Joseph in Japan

These Old Dogs

2011-07-30T16:01:00.000+09:00

Seoul's palaces, museums, and vast 24/7 shopping districts nearly destroyed my feet. Good thing I've got Super Sentai band-aids.

If I'm not too lazy or busy packing, I'll post more about Korea soon. To sum things up though, Korea is awesome and you should go there.

BAWWWWW

2011-07-20T19:46:00.000+09:00

Well, this is it. My last day of work is Friday. I'm gonna miss my students so bad! ;_;

Allow Me to Introduce Pepsiman

2011-07-17T10:52:00.000+09:00

ALL PARTS MADE OF SMELLING MATERIAL.

Of all the super awesome toys I've picked up this year in Japan, Pepsiman just might be my favorite. I happened upon this gem at a weird little shop in Hiroshima, and successfully haggled him down to a reasonable price in broken Japanese. I was, and still am, quite proud of myself.

He is very confident of his physical ability.

This thing has so many priceless features! Not only does he supposedly smell like Pepsi, he comes with a snowboard, crutch, and leg cast. So he can catch some rad air and then snap his leg and hobble around on a cast. Plus, mine is some kind of special edition where his body seems to be liquefying into Pepsi.

Especially, he is so into sideways-riding-sports . . .

This guy, an amalgamation of Silver Surfer and a Pepsi can, used to be Pepsi's mascot in Japan. In the commercials, he would basically come flying out of nowhere on a snowboard or something equally x-treme, and then a big gaping mouth-hole would open up on his otherwise featureless face miraculously filling some helpless thirsty person's empty glass with Pepsi. The Pepsi didn't actually flow from his mouth, it just kinda appeared in the glass when his face would open up. Pretty creepy, actually.

The Pepsiman commercials all seem to be set in the United States. Everything is even in English with Japanese subtitles. Too bad we never actually got Pepsiman in America. All we got was that little girl with the manvoice. Remember her from the early '00s?

Now if I could just track down a copy of Pepsiman for PlayStation . . .

The End is Near

2011-07-14T20:28:00.001+09:00

Written in English on the back is,
"we could have a good time with you!! Thank you!!"

A student gave this to me today. She came to the English office and asked to see me, and when I stepped out she bowed deeply and presented this to me with both hands--the most polite way to present a gift in Japanese culture.

I was really touched, and after the ruckus I caused thanking the girl over and over just outside the office, all my coworkers wanted to see what I got. They were so jelly.

In one of my classes today, when I explained that I would be returning to America soon, one of my boys started to cry. He turned red with embarrassment, and he was literally crying tears. These aren't even little kids; they're teenagers. I wasn't really sure what to do, so I gave him some doodads from my prize basket to remember me by.

Until today, I hadn't realized how much my students really appreciate me. It's going to be seriously sad saying goodbye next Friday.

Chicken in Bizarro World

2011-07-12T22:54:00.000+09:00

Most Americans and Japanese can easily agree that fried chicken sounds like a good meal. When I have the opportunity to take my pick from a big greasy bucket of the Colonel’s secret recipe, I go for the breast, of course. That’s the logical choice, right? It’s the biggest section of white meat with the least obstructive bones. The darker, greasier, veinier, sinewier, bonier bits are just the leftover scraps if you ask me.

Japan thinks we Americans eat the leftover chicken scraps. To them, white meat is dry and flavorless. They go for the dark stuff. If you order a pricier high quality chicken sandwich over here, you’ll get an extra veiny patty of pressed together dark meat scraps and gristle. At McDonald’s in the States, the Chicken Selects get their name because they’re supposedly “select” portions of nice white meat chicken. McDonald's Japan "selects" the darkest gristleiest scraps. Most Japanese bars have fried chicken gristle or cartilage on the menu. People order that. On purpose. At the grocery store, nice big cuts of white meat are discounted. Nobody wants to buy them.

Too Cool for School

2011-06-30T10:53:00.001+09:00

Today's Japan fact: there are no janitors in the Japanese public school system.

I just helped three other teachers carry a dusty mold-filled refrigerator down four floors of outdoor stairs and across a parking lot to the school's own personal garbage dump in 90-degree heat. Totally worth it though, because now we finally have a functional fridge in the English office again after months of drinking warm Coke Zero with lunch.

My Personal Cheer Squad

2011-06-25T18:03:00.002+09:00

Every morning on my commute to work, I play Nintendo DS on the train. Even if I don't particularly feel like playing, I have to. People are counting on me.

It started a few months ago when I was really into Pokémon White Version. I played it every chance I had, which of course included standing on the train platform in a huge crowd while I waited for my morning train. A small group of elementary school boys--decked out in their goofy little sun hats with elastic chinstraps, dress slacks shorts, and their $300+ backpacks--eventually noticed that the foreign gentleman was playing Pokémon.

The kids were pretty shy at first. They'd pretend not to be watching me, and just sneak peeks at the screens when they thought I was too into the game to notice. They weren't subtle though. They'd elbow each other and bicker, trying to get the best view. And although I don't understand that much Japanese, I can easily pick out Pokémon names, even Japanese ones.

One morning, when I was really into the book I was reading, I decided to read on the platform and train instead of playing DS. The kids gathered around as usual, but they were disappointed. One boy worked up the guts to approach me and ask, in Japanese, where my DS was. Another boy knocked him pretty hard on the head for being so forward. I hadn't realized, until that point, that they actually looked forward to watching me play. So, I put my book away and got out my DS; this small action was met with much fanfare.

Now my little schoolboy cheer squad pushes through the crowds every morning to watch me play. They shout out their advice, cringe and curse when I mess up, and gawk at all the English text in my North American localized games. Part of my job as a JET Programme ALT is to promote cultural exchange and break down the barriers that exist here between the Japanese and the outside world. So, part of my job, as I see it, is to play my Nintendo DS every morning to the great delight and amusement of a growing group of little boys.

Lice Check

2011-06-24T00:24:00.000+09:00

Japanese kids often confuse the letters "r" and "l" in both speech and writing. Now, I'm not making fun of my students--I would never do that--but I had to giggle just a little when a kid wrote, "My favorite food is fried lice."

The Midnight Creeper

2011-06-12T22:46:00.000+09:00

The ¥1 coin is about the size of a penny.

A mukade is a disgustingly large poisonous centipede, and sometime after midnight on Thursday night (early Friday morning) I noticed one crawling on my leg as I lay in bed. The lights were off, and I wasn't quite sure what I was feeling move up my leg, but I put my hand on it and flung it off of me. I heard its heavy body thump against the cardboard-esque sliding door of our closet, and at that point I was pretty sure we'd just had our first mukade encounter. I sprang up and tugged at the string of our overhead lamp, and the light came on just in time for me to see the nasty little creature scurry under a bag of old clothes.

I kept my eye on that bag, and Morgan went for a can of bug spray. Once armed, I sprayed all around the base of the bag, and then picked it up to find nothing underneath. We searched for a while, but didn't find it. Desperate, we laid out an entire roll of tape face up around the edges of our bedroom hoping to trap it if it came back out. We moved onto the couch in the living room to be elevated off the floor. Morgan was up the rest of the night, terrified and unable to sleep.

It wasn't until the next day at work that I noticed I'd been bitten. It must have got me right when I put my hand on it to fling it off. It left two tiny little red dots on my hip. Fortunately, I must have some natural immunity--or maybe I just flung it off before it could really envenom me--because the bite didn't swell or anything. I did feel a little sick, and the area did ache a bit, it's entirely worn off now.

Morgan spent that entire Friday mortified and unable to sleep or really do anything in the house. She went out and amassed an arsenal for our fight against the creature, and when I came home we set out to destroy it. I sprayed a special liquid chalk mukade killer around the perimeter of every room, every window, and every door. I sprayed bug spray down every drain.

I guess we smoked it out, because Morgan spotted the thing crawling out from under the couch I had been lying on. It went right under my pillow. There are a whole lot of creepy stories about mukade out there, and some of them say that squashing them releases a sent that attracts more. I've also read that surviving segments can crawl away and survive. The recommended methods are burning and drowning.

We had a hammer and the bug spray handy, so I pinned the thing to the couch with the hammer and unloaded just about the whole can of spray onto it. It bucked and flailed for a long long time, and I just kept spraying. It lost a few legs, and finally grew still. I picked it up with a mismatched pair of chopsticks and dropped it into a tupperware. It was still moving even when I sealed it inside, so I filled the container with water and sealed it again.

It's dead now, and we can sleep again. I don't think I'll ever forget that thing crawling up my leg in the night though, so I don't think I'll sleep as soundly as before in this apartment ever again.

Yucko, right?

Avert Your Eyes

2011-05-29T13:26:00.000+09:00

Last week, Morgan went to the eye doctor with the help of our neighbor Diane, and I tagged along. Right as we walked in the door, a magazine rack with the latest volume of Weekly Jump caught my eye, so I took that and amused myself with it in the waiting area. Now, most doctors that I've been to back home have something like daytime talk shows or news playing on the TVs in the waiting room. Well, this place had eye surgery on a couple big screen flat panels. Seriously, like close up high resolution imagery of eyeballs being punctured, sliced, etc. Yikes!

The Mega Mac

2011-05-23T20:33:00.000+09:00

four 1.6 oz (45.4 g) beef patties and an extra slice of cheese

Got me an LL size Mega Mac set. Ate every last fry too. I'm already jealous though, because I read on Wikipedia that somewhere out there in the world there exists something called the Monster Mac, which has eight patties!

2011-05-22T21:41:00.000+09:00

Tomorrow.

Watching the News

2011-05-04T21:09:00.000+09:00

Sorry about dumping another text wall here. I intended this blog to be more of a lighthearted photo journal of my experiences in Japan. I'll try to bring it around, but I felt like I had to write this, and I really didn't know where else to put it.

On Monday, as is my habit, I logged onto Facebook from my cell phone as I sat down at my desk to eat my lunch. One of the first status updates I read was my friend Brannon’s commentary on the death of Osama bin Laden. It was the first I’d heard about it. I immediately ditched my cell phone and booted up the shared office laptop.

The laptop is old and slow, and to make matters worse, it was just waking up. Groggy as it was, I forced the poor thing to scurry through every news outlet looking for President Obama’s statement. The English office at my high school is incredibly quiet and serious, even during lunch time. Japanese teachers, at least at my school, don’t get to leave for lunch. They don’t really get a break either. They’re still expected to work, but they’re forgiven—for a brief moment—for tending to their bodies’ basic needs. Normally, I’m as quiet as everyone else during lunch. I keep to myself at my desk and eat my sandwiches and soups and poke around on Facebook and Twitter while my coworkers scarf down cold white rice and grade papers. Monday was different though. I turned the volume up on that rickety old laptop, and hit play on a video of my president’s statement. That is, once I finally found it on some Texas town’s local news site. Every other video website on the net is blocked by the school’s filtering system.

History was being made, and I wasn’t going to wait until after work to catch up. When the towers came down ten years ago, I was a high school freshman. It was just before homeroom when the first tower came down, and I could tell right away that something was going on. Teachers were out in the hall talking about war and death in the present tense. They were obviously scared. The TV was already on in my homeroom. My homeroom teacher told everyone to shut up and sit down. He told us to take it all in, and to remember all of it forever because it was history—our history—and that we’d be answering questions about where we were and what we were doing right then for the rest of our lives.

Ten years later, there I was in a foreign country, but still at school; still watching the news. I was watching alone this time. As I sat there wide-eyed watching the first president I voted for—my president—tell me that Osama bin Laden, the mastermind of terrorist attacks that brought an end to the America of my childhood and created “post 9/11 America,” had finally been found, my coworkers went about their work in silence. No one asked me what I was watching, or why I was watching it.

I’m not naïve enough to think that bin Laden’s death brings the War on Terror to an immediate end. I realize that things are much more complicated than the press and the propaganda machine would have us believe. I know we can’t be sure of what really really happened. I know things won’t just go back to the way they were. I know I’ll still have to take off my shoes at the airport. I can’t say that I’m happy, exactly, that a man is dead. I don’t celebrate death. Still though, I can’t help it—I feel a little relieved somehow. I feel like maybe, maybe, things can be a little different now. Maybe we can move on now. I’m pretty sure Obama has his next term secured. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to go home to a United States that will be fooled into electing Donald Trump as president. I’m optimistic, but who knows what’s next?

Japanese Easter FML

2011-04-18T13:18:00.001+09:00

Just found out that there are no classes today because of some kind of testing, so there won't be an English Club meeting after school.

I already had everything set up for an Easter party. Morgan even made Rice Krispies Treats with Cupcake Pebbles.

Nobody told me about the testing. It's probably common knowledge, but I guess people forget I'm foreign and don't know the language.

Oh well, now I'll just eat the Cupcake Pebbles Treats myself!

Cartoon Condoms

2011-04-16T21:58:00.000+09:00

"Just Fit" is apparently a line of Fist of the North Star condoms. Kenshiro here caught my eye at the drugstore today, so I decided to walk over and see what he was selling. Apparently, Kenshiro is now a condom salesman.

For those of you unfamiliar with Kenshiro, he basically kung fu pokes people in special ways that cause their heads and other limbs to swell up and explode into bloody messes, usually flinging eyeballs and organs every which way. Morgan immediately made the connection, and suggested that Kenshiro, badass though he is, may not be the best spokesman for condoms.

Blood Donation - Charity for Cheap

2011-04-12T19:33:00.001+09:00

Whether in Japan or the United States, I’m easily distracted and a little lazy sometimes. It was the week before last that I went to the Red Cross to donate blood, and I’ve been meaning to write about it since.

I decided to give blood because I really wanted to contribute in some way to the disaster relief effort, and although I make a decent salary as a JET, I can’t spare much money. Getting ourselves set up in Chicago later this year is going to be seriously expensive, especially if we have trouble finding good jobs right away. Blood donations are transported all over Japan quickly according to need, and it’s something I can spare pretty easily.

I’ve heard that a lot of foreigners are turned away from blood banks, not only because of Japan’s outrageously extensive list of restrictions on blood donation, but because the Red Cross workers feel that they can’t properly communicate with the foreign donors. I’m learning Japanese, I really am. I study. My Japanese is still really pitiful though, so I asked my neighbor Diane to come with me to the Red Cross. She’s Canadian, but she speaks Japanese pretty well after living here and studying the language for four years. Communication, even with Diane’s help, was pretty awkward. It took us a good long time to fill out the required forms, which of course were entirely in Japanese.

Eventually, someone a doctor who spoke a little English produced an English translation of the forms. That really sped up the process. What was taking forever—the nurses slowly describing each section of the form to Diane in Japanese, Diane looking up the words on her phone, then telling me, and finally trying to provide an answer to the nurses in Japanese—suddenly took very little time. Do you have such-and-such disease? Nope. Did you get a tattoo or piercing recently? Nope. So on and so forth. Of course, the English version of the form, helpful as it was, was riddled with Engrish. I couldn’t help but giggle at some of the sections. Check out these gems:

Remove the dental calculus. I didn't even take calculus! How'd that get in there?

We know what you did, male donors.

Diane didn’t make it through the restrictions on blood donation. She disclosed that she had received a blood transfusion from her mother something like 25 years ago which disqualified her. Seriously! Morgan is anemic, so she couldn’t donate either. They let Diane come back with me though, and follow me through the rest of the process as a translator.

The lady who checked me out next did not seem friendly. I don’t know if it was because I’m a foreigner, she was having a bad day, or maybe she’s just a jerk. She checked my blood pressure in the same way it’s done in the States. I guess it was fine, because I was moved along into the next room.

This next lady was really friendly, and asked me where I was from. I know enough Japanese to make small talk, so we exchanged some pleasantries. She talked to Diane quite a bit, and was surprised to find out that she isn’t Japanese. Because she’s Asian, a lot of people just assume she’s Japanese with a speech impediment or something.

As we were chatting, the nurse took a small sample of blood from my arm and tested it to determine my blood type. I was really excited about this part because blood type is a major thing in Japan. I’ve been asked on a few occasions by friends and acquaintances for my blood type. They use blood type here almost like we use astrology signs at home, but maybe a little more often. I don’t think I actually know any Americans who seriously read horoscopes and believe in it.

Turns out I’m O-type. Says so on my Facebook now even! Unfortunately, most of you reading this wouldn’t be able to see that information. Only Facebook Japan and Facebook Korea display users’ blood types. You can read more about the significance of blood types in Japanese culture on Wikipedia.

The actual process of giving blood, once I made it through all the bureaucracy and medical checks, was quite pleasant, especially compared to blood donation in the United States. I was shown to a reclining chair/bed which actually had a flat screen television attached, as well as a tray for my drink, which I received for free. I was given the remote control for the TV, and a nurse laid a blanket over me. She was fairly gentle with the needle, but it may have been one of the biggest needles I’ve seen. It did hurt, of course, but not badly. Once it was in I hardly felt it at all and was able to forget about it and watch anime while gossiping with Diane about other JETs and Japanese teachers of English.

After she collected my blood, the nurse was really concerned about how I was feeling. I really did feel just the slightest bit lightheaded, but I assured her that I was fine. I didn’t want to freak her out and end up confined to a bed or something. Diane and I went back out to the waiting room where she and Morgan got me another drink and a nice selection of free snacks.

A nurse came and gave each of us, a super kawaii folder featuring Hello Kitty and Kenketsu-chan as well as some other blood donation swag. Kenketsu-chan is the Ministry of Health, Labour and Welfare’s official blood donation mascot, by the way. If nothing else, it was worth it just for the folder.

Front - Hello Kitty is cosplaying Kenketsu-chan.

Back - A Kenketsu-chan for every prefecture! Ours is an okonomiyaki chef!

Japanese Fashion Faux Pas

2011-04-07T09:32:00.002+09:00

The entrance ceremony for incoming students is today, so when I picked out my black tie to wear with my suit this morning, I thought I was being especially formal. I thought I was getting some weird looks during the morning meeting, but I didn't make much of it; I get a lot of stares and double takes just for being white. As soon as I get to the English office, my coworker who sits at the desk across from me told me what I'd done.
He tried to approach it gently by starting with the obligatory, "Ah, good morning Sensei." Then came, "So... you're wearing a black tie today. You see, I am wearing white," and he proudly takes hold of his flashy matte/shiny white striped tie at the knot. "In Japan... black is for funeral. White is wedding or the ceremony." At this point, I'm feeling even more like an uncultured goober than I usually do. "But! It's okay!," he says. "I have the yellow and blue. You can wear! Which is best for you?" So, I accept his blue tie gratefully and pull my black tie off with extreme prejudice like a teenager hastily shedding a burger flipper uniform before meeting up with friends.
Looking at my reflection in the glass front of a cabinet as I tie a half-Windsor, I'm reminded that I only even learned to tie a necktie by myself last year. My wife taught me. Had something like this happened before that, I would've been in quite a pickle. I probably would've sneaked off to the bathroom to hide, unable to put on the borrowed tie or even retie the funeral one. That's one of those man things they don't teach you anywhere, like buttoning only the top button of a suit coat and unbuttoning it when sitting down. I think I read that somewhere, but only after wearing mine buttoned all the way for a time. There should seriously be a Modern Bastard's Handbook or something.
I'd better get going so I'm not late to the ceremony. Blue tie, top button only. Got it.

Tomodatchi

2011-03-21T18:27:00.000+09:00

While this may not be a very good drawing, the feelings behind it are powerful. It's Captain America assisting a member of the Japan Self-Defense Forces during the earthquake. This picture was drawn to express feelings of gratitude for American assistance with the relief effort. The artist titled it "Tomodatchi," which means friends.

Aftershocks

2011-03-21T17:39:00.000+09:00

It would have been pretty easy to bang something out about our friends' visit and our travels together earlier this month. I would've posted pictures of us singing karaoke, practicing Japanese calligraphy, making wagashi, petting deer, and all those Japanese fun times. If you're really interested in all that, chances are, you've already seen those photos on Facebook. So, what I ought to get around to in this blog entry is the earthquake, the tsunami, and the threat of nuclear meltdown.

We checked on the time, and it looks like we must've been stuffing ourselves with pizza at Shakey's in Osaka when the big quake occurred. We didn't feel it, and I don't remember anyone else around appearing to notice anything either. We left Shakey's filled to the brim with wacky Japanese pizza, and went about shopping for the rest of the day completely oblivious. By the time we hauled our shopping bags back to the hotel that evening, we were pooped, but in high spirits.

The first thing I did once I dropped all my bags and began munching on a Mister Donut, was check Facebook. Not expecting to see much in the way of notifications, my main aim was to post some cocky status designed to insight jealousy--or as we'd been saying, "make everybody eat their shit" over us all being together in Japan having a blast. I was wrong about the lack of notifications. I had more than I'd ever seen before, and likely more than I'll ever see at once again. I had friends requests from relatives I hadn't heard from since childhood. I had been tagged in a handful of statuses, I had a sum of messages higher than the amount I typically receive in a month, and nearly everything had been bumped off my wall by brand new posts. All of this correspondence had a common theme: they were all inquiries about my safety and whereabouts--some of which were not even addressed directly to me, but to anyone who may have known what had become of me. This was the first my companions and I had heard about the disaster(s).

I think what hit me the hardest was that my mom thought that I was quite possibly trapped under rubble, washed out to sea, smashed by debris, drowned--dead or dying somewhere on the other side of the earth. I can't imagine what that would feel like, especially for a mother who has already lost one child in the past. So, while still packing in doughnuts, and with the news now rolling in Japanese on the TV, I began the work of responding to each and every request, tag, message, and post. After me, it was Morgan's turn to check, and sure enough, her family was going through the same thing. Then, Brannon. His, the same. Down the hall, Alex and Kristina were at work on the same thing--using Facebook and Skype to notify the world that they were still alive and well.

We could have gone to Tokyo instead. We'd talked about it. Instead, we were really fortunate to be in Osaka, far away and safe from the tragedy in the northeast. Earthquake withstanding, we went on with our plans for the rest of our trip. For the most part, West Japan seemed unaffected. The only difference was the sudden and extensive presence of people collecting money for the relief efforts. Once we let everyone know that we were alive, things mostly went back to normal for us. Of course, people who somehow missed our massive initial update continued to pop up, and so we continued to assure everyone, one-by-one via smaller social network aftershocks, that we were all safe.

The quake wasn't exactly done with us yet. We soon found out that Kristina and Alex's flight home was canceled. Alex's mom quickly set them up with another flight, which was no easy task as there was quite a scramble of canceled flights and frantic travelers. Brannon's flight, by some rare stroke of luck, was unaffected, so we parted with him on our last day in Osaka and he returned home as planned. Kristina and Alex came back to Fukuyama with us. I was really grateful for the few extra days with them, as selfish as that sounds, but don't misunderstand--I was then, and am now, sympathetic to all those killed, injured, and otherwise effected by the earthquake.

Alex and Kristina made it home safely on the rescheduled flight, and our relatively quiet little life in Fukuyama went back to normal. That is, until every news source began to extensively cover the disturbing situation at the Daiichi Power Plant northeast of Tokyo in Fukushima. Now, we face the threat of nuclear meltdown. I've been told repeatedly by my superiors and colleagues that I have nothing to worry about out here in Hiroshima, even in a worst case scenario. The Japanese media seems to back that up, although the scenes of fire fighters, police, and the Japanese Defense Force desperately dumping seawater from helicopters and spraying it from fire hoses at the dangerously hot reactors make me feel like they may be downplaying this situation.

The United States has warned citizens not to travel to Japan, and has asked citizens within a 50 mile radius of the plant to return to the United States, or at least evacuate that area by heading west. Because of the nuclear situation, Morgan and I are experiencing a second wave of aftershocks--friends and family online are now urging us to come home. It doesn't help that the American coverage all but suggests that Japan in its entirety is in ruins.

I can't say that I'm not a little scared of the radiation. It's hard to determine which news sources are accurate, and what's just media sensationalism. We're something like 400 miles away from the damaged nuclear power plant, and I've been told by people I trust that the distance will keep us safe, but apparently a radioactive smoke plume from an early explosion is already responsible for slightly elevated radiation levels on the American West Coast. Many people have suggested that our safety is to be determined by the weather--namely wind direction. There's been talk of radioactive rain.

At work on Friday, I was given a pamphlet detailing the effects of radiation on the body. I think it was supposed to make me feel better about staying in Japan by comparing the currently elevated levels of radiation in the northeast to relatively normal occurrences like getting an x-ray. This same pamphlet details the process of death by radiation poisoning, which involves hair loss, ulcers, and vomiting and defecating blood. A lot of JETs and other expats, even those like me who are far from the evacuation zone, are packing up and heading back to their home countries. There's no way I could just quit my job and leave when everything could just turn out to be fine. Not after everything I went through to get here. It's worth too much to me, and too important for our future. This is supposed to be the foundation of my career.

Morgan and I have talked about what it would take to cause us to flee. We're waiting until they tell us that our area our here in West Japan is experiencing elevated levels of radiation. If that does happen though, I expect most of the other foreigners to jump ship as well. I'm sure the airports will be jammed up in that case, so it's possible that we'd end up in a situation where it's just too late. I guess we'll see.

In the meantime, it's business as usual.

Until the Pebbles Grow into Boulders

2011-02-28T21:35:00.000+09:00

Tomorrow is graduation day for the third year students at my school. Their graduation ceremony is a big formal event, and I'm told it will most likely be the most formal Japanese ceremony I'll experience here. Originally, I had interpreted this as "wear a suit; bow a lot." Apparently this one takes it a step further. The national anthem.

We sing our national anthem back home in the States at graduation ceremonies as well as many other events, and for most of us it's no big deal. When I was in high school though, I was the type who wouldn't stand, sing, or cover my heart for the anthem. I did not pledge my allegiance to the flag, or to the republic for which it stands, because I took issue with the insertion of "under God," and the idea of being forced to pledge my allegiance left a fascist taste in my mouth.

Here in the land of the rising sun, the anthem presents a different set of problems. The lyrics glorify the Emperor and his continued reign, and in the opinion of many Japanese, the atrocities of WWII. This passage in particular stirs up a lot of controversy:

May your reign
Continue for a thousand, eight thousand generations,
Until the pebbles
Grow into boulders
Lush with moss

Apparently, it's not unusual for some teachers here to protest the anthem by remaining seated during the song. To these teachers, the anthem represents the old Empire of Japan and its crimes rather than the modern State of Japan. I was asked personally to stand for the anthem. I'm pretty sure all JETs are asked to stand for the song. It's the law for teachers here to stand and respect the flag and anthem at school ceremonies. Doing otherwise will often cost them their jobs, and even potentially get them into legal trouble.

If I were a Japanese citizen, I could easily see myself in the opposition camp here. I would make a stand by remaining seated. The thing is though, that I'm not Japanese. I'm a foreign guest. A cultural ambassador even. So tomorrow, when the anthem plays and the flag is flown, I'll stand. (And keep my job.)

The Naked Man Festival

2011-02-27T20:12:00.001+09:00

Hadaka Matsuri, or the Naked Man Festival, in Okayama is an event in which thousands of men run around wet and screaming in the cold wearing only fundoshi (loincloths), and then beat the crap out of each other in a battle for a holy stick worth money and good fortune. Okayama isn't far from Fukuyama, so we couldn't miss out on this.

As with any good festival, there was food. Our first stop upon arriving was the grilled beef on a stick stand. Duh!

Then, of course, we watched the march of the naked men:

After they marched through holy water to purify themselves, they all crowded into a temple and beat the hell out of each other in a battle for a holy stick said to grant the holder good fortune for the coming year--part of that good fortune being a monetary prize.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I totally forgot to make a blog entry about our Hatsumōde at Saijo Inari back in January. I'm not doing so well at this blog thing. Sorry! Hatsumōde is the first temple visit of the new year. It's a Japanese New Year celebration, basically. Our good buddies Naoki and Rina took us along with them to Saijo Inari for the event. From what I was able to understand, Saijo Inari is like a temple that honors a fox god called Inari, which is a good explanation for all the nifty stone fox statues they had out there.

Pancake Flakes!

2011-02-26T18:16:00.000+09:00

Japan's not too big on breakfast cereal, but they do have a few varieties. Nothing too exciting, for the most part, but check this out:

They took two Western breakfast staples--cereal and pancakes--and fused them together into this masterpiece! I cycled right home from Halows and poured myself a bowl. Good stuff, man.

I Love Being a Teacher

2011-02-21T08:11:00.001+09:00

One of my students approached me on my walk to the bus stop this morning to tell me that he passed EIKEN, the national English proficiency exam. He said that his practice sessions with me gave him the confidence he needed to do well, and thanked me. I almost want to cry!

Sometimes I Fit Right in Here. Sometimes.

2011-02-14T10:33:00.001+09:00

My co-workers are having a pretty in-depth discussion about Kamen Rider & Super Sentai. I love Japan.

"ha-do rezubian!"

2011-02-10T23:49:00.001+09:00

As an incentive system, I had all my students make name cards that function sort of like point cards (think Subway sandwich punchcards). When a student answers a question, volunteers to read something aloud, or basically does anything right at all, I put one of those little star stickers on the back of their card. For every ten stars, they get to choose a prize from my box of American doodads.

I tried to encourage them to decorate the fronts of their cards where their names are written, which a lot of them did. Anpanman, Tamagotchi, and Pokémon doodles are pretty common among all my classes. Many of my students try really hard to save up stars and earn prizes. Then, there's the kids who just wrote their names plainly in pencil on the front of their cards and have somehow managed to avoid earning a single star. When I can, I try to give those kids a little extra attention to see if I can win them over.

One student, who hadn't a single star, was spending most of his time in my class drawing on the backs of my worksheets. I told him that he was really talented, and that I'd like to see more of his work. Apparently, that won him over right away, and he started raising his hand every once in a while. When I got back to the English office after that class was over, I went through the name cards and discovered that he'd taken me up on my request to see more of his artwork. Check out these gems he drew on the back of his and a classmate's cards:

I can't really read this, but it looks like a hentai game.

This one says "hard lesbians!"