffing it into my back pocket, figuring no student cold get their hands in there without me feeling it. I was wrong. These kids are damn crafty, and damn desperate to steal my shit.

I rounded the corner to the ichinensei hallway, and saw the thief from yesterday. Upon noticing me, the boy let out this little yelp and ran into the classroom… sigh… I’d dub the kid “Ninja Master” for his stealthy approach towards thievery, but his panic under pressure of being caught was just too obvious, and so instead, his name is just Ninja Wannabe.

I started walking towards him when I suddenly felt a small tug on my backpack. I turned to see several ichinensei boys hauling ass down the hallway. I looked in my bag and found my monkey gone. Not only did these kids steal my monkey, but to do so they had to open my bag, find the monkey, take it out, and then run. Throughout the process I was nearly oblivious. I now must respect the skills of my enemy.

I decided that stealing the monkey was somewhat understandable, and so I would get that second. First, I had to curtail further attempts of digging through my back pocket. I caught up with Ninja Wannabe and put him in a headlock, figuring I could hold him until he coughed up my belongings. I did not expect how defenseless this would leave me to the other students. No sooner did I grab the one kid then three others have their hands in my pockets. Ok… this is just a bit violating. The most unbelievable part, though, is that while I had the one in a headlock, he was still determined to rob me of everything I own, and had one of his hands in my fourth pocket.

You know you’ve gone wrong somewhere in life when you have 12 and 13 year old boys with their hands in your pockets. This country is fucked up.

Through quick movements and using Ninja Wannabe as a shield, I beat away the three boys and managed to somehow get my handkerchief back. Stepping out into the hallway, three girls from a different class presented me with my monkey. I guess they took pity on the poor English teacher and got my monkey off the other boys. At least there’s some decency somewhere.

Walking back to the teacher’s room, I randomly turned around to see Ninja Wannabe, crouched low against the wall, approaching me. His cover blown, he ran like the wind. I have a feeling this is going to be a long struggle. What’s worse is that after turning around, CPG appeared out of NO WHERE and goosed me. What the hell is up with these students?

Beyond the continued molestations, I’ve discovered the greatest thing ever to exist anywhere. I found the teacher’s smoking room at Higashi. Now, smoking is expressly forbidden in Japanese schools, but that law as only passed two years ago, so some teachers are unwilling to give up their habit in school. So, the teachers at Higashi rebelled, and use one room as their smoking room. I stumbled upon it, and it truly looks like heaven.

It’s a small room, with a long, low table in the middle. Surrounding the table are six ultra comfortable lounge chairs. Scattered across the table were about eight cigarette packs, two dozen lighters, and three ash trashes. Like I said, heaven. I took a seat, lit up, and basked in the crowning jewel of what just became the greatest country on earth. Eventually one of the teachers came into the room and saw me sitting back, with a huge grin on my face. He promptly began laughing, sat down, and laughed some more. When I told him this is now the happiest day of my life, he starting laughing so hard that he couldn’t even light his cigarette. The vice principal, a really funny guy that, while he speaks almost no English, at least makes the effort, also came in. He then explained the rules of the room in Japanese, and realizing I didn’t understand, instead just said “Top top top top secret.” From what I could gather, no one outside of the school is aware this place exists. Should anyone else find out, their luxury might be shut down, and so there was some fear of me also discovering it. I think I removed their fears though with the assurances of me being silent.

Truly heaven.

Bird Chase

2006-11-09T02:16:00.000-08:00

The sannensei at Higashi are quite possibly my favorite students up to this point. They have such an interesting mix of students, and are always both fun and attentive in class. For the most part, however, no students ever introduce themselves to me, so to keep them straight I have taken to giving them nicknames in my own mind, from the Crazy Penis Grabber, to Rat’s Nest and his pal 50 Cent, to Steven Junior… though he gave himself that one, and has embraced it thoroughly.

One sannensei class today went particularly well for the most part. The students were excited over the English games and participated willingly and laughed at my jokes. It went well for the most part… at one point I was walking around the classroom, asking the daily questions: what day is it today, what time is it, when is your birthday, that kind of thing. Suddenly, I felt a strange… tingling… on my ass cheek. I quickly reached back just in time to grab a student’s wrist while he was in the process of grabbing my ass. My guess is that the tingling was due to his slow and steady movement, ensuring he got a full handful of walrus butt cheek. Since I did not move quickly enough and only caught his wrist, what this did was make sure his hand was fully in the process of ass grabbing and remained for a full second… I came dangerously close to hitting the boy out of pure instinct. Why must they constantly violate me?

For one of the games, I give a prize to the first two students to win. These are the same $1 stuffed animals that CPG desperately wanted. I had a bag full of them, and after class, naturally, students gathered around wanting more. This class, though, was slightly more aggressive. They opened my bag and several students just grabbed an animal and ran like crazy. One student, however, grabbed the camera that happened to be in my bag, and began taking pictures of me chasing down the students to reclaim my prizes. Naturally, during these events I received no help from the teachers. Once the stealing began, I looked around for help and the teacher I was with had strangely disappeared… sigh…

After some running and more than a few threats of violence, I got my stuff back and headed off to the teacher’s room. While in the hallway, a bird just happened to fly by. I thought of this as natural, given that the hallways are open air with no windows… what do you expect might happen? The students, however, reacted different. Girls began screaming their heads of and started to dive to the floor. Bodies were flying everywhere when three enterprising students, dubbed the Ghetto Boys, decided to take the situation in hand.

The Ghetto Boys are a group of three sannensei boys, Rat’s Nest (due to the raggedy rat’s nest growing out of his chin), 50 Cent (simply because every day he asks me if I have heard of a new 50 Cent song. One might say he is obsessed), and Random Kid. Random Kid has no personality. He just tags along with the other two and never says anything, just occasionally laughing. I have never heard a word escape this kid’s lips, which is odd considering how extremely outgoing the other two are. Regardless, the three have an extreme love for American rap music. Due to the music, they’re very good at understanding English, despite not being the best students. However, their speaking ability leaves something to be desired, and when talking to me they use almost all Japanese, occasionally throwing in such terms as “Bitch,” “motherfucker,” and once today “fuck the police.”

Anyway, the Ghetto Boys' solution to the bird situation was to arm themselves with brooms and chase the poor thing. They swung their brooms in wide arcs, hitting no bird, but knocking into walls and the head of Steven Junior, who happened to be standing nearby. Chaos reigned supreme, with the girls on the ground, the boys laughing in the classrooms, and the Ghetto Boys running through the halls hitting everything but their target. As a teacher, I probably should have done something, but instead my reaction was to get my camera and document the insanity. Sadly, I was too slow and only caught a picture after the Ghetto Boys had chased the bird to the other end of the hallway and life was starting to return to normal (except for the red spot on Steven Junior’s head. I think he was actually hurting).

For your mental reference, though, I did get a picture of CPG, included below. This was shortly after he made a grab for my ass in the hallway, and was walking away satisfied with himself for coming close, calling me crazy for trying to stop him. Truly, who is the crazy one here?

One Kid's Mission

2006-11-02T04:51:00.000-08:00

As I’ve previously mentioned, Higashi, my current school, is the realm of the original Penis Grabber, the kid to whom everything is “crazy.” Well, this kid is apparently a gold mine of stories to be posted here, some of which, unfortunately, have to do with my crotch.

Ray went to Higashi last week, and so we were able to discuss the students there. Naturally, Crazy Penis Grabber (CPG) figured into the conversation. When Ray first went to Higashi, CPG related his attack on my junk from his perspective. He seemed quite proud of his previous assault, telling Ray the story with much pride. He also mentioned, while telling this story, that he looked forward to my return. Since Ray told me that, I’ve taken to constantly being ready to protect the valuables. At any moment, I tell myself, there could be some sudden surprise attack, with my privates as the battlefield.

From CPG’s point of view, this was not an attempt to do any grabbing. Rather, it was a full on assault. According to Ray, CPG’s tale, which will not be repeated in full here as it went on much like an epic struggle in The Iliad, CPG did not originally want to grab me or cop a feel or anything like that. This was a relief, as it suggested there was no innate interest in my cock. Instead, CPG stated that rather than grab, he punched me, and this was, according to him, followed by me doubling over and crying in pain. I would like to stress here that none of these things happened. While it’s comforting that a young boy does not want to feel me up, it is mildly disturbing that he wants to punch me in the crotch… I have a bad feeling about the remainder of my time here.

The story of CPG does not end with perverse actions. I had him in class yesterday, and we were playing this warm up game. To describe the whole game is boring, but the kids enjoy it and the first two people to win get a prize. The prizes are nothing more than small stuffed animals I picked up at the hyaku yen store (kind of like a dollar store, but oh so much better). I put all the dolls in a bag, and each winner may then reach in and pick out two. After this particular class, I was immediately cornered by five students, including CPG, asking for the stuffed animals that remained

Naturally, I said no, but they were adamant. Eventually, I conceded to allow one of the five to pick one, and they’d janken* for who gets it.

Before the janken, they were all deciding which one they would pick if they won. There was a little stuffed dog in there, and CPG wanted that dog. Naturally, he lost janken, but he would not accept his loss. As the winning girl chose a stuffed bear, he tried to make off with the dog, and I stopped him and confiscated the dog. He pleaded for a while, with me firmly saying no. Realizing his loss, he responded with a hearty “fuck you!” I did a quick double take, asked “What?” and was greeted with yet another “fuck you!” He laughed and happily trotted off. I mentioned this to the teacher, and her response was a quizzical look and a “what does fuck mean?” I just couldn’t explain.

*Cultural side note. Janken is essentially Paper, Rock, Scissors. However, none of the gestures have any meaning in the Japanese version (it’s not rock beats scissors, it’s just this gesture beats that gesture) and it is used to decide everything. I mean everything. If the Japanese had their way, wars would be fought entirely with a game of janken. Disagreements settled by janken. I believe that political decisions are decided entirely by janken. I played in a volleyball tournament for all the government employees, and if there was a tied game, the result was decided by janken.

A Triumphant Return

2006-10-31T04:46:00.000-08:00

I would say I don't know how I get myself into these situations, but unfortunately, I already know the answer. If you will recall, I mentioned that I might have agreed to cook sweet potatoes for the whole office this past friday. I wasn't sure, but upon going into the office on Monday, I was greeted with my answer. Less then .000001 seconds after I walked through the door, I was presented with approximately 6 pounds of sweet potatoes, and simply given the instruction of "cook these for wednesday." At least I think that was the instruction. Really, they just talked at length in Japanese, and I, in turn, responded "hai."

So, tonight, I have now successfully made 6 pounds of candied sweet potatoes. This was a first, and I was semi-pleased with the outcome. The task was especially difficult since I do not have a) an oven b) a microwave or c) kitchen space to work with 6 pounds of sweet potatoes. Still, I perservered and have completed my mission.

While at the grocery store shopping for what I needed, I happened to run into two Nishi girls and three Joyo Chu girls. While they were, of course, in separate groups (there's a rivalry between the two schools, with the latest event in said rivalry being four Joyo Chu kids going to Nishi and beating the shit out of several Nishi kids. I think baseball bats were involved, but I'm not sure), they immediately joined together with one single purpose: to follow me around and see what I was purchasing. I'm not sure what was being said, but each time I put an item into my basket, peels of laughter erupted near me. The situation was made worse considering my odd selection of items: brown sugar, brandy, marshmallows, bleach, and a bottle of Pocari Sweat (note, only three of the above items were used in the potatoes). The whole experience made shopping slightly more surreal. How often do you have a group of spectators follow you as you perform mundane chores. I'm special!

On the subject of being special, I returned to Higashi Joyo yesterday and it was made fairly clear that I was missed. One attractive young assistant teacher who I "spoke" with frequently last time (I say "spoke" as she doesn't understand much English, and what English she does know is from Japanese music that uses odd English phrases) happened to see me smoking outside from the window of the teacher's room. She leaned out the window, gave a few waves yelling "STEBEN! STEBEN! OHAYO!" About 30 seconds later, she had run out the gate and we were chatting outside about... well... nothing, since we have difficulty communicating.

The excitement was not limited to young teachers. Students also seemed happy to see me. One kid, the student who was the first to grab my crotch, seemed especially delighted... thankfully for reasons that had nothing to do with my crotch. He appparently recalled only one word from my self introduction, with that word being "Crazy." When I would see him, everything was, well, crazy. He would point at me and yell "crazy!" He would point at himself and yell "crazy!" He would point at teachers, fellow students, plants, books, my stuffed monkey, and even once a pencil case and call them crazy. I found it amusing, but I'm pretty sure the pencil case's feelings were hurt.

It's amazing how much things can change in a year. For Halloween this year, I stayed in my apartment in Japan cooking sweet potatoes. For Halloween last year, I was face down in a ditch in Bowling Green with a sprained ankle, various cuts and bruises, and more alcohol then I really needed in my body. I can't help but feel that, except for the Japan part, I've taken a step backward.

Old Friends

2006-10-29T03:01:00.000-08:00

I realized tonight, while eating dinner, that there is no way I would be able to successfully return to the States and not lose my mind. You see, I was having my dinner at Sukiya, a chain restaurant here in Japan that serves two of my favorite Japanese foods: Gyudon and Japanese Curry. It's also somewhat like fast food, but really, you couldn't compare it to your local McDonald's or Wendy's. Unlike American fast food joints, the food is tasty, marginally healthy, excellent service, and you can smoke in the restaurants. That last bit is the aforementioned reason I would have difficulty returning to America.

Japan is very much a smoker's country. You can smoke anywhere, and really, it brings a tear to my eye thinking of how wonderful such a thing is. You can smoke in bars, restaurants, on the street, on train platforms, and even in some government buildings. What more can I ask for? I truly am in some sort of paradise.

In addition to smoking still being socially acceptable, I've also found my two friends Pall and Mall over here. Just like in the U.S., they are delicious, slow burning, and cheaper than most other cigarettes. Oh how delighted I am to be reunited with such comforting and inexpensive pals. God bless you, Pall and Mall, and God bless you Japan, for not yet having given in to the evil forces of the "pinkies" (those of you still with pink lungs).

For those of you that know my musical tastes, you'll know that hip hop was never among my favorite musical selections. That was before I discovered the beautiful amusement that is Japanese hip hop. While I've heard some of it before, and indeed it was always worth a laugh, I never listened to it en masse until signing up for Tsutaya, a movie and music rental place (Another reason to love Japan: you can rent cds, and at the cd rental place, they sell blank cds at the counter. Ingenious!). For lack of anything better to do, I picked up some random selections in the hip hop section. I highly recommend such award winners as Soul'D Out, Rhymester, and the wonderfully named Kick the Can Crew. Band names just don't get any better than they do here.

I had realized tonight a small amount of... I guess irony... that I find amusing (but others may not, but I don't care, it's my blog. I am not here to amuse you. What am I, your Japanese clown?). When deciding upon a high school for me to go to, I had wanted to go to Shaler Area High School, the local public school, because they offered a Japanese language program. My mother wanted me to go to North Catholic High School, so that I would be closer to Jesus and the Catholic church. Unfortunately, she won out, as she's my mother. Now, fast forward a little over 10 years, I don't know Japanese but I need to, and I have a certain amount of contempt for organized religion, the Catholic church in particular, while living in a country that's about as secular as it gets. Go figure.

Learning the Language

2006-10-28T07:54:00.000-07:00

I’ve been told that my Japanese is getting better. I’m told this on an almost daily basis. Sometimes, people even say that my Japanese is very good. I know that they’re just being polite. Take, for instance, the following conversation that I had:

Japanese Person (JP): Why are you here at the board of education and not at school?

Me: Class not.

JP: Oh, I see.

Me: 2^nd years, where they go? I don’t know. 3^rd years present college students. 1^st years I don’t know.

JP: Oh, I see.

Me: Here I come. Here Japanese study. Nishi last. Next week Higashi.

JP: Oh, I see. Your Japanese is very good!

I feel like a drunken hillbilly child. Not only does my Japanese ability seem more like the words of babies, I can’t seem to use it when I need it most. While at the board of education, I was, out of boredom, typing up a journal entry. A man I have never seen before comes up right behind me and starts staring at the computer screen over my shoulder. I look at him and he says “I can’t read English.” Ok, I figured as much. Most Japanese can’t. So… yes? He then sits down next to me and starts staring at me. I figured he was expecting some sort of response, so I just said, “I can’t read Japanese.” Now, I’m not sure what this did. On one hand, I could have sparked his curiosity and, having just said a Japanese phrase, he might have assumed I can speak Japanese. On the other hand, he could have realized that, in some small way, I was mocking him, and thus became very angry. I don’t know and, since I can’t speak Japanese, I will never know. Regardless of the answer, he went into this tirade. He just started talking, and wouldn’t stop. Whatever he said must have been interesting, because he was obviously getting excited, but I’ll be damned if I know. This went on for about five minutes; he just kept talking and would not stop. After a while, he finished his speech, and resumed staring. Once again, I figured I should say something. I then resorted to what I always say when I don’t understand what’s being told to me. I simply say in Japanese, “Yes!”

Of course, I’ve found this is a really bad idea. Through a bizarre series of events and about five office ladies talking to me in Japanese, during which I just kept saying “はい” (that means yes), I think I just agreed to cook sweat potatoes for the entire office on Wednesday. I’m not sure how we got to that point, but we did, and I think I’m cooking.

Then there are times when it can be somewhat… scary. I was just handed a sheet of paper that had a plethora of pictures of spiders on it and a bunch of Japanese writing. Confused, I asked the lady who gave it to me. Naturally, she speaks no English, and all I could understand was: spider, Australia, Joyo, many, dangerous, you die. That’s all. So, now, I must begin my battle with the many dangerous Australian spiders, because if they bite you, you die. Now if only I could tell what kind of spiders are the dangerous Australian ones, but I don’t know that much Japanese to ask.

The Realm of Not Understanding

2006-10-28T07:51:00.000-07:00

Today was an eventful day in which absolutely nothing happened. The day started when I woke up from a particularly unpleasant dream. I won’t detail what the dream was about, but it certainly felt like an omen of things to come. I went to Nishi for the final time this year, and when I entered the teacher’s room, the entire place was empty. I mean, no one was there. Confused, I sat down at my desk and began studying some Japanese. Let me tell you, Japanese teachers’ rooms are freaky places when no one is there. It’s something that can’t be explained, and can only be experienced… but trust me when I say you don’t want to.

Eventually, Okazaki-sensei came running into the room. She’s an English teacher, and at the tender age of 28, she’s the youngest teacher I’ve had the pleasure of working with. She’s also the only Japanese person I’ve yet to see here with an ass, but that’s a different story. Regardless, she’s definitely my favorite person to work with to date, and it saddens me that I won’t be back at Nishi this year to work with her again. I also found out that she’ll probably be transferring to another school in April, so in all likelihood, I’d never see her again, which is sad. Really fun person.

Anyway, I stopped Okazaki to find out what she was doing. At that moment, she had to hurry and get tea for the guests of the school. Apparently, being the youngest female teacher (there is a male teacher who’s younger, but his penis excludes him from this) she needs to act as hostess. The school had guests, and in Japan, guests must be served tea. Someone has to serve the tea, so the rationale is that the youngest female staff member has to do it. Ah, sexism in Japan.

After she got the tea, I asked her where everyone was. Apparently, the ninensei were on a school trip somewhere. At least that’s what I think they’re on. She just said they are “having an experience outside school.” That can mean way too many things. Anyway, that’s where the ninensei and their teachers were, the sannensei were going to have presentations by college students (the aforementioned guests), and the ichinensei… well… I have no idea where they were.

Without anything better to do, I decided to go to the first of the college presentations in the gym. While there, I had two stunning revelations. One was the behavior of the students. Normally kids at Nishi won’t sit still for more than a minute without doing something, typically beating each other over the head (a very common pastime among Japanese JHS students). Additionally, I’ve never seen a Nishi student fully in their uniform. You typically get the idea of Japanese schools with students who are all dressed in uniform, shirts tucked in, wearing the proper attire, etc. This is true at some schools, but not at Nishi. There’s almost always some sort of nonregulation clothing addition, whether it is simply not wearing the jacket or just wearing the uniform pants and a t-shirt that says Playboy. Today, in the gym, all the students sat still, listened, took notes, and were in correct uniforms…

I can only rationalize that this is because here in Japan, way too much pressure is put on students to succeed at an early age. You begin preparing for university in exams in elementary school, and I personally think that may be one factor in the fucked-up-ness of this country.

The second realization came in regards to myself. The presentation lasted for an hour and a half. University students talked about college, and junior high students asked about getting in to college. I think I understood a total of two words spoken, and yet I sat there for the whole time. Think of this. You’re in a gymnasium, of your own will, listening intently to words you cannot comprehend. How the hell did I get myself into this situation? I’m just not completely sure exactly why I thought moving to Japan when I don’t understand Japanese was a good idea. Granted, I still think it’s a good idea, but then again I’ve never been a very balanced individual.

After the presentation, I sat at my desk some more, and quickly became bored. With no students or teachers around, I couldn’t rationalize staying at the school. So, I decided to head to my Board of Education (where I go when I have no classes) and bid Nishi goodbye. I sought out the vice principal to tell him I was leaving, and found him wandering the hallways. I was immediately floored by the fact that he was walking around in a Slippery Rock University T-Shirt. Those of you who know Slippery Rock already have an idea of how screwed up that is. Those of you who don’t, well, you therefore get the idea of why it’s bizarre to find a Japanese vice-principal walking around in a T-Shirt endorsing Slippery Rock. I asked him about the shirt, thinking maybe he went to university as a transfer student in America and happened to, for some god only knows what reason, attend Slippery Rock. This was not the case, however. He bought the shirt at the Japanese equivalent of a thrift store. What the hell was a Slippery Rock T-Shirt doing at a Japanese thrift store? I will never know and I think I’m happy to keep it that way.

Suspicious Characters

2006-10-26T03:42:00.000-07:00

At every school, the teachers have a different unofficial smoking area. At Joyo Chu I had to walk across the street, around the corner, and into a park. At Kita, I just had to stand around the corner from the school, and at Higashi, I went down the street a little ways, but I’ve heard rumors that in school there’s a smoking room… something I’ll have to investigate once I return there next week.

At my current school, Nishi, I smoke right outside the school gate. I figure this is a good place to smoke, largely because all the other teachers smoke there. Well, they do when I’m not there. I’ve found that I get different reactions from teachers. The smoking core at Nishi seems to hate or fear me, one of the two. If I am outside smoking and they see me, they either a) stop and turn around or b) walk down to the street and around the corner. If they’re out there before I am, and I try to join them, see b) above. It makes me feel like I have the plague, but that’s ok. All the nonsmokers seem to like me.

Anyway, today I was smoking outside when the vice principal comes running out of the school, out of the gate, and down the street, looking around like a man possessed. He eventually stops, scratches his head, turns around, and finally sees me. Then, he breathes a gigantic sigh of relief, laughs a little, and starts to walk back into school.

Dumbfounded, I stopped his progress and asked him what was wrong. He said that a concerned individual had called the school reporting that a suspicious person was lurking outside of the school gates smoking, and that said person feared for the safety of the students. He immediately went out to investigate, because the safety of the students is primarily the responsibility of the teachers. I know it’s theoretically the same in America, but here it’s different. One teacher has told me that should a suspicious or dangerous person enter school grounds, it is the teachers’ responsibility to essentially bum rush that person, trying to stop them through the sheer wait of numbers. Should a teacher fall, that’s ok, you just keep pressing forward, attacking the suspect.

On the previous subject of the smokers here at Nishi, there’s one teacher who apparently has a large amount of dislike for me. I have no idea why, but he doesn’t make any effort to show it. For example, today during lunch I was sitting with the teachers. When Smoking Douchebag came over, there were several seats open, but only one still had food at it, and as usual it was right next to me. He walked over to the open seat, looked at the food, looked at the empty seats, looked at me, looked at the food, looked at me, frowned, looked at the food, looked at me, then sighing, sat down and attempted to scoot his chair as far away from me as space allowed. This entire process took no longer than two minutes. My response was simple: I moved my chair close to his and attempted to engage him in conversation.

My Work of Art

2006-10-25T07:29:00.000-07:00

I have a real love/hate relationship with my job. On the one hand, I absolutely love what I do. Teaching English in Japan is perhaps one of the most fun things I have ever done in my life, and I recommend it for anyone. You never know what to expect from these kids, and they’ll always surprise you, whether they know more English then you expect (fuck your sumimasen), just sit there in class and stare at you in complete confusion and apathy, or make an attempt to grab your junk (which, I’m happy to say, hasn’t happened in a while).

On the other hand, I really hate some aspects of my job. I’m at Nishi Joyo right now, and I have two days left here. Then I leave, and don’t return for at least a year. I’ll never see these sannensei again in my life, and by the time I return, most of the students will have forgotten me. The teachers realize I’m here for such a short time, and thus find little reason to start any type of communication. Also, while I can tell that while I’m here I make a difference in the students’ ability, once I leave any progress I’ve made will be offset once more by half assed teachers and a lack of interest in English. So, really, what’s the point?

Still, though, I’m learning to enjoy the time I do have at each school. Here at Nishi, I experience something I never thought in my life would happen. If I walk down the ninensei hall, a group of girls will start chanting my name while doing an impromptu dance. How often in your life can you say that you spur people into spontaneous song and dance routines? I thought the same thing.

In class, we’ve been learning about Halloween. I give a little spiel about what you do on Halloween, and then I introduce some Halloween words. They’re simple things, like ghosts, carving pumpkins, trick or treat, black cat, etc. For the most part, when I’m talking about Halloween and explaining the words, the kids don’t give a damn, which is completely understandable. Then, we play pictionary… and that’s when the fun begins.

When a teacher asked me to think up a game for the Halloween lesson, I chose pictionary simply because Suzie and I were talking about it last week. I didn’t think either the teacher or the students would go for it, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. The students, even the bad students who typically sleep in class, really get into the idea. Their pictures, however, are not always what I’d expect.

For example, one round in a sannensei class, I gave the word “mummy.” One group’s artist proceeded to draw a gigantic penis. I was walking around the classroom, and of course noticed the gigantic penis on the paper, and pointed at it and said, “What the heck are you doing?” The student apologized and quickly drew bandages wrapping said penis. The group immediately guessed the correct answer.

Today I also had a unique experience to involve myself in Japanese traditional craft making… or something like that. For the final two periods of the day, artisans from Kyoto came in to teach the ninensei how to make this Japanese piece of… art… and then each student got to try their hand at it. Naturally, not wanting to miss such an opportunity, I joined right in.

Said artwork is actually much more basic than I made it seem. Essentially, you take a sheet of copper. Then, with a hammer and chisel, you make a series of indentations in the copper of a design you previously drew. The copper is then covered in with these funky gold flakes, and the result, if done properly, is actually kind of pretty. Not being able to draw, I printed out the kanji (Kanji means Japanese writing. Are you happy, Joe?) for Walrus (海象) and decided that would be my design.

Now, I know this sounds rather simple. Just hammer a series of dots, right? I figured much the same until I started. Upon hitting the chisel for the first time, I was immediately assaulted by the three Japanese artisans assigned to my classroom, speaking in very harsh tones and then taking away my hammer and chisel. At this point, I was a little scared (I had seemingly angry Japanese people now armed standing over me) and sad (I wanted to make my copper plate, dammit!).

Thankfully, all I had done was hit the thing way too hard and put a hole in the copper and a dent in the desk. After the artisans showed me repeatedly how to properly hammer the chisel, I was allowed to resume my work. I should also mention here that throughout this entire endeavor, I took up the attention of the artisans. They were supposed to help the 35 students in the classroom, but instead, they just helped me. I love being a foreigner.

After most students finished their projects, I just hung around chatting with the teacher. Soon, a plethora of the boys decided it was time to test my might. I was then involved in about 20 arm wrestling matches. I am proud to say I won, but the last 10 or so got to be kind of difficult. This was not because I tired, but rather the students, in a desperate attempt to beat me, began to cheat. First they used two hands, but it ended up instead just two boys grabbing my arm and pulling it to one side. I’m glad to know that if it even became necessary, I have more strength in my right arm then two 14-year-old Japanese boys. This may come in handy if they should start going for my junk again.

During the arm wrestling matches, one of the male teachers wandered into the classroom, and joined in the battle of strength with the students. However, once I sat down across from him, he fled the room. I mean, he just ran the hell out of there.

I strike terror in the hearts of the Japanese.

Students do the Crazy

2006-10-20T03:45:00.000-07:00

My current school is known as the “bad” school. According to most teachers, it has the most “naughty” students in it (I find the regular use of the term “naughty to describe bad kids to be amusing). Well, now that I’ve been here for a week, I must conclude that, yes, it has the most undisciplined students of any of the other schools, but it also has the most outgoing and fun students. I only have this school for two weeks this entire year, and that pisses me off so much. Even though I’m sick and doped up on cold medication, I’ve never had so much fun teaching and walking the halls in my life. Just hysterical.

Take, for instance, today during cleaning time. I was hanging out with the sannensei, and there were four boys just lounging around, one of which holding a broom. They started just saying random English words, and then the Japanese translation: thank you arigato; goodbye sayonara. Stuff like that. Eventually, one of them says “excuse me sumimasen,” and at that the boy with the broom yells out, with a near complete lack of accent “FUCK YOUR SUMIMASEN!” He promptly hurls the broom like a javelin full force into the belly of the one boy who hasn’t said anything and then proceeded to judo throw the kid that originally said “sumimasen” to the ground. I was half expecting a fight, but then they all just started laughing and yelling out “fuck your sumimasen.” The last I saw of them, they were wandering down the hallway, continuing to yell out their little phrase.

There were several sannensei’s scrubbing the crap out of the hallway floor (I wish I knew how they motivate kids to clean this much). I was standing nearby, laughing at their determination and hard work, when I started talking to one sannensei girl, who spoke uncannily good English. So, I’m asking her questions, when I see this one boy keep jokingly pushing over one of the scrubbing girls. I ask about this, and she says that the two are dating. I say that’s cute, and the boy walks over and says something to me in Japanese. I look to the English-speaking girl for translation, and she says, with some difficulty “He says he has the sex with her.”

Then there’s this one girl who constantly runs up to me, waves her hands in front of my face, yells “WHOA!!!!!” and then bolts the hell out sight. I mean, she disappears with total ninja skills.

It really disheartens me that I’ll never see any of these sannensei again, and since the schedule is screwed up because of midterms, I only have each class once in the course of my time here. There’s got to be someway to change this system, and I know just the man to do it… now I just have to convince Ray to put forth that much work.

A Quiet Night Out

2006-10-15T05:29:00.000-07:00

The other night I went to a local bar with Ray, Suzie, and some of Suzie's Japanese friends. The name of the place is "Guy's Bar" and its both owned and run by a guy named Jun. Jun's in his mid thirties, and is, perhaps, the most amusing man I've ever met. I'd like to describe why exactly, but really, it's impossible, both because words would never do the man justice, but also because of the amount of everclear shots he was giving me to drink.

Regardless, perhaps one of the most memorable pieces of 'Engrish' I've yet to encounter came from Jun when I asked why he called it Guy's Bar. He responded saying "no, no, no, not guy's, gay's." Then, he pointed at me and repeatedly thrust his hips shouting "oh, oh, oh, steben, steben, fuck you haad, steben." Just ridiculous. But then he showed me pictures of his 1 year old child and then placed a portable dvd player in front of me and put in a porn dvd, so things were a little weird, but still, amusing.

He also had us doing drawing competitions of various sexual organs, and proceeded to have everyone in the bar, in turn, arm wrestle me. I must say I held my own, but by the 7th guy my arm was too tired to win.

Strangeness.

I prayed it would never happen

2006-10-12T00:35:00.000-07:00

I have learned that every day in Japan, I will experience something new. That much is certain. Today, for example, I learned the shock, horror, and discomfort of being rectally violated by the fingers of a thirteen year old boy. Let me explain.

Today, one of the teachers, Junko, asked me to join her for a class I wasn’t scheduled to participate in. Apparently, those who come up with the schedule only include AETs in classes where there is an activity. We are not included into normal everyday instruction. Junko, however, still sees the value in having me in any class, and so will ask me to join in additional classes. She is, of course, quite correct, as I’m able to assist in many ways, and I prefer it. I also just enjoy teaching with Junko because she’s easily one of the best teachers I’ve ever encountered. Plus, she’s young, attractive, and I have a date with her on Sunday.

In this class, the students (ichinensei) were learning pronouns, and while Junko was explaining, I was walking around the classroom making sure students weren’t sleeping (which happens much more than you might expect). I soon learned my folly.

In Japan, a handkerchief is essential for daily living for a variety of reasons, none of which I’m going to get into now. I always have my handkerchiefs hanging out of my back pocket. Students, of course, always try to grab them, especially when I have my blue one (apparently, some famous Japanese baseball star always uses a blue handkerchief, so for some reason, the comparisons are always made).

Today, while walking down one row, I feel my handkerchief stolen and immediately spin around to catch the culprit. Too late I learned this was a coordinated effort. As the one boy distracted me, a second boy right behind me kanchoed me. See previous posts for an explanation of a kancho, but real quick: essentially, it involves ramming your fingers up someone’s ass, and is a popular “game” amongst Japanese students. I had never before had this happen to me, and I pray to god it never happens again. Let me just say that it is not pleasant. The feelings of shock alone are enough to leave you stammering “what the fuck…” but the sudden realization that you’ve just been violated in such a way makes your mind snap into a realm of unpleasant insanity.

The rest of the class I avoided that row, because the student, amused by my reaction of “NO, THAT IS NOT COOL!!!!” became ever ready to catch me unawares. After class, I saw him approaching me out of the corner of my eye, and rather then try to confront him or defend myself, I simply ran in fear.

I eat lunch with one of the ninensei classes, and there’s this one kid who always tries to grab my sides or my crotch. While he’s succeeded in getting the sides, his attempts at my crotch have ended (thankfully) in failure. Today, though, he was incredibly gung ho. After continually sneaking up behind me all ninja like and grabbing my sides lost its fun for him, he went on a full frontal attack. I ended up grabbing him by the wrists and attempting to push him away. Naturally, I’m quite a bit stronger than he is, but god almighty was he determined to grab my junk. It took every bit of awareness, strength, and quickness I have to continually thwart his penis grasping attempts.

God this country is fucked up.

There's this one ninensei girl who, every time she sees me, puts her hands in the shape of a gun, points it at me, and says "bang." While this was marginally entertaining at first, it's long since gotten redundant, and so I figured I should find out what the deal is. I asked the girl why she repeatedly does this, and she took a moment to think. She then responded in English "I love to bang." Ah, the accidental perversion of my students.

There's a Bed in Back

2006-10-07T19:57:00.000-07:00

As I think I might have mentioned, October is a month for festivals. Last night, Makiko-san from the Joyo International Exchange Association and her friend Kaori-san (who is just absolutely delicious) went to the first part of a two-day festival and took me and Ray with them. This particular festival goes like this: they cut down a tree from a local shrine each year, and then burn it in a giant bonfire. Since gods inhabit the shrine, and thus the wood, warming yourself by the fire means the gods bless you. Thus, if you warm yourself by this fire, you will not get sick for the next year. It’s really pretty cool.

Last night, though, it was raining rather heavily, and so the four of us were the only people to come check out the bonfire. Today, the area will be awash with people and shops and games, but last night, it was just a giant fire, a priest, the local volunteer fire department, and us. Tomorrow when the festivities begin, a small portable shrine will be paraded around the area. Said shrine is housed in what was referred to as a community building, where the aforementioned fire department had set up shop for the night.

Upon seeing us, one of the firefighters outside attending to the fire invited us into the community building to check out the little shrines. Inside, since there weren’t any people around to caution about the fire, and since the rain kept the fire to a minimum, the volunteer firefighters were just hanging out in the community building drinking beer eating. Upon seeing the foreigner (they initially thought Ray was Japanese) there was all kinds of excitement. I was invited to drink with them, and while I tried to politely turn down the offer, they considered it too… how should I say… unique of an experience to miss out on drinking with a foreigner. I was forcibly sat down and beer was put in front of me.

This became my first real taste of celebrity foreigner status. As you may know, in Japan, you don’t pour your own drinks, and it’s sometimes considered an honor to pour the drinks of guests. My glass would be empty for less than a second before it was immediately refilled. This was good in that I now had unlimited free beer, but bad in that I had to teach the next day. I felt like I was being interviewed, or maybe interrogated, by the onslaught of questions I was asked, and I feel really bad for Ray, as he had to constantly act as interpreter.

Whenever someone new would walk into the room, there would be the immediate exclamation of “OH! Gaijin!!!!” Then, questions would be asked as to what exactly a gaijin is doing drinking with the firefighters, and more excitement would typically be generated.

Most of the men were already quite drunk, and questions typically leaned towards my status as a single male. For one of the guys, who talked to me the most, he could not understand why I was not spending every night having sex with a harem of Japanese women. That was actually a translated quote. When I explained that not speaking Japanese created difficulties in picking up women, he immediately decided he would rectify the situation. His goal for the rest of the evening was to try and set me up with Kaori, which while one would think is awesome at first, considering the fact that she’s attractive and really nice, I don’t think a wasted 40 year-old saying to her that “they have a bed in the building” (once again a translated quote) really helped me win her over.

I do believe my Japanese is getting better. I’m now able to ask questions rather successfully, typically who, what, where, when, why. Unfortunately, I have no idea what the answers are. For example, today at school, I ventured out to have a smoke. At Joyo Chu, the smoking situation kinda sucks, because instead of just walking outside the gates to get my nicotine addiction, I have to walk around the block to a little pavilion to have a cigarette.

When I arrived there, I noticed a Japanese high school student sitting there, thankfully not smoking (as that would have put me in a conundrum of trying to explain that smoking is bad). I then began to, for no particular reason, grill him on where he goes to school and why he’s not there. I asked him where he’s from and what grade he is. Really, I just wanted to practice my Japanese on this poor kid. He gave me answers, but I have no idea what he said. For all I know, he was plotting the conquest of Latvia, but I just sat there and smiled, replying “Is that so” to all of his responses. It’s kind of depressing how often I say that. People could be telling me anything from “I love you” to “I just killed a small child and I’m blaming the murder on you” and my only response is a smile, a nod, and “is that so.”

Today in class, we were doing a speaking test. Each student would come out into the hallway, and we would do a practice dialogue that they had memorized. The first line was “Please help yourself.” One student came out, and instead, simply stated in a loud voice “PLEASE YOURSELF!” I’m not sure, but I think she just commanded me to masturbate in the hallway. Several other students made the same mistake, but I think the worst was when one young girl came into the hallway and shouted “PLEASE ME!” I’m glad she didn’t understand why I started laughing uncontrollably.

Music to clean to

2006-10-04T02:35:00.000-07:00

Today, not only did they replay some Copacabana during cleaning time, but it was followed by... you guessed it... the theme from Spy Hunter, and cleaning time was concluded with the theme from Love Boat.

I don't know where the hell they get this stuff.

Bound and Essentially Gagged

2006-10-03T07:09:00.000-07:00

So I’ve had quite a few interesting experiences of late, which is probably why I haven’t written here in a while. However, I will now share two brief tidbits of… well… strangeness.

October is apparently the time for festivals in Japan. Each area has its own local festival, and these festivals are typically quite small. Small, but really nice. Think of your local church festival, or the fair for a local fire hall. That’s the type of thing they have. Only, at these, you may find something a little bit different from your average little games and really good food. Take the Terada Matsuri (matsuri being the word for festival, and terada being the area of Joyo I live). In the middle of the festival there was a wooden platform, where, if you paid a thousand yen, some people on the stage would beat drums and this woman in a traditional dress would dance around with a sword and then bless you. I likened it to a religious strip club.

On Sunday, I was supposed to head down to Tonosho matsuri, one station down from me. I was really excited about going, because a teacher I met at Kita plays taiko (and if you don’t know what that is, or my love for it, you probably don’t know me). Anyway, said teacher was going to perform with her troupe on that day, so I was going to go watch her play (and at some point in the future, maybe join her group).

Well, on this particular day, it was raining, so apparently the festival got cancelled. I found this out after walking aimlessly around in unknown territory looking for some sign of life, probably for about an hour or two. While walking around, I came upon a small building with the door open. Inside I noticed one of the portable shrines for these sorts of festivals, so figured I would ask them what’s going on. As we all know, I don’t speak Japanese. As I’ve learned, the average Japanese doesn’t speak English. This is what I was able to communicate, I think:

I am looking for a festival
I like taiko drums.
In this area, there is a park.

They in turn communicated:
No festival right now.
What taiko?
Come inside.

A bunch more was said, but I’ll be damned if I know what it was.

Anyway, I came inside to the very small building, which was packed with festival… stuff, people running around doing things, and a bunch of probably late elementary/early junior high girls dressed in a traditional festival outfit. Then, the lady that invited me in, comes up to me. Without saying a word, she removes my bag then takes my umbrella. Then, she opens my bag and takes out my camera. I was starting to feel nervous when suddenly the tall guy that I had first tried to talk to me grabs me by the shoulders from behind. All I could think of at this point was “this is it. I’ve truly offended the Japanese, and now they’re going to violate me as a punishment.” The woman goes into a back room, while I am being held, and returns with this little blue coat, much like the ones the young girls were wearing. Still without saying anything to me, her and the tall man try to forcibly put me into this coat. Let me just say, it was made for young Japanese girls… not a walrus.

After getting it close to being on me, I then realized that I couldn’t move. The coat completely restricted any and all movements. Now, I was definitely screwed (and not in a pleasant way). She leads me over to the portable shrine, and now my thoughts are “Oh, good, no anal violation, just cutting off my head as tribute to… something.” Thankfully, all my fears were unfounded. The woman began posing me, and it seemed like photographers suddenly came out of the woodwork. Flashes were going off like crazy, and they just kept posing me, giving me different things to hold, putting different people next to me… It was an experience.

Today was my second day at yet another new school (dear god, I’m getting tired of changing so often). During cleaning time, every school plays music. I’ve mostly been exposed to odd classical stuff, but today, at Joyo JHS, they played Barry Manilow’s Copacabana, sans Barry’s voice. Upon hearing this music, I did the only thing I could think of… I began dancing through the halls singing along. I don’t know what compelled me to do this. It was rather… uncharacteristic of me. But, the students enjoyed it, I won’t deny it was fun, and it was just a compulsion.

Oh, and I have a date with one of the teachers.

Accessorize

2006-09-26T21:55:00.000-07:00

Today in class, I noticed something a little... bizarre. Each student has his/her own little pencil case, in which they keep a wide variety of pencils, erasers, and other such thing. That in and of itself is fairly normal. Most students have various pictures or logos or brands on their cases, often coming from various aspects of Americana. You have the Winnie-the-Pooh cases, the Disney cases of all kinds, and the sesame street cases, plus cases that say "I love Puma" or are just a solid color.

Some, however, venture into the bizarre, often featuring strange combinations of the English language. One girl's case just said "LOVE FAN" over and over again. I don't know about you, but the one time I tried to 'love' a fan, it ended in a trip to the hospital. Not really a common utterance.

Some, though, stand out more than others. One has the following words repeated over and over: "Dream grew low. I could have one hope. Encounter is always fresh. Goldrush." I asked the girl what this means, and received a great "I don't know" in response. Well, honey, neither do I.

The number as far as bizarre features a small picture of LL Cool J in the corner. Ok, that's normal, Junior High kids love their american rap. Then, the remainder of the background seems to be parts of magazine articles about LL. Fair enough. Then, in bold letters standing out above all else, the cases says "Have you flossed today?" What does that have to do with LL? What is going on here? And have I flossed today? I don't know, but it resulted in me searching my soul for an answer for the rest of the class period.

As previously stated, some cases have generic brands or themes on them. One that really confused me was a kid with the Los Angeles Raiders on his case. Now, first, I know for a fact none of these kids watch football (and I've desperately tried to find one that likes such a wonderful sport). The hypocrisy of having a football pencil case without liking football aside... Los Angeles Raiders? How long has it been since they played in Los Angeles? Yet the case is brand new... this one just ble my mind.

Finally, there was one young student that had a case with the Playboy bunny on it, saying "Playboy" just below the image. Now, maybe it's just me, but I find something fundamentally wrong with a 14 year old girl having merchandise, in school, promoting a porn company. That's when horrific realization dawned on me... I quickly looked at the girl's socks. At the top of each sock was the Playboy insignia. I did a scan of the room, and noticed about 75% of all girls had the Playboy bunny on their socks. I had noticed it before, certainly, but it's one of those things that just didn't register until now. The majority of girls in Junior High School here in Japan sport Playboy socks....

Maybe I'm a little too prudish sometimes, but I just can't find this to be a good sign of future health for these girls, physical, mental, or sexual.

Look, Grandma, the rare and exotic fat man!

2006-09-26T04:41:00.000-07:00

So, I was all geared to write a brief rant on discipline in Japan, considering recent events, but then there were several occurances that have put such a rant on a backburner.

During cleaning time today, I ventured outside for a cigarette, largely because I'm lazy and don't particularly enjoy participating in cleaning time. Also, when I try to help, the students typically stop their cleaning to marvel at the giant gaijin, and then ask me to do a magic trick, as for my stuffed monkey, try to grab me, or just stand there and stare. I figure I do more harm then good, so instead of cleaning, I smoke.

Next to my current school is a nursing home/retirement home type thing. From what I can gather, many of the residents are rather healthy and robust older folks, but there are some that are considerably less mobile. Around the corner from where I sit to smoke, two employees of said retirement home took three old ladies out for some fresh air. Even with canes/walkers, these ladies needed assistance getting around, so I'm assuming getting outside is a rare event for them. I felt kinda bad.

Then, one of the attendents, a rather attractive young girl, noticed me sitting there, and began pointing and gabbering in Japanese. She then helped one of the old women stand, who then upon seeing me, got this "Holy Shit, it's a real foreigner! I've never seen one before" look on her face, and then joined in the pointing. This attracted the attention of the other old women, and one by one they were brought over to stare at me, up close. I smiled, waved, but when I said "Konnichiwa," you'd think I just told them that I have located the fountain of youth. There was suddenly massive excitement, more pointing, more staring, and more talking quickly in Japanese. They weren't talking to me... oh no. I was merely an object to be admired for my exoticism. Kinda like if you happend to see a polar bear wandering around your back yard. For fear of it maiming you, you don't dare approach it or get its attention, but you marvel at its uniqueness.

Earlier in the day, I was standing outside my classroom, waiting for the teacher to arrive to open it up and then start class. This was for an ichinensei class, so naturally I was surrounded at all times being asked for magic and monkeys and just generally being marvelled at. One student, however, decided that he needed to touch my stomach. I don't know why. It wasn't one of the grabs I normally get, but rather more like a rub, as if you're rubbing the belly of an angry boar trying to calm in down.

He said something in Japanese, and before I could bat there hands away, a plethora of ichinensei boys (I find it marginally disturbing that it's only the boys who want to touch me) began rubbing my belly. They just stood there, transfixed, rubbing my stomach, not saying anything. At first, I didn't know what to do, but when I came to my senses ("Wait... what is going on... this is REALLY fucked up...") I began trying to knock away their hands. This shocked them out of their stupor, so instead of just trying to rub my belly, the attempted action was accompanied by "BIG" and, when one slightly more knowledgably kid chimed it, the chorus became "BIG BELLY!" While I definitely feel weirded out, and this too was not cool, at least they weren't trying to touch my dick.

After school, I was witness to what I would consider a remarkable event. Apparently, coming up the entire student body will be participating in a choral concert next Saturday. The entire student body, every single one of them. Not only that, but all this week (and I think next) is dedicated to practice for this performance. Each class is cut down by 5 minutes, and the leftover time at the end of the day is dedicated to the students practicing. The practices continue to go on well after school has ended. During this time, you find, while walking around school, small groups of 10-15 students singing. You find them in the classrooms, in the hallways, outside, in the gym, on the baseball field, on the friggin' roof, everywhere, just singing along to a tape of a piano playing.

Now, think about this. What do you think the general reaction would be if YOUR junior high mandated that every student would participate in a choral concert and that you would have to dedicate extra time after school for rehearsal (plus the saturday for the performance). School-wide mutiny, I do believe, would occur. Here, though, just about everyone goes along with the idea and sings their hearts out (except for a few delinquents, the types of individuals who will be discussed in my forthcoming "goddamn punks" rant). It was eerily... pleasant.

Not Quite Ninjas

2006-09-21T01:40:00.000-07:00

So, finally, a post about a day at school that does not include me being groped by students. Therefore, a happy day.

Today, I was relaxing in the teacher's lounge when Hirosawa-sensei asked me what a band-aid is called in English. I said "band-aid" and this sparked an immediate controversy amongst the teachers. I have no idea what they were talking about, but every other word was band-aid. This went on for about fifteen minutes. I'm not sure why there was such amazement over this, but I suppose the teachers were easily amused at this point.

Then, one guy I've never talked to before, comes up to me and asks me in broken English what "carbonated drinks" are called in Pittsburgh. First, I was simply amazed that, among all the words he did not know or could not pronounce right, he got carbonated drinks perfect. The second piece of amazement came when he mentioned the reason he's asking, mostly through Hirosawa-sensei translating. He read somewhere that Pittsburgh says "pop" while everyone else in America says "soda." Now, I know "pop" is not exclusive to Pittsburghese, but still, the fact that he was aware of a separate dialect in Pittsburgh astounded me. I told him that pop is correct, and this too created widespread discussion. I mean, they can name their drinks "Pocari Sweat" and "CowPiss" but "pop" is just weird.

Earlier in the day, I thanked a teacher for explaining something to me. She said "you're welcome" and the guy next to her said "no no no no, you do not say you're welcome. no one says that. it makes you sound stupid." The above sentence was half in Japanese, but essentially, that's what he said. I asked him what he thinks you say, and his response was "No problemo." I can only imagine the blank stares and laughs he would receive in the U.S.

Other than strange conversations in the teacher's lounge, I had an interesting day after school. Classes end at 3:15, and from 3:15 to 3:30, it's cleaning time, where the whole school cleans. After cleaning time, I think there's a brief ten minute home room, and then club activities begin. Since my work day officially ends at 4:15, I usually hide during cleaning time, and then walk around to various clubs, spending most of my time with the Ping Pong club getting my ass beat by kids. It's fun though.

Well, today, I left the teacher's room, and was immediately greeted my two ichinensei girls. I don't know their names (they never introduce themselves) but the one girl I recognized from class today. She was one of those ubershy kids who will not respond to a question no matter what. If I would ask her a question in class, she'd just slink down into her chair and refuse to look at me. I found it extremely funny and so called on her constantly throughout the class. Her friend I did not know.

Anyway, as I left the teacher's room, I said hello to them, and then started walking the hallways. I noticed that they were following me, so I turned around and tried to engage them in conversation. When I turned, they tried to hide, but since there was nothing to hide behind, they just pressed themselves against the wall. They then followed me throughout the school, "hiding" anytime I turned around. It was really bizarre. When I went into the Ping Pong room to play a few matches, they quietly waited outside for a good 15 minutes before I left the room, and thus the following continued. It was really creepy.

A War Zone

2006-09-19T02:36:00.000-07:00

So, today was my first day at a new school. The trip to this one involves no hills (thank god) and I just bike through a shitton of rice paddies. Thus, travelling to school has gotten significantly easier, and I find myself jumping for joy in that sense.

The teachers here are an improvement from the last school. One speaks fluent English because he grew up in Queens, and seems like a nice guy, though I didn't spend much time talking to him. Another speaks near fluent English, and I have been dubbed his "smoking buddy." He never ceases to be amazed by the comparisons between Japanese and American schools, and constantly has me regale him with stories. Regardless, he amuses the shit out of me.

The third English teacher speaks just fair English. I can never remember her real name, but the students call her "fish." I have no idea why, and quite frankly, I don't want to know why. Anyway, Fish sits next to me. It was decreed by Queens guy that I would do the same powerpoint presentation I did for Higashi for all my first classes at Kita. So, Fish sits down and looks at me. She asks "Will you do your powerpoint for my class tomorrow?" I say that of course I will. Then, she stares at me. I got the feeling that I needed to say something more...

"I'll have everything ready, as well as a worksheet."
"That's good."

More staring. I fumble for something to say and come up empty. She keeps staring. What? What am I supposed to do? What do you want from me woman? Stop staring at me! Eventually, five minutes and a hell of a lot of awkwardness later, she looks away and goes about her business.

Today I only had one class, and I decided to arrive at the classroom a little bit early. Unfortuantely, this was right after lunch, so the entirety of the ichinensei class were lounging around in the hallways outside the classroom I had to get to. I round the corner and see them all standing there. At first, I was elated... they hadn't noticed me yet, and so I felt I could sneak into the classroom real ninja like. I take one step forward and one kid lets out the "Holy shit there's the mysterious Bigfoot" shout and I promptly have about 80 kids staring at me. Then comes to massive chorus of "Hello!" I say hello back, and thinking they seem somewhat docile (they just ate, so maybe they were placated) I begin to move towards my classroom. What happens next is truly the most terrifying experience of my life.

They completely surround me and I'm wading through a sea of 13 year olds, all jabbering at me in Japanese or simply shouting Hello! Suddenly, I feel something grab my ass... "What the..." and I spin around. Then, something grabs my side! I spin around again. Hands keep darting out from all places, trying to get a grab of any part of my body their grubby little fingers can latch onto. Realizing that there were too many to fend off, I protectively position my bag in front of my valuables and charge forward. Unfortunately, the charging was a failure since they did not get out of the way, and so it was a slow trudge through a mass of students, getting groped with each step... it was like walking through the jungles in 'Nam. The bullets were flying from all directions, and you couldn't even retaliate, as they simply faded back into the trees...

I now feel less human...

That is mine, NOT yours to touch

2006-09-12T02:11:00.000-07:00

So, today was a day of firsts. I still can’t say if it was good or bad, just that it was really surreal, and very few things I would ever like to repeat again. The craziness technically starts yesterday. On Mondays, I leave school for the last two periods and report to the Board of Education, to just sit around and wait for any important information. Yesterday, I walked into the BOE to find a plastic cup and a plastic bag with a bottle about the size of my pinky in it. Ok, this is unusual. I'm not entire sure what's going on here. So, I call over Ogino-sensei, as he speaks the best English of anyone in the office, and occassionally when he gets flustered he does the "Snake Dance." It's really indescribable, but I suppose the best way to put it into words is to imagine a 60 year old moving his upper body like a snake... trust me, it's amusing.

Saying that Ogino-sensei speaks the best English does not really mean he speaks good English. He just happens to know a few words, which means I have a better chance of communicating with him. He comes over, and I point to the cup, asking "what is this?" Ogino's answer is transcribed here word for word: "Hmmm... Ashita, asa, here." Ok, tomorrow morning, come here... "Eto......... ni-juu-ni-ji, no tabamono, no nomimono, no smoking." Tonight at 10 p.m., I can no longer eat, drink, or smoke... I fear where this is going. "Asa, medical checku." A medical check? What? "Eto..... blood... take." I take my blood somewhere? Someone takes my blood? I'm meeting an early morning vampire? "Cupu... uchi.................. PISS!" Ok, so, first, I was just told to piss in the cup at home. Do I then just happily carry the cup filled with my piss to work? I mean, I can't piss in the bottle, it's way too small. Secondly, after searching for the word in his mind, he was so happy he thought of it, he exclaimed "piss" at the top of his lungs... fair enough. That's about all I got from him.

Once Ray and Suzie got in, I was able to get some more information. Apparently, I piss in the cup, then, somehow, transfer the piss from the cup into the bottle (side note, i did succeed, but the process is not one I'd like to talk about). Beyond that, the extent of this medical examination was unknown except that they're taking my blood. I realized today that Japanese medical examinations suck.

Apparently, all employees of the local government have to get examined over the course of three days. I was elected to go today, was told where it was, and was sent on my way. I arrive at the location, and walk into a giant auditorium, where there are several stations set up, and you proceed from one station to another, being poked, prodded, and electrocuted with a variety of instruments. Naturally, the stations began with a form that needed to be filled out and a questionaire about current illness. I do not read Japanese, and so naturally I couldn't fill it out on my own. There just happened to be an old dude that spoke a little English and had a list of medical terms in English, and he offered to assist me. Unfortunately, none of the medical terms he had applied to anything on the form, and since he did not know the words, he decided to act out each illness, and then shake my head yes or no. Needless to say, a 70 year old man acting like he has heart pain, breathing problems, and diabetes is much funnier than it should have been.

With much effort, we got the bare minimum filled out. I then embarked on my journey throughout the auditorium and, as it turns out, outside, where they were doing the X-rays. I don't remember most of the "events" as they were fairly normal test your hearing, test your vision, take a picture of your eyeball type stuff, but some stood out. One, for example, I had to get naked and lie down on a table. I say table, and that's exactly what it was: a folding table with a blanket on it. I wish that this was the lowest of hygenic fears here, but it did get worse. Regardless, I lied down naked on the table, which nearly collapsed under my weight (and the lady tried to move incredibly quickly as the table kept shaking and making noises). Then, she attached giant clips and wires to my arms and legs, then to my chest, then my stomach. She told me to relax (well, she just said "relax" and a bunch of Japanese words, so I guessed as much) and laid there for a good ten minutes. What was done, I don't know. I think she just stood back at that point and laughed, but you got me.

Down the line, I had to give a sample of blood, and let me tell you, this was disgusting. No gloves were worn by the attendants, and it took place on a fairly communcal table, with little sanitization between people. Thankfully, the needles were prepackaged, but that's about it. This was not cool by me. Add my fear of needles going into my arm and the lack of food, water, and nicotine, and I became one disturbed Walrus. After the exam, I was so nausiated by this experience I had to run home, where the dry heaving lasted quite a while. Not pleasant, not cool, and not something I want to do again.

So, firsts here were Japanese medical exam, pissing and transferring my piss from one container to another, unsanitary blood giving, and watching an old man pretend to have a heart attack for my benefit. I wish the day got better.

After the exam, I had to quickly get to school, as I had a class to teach shortly. I made it a minute before class began, so I ran upstairs and got everything ready. When the students were filing into the room, I was happily drinking some water, trying to rest. Then, the single most shocking event in my life happened.

This was a sannensei class, and usually they're the best, as they have the best English skills. Plus, Saito-sensei was the teacher, and she's the most effective one there, so I figured a group of fun but knowledgable students. I did not expect that, as one student was walking in, while I was drinking my water, his hand quickly shot out, grabbed my junk, and retreated. This was not some idle small grab, but rather, a full cup of the whole shebang. I was so alarmed by this violation that water immediately flew from my mouth and nose, and I just kinda stood there shocked for a moment. Then, the verbal berating began, mostly in English but, when possible, Japanese. I tried to explain that No, this is NOT cool, that you do NOT touch that, that it is MINE, not YOURS. The student's reaction? Laughter. Peels of laughter.

I knew that such a thing was possible, even likely to happen, but you just can't prepare yourself for a 15 year old to suddenly without warning grab your cock. I am sooooo not cool with this happening. What's worse, is that my reaction apparently caused enough amusement that for the rest of the day, said student had to continually try for my crotch. Thankfully, I was ready, and so prevented any repeat violations, but still. The mere knowledge that some kid is going for my crotch just fills me with... paranoia. Plus, he decided that since he can't get it, he must get his friends to help. Thus, the entire day, not only did I have one kid trying to grab the junk, but rather a plethora of kids with the same goal. The worst was when I mentioned that since I am much bigger than he is, I can easily stop him and, if necessary, break him. He stopped, thought about it for a moment, and scampered off. I hoped that I scared him into submission, but no, he just felt the need to get creative. He returned a moment later with a BROOM! Now, I'm not sure if he was going to try and poke me in the crotch with the broom, use the broom as a distraction while he went in for the gold, or just use the broom as self defense should I try and kill him after he grabs my cock. I don't know, and thankfull, I never found out. He moved the broom forward, and thus I wrenched it out of his hands and, with no grace, ran away.

Despite the crotch grabbing and medical hell, today had its really good points. I had three classes today, all of which were my best yet. The kids got really into my presentation, and we just had quite a bit of fun. I felt that I really accomplished something. However, as I mentioned before, the kids love the Heinz Pickle Pins, and I'm quickly running out, so I am less forthcoming with them. Thus, if the students get wind of the fact that I might have some on me, I am immediately mobbed, with students trying to get their hands into my pockets. After one class, I had fifteen students literally climbing all over me, begging for pins. I think the funny part of this is that they keep repeating "pickles prease."

MOVE!!!!!!!!!

2006-09-10T03:17:00.000-07:00

As I'm sure I've mentioned, my current school, Higashi, is on top of a hill. This makes getting to the school in the morning almost unbearably painful. I don't do physical activity very well, let alone biking for an extended period of time up a hill. Returning, however, is quite easy. I just get myself going and allow gravity to do the rest. It's quite fun.

The problem here, though, is twofold. One is that I'm still not all that good on a bicycle, and so I have little to no control while travelling at high speeds down a hill. Breaking, turning, or anything else are impossibilities. Two, the Japanese are cutthroat in their travelling. The general idea is that "you get out of my way, because I'm going to keep trucking forward with my head down pretending you don't exist." This applies whether you are walking, riding a bicycle, on a scooter, or driving a car. You move forward with reckless abandon and hope that everyone else gets out of your way. I don't know how there aren't more accidents.

I have found a solution, however, that allows me to travel quickly and somewhat safely. While going down Higashi hill, I stand up on my bike, allowing the greatest forward momentum, and shout at the top of my lungs "Gaijin Tamaranai!" I have been informed that this basically means "Foreigner can't stop!" While I'm not sure if that is true, or if I'm pronouncing it right, or even if anyone can make out the words, it does fulfill its purpose. When I yell that out, any nearby pedestrians will immediately look up. They are then presented with the sight of a large, hairy, sweaty foreigner travelling at breakneck speed, appearing to have no control. In the event that said pedestrian is in front of me, he/she will have an immediate look of uncontrollable terror cross their face. It only takes a moment for them to realize what it hurtling towards them, and so they leap out of the way.

I've also realized that English can be used quite effectively as a weapon here, at least when wielded by me. It's not something that I want to do, or try to do, but it just sometimes happens by accident. For example, I was riding the train with Ray recently, and I was relating a story to him. Key to the story is when I said to some guy in passing, rather sternly, "I will CUT you." At the time of the story's telling, an elderly Japanese man was standing nearby. On the word "cut," he immediately looked up with a mix of fear and surprise, and promptly moved to the back of the train.

Now, it's possible that he may have known the English words and so was fearful I was refering to him, but based on other experiences here, I doubt that to be true. If ever I speak English just a little too loudly, on purpose or by accident, no matter what I say most nearby Japanese will vacate the area. Even in the event I'm in an area where loud voices are common, or just use a little extra bit of emphasis, English coming from me seems to have the same effect as if I pulled out a knife. Thus, I try to be careful with how I speak, but sometimes, it's just not my fault, and in the end I spread fear of the Walrus all around me. Oh well, at least I know if I'm ever short of money I can always rob a bank with nothing more than my vocal chords.

I Laugh When You Fall!

2006-09-08T21:49:00.000-07:00

Today the school had its sports day competition thing. I think it was phase one, with phase two being next week, but I really have no idea what's going on half the time at school. I guess my gaijin telepathy is a bit underdeveloped.

Sports day at Higashi involves dividing the whole school into three teams, each team with a color, so we have Red Team, Yellow Team, and Blue Team. Then, within each team, there are three groups, A, B, and C, and finally those three groups are further divided into Ichinensei, Ninensei, and Sannensei. Let me know if this gets too confusing for you.

Before the actual competition, they have ceremonies. The Japanese, I've found, LOVE ceremonies. The ceremony before Sports Day, though, was in some ways downright frightening. The students were all seated on one end of the field, while one of the head teachers was talking through a megaphone on the other. After some amount of speech, the students all stood up and arranged themselves into nice, orderly lines. Some sort of music started playing, and at that, the kids began to march in place. At this, students with giant flags got in front of the larger groups, continuing to march. A word was said over the microphone, and a third of the students marched forward. Then, another word, another third, and then the final group. After reaching the other side, the students stopped and kept marching in place. The music ended and they all snapped to attention and bowed. The principal got up in front of them, more bowing, more speeches, more bowing. Then the vice-principal, and you get the idea. There was no talking from the students, even some of the more delinquent ones. Just statue still and bowing.

I was really starting to become disturbed by this military-esque fashion, but nothing could have prepared me for what came next. There's a girl on the staff, I've found she's 22 and really attractive, who is kind of like a teacher in training. At first I thought she was the P.E. teacher, but she just helps out with everything, hoping to eventually get a job as a teacher. On a side note, she's really cute, and while I've heard confirmed reports that she speaks English, she's too shy or toos cared to respond to my attempts at conversation. Anyway, she stands up on this platform before the students, and music begins to play. It was a Japanese version of an oldies song, the name of which I've forgotten. That in itself was surreal, but then the dancing aeorbics began. I could try to describe this, but really, words could never come close to conjuring up an image of this group "dance." It involved a lot of jumping and raising your fist in something akin to black power. Part of me wanted to laugh, and indeed I did, but the other part wanted to run in terror.

The idea behind sports team is that the various classes will compete against each other in a variety of events, and depending on how your group does, you are awarded points that contribute to the larger team. Where it gets kinda crazy is the various events. Some are fairly tame: You have a relay race broken up by the various classes, so all ichinensei Reds, Blues, and Yellows are involved in the giant relay. Then you have other things like a 100 meter dash. Then you get a little crazier.

First there's the group jump rope, where everyone within A, B, or C participates. You have two guys (always guys) on either end, and everyone else in between. A lengthy rope is then used and everyone has to jump it. I think points are awarded by how many times you jump in a given period of time, but I'll be damned if I know. Regardless, the amusement comes in when no one in a group can seem to get it right. After a while, the guys swinging the ropes get frustrated, and just go crazy with their swinging, making it impossible for anyone to successfully jump the rope. What's more, they're swinging the rope so hard that they take the legs out from anyone who doesn't make it, and so they fall backwards, causing the entire group to fall backwards. From there, it's just a mass of Japanese kids in extreme pain. I laugh, at least.

The obstacle course event is somewhat interesting, as first you jump hurdles, and the best part is when the unathletic kids try for that one. I think one kid tried to jump, got his leg stuck, fell, and created a domino effect with all other hurdles and students. After hurdling, you climb under a net, followed by running with a ping pong paddle, balancing a little ball on top. Then comes the balance beam, and finally, you put these wooden blocks on your feet and hold them on with ropes while trying to run and falling over. That's the best description I can come up with...

They also have a version of tug of war that more closely resembles a battlefield than anything else. Two teams lines up, and in between them are about 15 bamboo logs. At the sound of the gun, both teams rush forward and attempt to drag as many logs as possible back to their side of the field. What ends up happening is a virtual war breaks out. The students become so desperate to get these logs, mini-fights break out. Pushing, shoving, jumping on top of, and any other combatitive elements seem to be fully allowed. After this event, a plethora of students journeyed to the "nurse" (who's actual job is just one of the office ladies, but she fills in by telling you to sit down and handing you a bandaid for the giant gash on your leg). My favorite was one imaginative student on the Yellow team attempted to prevent a group of Blues from pulling the log out of Yellow hands by laying down next to the Blues and systematically pulling their legs out from under them.

A final event, and perhaps my favorite, is the special relay race. Each team is represented by two groups, how they're picked I don't know because they don't correspond with any other aforementioned deliniation. Each group is made up of about 15 kids in a line, their legs all tied together. Then, they run. Together. The first group holds a baton, and will eventually meet group two, when the baton is handed off. You get the idea. The fun is twofold. One, in an attempt to keep in order, most groups have their own specialized chant. Words could never describe the funny sounds that escape these students' lips. Second, they can never remain syncrhonized. So, typically, after a few steps, the entire line just crashes, and everyone is falling over everyone. Hilarity ensues. All except one of the Red groups, led my a student I've nicknamed "Guns," a story in and of itself. Well, Guns doesn't bother with the chant. He doesn't bother with any time of group effort. He just pulls everyone else along with him, and they have no choice but to either keep their legs moving as his gait or just be pulled along. One really small girl in his group just couldn't keep up, so the kid immediately behind her just picked her up and carried her with him.

My duties during Sports Day largely involved standing around watching the craziness take place. Occassionally I'd be called upon to carry shit no one else can, which gives me a bit of pride when all the students start standing around, pointing, and exclaiming "Sugoyoi!"

Some of the teachers have warmed up to me a bit, though unfortunately this does not really include the English teachers that much. So, conversation is limited by the language barrier, but some try. For example, the school has a groundskeeper who occassionally tries to talk to me. He speaks no English, so his solution is to kneel down and draw little pictures in the sand. I have no clue what these pictures are, so I just stand there, nodding my head and occassionally saying "hai" as he just happily draws and talks.

At the end of the day, I was chilling in the teacher's lounge waiting for it to be time to go home. I neglected to mention that it was the hottest day it's been since I came to Japan, and there were no clouds in the sky so that infernal sun just kept blasting down on us. As one prone to spending my time indoors, I naturally got more sun than I'm used to. This resulted in the teachers constantly pointing and laughing at my red face. Which brings me to an important point. All Japanese people say they can't speak English, despite the fact that they all had to have it for six years. Now, I know I remember nothing from my Spanish classes, so that right there is no reason to believe they should be able to converse. However, the fact that they just pull random words out of their ass, like "Sun burned" just leads me to believe that they just pretend to know no English to make me uncomfortable.

Here's a link to my pictures site. There are two albums right now, one just a mass of pictures so far, and the second is from Sports Day. I'm sure you can figure out which is which.

Oh, so THAT'S why you're feeling me up...

2006-09-06T01:44:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I taught my first classes. The results were very much a mixed bag. The first two classes were ichinensei (7^th graders). The first one went horribly. I gave my powerpoint presentation, and they didn’t give a damn about any pictures or anything else I said or did. They got into the Google Earth a bit, but that’s about it. After the powerpoint, I gave out a small quiz, which also didn’t work, and finished it with a game, which they could care less about… the bastards.

The second ichinensei class worked significantly better. They dug the powerpoint and my humor. I cut out the quiz, and spent more time on the game, which they also liked. I was giving out Heinz Pickle Pins as little prizes (if you don’t know what they are, then shame on you) and the kids in this class were all about them. After class, the majority of the boys came up to me and began feeling up my legs. I was not only weirded out by this because a bunch of 12 year olds were feeling me up, but I was also afraid, after reading www.Gaijinsmash.net, that they would shortly be going for my dick. Thankfully, all the wanted were more pickle pins, and when I produced more out of my pocket, I was immediately mobbed by about 15 students, all desperately trying to get them… I really didn’t know how to handle it. At least it was just the boys feeling me up. The girls stood back and just kept saying “Prease.

The final class was sannensei (9^th grade) and half the class was into what I was doing, while the other half couldn’t care less. Strangely enough, it was the girls who kept answering questions and were interested in the presentation, while the boys just sat there mutely and resisted any attempt by me to engage them in the class.

What I found most unusual was the behavior of the students. I lost most of my Japanese cultural worship long ago from working on my thesis, but I still pictured Japanese classes to be very orderly. This couldn’t be farther from the truth. Kids would just keep talking in the class, ignoring what I’m saying, sleeping, or just being general nuisances. I just didn’t see this happening.

Yesterday I also realized how restrictive my lack of language ability is in the field of discipline. At the end of the day, before I decided to try and join in with some club activities, I went outside to smoke. While walking out, I happened upon four sannensei students, one of which lit up a cigarette right after getting out of the gate of the school. Smoking is prohibited until you are 20. I know that I’m a hardcore smoker, but I am also hardcore against young kids smoking, and I advise anyone to never start. So, I decided to try my hand at disciplining this kid. I failed, miserably. About all I was able to do is take the one cigarette off of him, but I couldn’t do anything more. When I related the story to Kubo-sensei, he was shocked by the student’s behavior and asked me to identify the student. Since most of these kids still look the same to me, I couldn’t.

I have found that I am a bit of a celebrity at the school. If I’m wandering the hallways and a student just happens to look over and see me, they let out this giant gasp as if they’ve seen Bigfoot. It’s like “Oh my god, there he is! Is he going to talk to me? Is he going to eat me? I don’t know! I will just stand here transfixed my the presence of this strange creature.” Then, I’ll smile and say hello, which every time I realize is a giant mistake. About the only things these kids can say for certain is “hello” and they repeat it, constantly. I can expect any one student to say “hello” at least 10 times to me throughout the course of the day. Now I just need to work on goodbye.

You Do Know Your Forehead is Bleeding

2006-09-01T07:41:00.000-07:00

So, the last post was actually written before I had left school for the day. I didn’t realize how awesome some things can be. I took it upon myself to aimlessly wander the hallways and outside checking out the various clubs the students are a part of. I have never seen such dedication to anything. These kids, junior high all, are hardcore. And they loved it whenever I stopped by. Mostly I’d just watch (I’m not too into basketball, baseball, and soccer), but a few things I joined in with them. I played some ping pong, getting soundly defeated by many of the students. I played a few volleys of tennis. I watched the art club, and then showed them my pathetic stick figures. Any time I would venture near a club activity, everything would stop for the “Hello Everyone” and then the standing and staring. Some kids were venturous enough to try and talk to me, but the English/Japanese barriers made it difficult. Still, though, they tried, and I was so proud of them for it.

The craziest, though, was when I tried to help some students with preparation for their big sports day… Essentially, sometime next week or the week after (I don’t know) all the school plays various sports, the likes of which I do not know. One task, though, is for fifteen students to be bound to each other be a length of rope around one leg, and then they’d have to run… the ropes were a wee bit scary, especially the way they were bound together. I can’t really describe it, but I did take a picture of the rope, as well as other pictures around the school.

I don’t have the words to illustrate the student dedication to their clubs… except for one member of the ping pong club. He was a nerdy little kid that sat outside the room where they were playing ping pong, holding his paddle and looking forlornly at it. I don’t know what was up with him, but I felt really bad for him. I tried to converse with him, doing some of the things that drive some of the students wild with laughter, but he just wasn’t having it. I just felt real bad for him, and despite all the other times I could have used some Japanese, I never felt the need as badly as I did right then, just so I could find out what was wrong and console the little runt. Well, nothing I can do… and I hate myself for it at the moment.

Another example of how hardcore these kids are can be seen sitting next to me. This girl got hit by something, I don’t know what, but she has this massive bandage covering a large amount of her face. And there is no way she is complaining. Hell, as far as I can tell, she wants to get right back out there, despite the fact that she seems to be bleeding from the forehead and can’t see through the bandage. What’s more, the teachers aren’t paying her any mind. Like I said, hard-fucking-core.

It's a Plural Form!

2006-09-01T07:38:00.000-07:00

So, allow me to describe my first two days at school. They’ve been, well, interesting, and a bizarre combination of absolutely uneventful and jam-packed excitement. This is my story.

So, yesterday was my first day. I traveled to Higashi Joyo Junior High, and I knew which way I was going (see previous post). I wanted to make a good first impression, so I wore my dress clothes there, though thankfully I was smart enough to have my suit jacket in the basket of my bicycle. I figured “It’s early morning, it can’t be too hot, I won’t get all that sweaty.” Dear god was I wrong. The act of biking up that godforsaken hill put me into a state of sweat filled exhaustion I hesitate to describe. Upon getting to the school, I hit up the bathroom and took off my undershirt. I than rang it out. I mean, there was enough sweat in this shirt that one would I think I had just soaked it in a bucket of water. Hell, I could have filled up a bucket of water. Regardless, I then spent the rest of the day in relative discomfort. Thankfully, though, I spent most of my day in the teacher’s room, which is the only room in the school that has air-conditioning.

I tried a few basic conversations with the vice principal, which mostly ended in failure since he spoke no English and did not understand my caveman Japanese skills. There are worse things, I suppose. I’ve found my time here is littered with misunderstandings and confusion, and unfortunately, the three English teachers did not help. I don’t know if they were just busy or were afraid of me, but they would barely talk to me. I think it could simply be that they’re unsure of their English.

Which brings me to an important point about Japanese schools. I now understand the importance of the AET. I remember my Spanish teacher in high school couldn’t accurately teach his way out of a paper bag, but by god he was fluent in Spanish. These teachers are lucky they can speak any English, and they’re teaching it? What the hell?

Anyway, I sat around until about 9:30, when there was a welcoming ceremony (the students just got back from summer break). I did not know that at 9:30 there was a welcoming ceremony. Everyone just got up and left the teacher’s room, and I was just sitting there wondering what the hell is going on. Eventually, I used my Gaijin Telepathy to chase down the teachers, and thus follow them into the gym. I was presented with a frightening sight.

All the students were lined up into neat little rows. Then, the teacher acting as the MC said something, and they all snapped to attention. Another word was spoken, and they all bowed in unison. One final word was said, and they all moved into an “at ease” like stance. It was so incredibly creepy. Thankfully, they were eventually allowed to sit down on the floor, and they relaxed a bit, but still, the military-esque feel of the situation was just disturbing.

At this ceremony, many things were said, none of which I understood. Eventually, I was called up onto the stage, and then sat in a chair as the principal talked about me. I don’t know what he said, and that frightens me a little bit. Then, I was asked to give a speech in both English and Japanese. Thankfully, I was prepared for this, and gave my little 2 minute speech, alternating between English and Japanese. Here is where I won over the students. I had a few amusing comments (such as “I like sports but am too fat to play anymore” and “I know I look big and scary, but I’m really a nice guy, so come talk to me”) which caused great amounts of laughter to erupt from the students. It was the only emotion I had seen them show the entire ceremony.

After the ceremony, I realized I made quite an impression. A large gaggle of junior high girls immediately ran up to me, and I suppose that since the first thing I said in English was “Hello Everyone,” this group just began repeating the statement to me. It was a little odd, and I wasn’t sure how to explain at that moment that “everyone” is plural. Regardless, that was the start of the students’ fascination with me.

I noticed that during the ceremony, students kept staring at me. I was prepared for that. Right now, though, classes haven’t started, so all the kids just kinda roam the halls and clean and do club related activities (clubs are huge here, and you have to be in one, and then dedicate your soul to the club). With little else to do, I too roam the halls, and the students just flock to me. The process of our interactions is always the same: they run up and all say hello. They repeat hello about 6 times. I smile and they laugh. Then, they just stare, I mean, just stand there and stare. If it’s girls, after the staring for a while, they turn to each other and speak quickly in Japanese, then giggle like crazy. I’m glad I don’t know what they’re saying. The buys just stare for a while, I’ll try to say something, then they just wander off laughing. I don’t have to use my wit and charm to make these kids laugh, I just have to exist!

I’ve found, much to my sadness, that I’m expected to help out with the cleaning. My helping out usually just involves me walking around and telling the kids to clean, which causes them to stare blankly at me and then laugh, or I’ll push around a little broom. I stress little. The handle comes up to about my midsection, and it’s almost impossible to do anything even resembling actual cleaning. The kids get a kick out of the fat man with the little broom though, so I guess that’s good.

The majority of the day, though, I just sit in the teacher’s lounge, working on my Japanese, lesson plans, or staring off to space. I occasionally try to get people to talk to me, but it always ends in failure, even the English teachers. It seems to me that as far as the teachers are concerned, I’m just some oddity that exists in their room that occasionally does funny things and the rest of the time is to be ignored. It makes me sad, but that’s what I get for being a JET that only spends two weeks in a school. There has to be a better way to do this….

Today was more of the same, though without the ceremony and more of the sitting and staring. It gives me time to work on my Japanese, and I feel confident I learned something like 25 new Kanji in two days, which is pretty good, but I want to be doing something. I’m employed by the BOE, and for the first time in a long time, I want to give them their money’s worth. I want to work with the kids, and it just doesn’t seem like that will happen in any effective manner anytime soon… oh well, I guess there are worse things. I could be at elementary schools all the time.

Thank you, John, Paul, George, and Ringo

2006-08-28T02:04:00.000-07:00

School starts on Thursday, and my first school is called Higashi Joyo Junior High. I figured it would be a good idea to travel to the school yesterday just so that I know how to get there. It was successful in that sense. Now, however, I realize why everyone would laugh at the Board of Education when I said my first school was Higashi. It's the furthest of any of the schools, and about half the trip is up this gigantic hill. The hill's not too steep, but it's just incredibly long. I ended up walking most of the way up the hill, which caused the trip to take around 35 minutes. However, I had never felt so exhausted in my life. I was able to do it, though, and after this, getting anywhere else is going to seem like a piece of cake. Plus, I know I'm going to lose weight doing this.

At one point, I wanted to make sure I was on the right track, so I stopped into a convenience store to ask for directions (which I can kinda do). The clerk didn’t know, so she in turn asked a nice man with his family. He pointed me on the correct path, which was exactly how I was headed, and I continued on my journey. Just as the hill gets much steeper, and I’m practically falling over the bike, pushing myself onward, when the guy pulls up next to me in his van. He rolls down the window and says 未だ　未だ　which means “still a ways to go.” Then, he drives off yelling 頑張って　which is a Japanese word that essentially means “Go for it!” “You can do it” and “Good Luck!” Yeah, thanks dude, I appreciate the encouragement.

Coming back, I felt really confident because it's all downhill. I decided at that point that I need some sort of battle cry in Japanese while traveling quickly on back. Something like “I can’t stop” or “Stupid gaijin coming through” or just “Gaijin Smash!” I think that will cause the unwary to stay out of my path as I speed down the hill without the ability to stop.

Somehow, though, I took a wrong turn. I suddenly realized I was really lost. My two clues to this were when I realized I’ve hit a flat area that I’ve been biking on for about 15 minutes and had no conception of where I was, and when I saw a sign for Kyotanabe, which is about two towns over from Joyo. Once again, I used my caveman Japanese language skills and was able to get kinda on the right track. Some guy was even kind enough to draw me a map, which was completely useless. So, I proceeded to get lost yet again. What saved me, though, was I ran into a Japanese guy who spoke a little English because he's in a Beatles cover band! How's that for crazy! Anyway, he was headed to Terada station (right next to my apartment) so I followed him back. I probably tripled the amount of time the trip should have taken.

When I got home, I was exhausted, physically and mentally. Then, I looked into the mirror, and I feared for any random Japanese passersby that happened to have seen me. I was soaked in sweat, and looking thoroughly disheveled, unpleasant, and angry. Fear the fat gaijin.

Speaking of fearing the gaijin, Ray and I traveled into Kyoto today to figure out where the orientation is that we have to go to tomorrow (I’m really getting tired of these useless orientations). When approaching the Kyoto subway, we realized we were about to miss the train. Ray said wait for the next one, and I instead replied, “let’s run for it.” So, we did. I charged full speed towards the opening of the subway car. Standing just inside the car was this middle-aged Japanese woman in a kimono. I wish I could have photographed the look on her face when she glanced up. Just imagine her surprise when she notices a giant gaijin, already sweaty from the heat, running full speed directly at her. She quickly jumped away from the entrance to the car (I wouldn’t have run into her, I don’t think) and then moved to the back of the car, as far from me as possible.

Anyway, because of the Beatles’ apparent English teaching abilities, I’ve never had such a warm love for John, Paul, George, and Ringo.

I Fear For My Ass

2006-08-24T03:02:00.000-07:00

I learned about a nice little Japanese custom often found in the elementary (and occassionally junior high) schools. It's called a "kancho," and what it involves is the kancho-er sneak up behind someone, make their hand essentially into the shape of a gun, and then ram those first two fingers up the poor person's ass. Apparently, bonus points are awarded for successfully hitting the center. I don't know why this exists, I'm not sure why it exists, but my god, I'm dreading my first elementary visit (which I believe is in November, so I've got a while to prepare).

What is slightly more disconcerning is a similar game that exists in the Junior High Schools. Rather than go for the back, the male students instead go for the front, and attempt to grab the junk. This apparently only happens to foreigners, as there exists the myth of the "bigu diku," which I'm sure you can translate for yourself. From how I understand it, they just want to see if the size is truly large. Simple juvenile curiosity, I suppose, but somehow I'm none too cool with the idea. A hoard of 13 year old males grabbing for the Tusk? I can think of better games to play.

Tomorrow I go to Kyoto for an orientation, which includes a walking tour of Kyoto as well as drinks at a beer garden (essentially all you can drink for 3 hours). This should be a fun day.

I start school next Thursday, and I recently discovered that on my first day, I must give a speech to the whole school. In Japanese. I'm not sure how well that will go, but it'll be a trip!

~RW

Cook the Chicken, Please

2006-08-24T03:00:00.000-07:00

There’s been a whole lot going on, but with my lack of internet to directly post, I keep forgetting to type up little entries for my blog detailing my experiences. Oh well, I’ll just do my best.

Last night we went out for Suzie’s birthday with a bunch of her friends, which proved to be very interesting. First we went to a bar/restaurant for food and drinks, which was called Forms: Food Place. I found it amusing. The meal consisted of a variety of different plates brought out, intended for sharing. For the most part, I had no idea what I was eating, but the one dish that I knew what it was, I would not try, mainly because I am not all about eating raw chicken. Apparently, that’s a bit of a delicacy, and the natives were mocking Ray, Suzie, James (this British friend of Suzie’s, he teaches at a private school in Uji) and I for fearing the raw chicken. I’ll try a lot of things, but I don’t think I can extinguish certain sensibilities.

As usual when I meet new people here, they are immediately amazed by my size, and must constantly talk about how big I am. Then there’s the touching. I was warned this might happen, but last night was the first time. It was almost as if they could not believe their eyes, that such a person as I existed, so they had to touch me to convince themselves. Sometimes, it would be a bit awkward, but I got used to it. Then they all tried to see if anyone could get their hands around my arm (none could) and comparing my arm to various body parts on them. One guy is convinced that my arm is thicker than his girlfriend’s waste. Normally, if people would feel the need to constantly discuss my size, I’d feel offended, but here there’s such a culture of open honesty that it’s almost… refreshing.

Well, drinks were had, games were played (one game involving putting keys into the slots of this crazy… I dunno how to describe it, see picture, and then if you put the wrong key in the wrong hole the cat on top shoots out. Crazy) and massive amounts of food was consumed. I kept drinking and drinking, but unfortunately was unable to get drunk last night. However, the other folks tried their best to keep up with me, and let’s just say they failed. At one point I accidentally ordered both a beer and a whiskey at the same time, and several folks were so impressed, cause they never saw anyone double fist it before. When it comes to drinking, I am a god here.

When settling the tab in Japan, you don’t calculate how much you personally consumed. Rather, all drinks and food items are added up, and then divided evenly amongst the group. Normally, this works well for me since I can run up a hefty bar tab, but this place was rather expensive and I wasn’t the only one drinking hard, so each person ended up owing about 10,000 yen. That’s about a $100. It was an expensive night. The bar tab total was a little over $1,000.

So, after the bar we hit up a karaoke place where I played the crazy stupid fat foreigner card, and thus amused everyone. Thankfully, someone else took most of the pictures that featured me acting like a damn fool, so I won’t be able to share those with you. Anyway, karaoke is quite the obsession (you wouldn’t believe how nice these booths are) and I didn’t get back until around 2:30. Much to my sadness, I found that the trains stop running in Japan at midnight, and that Japanese taxis can be very expensive.

It was a good night overall, and I made some friends who can barely speak English. However, I’ve learned that it is very much possible to communicate without language abilities, and often leads to amusing misunderstandings. Good times though.

Its Eyes Keep Staring At Me 08/17

2006-08-24T02:58:00.000-07:00

So, tonight we had our office welcome party. In response to the festivities, if you would have asked me this morning what I’d be doing today, last on the list would be biting the head off a fish. Sure enough, that was definitely something I did today. I can’t say it was good or bad… it was just.. well… I bit the head off a fish today. I think that speaks for itself.

I later learned that the overall bill for that evening was 9,000 yen, about $90 per person. 5,000 for the food, 4,000 for the alcohol. I didn't have to pay (since it was my party) but by god I definitely drank my share of that 4,000. The middle aged Japanese men kept trying to keep up with me, but in the end, they failed and stumbled home, as I kept going strong.

You Lie! 08/14

2006-08-24T02:56:00.000-07:00

Well, today was an interesting day, and while I’m tempted to start at the beginning, as would be logical, I find the need to start at the end. Y’know the old saying “It’s just like riding a bike,” implying that you never forget how to ride a bike? Well, it’s a LIE! I haven’t ridden a bike since I was in the 6^th grade. Tonight, on my journey to the local okonomiyaki shop (it was open this time) I decided I needed practice with bike riding. So, I rode it for the first time. Judging by the reactions of the people, there is nothing funnier than an incredibly large gaijin attempting, and failing, to ride a bicycle. Throughout the whole trip, my hands were shaking, and thus the handlebars, causing me to venture all over the rode. The best was when I tried to turn on to my street, coming home. I was unable to turn and went straight into a wall. I saw this cute little girl laughing her ass off. To make matters worse, in doing so, I ripped the only pair of khaki pants that I own here. Overall, a frightening experience, and one I’m not looking forward to doing again… cause I know I’ll have to.

Today for lunch, Ray and I decided to do what many office workers do: we purchased a small to go lunch at the supermarket, than ate at the office. The choices are numerous and the price is very cheap (I ate my fill for 220 yen). At the office, however, everyone felt the need to come over and see what the large gaijin was eating, and then comment upon how I didn’t get any rice with my meal. You’d think I just committed the gravest sin in all of food consumption. However, I did have a small victory in that they were amazed at how good my chopsticks skills were.

Coming home I turned on my television to be greeted by a children’s show with three guys singing Puff the Magic Dragon in Japanese. Overly surreal.

Finally, I’ve been waiting months to try okonomiyaki. I was told by several that it would be the greatest thing I’d ever have here. To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. For the first time since coming here, I had to suppress the gag reflex, and several times, since I had to eat this giant thing the nice lady served me. That was the bonus. She was the nicest person I met here, and ever though she spoke no English and I spoke only a word or two of Japanese, we were able to communicate as to where I’m from, who my fellow workers are, and where I live, plus what I wanted to eat.

You Don't Speak English?

2006-08-24T02:53:00.000-07:00

So, tonight I had a rough gaijin experience. I wanted to go out to eat dinner, and there’s an okonomiyaki restaurant near where I live, and since I’ve always wanted to try okonomiyaki, I was excited. I got there and it was closed. Saddened, I was still determined to make my first meal purchase by myself, and so decided to stop into the next food place I saw.

On a side note, small restaurants are all over the place here. It’s like the bars in Millvale, only more so. This could get bad if the food is consistently good.

Anyway, I went into this small little restaurant (I think they’re called ensai) which was operated by a man and his wife. I was the only customer in the place, and so the wife immediately moved to take my order. I expressed my inability to speak Japanese, so I took the menu, and just pointed to something. She said “beer.” So, I pointed to something else. Her response was “wine.” I tried again, and it was sake. Now, I was going all over the menu, and she indicated that there was food on this menu, but I’ll be damned if I could find it. By now, she is getting irritated so she calls over her husband. I decide to try a new approach, and just began rattling off every type of Japanese food I knew. With each no, the guy started to get really pissed off. When I finally got to “udon” I figure he had enough, and just pointed to his right, towards the exit, and said in a stern voice “udon blah blah blah I’m speaking Japanese and you don’t understand.” So, I apologized profusely and got the hell out of there.

I now realize how much my lack of Japanese will cause me problems. I think the first thing on my “to do” list is to learn the words and kanji for about 15 different meals, so that I can immediately get an idea of whether or not a place carries that food. I hope that will work.

I do not feel discouraged, though. Tomorrow Ray and I are going exploring around Joyo, so I’ll get a little more practice with him, then on Sunday, victory will be mine.

Ahhhh Tokyo

2006-08-08T00:12:00.000-07:00

I am happy to say that I've made it to Japan and all is well with me. The flight was horrible, 14 hours of constant pain, but since getting to Tokyo, I feel much relieved. This will probably be my only post for a week or two, as I leave for Joyo tomorrow and it will probably take me quite a while to get my internet set up.

Last night, I discovered the wonders of nomihodai. Nomi = to drink, and hodai = endless supply, or something like that. So, all you can drink (and eat) for 3000 yen ($30). Now, considering one drink will run you about 500 yen and just one plate of this food about another 700, you can see how quickly I can get my money's worth. I drank more than I really should have, and ate an even greater amount, but it was wonderful.

An interesting thing I've noticed in Tokyo so far. You see people smoking everywhere. However, it is nearly impossibly to find an ashtray, and looking on the ground, you don't see any cigarette butts. So, what happens to all of them? Do they eat them? I don't know! I get confused.

Tokyo, though, is a wonderful city, and I don't see how I could ever get enough of it. Sadly, I leave Tokyo tomorrow, so I get but a small taste of the place. Tonight I'm going with some people from my prefecture for yet another Nomihodai (I don't see this becoming a regular thing, though) and I'm going to try and hit up Kabuki-cho. Kabuki-cho is an area of Shinjuku, and the Tokyo guidebook given to us at orientation states "Both CLAIR and the Tokyo police recommend JETs stay out of Kabuki-cho," due to it's known association with yakuza. However, Miike did a lot of filming there, so I want to check it out. Should be fun.

No pictures yet, as I haven't taken my camera anywhere (I'm nervous to carry it around). It'll happen, though, don't worry.

-RW