Thursday, May 25, 2006

Every Situation is Different.

Depicting the life of a JET accurately is sometimes a struggle. It’s hard to get across the absurdity of life here when it’s actually mixed in with so much mundanity. It’s also difficult to make it funny, because a lot of it is not actually that funny. Many blogs you read (or at least would read if you were as bored at work as I often am) are just one- or two-line entries every day. This is because after a while ‘normal’ life is just plain boring; you run out of things to say. Although some of the best blogs are written by people in strange and foreign situations – ahem – after a while even the ridiculous becomes boring. The bizarre becomes commonplace. Things that used to thrill merely ‘are’.

Witness this conversation last week (lifted from Brad's blog - American Expat):

Yesterday there was this festival uptown in which each neighborhood of a certain city built a huge wooden float, and then they rammed them into each other all night to booming bass drum accompaniment [...] There were cataclysmic crashes of paper lantern covered, fifteen foot tall, floats happening one after the other right in front of me, and this is the conversation I remember having with Geoff:

"What are they hitting each other with, those floats?"
"I think they have battering rams attached to them. They hit each others battering rams."
"Oh. Cool."
"Yep."
...
"Can you imagine if one of your nuts was taped to that
battering ram?"
"Ooh, yikes. That would probably hurt."
"No kidding, right?"
"Yeah. Geez."
"That's funny. It's a-...what a funny thought that is."
"No kidding. Sure is."
...
"So how have you been?"
"Good. Pretty good. I think I elbowed a guy in the eye coming over here. Little guy. Japanese guy."
"Oh no. When did that happen?"
"Coming over here."
"Right. What did he do?"
"Nothing. Just kept on walking."
"Huh.”
...
"I think I'm going to go get a coke. Do you want a coke? I'm gonna go get a coke”
"I'm ok. Thanks though."

Crazy festival madness, booths selling everything from squid to airgun ak47s, and this is the level of discourse. I swear, it’s like everyone’s been doped.


-------

To combat this fatigue this post will report on last weekend’s activities. It will be reportage and nothing else. Hemingway always said (a personal friend) that less was more. Perhaps you can grasp the absurd which is eluding me.

Friday
Went to an onsen in the evening for only the third time in Japan. An onsen is a series of baths and pools in a garden filled with scalding hot water and naked men. The idea is that an hour spent slowly boiling yourself is relaxing, and for Japanese men this is an essential need. To start off I sat, with Brad and his supervisor Obata, in a deep picturesque pool, complete with waterfall, soaking up the heat. After ten minutes we moved onto the One-Incher. This is a very shallow pool that covers less than half of your body when you lie down in it, the rest is exposed to the chill night air. It’s a highly relaxing experience (once you can get over the fact that your flopping your bits everywhere). After the One-Incher came what Brad described as the ‘Barcalounger,’ only made of granite. This is more comfortable than it sounds. With your arms on the arms of the lounger the water and bubbles support the weight of your body. Floating without drowning if you like.
After ten minutes in the loungers followed what was promised to be the highlight of the evening. Imagine a deep scalding pool with tiled seats along the walls that you sit in. These are electrified. Electric chairs if you will. The current actually only passes through your hips and arse area, and indeed the ‘boys’. I made sure with Obata before sitting down that this wasn’t going to actually sterilise me. In answering he leant over a little too quickly and the electricity caused his back to spasm and to almost smack his face on the tiled arm of the chair. I got out.
Half an hour in 80-degree water will make you dizzy, so it is recommended to cool down – in an ice bath. If you don't actually move in the ice-bath you can be fooled into thinking you’re warm. Until some git splashes you. After the ice bath we moved on to a sauna so hot that you can only stay in there for a few minutes at a time. Finally we finished and headed over to the plastic stools to wash off at sinks.
I was so relaxed biking home that I almost crashed. I was like a Salvador Dali clock.

Saturday
Robin and I signed up a few weeks back to help out at the Fushiki Kite Festival. For two hours work supervising children flying kites in the glorious sunshine we going to be paid 3,000 yen (about fifteen pounds) and given lunch. A fun Saturday morning, but paid. Of course when we woke at 8am it was raining in Toyama, and Fushiki, and indeed the entire ken. We were previously told that in this eventuality the whole thing would be moved into hall where we would just play games with the kids. All round a win-win.
We ‘phoned the organiser on the way to ask where the hall was. He told us that there was no hall, because the festival was still going ahead outside. In the rain. This is Japan. When we got there two JETs were assigned to each group of children and shown into several large, but still sodden, canopied areas where we would play with the students. I don't teach elementary so I don’t really know any games. Unfortunately neither did my partner, a JET called Augie. So like all good JETs we bluffed it. However, the kids soon caught on that we were clueless and started teaching us games. After half an hour the organisers came to their senses and bussed the kids home, leaving us envelopes of money, goody bags of kite festival souvenirs, and a free lunch. All in all an easy Saturday morning.

That afternoon I was to meet Max and Emily for a beer before meeting up with everyone else to go to a roof-party being held by some JETs in Takaoka, Toyama’s second city. We went to an izakaya (restaurant bar) in the main station, where they serve gigantic beers.

“So Geoff, how’s it going?” Max asked as I sat down. I told him of my morning adventure.
“The Japanese, man, they’re crazy.”
“What you get up to last night?” Emily asked
“Umm, er, can’t really remember actually. Probably watched TV, relaxed y’know, school, knackered.” We all pulled on our huge beers.
“Wow” exclaimed max, “check out that orchid next to the escalator, a cymbidian orchid. What a place to have an orchid. I’ll bet it’s real as well.”
“No way is that real! Any money that’s not real – this is Japan, nothing is real.”
“Any money?” Emily asked, incredulously, “You’ll bet ‘any money’? Do you have ‘any’ amount of money? I bet you don’t have ‘any money.’”
“Oh yeah? How much will you bet? ... Anyway, so I went to this onsen last night, it was sooo relaxing I was like a Salvador Dali clock on the way ho-“
“Who did you go with?” asked Emily.
“Brad and his supervisor Obata. That Obata is a cool guy, young too”
“Geoff? Er, gay? You went to an onsen with two men? Naked. With two men?”
“It’s not gay.”
“That’s way gay dude,” joined in Max.
“Geoff, you just said you couldn’t remember what you did last night. There’s no need to cover it up. If it’s something you feel you need to lie about…”
“What? No, it’s just I was so relaxed I totally forgot – I was like a clock, like-
“A cock? Gay, Geoff. Gay.”
“No, no, a clock. A Salvador Dali clock, y’know, droopy, er … I, so. How come you know so much about orchids Max...?”

We arrived at Laura’s flat at around 5 o’clock. I brought store-bought kimchi and a bottle of red wine, and Robin some home-baked cupcakes. Soon enough everyone moved to the roof where we rocked out to Beck, ate cheese, bread, kimchi, guacamole, and drank immense amounts of beer, wine, and chu-hi until it began to get dark. At around 7 o’clock word got around that the landlady had arrived and was not pleased. Those of us on the roof quickly packed up and snuck off to the shops for a bit. Those still downstairs in Nick’s flat hid while the landlady berated Nick. From what I heard after this is what was said, in Japanese.

“You are not allowed on the roof. It is forbidden to have a party with your friends”
“But the construction workers, who don’t even live here, are always having parties up there, and they never get in trouble.”
“But you are not Japanese”
“What?”
“What are your friends’ names? And their schools? I will ‘phone their schools”
“What? What do you mean ‘I am not Japanese? And what has that got to do with-”
“I will ask neighbours…”

And off she went to ask the neighbours - who have never met any of the thirty of us - who we were and where we worked. Meanwhile we wandered around the block, having bought beer from a nearby conbini. A phone call told us that the landlady was not leaving, so we glumly decided to go finish our beers in a park, and decide what to do from there. Soon enough a few more JETs turned up at the park. Then some more. Then some with guitars. The party was in full swing when, an hour later, an Australian JET turned up with a barbecue and assorted meats. We drank, ate, and sang into the small hours until disturbed by the police – who put in requests for songs from one of the guitarists. Who knew Japanese policemen were so obsessed with The Carpenters? The rest of the JETs at this point started tidying up (although we are drunken rabble-rousers we are considerate. And can be deported on a whim). As we were all strolling towards the train station somebody suggested karaoke. Half the group went off, while Robin and I went to Sara and Mike’s place for some beers and The Simpsons. When you go to a JETs place the first place everyone looks is the book, CD, and DVD collection. It’s mostly open-house borrowing between JETs. I bagged a stack of jazz, and ‘Catcher In The Rye.’

Sunday
Woke up feeling terrible. Sara and Mike made some breakfast and we tried to decide what we would do for the rest of the day. Sara gently reminded me that today was the five-hour rehearsal day for the charity show. I politely suggested what she could do with that. “Now Geoff, we can’t do that, I am one of the directors.” Oh right. Darn.

As the rehearsal venue was on the way back to Toyama, Robin and I caught a train together. While walking through the carriages looking for a booth we came across Sharon, a JET who was at the party but disappeared at some point (possibly for karaoke, possibly not. JETs are like that). I got off at my stop, said goodbye to Robin and headed for the rehearsal. As I was a little early I walked across the park that surrounds the Kureha Arts Creation Centre and sat under a concrete pagoda to practice some lines. As I’m sat there an old Japanese lady arrives on her bike and sits opposite me.
“Konnichiwa” I say.
“Konnichiwa, yoroshiku onegaishimasu. Daijobou desu ka?” She replies as she gets her lunch stuff out.
“Dozo, kudasai. It’s fine really,” I say, looking back at my script. This is the single most successful conversation I’ve had with a Japanese stranger.

I try not to think that at this moment, in glorious sunshine, other JETs are in Takaoka playing a game of cricket that I initially suggested and have been looking forward to for weeks. Rain had postponed it the previous two weekends and this weekend – the weekend of my five-hour rehersal – was the first sunny one of the spring. The old lady finishes her lunch a little later and as she goes to leave she totters over to me and gives me a handful of sweets.

Five hours later Brad and I emerge desperate for a half bottle of nice Chianti each at the Italian place in town. The other cast members head off for a curry. Unfortunately we arrive too early for opening and wander around the station for a bit. A little later we go back to the ‘Fiorentina.’ It is resolutely shut.

“Maybe he’s behind the blind, preparing to open?” I venture. We both press our ears to the roller door, willing to hear activity inside.
“Nope, nothing. Beer?”
“Nah, the good beer place is closed on a Sunday. Think I’ll just head home.”
“Yeah, alright. Me too. I can’t believe it’s 7 o’clock on a Sunday and I’m sober”
“Feels weird doesn’t it?”
“Yeah. Weird.”

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Joey

Regular readers of this blog think that I have a somewhat unhealthy obsession with the number of ‘special’ people in Japan. Reading back over my various entries it seems I might indeed have a bit of a special problem myself. If you think I talk about it a lot it is because here, at least in Toyama, the prevalence of children and adults with severe learning difficulties is high, and I am constantly wondering why this is.

People I have talked to claim it’s the highly limited gene pool; immigration is not encouraged in Japan. Others blame various cases of water pollution and such by Japanese industries. If you look around it does indeed seem that there is very little of the natural environment that has not been in some way concreted. Even the most hard-line will tell you that messing too much with the balance of nature will eventually come back at you.

I mention this phenomenon because the other morning I met a new chap. By now you know of The Jumper - the guy who jumps up and down on the spot. And you are no-doubt familiar with Rambling Man - the menopause-obsessed lunatic who yells torrents of brand names at every passing westerner. These days I have several special friends who accompany me to work every morning. Allow me introduce them:


Smiley. A very cheerful looking chap who does everything with his tongue stuck firmly out the corner of his mouth. He always gives me a little wave on my way to and from school while chuckling non-stop to himself.

Split Personality Boy. He likes to have conversations with himself. He has a normal voice, and his alter ego a high pitched one, and he often has entertaining arguments on the train home. Every time I see him I wish I could understand what he was saying.

There is a teenager who normally sits across from us on the last carriage of the train to school. I’m toying with calling him Napolean Dynamite. He gets on the train, sits down with a purpose and gets out a tall can of coffee. Then he sits up straight and takes long head-back slurps at one-second intervals until it’s all gone. Then he turns the can upside down and bangs out the remaining drips. Once happy that all is consumed he sits forward looking purposefully ahead, no doubt for the next coffee machine.

Constantly Lost is a very tall Japanese man in his mid twenties who seems, well, constantly lost. He jitters everywhere very quickly, peering over everybody’s heads as though looking for someone in the crowd. He never apparently finds them. He can often be seen talking into his train pass.

The Wall Sitter’s special need is beer, as he is a drunk. He sits on a wall outside the main station every day and enjoys long - obviously highly funny - conversations with himself over a can of beer. He’s there when I go home and when I’m back in town later at night. Though not technically ‘special-needs’ I feel he belongs on this list.


I mention these travelling companions because the other day I came across a new chap while getting off the train. In fact he almost killed me. A short man stopped abruptly in front of me at the door, sat down, and shuffled down the steps on his bottom - much like a four year old in a hurry. I’ve seen him a few times now and every time he gets off the train he gets extremely dirty looks and tuts from those around him. Which I think is slightly unfair. Indeed I thought it unfair a week or so ago when an elderly Japanese man stared in visible disgust at Split Personality Boy and very deliberately moved a few seats down from him. Maybe it’s a good thing I don’t understand Japanese.

Where is this special ramble going, I hear you mutter to yourself. Well, last week a student came up to me in the staffroom to ask what the various clubs did at an American high school she is going to visit. Going down the list she came across the ‘Special Olympics’ club. I looked it up and found that it caters for sports-minded students with learning disabilities, but I could not quite explain it to her understanding. I turned to my supervisor:

“Sensei, what’s the Japanese word for learning-difficulties?”
“Cripple?”
“What? No, like with dyslexia”
“Spastic?”
“Excuse me? Learning difficulties, er, problems”
“Oh, you mean retards”
“Right. That’s great, thanks … so Yamamoto-san, leaving Japan eh?”

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Mein Gott!

Back when I was a high school student and, I realise now, a little shit, I used to mercilessly torture my German teacher Mr Owen. I thought that this chap was the strangest, dorkiest, man ever. He had huge rubbery lips, a near lisp and he taught this bizarrely nonsensical language. To be honest I doubted his competence. What on earth, I thought to my thirteen year old self, is he doing in this dump if he can speak German? Shouldn't he be in Germany? He obviously cant be very good at it. Which was a great reassurance to me.

One lesson he returned my exercise book to me with big red slashes through many of the pages. I can't remember what exactly he said, but I'm pretty sure it was along these lines:

"Geoffrey, what exactly are you doing? None of this makes any sense. Have you been paying any attention in class at all? This for example. Let's read what you've written here: sons noch etwas"
"But sir, what's wrong with that, sir?"
"Well Geoffrey, it means nothing. Absolutely nothing. It's like you just wrote 'table chair sky'. It is completely nonsensical"
"But sir, they are German words sir, I've seen them before. Sir."
"Sigh...Yes Geoffrey, but together they mean nothing."
"Oh."
"And Geoffrey? Please stop drawing swastikas all over your exercise book."

You see that was the year I was obsessed with swastikas. I wasn't a Nazi of course, I just liked swastikas. And drawing them on my German book. I also drew what I thought was a magnificent rendition of the Fuhrer, with demonic eyes, standing in front of a million mark note with the words "millionen stehe hinter mich" beneath (the only thing I picked up in history class that year, and indeed the only correct German I wrote that year). Months later in my German exam I sat dumbfoundedly staring at the massive space they had left for me to write my essay. Everyone around me was scribbling away. That was the year I realised that I should probably be doing some actual work in school.

I dredge up poor Mr Owen now because I've just spent the morning growing more and more angry and depressed. During class the students here nod, they scribble, they write on the blackboard, and all is roses. When it comes to marking their homework I get this:

I watched the MOVIE in my free time. The MOVIE is loved According to may see by you as long as it is at time all day long. The MOVIE goes to feelings to have the dream to see in the MOVIE theatre on the weekend because it makes it do. Especially it is the one of the MOVIE comedy system that sees by the hour now.

Mr Owen, Ich bin sorry.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

Black Dog

I am doing nothing here. Sure, I teach fifteen classes a week. They each require around 30 seconds of preparation, which I usually do as I'm walking through the classroom door, humming or whistling to myself. I also have 250 essays and 250 short pieces of homework to mark each week, but they all make exactly the same mistakes every single week, so really it’s a checking off exercise. I'm considering having a rubber stamp made with the words “Please refer to the corrections I made last week.”

A fellow JET once told me of a teacher at his school who doesn’t mark papers anymore; she just stamps them with a big red 'received' stamp. Yup got this, ta. She may as well just flick the pages across a red pen; it would be quicker, and would save her no doubt sore wrist. They would pass anyway, regardless of what grade they might have received. They will graduate school regardless of their marks; they will graduate because in Japan nobody gets left behind. Physically left behind that is. These kids have 'education' thrown at them for three years of high school and at the end they come out of it hopefully having learned something.

A corollary of this system is that bad teachers don't often get fired. They just get moved around in the yearly shuffle. Even the good teachers. On JET I have only ever heard of one ALT getting fired and that was through default as they had been deported for growing massive amounts of marijuana in their apartment. It’s like there's a bureaucrat in the ministry of education whispering in every teacher's ear “Look, just turn up and do whatever it is you do so that I check this little box here and pay you. Then my boss can check his little box and pay me. Alright?”

There's a growing issue in Japan about the number of NEETs (Not in Employment, Education, or Training); young folk who basically do nothing because they are either not qualified or there are no jobs for them. The females actually have a uniform - black sweat pants and a black baggy jumper, usually accompanied by masses of hair dyed a horrible blonde, far too much make-up, and nasty silver or gold spangly high-heels. I wonder what they are thinking when they first don this garb? Actually, I try not to wonder. If you are not a NEET then you probably work in a convenience store or an office, and this is no appetising prospect either.

You may recall a few posts ago the most depressing of graffiti; lonely figures drawn so intricately on a window ledge of a train. Here it is again:



In train stations there are posters strategically placed to remind commuting students just what is expected of them:



After seeing this poster several times a day for months it doesn't surprise me that the most blatant graffiti I have seen in Japan was where the school kids park their bikes by the train station on their way to school.

Yesterday a lyric to a song by The Flaming Lips I was listening to went, “Do you realize, that we're just floating in space?” Which when you think about is what we are doing. “We're just an illusion created by the earth spinning round” it continues. Which is great. Thanks for that one Mr Lips. Makes me feel good.

Pull back and take the broader view. Consider: what are we doing? What are any of us doing? Does any of it matter? And even if it does matter - does it matter that it matters?

Oh, and here's that graffiti by the bike shed I mentioned:




Have a nice day.


.

Friday, May 05, 2006

The Green Ink Brigade, Part II

Dear Tweedledum and Tweedledee,

Thank you for your concerned letter. While Tim is away, I, the assistant director, would like to take a few minutes to respond to your inquiry. I feel your nervousness has been sparked by the sudden, and large amount of music being put upon you for the good of starving children in Africa. That is to say, in your humbleness, I feel you are afraid you are taking parts away from other people who signed up for them.

Lets rewind to your audition. Due to your ecstasy at being allowed to try out, I feel you may have forgotten this valuable experience. Fortunately for all of us, I have copies of the audition sheets you filled out, expressing your interests in our program. You have explicitly stated wanting to be involved in the chorus, and even did a fabulous air guitar rendition of California Dreamin. The passion for which you sang this song was surprising, especially for two boys who are not from California. It was through this that we realized what a team the two of you are, and realized you would be excellent to have on board. Other than a slight scheduling problem involving Geoff and
REDACTED on Thursdays, we feel the application process was immaculate with the two of you.

I also sense a lack of confidence within the two of you that I would like to address before it becomes problematic. Lets look at “Exhibit A” from your original letter:

”Exhibit A: We are always leaving on “bathroom breaks” You are smart people. We are not. What could have tipped you off? Could it have been our girlish giggling? Perhaps it was that one time I loudly whispered to Geoff, “Hey, let’s get more” before demurely asking for a fifteen minute toilet break.”

Frankly, I am appalled and very concerned that you and Geoff feel Tim and I to be biased towards your lifestyle. We accept people in all shapes and sizes. It doesn’t matter to us that the two of you prefer to spend most of your time alone in one another’s company. We don’t care which of your organs are malfunctioning from abuse. You are special people to us, just the way you are.

Let’s move on to your “Exhibit B”:

”Exhibit B: The fact that not once in five months have we ever been on time to practice. Not one time.”

This is entirely untrue. For example, a couple Wednesdays ago, Geoff actually rode up the elevator with me, and I arrived at practice Ten Minutes Early. In fact, it isn’t uncommon at all for Geoff to be at rehearsal promptly 5 minutes before it begins. Mind you, these all happen to be the rehearsals Geoff was not written on the schedule to attend, that is, they were his days off. However, I don’t think you can call the man untimely. Let’s be fair.

“Exhibit C”….

Exhibit C: The fact that, despite having practiced at the Kureha location four times now, we still cannot find the goddamn room.

…is just plain nonsense. As stated earlier in your very own letter you come in and out of practice at will, taking small, secretive breaks with Geoff. Surely, your secrecy depends on the ability to find the room. I have seen you slip out for a rendezvous several times. As you stated previously, we are not thick, and we have noticed. Also, as stated previously, we choose to respect your choices.

Then you bring to my attention “Exhibit D:”

Exhibit D: The fact that, up until last week, everyone in the entire production knew Geoff Davies’ lines except Geoff Davies.

Once again, here you have your facts mixed up. Even after last week, Geoff Davies still does not have his portion of the script memorized. This portion should not be referred to as “lines” in the plural sense, but as “line” in the singular sense. We are slightly afraid we will have to pull this line from the script, thus taking away some of the responsibilities you strongly requested during your audition. Therefore, we feel it necessary to add in new roles, in the unlikely even Geoff can’t learn his line.

Now we come to your final request, and I believe the point of this letter: the pixies. I don’t know why you thought you were a pixie. Just because, you go over and place a flower crown in your hair does not entitle you to be a pixie. I have seen your abilities, and while I do think you show extreme daintiness while you lick sugary nubs off the end of long sticks, your size, build, and voices just won’t do for the role of pixie. Honestly, why would we choose you, when we have seven beautiful Japanese women, trained in dance, to fill this role. I am sorry for any confusion that might have come from the choreographer allowing you to do some prancing one day. As stated several times, we do not want to discourage you from being yourself. Please feel free to prance knowing it won’t be on stage.

Further we don’t think your “foolish, fast-living ways” need changing. We think you two seem perfectly content in what you are doing to your bodies together. And we DON’T find that a liability to this organization. I feel by suggesting it, you are insulting other people in this play.

I hope this letter has resolved some of your inner issues about the show. I hope you understand that you are a valuable part of our team here, and that what you see as failures to us, we merely see as lifestyle choices. We would never be disappointed in you, and we think you can handle your load. As for the pixies, even if you should change your minds, I am sorry to say you simply cannot have that role. While you were obviously made for many things, this reaches past the gifts you were given.

Sincerely,
Princess, Friend, and the Director of your Ass.,
Sara Ray