So I teach English now.
However, I don't want to use the word "teach." To "teach," I'd have to be some sort of a "teacher," right? To be a "teacher" I'd have to "know what the fuck I'm doing," right?
If anything, this part time job is just a 90 minute block of English conversation where I stop them when something sounds funny (grammar, pronunciation, word choice, etc.). The issue is that each person I am working with has a different ability level and a different goal for learning English, so at this point I'm just trying to establish a "base" (basic scenario, idea, etc.) and then specialize for each person. We'll see how well it's going soon enough. *throws hands into the air*
Luckily for me, though, my "students" are all there by their own volition, meaning they give a shit to some extent. I don't have to fight for attention and when they don't understand something they raise their hand. In reality, this may be the perfect place to start out teaching, since I've been given free reign of curriculum and face no normal classroom obstacles. I also have no problems with administration, teaching to standards I haven't personally set, or a big class. There's also the added benefit that one of my students runs a bar and she's chill with us coming over and drinking after class.
Wait, what?
Teacher-Student bonding time, suckas. After class we all hopped in B&P's car, met up with one of the girls that works in his company, and dropped by Mama's bar to enjoy some drinks, food, and casual conversation. I had no idea what Mama's establishment would be like, what B&P's coworker would be like, or what it would be like to go drinking with these adults that I'm teaching English, but it sounded fun so I tossed caution to wind, gave a middle finger to Monday night and homework due Tuesday, and started downing beer and whiskey with B&P. Nothing crazy, just a night to spend with acquaintances. Since we were out of the classroom the language of choice was Japanese, but it wasn't too bad. B&P, I have come to learn, is really good at explaining concepts and stories in simple language. That night he was kind enough to pause and help me out when I got lost in the conversation. He sometimes translates in class for me (I have a rule to not speak Japanese unless necessary), and listening to his translations/explanations I am constantly surprised by how well he breaks things down and relates them. He's using Japanese I know and understand, just in a way I didn't know I could use it. This class has soon become part me teaching English, part me listening to B&P and learning from his Japanese.
I digress. The group was B&P, the girl from his office(?), Mama, myself, and two of the workers at Mama's establishment (the night was slow and Mama invited them to come hang out). Bambi was a no-show. I think she felt a little uncomfortable about coming out with us, but then again, that's just the feeling I got. :( However, even though Bambi wasn't there, we managed to enjoy the night, exchanging stories and broken communication. One of the workers at Mama's bar was from Georgia (the country) and managed to speak English decently well. But, she preferred Japanese since she had been living here for the last 10 years and it was her lingua franca. The other worker was an older Japanese woman who was kind of quiet but was friendly enough to talk to. The third new person this night, the girl from B&P's job, was VERY quiet. I think she might have been a little overwhelmed by the situation, since from what I gathered B&P asked her somewhat abruptly if she wanted to come out that night; this event was definitely not something she was planning for. However, she didn't remain silent the entire night, and from the few facts I was able to wrestle out of her, I found out she's 20, likes working for B&P, and thinks the weather is cold. At least I tried. *throws hands into the air*
OH, I'll take this moment to say that TONIGHT is the reason for "P" in B&P; all throughout the night he would talk about his business, matters and ethics, and then pull a 180 and mention some girlfriends from his past with a silly story, then pivot back to his whiskey and cigarette while cracking jokes with Mama and the other workers from the bar. The guy likes mixing business and pleasure.
Anyway, the night was chugging peacefully along and then Pachinko Yatsu came along. No, that's not a seque to say something crazy happened; I'm just poor at introducing characters sometimes. Regardless, PY arrives, starts shooting the shit with B&P while the VERY quiet girl sat there living up to her name. At one point PY turned to her and struck up some conversation... but that quickly faded and was soon overpowered by the background music. I guess my failure at chit-chat wasn't strictly because of a language barrier.
Around 12:00 I thought it might be a good idea to get back home and try to make sure I could wake up for class the following day. I signal to PY, he breaks it to the group in a polite and courteous way, and we are off. To a cabaret club. Yeah.
So for the longest time I have wanted to go to one of these places. From the stories I had heard -- mostly from PY himself since he worked kitchen (?) in one at some point in time -- they seemed pretty interesting and non-threatening. I was approaching this strictly from a cultural excursion perspective: another facet of Japanese culture that I should experience while I am here. Admittedly, I think that might have ruined the point of going in the first place. At that time, to my understanding, a cabaret club was a place to go and talk to attractive women. If you paid more, maybe you got more, but the premise was just conversation. In a sense, a cabaret club is a darker (literally and metaphorically), more adult version of a maid cafe; both places cater to their guests through drinks and conversation, special treatment and attention. The main difference is that in one of them you (may) have a samurai cat referring to you as master and serving you tea, while in the other you are sharing your alcoholic beverage of choice with someone that is "genuinely" interested in you and talks with you about anything. An oversimplification, I know, but for the sake of this blog, as well as me not having neither enough experience nor knowledge to go much deeper into the topic, I'll keep it at that and say look up the rest yourself if you wish.
But yeah, we were at a cabaret club at 12:30. Originally I had no idea we were gonna go to one. As PY and I left Mama's we walked in the direction of his car, but then stopped in at a convenience store. I asked him, "what's up?" and he responded, "check the mirror and fix yourself up. We're going to a cabaret club now."
Aight, aight. I can swing that.
And off we were. I was hesitant at first because I was a) in a place I had never been, with b) people I didn't know, and c) was speaking a language that I wasn't fluent in. HOWEVER, shit was fine. The girls were accommodating, PY left good social cues for yes's and no's, mhmmm's and laughs, and the liquid courage didn't hurt. Soon the hour of conversation was over and I was left with the feeling that we all had a good, fun time talking about random shit. It was kinda nice. And then the bill for ~$150 came and I remembered where I was and what was happening. Yeahhhhhhhhhh. I really don't need to pay that much money for conversation and cheap beer.
After that PY took me home and dropped me off. I think I managed to get some work done before succumbing to the z's. Regardless, I woke up the next morning feeling great, and had the secret little confidence/cockiness/possible-misconception that my night was infinitely more interesting than everyone else's. The day goes by a lot easier when you think you're better than other people.
Peace.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Catching on Up
Life falls into those lulls every now and then. That's that comfort. That's that ease of day-to-day. That's a schedule you can count on.
It's routine.
But every now and then people choose to throw a monkey wrench into that day-to-day, that routine. Some call it stepping it out of your comfort zone, some say it's actually "living," others say they were just bored and wanted something different.
Teaching English to business owners 2 to 3 times my age is what I ended up doing. At this point it's not a "new" thing, and it has comfortably fallen into 7:30-9:00 PM slot on Monday nights. However, the beginnings were certainly interesting.
Rewind about a month and a half. Wait. Even more -- take it back to Xmas and seasonal tunes that leave your speakers smelling like pine and fresh snow on a dark night. My friend, henceforth "pachinko yatsu," tapped me on the shoulder one cold day and asked if I would be up for a teaching job. Done and done.
Following that conversation there were a couple of exchanges, mainly about scheduling and information for my "profile," or what I'm guessing he pitched people when trying to get me an English job. I'm actually not sure to what extent he went to get me this gig -- mental note to ask him. All I know is that eventually the pieces fell into place and there I was sitting with him in his car as he drove me to my first night teaching English. I have read my fair share about expat English teachers, either through blogs or other means, yet the majority of those focused on school kids in a school environment with schoolbooks and school chairs they sat in while learning stuff in school. There was this rough idea of "structure" imbedded in those stories and accounts that I read.
And yet there I was going to teach some random business owners in a stray building tucked away on a street that nobody would look at if it weren't for the 7-11 on the corner. *gulp*
*gulp, gulp*
Admittedly, I was kinda nervous. Nothing terrible, just jitters and butterflies, broken breaths and knee-knocking nervous nancy thoughts. The usual when you're about to try something unfamiliar. The good thing, though, is that I had tried enough new things to understand that feeling. I understood the nuance to the feeling in the pit of my stomach; my body was trying to tell me, "hey, you're about to do something that you haven't done before. It might be scary, but you'll probably learn and grow from it. Go for it, kid." Now, unfortunately, even though I understand this feelings better than I did before, it doesn't stop it from continuing. And so, up until I was actually standing in front of them about to start the lesson, my stomach was attempting to do somersaults -- I say "attempting" because it felt more like my stomach started the somersault, freaked out halfway through and then knocked its dome into the sides of my abdomen like a big headed kid with the spins.
"My name is Graham. I am an exchange student in Kanazawa right now, and I'm looking forward to teaching you some English. Let's get started."
Off we were. My first goal was to figure out where they were in terms of ability. Out of the three students there, nobody was on the same page.
*Graham opens a window in the classroom*
One showed some promise, giving a successful introduction, telling me his goals for learning English.
The next one to go looked at me with big wide eyes that said, "English is fucking scary." She then proceeded to give me her introduction in Japanese.
*Graham is putting a foot out of the window*
The next one to go pulled a deer in headlights.
Me: "So why do you want to learn English?"
Bambi:"Uhhh... Uh..."
Me: "Travel, just conversation, for fun, business?"
Bambi: "Conversation."
Me: "You want to have normal conversations?"
Bambi: ".........."
*Graham has jumped out of the window and is currently falling through the air. Maybe the bank of snow below will soften the blow. Probably not.*
And so began my first English lesson. I had three students, Business and Pleasure (B&P), Mama, and Bambi. B&P was the most proficient. His goals for studying English were to hopefully expand his business, either within Japan itself or to other countries if possible. I wouldn't say that he is at the point of learning business English, but then again, if he's willing to put the effort in I'm willing to teach him. The Business part of his name probably makes sense, but the Pleasure part may need some explanation. That will come later.
Then there is Mama, who is an owner of a small bar in the downtown area. She wants to learn English to have basic conversations with customers that come by, helping the experience and making sure they enjoy themselves/buy more alcohol (the last part is just my guess, to be honest). Her name comes from her job position. In Japanese, her job can be called "nomiya-mama," which roughly translates to a female bar proprietor/owner/manager. I just lazily dropped the the nomiya and BOOM, there we go.
And, last but not least, is Bambi. She wants to learn English for travel. Nothing complicated. She wants to be able to ask for directions, recommendations, help, etc. Her name comes from the deer in headlights look she gets when I speak to her in English, as well as how "green" she is to the language. She's trying though, which is all I really care about.
Alright, I think I'm gonna call it a night. Next time will be about the class itself!
It's routine.
But every now and then people choose to throw a monkey wrench into that day-to-day, that routine. Some call it stepping it out of your comfort zone, some say it's actually "living," others say they were just bored and wanted something different.
Teaching English to business owners 2 to 3 times my age is what I ended up doing. At this point it's not a "new" thing, and it has comfortably fallen into 7:30-9:00 PM slot on Monday nights. However, the beginnings were certainly interesting.
Rewind about a month and a half. Wait. Even more -- take it back to Xmas and seasonal tunes that leave your speakers smelling like pine and fresh snow on a dark night. My friend, henceforth "pachinko yatsu," tapped me on the shoulder one cold day and asked if I would be up for a teaching job. Done and done.
Following that conversation there were a couple of exchanges, mainly about scheduling and information for my "profile," or what I'm guessing he pitched people when trying to get me an English job. I'm actually not sure to what extent he went to get me this gig -- mental note to ask him. All I know is that eventually the pieces fell into place and there I was sitting with him in his car as he drove me to my first night teaching English. I have read my fair share about expat English teachers, either through blogs or other means, yet the majority of those focused on school kids in a school environment with schoolbooks and school chairs they sat in while learning stuff in school. There was this rough idea of "structure" imbedded in those stories and accounts that I read.
And yet there I was going to teach some random business owners in a stray building tucked away on a street that nobody would look at if it weren't for the 7-11 on the corner. *gulp*
*gulp, gulp*
Admittedly, I was kinda nervous. Nothing terrible, just jitters and butterflies, broken breaths and knee-knocking nervous nancy thoughts. The usual when you're about to try something unfamiliar. The good thing, though, is that I had tried enough new things to understand that feeling. I understood the nuance to the feeling in the pit of my stomach; my body was trying to tell me, "hey, you're about to do something that you haven't done before. It might be scary, but you'll probably learn and grow from it. Go for it, kid." Now, unfortunately, even though I understand this feelings better than I did before, it doesn't stop it from continuing. And so, up until I was actually standing in front of them about to start the lesson, my stomach was attempting to do somersaults -- I say "attempting" because it felt more like my stomach started the somersault, freaked out halfway through and then knocked its dome into the sides of my abdomen like a big headed kid with the spins.
"My name is Graham. I am an exchange student in Kanazawa right now, and I'm looking forward to teaching you some English. Let's get started."
Off we were. My first goal was to figure out where they were in terms of ability. Out of the three students there, nobody was on the same page.
*Graham opens a window in the classroom*
One showed some promise, giving a successful introduction, telling me his goals for learning English.
The next one to go looked at me with big wide eyes that said, "English is fucking scary." She then proceeded to give me her introduction in Japanese.
*Graham is putting a foot out of the window*
The next one to go pulled a deer in headlights.
Me: "So why do you want to learn English?"
Bambi:"Uhhh... Uh..."
Me: "Travel, just conversation, for fun, business?"
Bambi: "Conversation."
Me: "You want to have normal conversations?"
Bambi: ".........."
*Graham has jumped out of the window and is currently falling through the air. Maybe the bank of snow below will soften the blow. Probably not.*
And so began my first English lesson. I had three students, Business and Pleasure (B&P), Mama, and Bambi. B&P was the most proficient. His goals for studying English were to hopefully expand his business, either within Japan itself or to other countries if possible. I wouldn't say that he is at the point of learning business English, but then again, if he's willing to put the effort in I'm willing to teach him. The Business part of his name probably makes sense, but the Pleasure part may need some explanation. That will come later.
Then there is Mama, who is an owner of a small bar in the downtown area. She wants to learn English to have basic conversations with customers that come by, helping the experience and making sure they enjoy themselves/buy more alcohol (the last part is just my guess, to be honest). Her name comes from her job position. In Japanese, her job can be called "nomiya-mama," which roughly translates to a female bar proprietor/owner/manager. I just lazily dropped the the nomiya and BOOM, there we go.
And, last but not least, is Bambi. She wants to learn English for travel. Nothing complicated. She wants to be able to ask for directions, recommendations, help, etc. Her name comes from the deer in headlights look she gets when I speak to her in English, as well as how "green" she is to the language. She's trying though, which is all I really care about.
Alright, I think I'm gonna call it a night. Next time will be about the class itself!
Friday, January 11, 2013
Tokyo with Evan
Ladies and germs, Gents and lacrima, I welcome you back to the blog. Damn, it's been a minute since I put up the last piece of this adventure. But hey, as long as it gets done.
-- Begin tangentially related note
The older I get, and the more time I spend on this Earth, the more experiences I accumulate...blah blah blah other ways of describing the passage of time... I believe more and more that my family motto was ingrained somewhere in my genetic code, as if a stray tendril of fate got lost and wrapped itself around my Gs and Cs, finding the nooks between my As and Ts and tugging them ever so carefully. See, my family motto is "Sero Sed Serio," which translates into "Late but earnest." And it's true, to an extent. A lot of my family members' lives, as well as my own, have been filled with late, yet honest and earnest moments. This blog is just one craggy face on the mountain of "late but earnest" doings in my past. Sometimes, I have feelings similar to Kafka from Murakami's "Kafka on the Shore," where I have been "cursed" since birth. Of course, the curses are much, much different; I haven't slept with neither my sister (doesn't exist, actually) nor my mom. I also haven't killed my dad.
Maybe it was a bit too much to compare them? The feeling I want to express, though, is that sometimes it seems as if I sabotage myself just to follow through on this family motto. Crazy, right?
-- End tangentially related note
Well, I feel it appropriate to start this blog off saying that it might turn into a dizzying wall of text, and as such, if you need to prepare yourself (food, drink, bathroom break, medical supplies, a phone call to loved ones, etc.), do so now. Please, do so now.
Let's begin.
So I start the trip off the right, managing to get to the station with a good 2 hours before my train was scheduled to leave. For those that don't know me, that block of time may seem excessive. It's not. Similar to my family motto trailing me like an angry shadow, I have a little guy on my shoulder that convinces me to always pick the wrong fucking turn when walking somewhere. Literally every time. I would blame myself for my lack of direction, but at this point it's more a mystical thing than a bad habit. Even when I'm confident I'm usually wrong. Even when I think, "Okay, I'm probably wrong, so I'll pick the opposite of what I thought," I'm still wrong. Even when I ask strangers for help, I always seem to ask the wrong ones. So yeah, 2 hours is what I needed to navigate the halls of the Kanazawa train station.
After figuring out where I would actually be departing from, I got some cocoa, tossed my bag over my shoulder and took the steps up to the platform two at a time. Something you may not know about Japanese train stations: they have "natural" soundtracks playing over the speaker system, mimicking wild birds and sounds of nature. Really disorienting when you don't realize it's just the sound system and you keep trying to find the small, wild thing that should have presumably dropped frozen dead from its bough during this season of the year.
Moving on. I board the train, find my assigned seat, plop down, put on my music, and let my peepers scratch the back of my eyelids for a good 3 hours. (Pro-tip: listen to Bonobo) At the final stop, everyone got their belongings together, marched off the train, and then broke into a hustle for the transfer. What sleeping beauty here didn't realize was that because of poor weather the train was behind schedule, meaning the transfer at this station would be a squeeze. I only realized this when I saw everyone hauling ass through the turnstiles trying to make it to the the right track. However, thanks to my size, decent speed, and lack of morals, I bowled through the lines of limping grandfathers, pregnant women, small children, college kids, and station workers, leaving a wake of angry shaking fists and children that could not be mollified. But whatever, I was able to clinch my seat on the bullet train to Tokyo just in time. OH YEAH, I RODE THE BULLET TRAIN.
It's phenomenal in two senses. The first being how fast it really is. Similar to lift-off on an airplane, you can feel the acceleration as the seat, going ever so slightly faster than your body, pushes against your back. The second sense being how phenomenally underwhelming it was. Outside of the physical sensation, I didn't get much out of the trip since the majority of it was through a tunnel that cut off all outside references, preventing me from getting a good idea of how neck-snappingly, whiplash-inducingly fast we were actually going. It was a big ol' black space staring back at me saying, "Hey, right now you're just gonna have to trust that this train is actually moving as fast as you think it is."
But no complaints here, honestly. I didn't take the bullet train for the scenery; I took it for the gosh darn SPEED, and by golly did it run.
AND THEN I ARRIVED. And it was marvelous: the scramble off the train, the hundreds of people sloughing off the disheveled mask of a traveler as they donned some genuine happiness at finally arriving, as well as the cool, refreshing air. And it was there that I bumped into Mina, who you might remember from past stories (she was the girl I flubbed some Japanese with near the beginning of my study here, confusing "Let's hang out more," with, "Can I date you? Can I get your number? The back of your head is...."). Regardless, we ran into each other. She was shocked, I was shocked. The train conductor even let out an, "eeeeEEEEEHHHHHHH, Is that you?" kind of sound. And yeah. After a quick hello and exchange of info about where we were staying (who, what, where, when, etc.), we parted to head to our respective crash pads for the week, with me taking the Maruonichi line out of Tokyo station, and her some other one (can't be bothered to remember)
* Note for those visiting Tokyo *
The Tokyo subway system is marvelously easy. And even if you make a mistake when buying a ticket or don't know where to go, someone will be there to help you out. Honestly, just shrug your shoulders and scrunch up your face while looking at the train map and someone with half-broken English yet whole-hearted eagerness will ask you if you would like some help.
* I digress *
After a hop, skip, and OH-GOD-DON'T-FALL-DOWN-THE-STAIRS-YOU-JUST-GOT-HERE, I was opening the door to my hotel room, where Evan was presumably staying.
Wait, what? "Who's Evan?" you ask? Let me break it down.
Evan is a best pal/friend/lover/paramour/buddy of mine from my hometown of Hastings. To be honest, we weren't always friends. When I first met the guy in the 6th grade I was a monster of an asshole to him for no good reason. To make matters worse, I happened to meet him soon after he moved into Hastings, so potentially some of his earlier memories of the place, as well as our beginnings, are tarred black. However, time heals all things, and luckily my juvenile/intentionally hurtful streak faded and whatever hurt feelings he may have had were sanded away. And, somehow or other, we were able to meet up again later in high school and a forge the relationship that we have now. Life gives ya second chances every now and then. (Sometimes you just look back and shake your head. "What the fuck was I doing then? Who is that kid? Shit.")
But yes. I fling the door open and there he is at the desk on his laptop. In the following moments, a few things happened: my body tensed; Evan jumped onto the bed; I gulped; Evan jumped off the bed and hugged me; I almost collapsed. However, neither of us lost our cool in the ensuing wobbly, shaky embrace, and we eventually straightened out and had what you might call a majestic fucking hug.
"It's been a while."
"How are you."
"Shit, man."
"I've missed ya."
"We're in Tokyo together."
"Awesome."
The hug said a lot of things, but those I think were most apparent. After a moment, we were standing side by side, smiling something stupid, deciding what to do next. FOOD. I drop my bags and we dipped from our room in search of something tasty.
We set out on foot, literally just picking a direction and following it. (hint: that's the theme for this trip). After about 20 minutes of strolling and catching up a little bit we stumbled into Roppongi, which I had no idea was so close to our hotel. After the initial shock subsided we crossed the street and happened upon a sushi restaurant that looked good enough for the first night in Tokyo. And also, this week was one that we already decided was fine to splurge on, meaning sushi seemed like a good fit. We stepped in, sat down, ordered some beer, ordered some food, and chowed down. Between mouthfuls of food we shared the skinny on what we've been up to. He had been studying his ass off in China. Lots learned, lots suffered. But, now he's legit. One of those, "best experiences I never want again" kind of things. And yeah, we finished the last of the squid we decided to split, paid the bill, and walked back to our hotel.
A little about where we were staying:
Our hotel was located in Akasaka Itchome, located about 20 minutes away from Roppongi on foot, and hella close to the subway (3-4 min on foot). The hotel itself was tucked away behind the bends of some streets off of the main strip, yet it had a comfortable air to it. The people at the desk were of course nice and helpful, but also happy. Maybe that's just be me being naive and optimistic. Regardless, they seemed relieved when they they realized that I could speak Japanese. That isn't to say their English wasn't good enough, or that they disliked speaking English, but I was one less person with which there would be miscommunication mistakes on their end. If something got messed up, it would be because I misheard or didn't understand them, not because they told it to me incorrectly.
*Resuming trip*
We might've gone to Shibuya that night to see the crossing and bop around, but I don't remember. I think we did, actually. Regardless, we ended back at the hotel sometime late-ish and decided to finish the night off with a movie and a nightcap. The Graduate was what we chose.
Mrs. Robinson. The things I would DO. The things that would be DONE. Here's to wishfully thinking I can destroy a family with summer long fling. Woooooooooo
And then, as the movie finished up, Evan and I took turns sharing the internet (only one LAN cable) heading off to sleep at around 1AM. Oh, by the way, we were in this cramped room and had to share the same bed. We decided to upgrade and have our own beds so that our nightly idiosyncrasies wouldn't rouse the other from sleep, but that was a problem that could only be remedied the following day. For this night we scrunched up under the covers and tried to be as neighborly as possible. Sleep was had, dreams too, possibly (can't remember), and then it was morning.
After packing our shit up we went down to the desk, upgraded rooms, dropped our stuff off in the new accomodations, got breakfast at the hotel's complementary buffet style meal, and then set out for Shibuya. For those that don't know, Shibuya is one of the busiest intersections in the world. The exact figures are hard to find, but roughly 3000 people on average cross the street every green light for pedestrians. That is INSANE. And that's where we went, bopping around, people watching, drinking in the scene. 3000 PEOPLE EVERY GREEN. THAT'S CRAZY. In person it's just as stupefying.
Now something became evidently clear to me on that first day: Evan and I are not good at the typical touristy things, i.e. picking out locations beforehand, making a plan for the day, and sticking to it. The majority of the days during that trip were spent strolling with only the faintest hint of a direction, sharing stories and talking smack about the people around. Part of me thinks (and the people I've told this to sometimes agree, sometimes disagree) that we could have literally been anywhere and spent our vacation doing exactly what we did. But I say bullshit. First of all, the atmosphere of Tokyo definitely lent to the experience. There's all the people watching and gawking, the fashion and stores to bop in and out of, the various smells as your cross the doors of restaurants and bakeries and art supply shops run by little ol' ladies with backs bent at impossible angles, etc. There's also the fact that Tokyo, even being so big, still knows how to make a guy feel snug. At least, I felt that way romping through the backstreets and zigzagging over the staircases, through parking places, and hopping over tiny parks in a few bounds. The nooks and crannies. Ya know, getting lost in a big ol' metropolitan city like Tokyo just seems a little more appealing then kicking it in the sticks. I say that realizing I haven't actually ever been out to the country side before, but at the moment I'm confident that we made the right choice going to Tokyo. At least, for this part of my stay in Japan. I do have some idea cooking in the back of my noggin to bum around Japan for a bit, giving myself some alone time yet also a chance to really go somewhere that nobody knows me or really cares about me.
I digress. The first day was spent bullying our way through the crowded streets of Shibuya. At some point or another the topic of "shit to buy" came up and Evan mentioned flower print pants. More specifically, flower print plants with a black background and the flowers dispersed and in a variety of colors. Well ain't that a challenge. There's the obvious problem of finding something in his fucking size in Japan in general, let alone something that is presumably (and presumed correctly, so far at least) a piece of women's clothing. Then there's also the issue that I didn't know what the fuck "flower print" was in Japanese. Shit.
Our first stop was 109 Men's, the male counterpart to 109 Women's, a huge mall that has some chains sprinkled here and there in Japan. At the first floor I asked the first store owner I could find if he had flower pants in Japanese. Not flower print, but a good start. He gave me a bit of a bewildered look, so I asked about a pattern using flowers. He shook his head and frowned a bit, letting me know that either my Japanese was so bad he didn't want to deal with me and any potential business, or there were no pants like that in his store. Ever the confident optimist, I opted for the latter, smiled, and moved onto the next store while explaining to Evan that he didn't have them. This time, after talking to owner for a bit, I had the smarts to ask him how to actually fucking say "flower print" after he said there was nothing like that in the store. With the new phrase in hand, we started going through the stores a little bit faster, getting definite answers rather than beating around the bush with broken communication. Unfortunately, going through the stores meant that we were not successful. Shucks. After clearing all 6 floors of 109 Men's, we decided to go for broke and head over to 109 Women's, hoping they may have some sizes intended for "plus sized" women. Or, you know, at least something elastic that could be worked with.
Anyway, we trooped on, walking into 109 Women's. All of the shops are clothing stores representing a pretty large variety of modern fashion styles. I was honestly surprised by how diverse the stores were, seeing as there were at least 50+ boutiquey places to poke your nose in. This round we had some more interesting experiences, ranging from stifled laughs to quick 1-2 lookovers when we asked for flower pants. One store almost came close, yet the size just wasn't right. The biggest one they could offer wouldn't get past Evan's calf. God damn it, Evan. Get your shit together. If you want to wear flower print pants, lose some muscle and then try again. But actually, it was the kid's tall and wide frame that really threw a monkey wrench into this so called treasure hunt. If we could take an axe to his legs and then pare his quads and calves down a bit we might have been able to work with the stores. However, as it was, we were up the creek without a flower print paddle.
It was honestly a bit depressing coming out of 109 Women's with only a malodorous haze of "perfume" and "scents" following us. I mean, how the hell could we expect to find flower print pants when the most likely place in Tokyo flat out told us no 40+ times in a row? But fuck that mopey shit, right? We kept on hoofing it, making our way to Forever 21. Sure, it's a little bit more of a "traditional" clothing store, but we walked up the steps and asked away. A few reroutings later, after being passed around by the store employees, we ended up on the 3rd floor pawing through a large box of pants with flower patterns stitched on. These weren't even black pants. Come on.
At that point the towel was flying through the air waiting for the mat to rush up and knock the wind out of it. THAT IS UNTIL WE SAW "IT." ANOTHER STORE. ANOTHER FUCKING STORE. The vibes were perfect. This place practically screamed, "THIS IS THE MECCA FOR ALL ODD CLOTHING PURCHASES YOU COULD WANT THAT MIGHT BE PASSED OFF AS FASHIONABLE." That's at least what I heard in my head when I was rushing up the steps. We entered the store and found the first person that looked like they gave a shit if we stole something.
"You have any flower print pants?"
"Nope."
Shit.
Bound up the stairs to the next floor, find someone similarly responsible looking and ask again.
"Nope."
Shiiiiiiiit.
One more set of stairs. We're now at the top of this store and it's gotten progressively narrower and stuffy. FIGHT IT. ASK ONE MORE TIME. DO IT FOR EVAN. DO IT FOR FLOWER PRINT PANTS. DO IT FOR FASHIONISTAS ALL OVER THE WORLD. BUT MORE THAN ANYTHING, DO IT FOR YOURSELF, KID. DO IT FOR YOURSELF! *punch the air*
"Nope."
"Well fuck this shit Evan, let's go home."
And that was the first real night of bopping around.
The days that followed kinda blended together into this mixture of stories, food, sightseeing, episodes of Bob's Burgers, and a stray beer or two. On one night I skyped with my parents (X-mas morning in the US) which was nice.
-- I'm a terrible child sometimes. Legit, that was the first time I had heard my parents' voices in 3 months. It was the first time they had heard mine in as long. Step it up chicken shit, you owe a decent chunk of who you are to those two. I guess you might say I owe "everything" to them. Ya know, egg and sperm, etc., that whole thing that happened and lead to me coming out ass-backwards from my mom's stomach like Julius himself (fun fact: the speculation that Caesar was born via a C-Section is apparently false. Wiki can cite that fact, so I'm somewhat happy? A part of me is dubious ever since that XKCD comic titled Citogenisis.) But yeah, I love them. I love you two, ya know, just in case you're reading this. And Perry, I love you too, also in case you're reading this. --
On another night I went clubbing with Mina, Ainaa, and Albina (all friends from KU) and we ended up stomping around the dance floor till 5:30 the following morning. To be honest, it was one of the most fun experiences that I wanted desperately to end. As much of a good time I had with the impromptu dance battles and communicating with the staff and asking random girls to dance by writing up text messages on my phone and showing them the screen, I was fucking ready to peace out and leave behind the loud music and smoky air when it hit 3 AM. Unfortunately, the trains didn't start running again till 5ish, so it was a full 2 hours of scraping at the bottom of the barrel for some get-up-and-go energy. At some point I hit a person passing by on the head by accident, yet all I could do was muster up a face that said "eat shit and die." I wanted to say sorry. I honestly did. My body just happened to contort that apology into a death threat and icy glare. Welp, those the breaks when you push your body to the edge and expect to walk back from it peachy keen.
On the second to last day (so really, the last day we could actually go bopping around), Evan took us to over to Ueno with the hopes of dropping in on the Modern Art Museum. It was closed. It seemed that in preparation for the New Year all the shops in the area closing up shop. But, truth be told, it was probably the best thing to have happened. Because the museum was closed, Evan and I ended up taking a walk, making a monstrous loop around Ueno park. And, the entire time, we just talked. We talked about our families, our friends, our schools, what the hell we wanted to do in the future, what we thought of ourselves and how we grew up and who we are, and who we "are," or whatever that means. And, before I let this sound like it reached profound levels of insight and depth, allow me to reassure you that it was just a conversation: an everyday occurrence. But, it was one between us and we just talked with honest words and eager ears. I'm not sure how he feels about that day, but it was my favorite out of the entire trip. Of course, there was also the amazing scenery that we came across. Who knew in the congested city of Tokyo that there were such wide open spaces? I was happily surprised and took my share of pictures. Eventually, we wrapped up our walk around Ueno park with a bowl of Udon and then sauntered over to Akihabara to get Evan to Super Potato, this awesome game store with everything old and new. It's there that he picked up a Super Famicom and some good games to go with it. Schwing.
And then we were approaching the twilight of our final day pretending to be Godzillas in Tokyo. It was a fun experience.
It was also beneficial experience. After meeting up with Evan and talking to him about his experiences in China, as well as having to play translator for a week, a new flame of motivation was born somewhere in my gut. "I can do more."
Up until this point I thought I was giving it a good go. I joined two circles and hang out with Japanese speaking friends much more often than English speaking friends, right? I went to my classes and did the work well, right? I even did self study for shits and giggles. That means I'm trying hard, right?
But that's honestly where it starts. This isn't a feeling of, "Oh man, how could I have wasted so much time," but rather, "what can I do with my time, beginning right now?" It's the start of an adventure where I'll be my own taskmaster. I'll be my own slavedriver. I'll also be my own prize at the end of it: a new guy. Here's to 2013 everyone, do something you love and do it well.
-- Begin tangentially related note
The older I get, and the more time I spend on this Earth, the more experiences I accumulate...blah blah blah other ways of describing the passage of time... I believe more and more that my family motto was ingrained somewhere in my genetic code, as if a stray tendril of fate got lost and wrapped itself around my Gs and Cs, finding the nooks between my As and Ts and tugging them ever so carefully. See, my family motto is "Sero Sed Serio," which translates into "Late but earnest." And it's true, to an extent. A lot of my family members' lives, as well as my own, have been filled with late, yet honest and earnest moments. This blog is just one craggy face on the mountain of "late but earnest" doings in my past. Sometimes, I have feelings similar to Kafka from Murakami's "Kafka on the Shore," where I have been "cursed" since birth. Of course, the curses are much, much different; I haven't slept with neither my sister (doesn't exist, actually) nor my mom. I also haven't killed my dad.
Maybe it was a bit too much to compare them? The feeling I want to express, though, is that sometimes it seems as if I sabotage myself just to follow through on this family motto. Crazy, right?
-- End tangentially related note
Well, I feel it appropriate to start this blog off saying that it might turn into a dizzying wall of text, and as such, if you need to prepare yourself (food, drink, bathroom break, medical supplies, a phone call to loved ones, etc.), do so now. Please, do so now.
Let's begin.
So I start the trip off the right, managing to get to the station with a good 2 hours before my train was scheduled to leave. For those that don't know me, that block of time may seem excessive. It's not. Similar to my family motto trailing me like an angry shadow, I have a little guy on my shoulder that convinces me to always pick the wrong fucking turn when walking somewhere. Literally every time. I would blame myself for my lack of direction, but at this point it's more a mystical thing than a bad habit. Even when I'm confident I'm usually wrong. Even when I think, "Okay, I'm probably wrong, so I'll pick the opposite of what I thought," I'm still wrong. Even when I ask strangers for help, I always seem to ask the wrong ones. So yeah, 2 hours is what I needed to navigate the halls of the Kanazawa train station.
After figuring out where I would actually be departing from, I got some cocoa, tossed my bag over my shoulder and took the steps up to the platform two at a time. Something you may not know about Japanese train stations: they have "natural" soundtracks playing over the speaker system, mimicking wild birds and sounds of nature. Really disorienting when you don't realize it's just the sound system and you keep trying to find the small, wild thing that should have presumably dropped frozen dead from its bough during this season of the year.
Moving on. I board the train, find my assigned seat, plop down, put on my music, and let my peepers scratch the back of my eyelids for a good 3 hours. (Pro-tip: listen to Bonobo) At the final stop, everyone got their belongings together, marched off the train, and then broke into a hustle for the transfer. What sleeping beauty here didn't realize was that because of poor weather the train was behind schedule, meaning the transfer at this station would be a squeeze. I only realized this when I saw everyone hauling ass through the turnstiles trying to make it to the the right track. However, thanks to my size, decent speed, and lack of morals, I bowled through the lines of limping grandfathers, pregnant women, small children, college kids, and station workers, leaving a wake of angry shaking fists and children that could not be mollified. But whatever, I was able to clinch my seat on the bullet train to Tokyo just in time. OH YEAH, I RODE THE BULLET TRAIN.
It's phenomenal in two senses. The first being how fast it really is. Similar to lift-off on an airplane, you can feel the acceleration as the seat, going ever so slightly faster than your body, pushes against your back. The second sense being how phenomenally underwhelming it was. Outside of the physical sensation, I didn't get much out of the trip since the majority of it was through a tunnel that cut off all outside references, preventing me from getting a good idea of how neck-snappingly, whiplash-inducingly fast we were actually going. It was a big ol' black space staring back at me saying, "Hey, right now you're just gonna have to trust that this train is actually moving as fast as you think it is."
But no complaints here, honestly. I didn't take the bullet train for the scenery; I took it for the gosh darn SPEED, and by golly did it run.
AND THEN I ARRIVED. And it was marvelous: the scramble off the train, the hundreds of people sloughing off the disheveled mask of a traveler as they donned some genuine happiness at finally arriving, as well as the cool, refreshing air. And it was there that I bumped into Mina, who you might remember from past stories (she was the girl I flubbed some Japanese with near the beginning of my study here, confusing "Let's hang out more," with, "Can I date you? Can I get your number? The back of your head is...."). Regardless, we ran into each other. She was shocked, I was shocked. The train conductor even let out an, "eeeeEEEEEHHHHHHH, Is that you?" kind of sound. And yeah. After a quick hello and exchange of info about where we were staying (who, what, where, when, etc.), we parted to head to our respective crash pads for the week, with me taking the Maruonichi line out of Tokyo station, and her some other one (can't be bothered to remember)
* Note for those visiting Tokyo *
The Tokyo subway system is marvelously easy. And even if you make a mistake when buying a ticket or don't know where to go, someone will be there to help you out. Honestly, just shrug your shoulders and scrunch up your face while looking at the train map and someone with half-broken English yet whole-hearted eagerness will ask you if you would like some help.
* I digress *
After a hop, skip, and OH-GOD-DON'T-FALL-DOWN-THE-STAIRS-YOU-JUST-GOT-HERE, I was opening the door to my hotel room, where Evan was presumably staying.
Wait, what? "Who's Evan?" you ask? Let me break it down.
Evan is a best pal/friend/lover/paramour/buddy of mine from my hometown of Hastings. To be honest, we weren't always friends. When I first met the guy in the 6th grade I was a monster of an asshole to him for no good reason. To make matters worse, I happened to meet him soon after he moved into Hastings, so potentially some of his earlier memories of the place, as well as our beginnings, are tarred black. However, time heals all things, and luckily my juvenile/intentionally hurtful streak faded and whatever hurt feelings he may have had were sanded away. And, somehow or other, we were able to meet up again later in high school and a forge the relationship that we have now. Life gives ya second chances every now and then. (Sometimes you just look back and shake your head. "What the fuck was I doing then? Who is that kid? Shit.")
But yes. I fling the door open and there he is at the desk on his laptop. In the following moments, a few things happened: my body tensed; Evan jumped onto the bed; I gulped; Evan jumped off the bed and hugged me; I almost collapsed. However, neither of us lost our cool in the ensuing wobbly, shaky embrace, and we eventually straightened out and had what you might call a majestic fucking hug.
"It's been a while."
"How are you."
"Shit, man."
"I've missed ya."
"We're in Tokyo together."
"Awesome."
The hug said a lot of things, but those I think were most apparent. After a moment, we were standing side by side, smiling something stupid, deciding what to do next. FOOD. I drop my bags and we dipped from our room in search of something tasty.
We set out on foot, literally just picking a direction and following it. (hint: that's the theme for this trip). After about 20 minutes of strolling and catching up a little bit we stumbled into Roppongi, which I had no idea was so close to our hotel. After the initial shock subsided we crossed the street and happened upon a sushi restaurant that looked good enough for the first night in Tokyo. And also, this week was one that we already decided was fine to splurge on, meaning sushi seemed like a good fit. We stepped in, sat down, ordered some beer, ordered some food, and chowed down. Between mouthfuls of food we shared the skinny on what we've been up to. He had been studying his ass off in China. Lots learned, lots suffered. But, now he's legit. One of those, "best experiences I never want again" kind of things. And yeah, we finished the last of the squid we decided to split, paid the bill, and walked back to our hotel.
A little about where we were staying:
Our hotel was located in Akasaka Itchome, located about 20 minutes away from Roppongi on foot, and hella close to the subway (3-4 min on foot). The hotel itself was tucked away behind the bends of some streets off of the main strip, yet it had a comfortable air to it. The people at the desk were of course nice and helpful, but also happy. Maybe that's just be me being naive and optimistic. Regardless, they seemed relieved when they they realized that I could speak Japanese. That isn't to say their English wasn't good enough, or that they disliked speaking English, but I was one less person with which there would be miscommunication mistakes on their end. If something got messed up, it would be because I misheard or didn't understand them, not because they told it to me incorrectly.
*Resuming trip*
We might've gone to Shibuya that night to see the crossing and bop around, but I don't remember. I think we did, actually. Regardless, we ended back at the hotel sometime late-ish and decided to finish the night off with a movie and a nightcap. The Graduate was what we chose.
Mrs. Robinson. The things I would DO. The things that would be DONE. Here's to wishfully thinking I can destroy a family with summer long fling. Woooooooooo
And then, as the movie finished up, Evan and I took turns sharing the internet (only one LAN cable) heading off to sleep at around 1AM. Oh, by the way, we were in this cramped room and had to share the same bed. We decided to upgrade and have our own beds so that our nightly idiosyncrasies wouldn't rouse the other from sleep, but that was a problem that could only be remedied the following day. For this night we scrunched up under the covers and tried to be as neighborly as possible. Sleep was had, dreams too, possibly (can't remember), and then it was morning.
After packing our shit up we went down to the desk, upgraded rooms, dropped our stuff off in the new accomodations, got breakfast at the hotel's complementary buffet style meal, and then set out for Shibuya. For those that don't know, Shibuya is one of the busiest intersections in the world. The exact figures are hard to find, but roughly 3000 people on average cross the street every green light for pedestrians. That is INSANE. And that's where we went, bopping around, people watching, drinking in the scene. 3000 PEOPLE EVERY GREEN. THAT'S CRAZY. In person it's just as stupefying.
Now something became evidently clear to me on that first day: Evan and I are not good at the typical touristy things, i.e. picking out locations beforehand, making a plan for the day, and sticking to it. The majority of the days during that trip were spent strolling with only the faintest hint of a direction, sharing stories and talking smack about the people around. Part of me thinks (and the people I've told this to sometimes agree, sometimes disagree) that we could have literally been anywhere and spent our vacation doing exactly what we did. But I say bullshit. First of all, the atmosphere of Tokyo definitely lent to the experience. There's all the people watching and gawking, the fashion and stores to bop in and out of, the various smells as your cross the doors of restaurants and bakeries and art supply shops run by little ol' ladies with backs bent at impossible angles, etc. There's also the fact that Tokyo, even being so big, still knows how to make a guy feel snug. At least, I felt that way romping through the backstreets and zigzagging over the staircases, through parking places, and hopping over tiny parks in a few bounds. The nooks and crannies. Ya know, getting lost in a big ol' metropolitan city like Tokyo just seems a little more appealing then kicking it in the sticks. I say that realizing I haven't actually ever been out to the country side before, but at the moment I'm confident that we made the right choice going to Tokyo. At least, for this part of my stay in Japan. I do have some idea cooking in the back of my noggin to bum around Japan for a bit, giving myself some alone time yet also a chance to really go somewhere that nobody knows me or really cares about me.
I digress. The first day was spent bullying our way through the crowded streets of Shibuya. At some point or another the topic of "shit to buy" came up and Evan mentioned flower print pants. More specifically, flower print plants with a black background and the flowers dispersed and in a variety of colors. Well ain't that a challenge. There's the obvious problem of finding something in his fucking size in Japan in general, let alone something that is presumably (and presumed correctly, so far at least) a piece of women's clothing. Then there's also the issue that I didn't know what the fuck "flower print" was in Japanese. Shit.
Our first stop was 109 Men's, the male counterpart to 109 Women's, a huge mall that has some chains sprinkled here and there in Japan. At the first floor I asked the first store owner I could find if he had flower pants in Japanese. Not flower print, but a good start. He gave me a bit of a bewildered look, so I asked about a pattern using flowers. He shook his head and frowned a bit, letting me know that either my Japanese was so bad he didn't want to deal with me and any potential business, or there were no pants like that in his store. Ever the confident optimist, I opted for the latter, smiled, and moved onto the next store while explaining to Evan that he didn't have them. This time, after talking to owner for a bit, I had the smarts to ask him how to actually fucking say "flower print" after he said there was nothing like that in the store. With the new phrase in hand, we started going through the stores a little bit faster, getting definite answers rather than beating around the bush with broken communication. Unfortunately, going through the stores meant that we were not successful. Shucks. After clearing all 6 floors of 109 Men's, we decided to go for broke and head over to 109 Women's, hoping they may have some sizes intended for "plus sized" women. Or, you know, at least something elastic that could be worked with.
Anyway, we trooped on, walking into 109 Women's. All of the shops are clothing stores representing a pretty large variety of modern fashion styles. I was honestly surprised by how diverse the stores were, seeing as there were at least 50+ boutiquey places to poke your nose in. This round we had some more interesting experiences, ranging from stifled laughs to quick 1-2 lookovers when we asked for flower pants. One store almost came close, yet the size just wasn't right. The biggest one they could offer wouldn't get past Evan's calf. God damn it, Evan. Get your shit together. If you want to wear flower print pants, lose some muscle and then try again. But actually, it was the kid's tall and wide frame that really threw a monkey wrench into this so called treasure hunt. If we could take an axe to his legs and then pare his quads and calves down a bit we might have been able to work with the stores. However, as it was, we were up the creek without a flower print paddle.
It was honestly a bit depressing coming out of 109 Women's with only a malodorous haze of "perfume" and "scents" following us. I mean, how the hell could we expect to find flower print pants when the most likely place in Tokyo flat out told us no 40+ times in a row? But fuck that mopey shit, right? We kept on hoofing it, making our way to Forever 21. Sure, it's a little bit more of a "traditional" clothing store, but we walked up the steps and asked away. A few reroutings later, after being passed around by the store employees, we ended up on the 3rd floor pawing through a large box of pants with flower patterns stitched on. These weren't even black pants. Come on.
At that point the towel was flying through the air waiting for the mat to rush up and knock the wind out of it. THAT IS UNTIL WE SAW "IT." ANOTHER STORE. ANOTHER FUCKING STORE. The vibes were perfect. This place practically screamed, "THIS IS THE MECCA FOR ALL ODD CLOTHING PURCHASES YOU COULD WANT THAT MIGHT BE PASSED OFF AS FASHIONABLE." That's at least what I heard in my head when I was rushing up the steps. We entered the store and found the first person that looked like they gave a shit if we stole something.
"You have any flower print pants?"
"Nope."
Shit.
Bound up the stairs to the next floor, find someone similarly responsible looking and ask again.
"Nope."
Shiiiiiiiit.
One more set of stairs. We're now at the top of this store and it's gotten progressively narrower and stuffy. FIGHT IT. ASK ONE MORE TIME. DO IT FOR EVAN. DO IT FOR FLOWER PRINT PANTS. DO IT FOR FASHIONISTAS ALL OVER THE WORLD. BUT MORE THAN ANYTHING, DO IT FOR YOURSELF, KID. DO IT FOR YOURSELF! *punch the air*
"Nope."
"Well fuck this shit Evan, let's go home."
And that was the first real night of bopping around.
The days that followed kinda blended together into this mixture of stories, food, sightseeing, episodes of Bob's Burgers, and a stray beer or two. On one night I skyped with my parents (X-mas morning in the US) which was nice.
-- I'm a terrible child sometimes. Legit, that was the first time I had heard my parents' voices in 3 months. It was the first time they had heard mine in as long. Step it up chicken shit, you owe a decent chunk of who you are to those two. I guess you might say I owe "everything" to them. Ya know, egg and sperm, etc., that whole thing that happened and lead to me coming out ass-backwards from my mom's stomach like Julius himself (fun fact: the speculation that Caesar was born via a C-Section is apparently false. Wiki can cite that fact, so I'm somewhat happy? A part of me is dubious ever since that XKCD comic titled Citogenisis.) But yeah, I love them. I love you two, ya know, just in case you're reading this. And Perry, I love you too, also in case you're reading this. --
On another night I went clubbing with Mina, Ainaa, and Albina (all friends from KU) and we ended up stomping around the dance floor till 5:30 the following morning. To be honest, it was one of the most fun experiences that I wanted desperately to end. As much of a good time I had with the impromptu dance battles and communicating with the staff and asking random girls to dance by writing up text messages on my phone and showing them the screen, I was fucking ready to peace out and leave behind the loud music and smoky air when it hit 3 AM. Unfortunately, the trains didn't start running again till 5ish, so it was a full 2 hours of scraping at the bottom of the barrel for some get-up-and-go energy. At some point I hit a person passing by on the head by accident, yet all I could do was muster up a face that said "eat shit and die." I wanted to say sorry. I honestly did. My body just happened to contort that apology into a death threat and icy glare. Welp, those the breaks when you push your body to the edge and expect to walk back from it peachy keen.
On the second to last day (so really, the last day we could actually go bopping around), Evan took us to over to Ueno with the hopes of dropping in on the Modern Art Museum. It was closed. It seemed that in preparation for the New Year all the shops in the area closing up shop. But, truth be told, it was probably the best thing to have happened. Because the museum was closed, Evan and I ended up taking a walk, making a monstrous loop around Ueno park. And, the entire time, we just talked. We talked about our families, our friends, our schools, what the hell we wanted to do in the future, what we thought of ourselves and how we grew up and who we are, and who we "are," or whatever that means. And, before I let this sound like it reached profound levels of insight and depth, allow me to reassure you that it was just a conversation: an everyday occurrence. But, it was one between us and we just talked with honest words and eager ears. I'm not sure how he feels about that day, but it was my favorite out of the entire trip. Of course, there was also the amazing scenery that we came across. Who knew in the congested city of Tokyo that there were such wide open spaces? I was happily surprised and took my share of pictures. Eventually, we wrapped up our walk around Ueno park with a bowl of Udon and then sauntered over to Akihabara to get Evan to Super Potato, this awesome game store with everything old and new. It's there that he picked up a Super Famicom and some good games to go with it. Schwing.
And then we were approaching the twilight of our final day pretending to be Godzillas in Tokyo. It was a fun experience.
It was also beneficial experience. After meeting up with Evan and talking to him about his experiences in China, as well as having to play translator for a week, a new flame of motivation was born somewhere in my gut. "I can do more."
Up until this point I thought I was giving it a good go. I joined two circles and hang out with Japanese speaking friends much more often than English speaking friends, right? I went to my classes and did the work well, right? I even did self study for shits and giggles. That means I'm trying hard, right?
But that's honestly where it starts. This isn't a feeling of, "Oh man, how could I have wasted so much time," but rather, "what can I do with my time, beginning right now?" It's the start of an adventure where I'll be my own taskmaster. I'll be my own slavedriver. I'll also be my own prize at the end of it: a new guy. Here's to 2013 everyone, do something you love and do it well.
Friday, December 28, 2012
Yosakoi
The courses at Kanazawa University
allow for a lot of leeway outside of the classroom. Or, rather,
there's almost no work (at least, no work associated with my program.
There are exchange students over here busting their asses each week
on account of homework and presentations/papers.)
So what do I do? I fill my time with
club activities. The circles and clubs here (I think I've already
explained them) represent a large part of the student life. People function perfectly fine outside of these
organizations, yet the groups make it much easier to meet others and
they give you a good way to fill out your schedule if need be. The
seriousness varies, of course, with some groups simply being a front
for people to meet up and go drinking with each other, whereas other
groups practice hard.
One group I am in, 8-street, falls into
the latter category. The people in this group (for the most part) are
there to step it up. There are members within the group that only
practice come performance time and they are needed, but the core of
the group comes to each practice and, more often than not, also
practices on off days. 尊敬
The other group that I am in, Kanazawa
Irodori, is a Yosakoi (traditional Japanese dance) group that is
somewhat less serious than 8-street in terms of its practice
schedule, yet just as serious and responsible
when rehearsing.
Well, recently – cough, 3 weeks ago
and I'm slow at updating, cough – I entered my first competition
with the team.
O_O
That shit was ridiculous.
To my understanding we were competing within the prefecture, yet
there were some outside teams that came for experience and/or as
guest performers. The others teams were all enthusiastic and painted
up in whatever style/look they felt matched their dance. Many teams
had intricate costumes that looked like they cost an arm and a leg,
or at least as much in terms of time and effort if they were
handmade. I'm talking about over the top, carefully crafted designs.
Most teams used costumes that could be altered during the dance itself, either offstage or mid choreo. From a practical side, it
was intriguing to see how each team dealt with these changes.
Some teams, such as our own, had each person just took off an outer layer and tie it
around their waist. Other teams completely stripped down into a second
costume. Still yet there were some with these complex costumes that
could be worn inside out or normally, changing the design. Would make the Transformers proud.
*Snaps
to all the teams*
Before
I actually describe the competition, let me tell you a little about
Yosakoi, just in case you don't know/haven't looked it up yet on
youtube. Yosakoi is a large group dance that does not focus on solos
whatsoever, yet on the larger image of how the group looks. The choreography is not too daunting, but that's not the point; the real eye-catching part of
Yosakoi is the formation, and the way it changes throughout the
performance. In fact, we danced the exact same choreo in each part of
the competition, yet changed the formations for each round.
And
while I didn't think too much of it in the beginning, when we got
near the competition and started practicing in a studio with mirrors,
I really got an idea for how much the dance itself is affected. It
was underlined even further when seeing the other teams perform from
round to round. Even though I knew for a fact that these teams were
dancing the same choreo, which I had already seen at least once or
twice, the danced looked new each time.
Well,
now that kind of have an idea of Yosakoi, let me get on to the
competition.
The
first round we chilled in the audience, watching the other
performances, waiting for our chance to go on stage. The first groups
were quite impressive, setting the bar high for the rest of the teams. No worries, we can handle it.
Soon our block is up and the groups step up, perform, and step down one after another. And then there we were, walking onto the stage, disappearing into the wings of the stage waiting to run out.
-- OH, that's one more thing about Yosakoi. You yell your heart out. You yell and scream and hit those moves until you feel ready to puke and there are black spots in your eyes. It's one hundred percent for those 3-4 minutes, and it's exhilarating as shit. There's just something about releasing an animal bellow with 20 other people, all because you want to let the audience know how much you give a shit, how much you practiced, and how much effort you're putting into it. --
But yeah, the song comes on, the first group breaks onto the stage, then everyone comes on for the first full choreo. And then it's over. Of course, there are points between the beginning and the end where you think to yourself about where you are and what you're doing, but those moments are soon shunted off the sharp side of your consciousness by the pressing matter of ACTUALLY FUCKING PERFORMING. And when you're doing that there isn't anything else. Remember to smile, watch your foot, drop now, spin then, stick the ending and wait until you bow and walk off stage.
And we passed the first round. We progressed.
All good for now, but we knew we could do as much. The next round would really make us bear our teeth.
The way the tournament unfolded after the initial "pool" rounds was that two teams from each block were selected, while a third team from each block was given "wildcard" status by luck of the draw through lots. The selected teams would enter into a normal, single elimination bracket. We were in the top 2 for our block so there was no nail biting or agonizing waiting to see if we drew into the next round. And, knowing we had advanced, we sat a little easier, talked a little more friendlier, but only for a bit. After our opponent for the 2nd round finished their dance we saddled up to the stage, poised to give it another go.
And this time everyone seemed to give it a little more oomph. That extra .00001%. Personally I was feeling the pangs of nervousness and perspiration, and cringed doubly when I miffed on a part of the choreo that I had always taken for granted, yet all together, as a group, it was good. We had all managed to deal with changing the formations for this round and it looked hella good. The final notes of our song finished, we held our poses, the announcer told us to stand in our groups and wait for the decision....... and...... we lost? Did we? We can't quite tell what the hell is happening because the judging staff is using this convoluted system of cards marked with 1 or 2 on them to declare winners. Now they're holding up 2. Are we 2? Is the other team 2? A couple members from our team murmur to themselves, apprehension rises, murderous intent over this lackluster clarity boils....
And it's us. *fist bump*
We rode that wave of jubilation to the next round and beyond, stomping our feet and shouting till our vocal chords cried for mercy. Not really a cry, I suppose, but more of a whimper. And although we were poised for rounds 4, 5, 6, the fucking world, the solar system, GALAXY WIDE COMPETITION, BRING IT ON ALIENS, we lost in the 3rd round to the team that ended up taking second. Bitter as tarnished silver, that loss.
It was alright, I suppose. No one really expected us to go that far, within our team or outside of it. Kanazawa is a very middle of the pack school, with a pretty fresh faced team, myself especially so. And yet we rocked it, so fuck yeah for us. Wait till next time Ishikawa-Ken (our prefecture), we're gonna turn you on your head.
The bus ride home after the competition was a mix of sleepy excitement, soft smiles and chocolate someone had brought for the team. Pretty good atmosphere. Pretty good day. Pretty good people.
Peace.
Soon our block is up and the groups step up, perform, and step down one after another. And then there we were, walking onto the stage, disappearing into the wings of the stage waiting to run out.
-- OH, that's one more thing about Yosakoi. You yell your heart out. You yell and scream and hit those moves until you feel ready to puke and there are black spots in your eyes. It's one hundred percent for those 3-4 minutes, and it's exhilarating as shit. There's just something about releasing an animal bellow with 20 other people, all because you want to let the audience know how much you give a shit, how much you practiced, and how much effort you're putting into it. --
But yeah, the song comes on, the first group breaks onto the stage, then everyone comes on for the first full choreo. And then it's over. Of course, there are points between the beginning and the end where you think to yourself about where you are and what you're doing, but those moments are soon shunted off the sharp side of your consciousness by the pressing matter of ACTUALLY FUCKING PERFORMING. And when you're doing that there isn't anything else. Remember to smile, watch your foot, drop now, spin then, stick the ending and wait until you bow and walk off stage.
And we passed the first round. We progressed.
All good for now, but we knew we could do as much. The next round would really make us bear our teeth.
The way the tournament unfolded after the initial "pool" rounds was that two teams from each block were selected, while a third team from each block was given "wildcard" status by luck of the draw through lots. The selected teams would enter into a normal, single elimination bracket. We were in the top 2 for our block so there was no nail biting or agonizing waiting to see if we drew into the next round. And, knowing we had advanced, we sat a little easier, talked a little more friendlier, but only for a bit. After our opponent for the 2nd round finished their dance we saddled up to the stage, poised to give it another go.
And this time everyone seemed to give it a little more oomph. That extra .00001%. Personally I was feeling the pangs of nervousness and perspiration, and cringed doubly when I miffed on a part of the choreo that I had always taken for granted, yet all together, as a group, it was good. We had all managed to deal with changing the formations for this round and it looked hella good. The final notes of our song finished, we held our poses, the announcer told us to stand in our groups and wait for the decision....... and...... we lost? Did we? We can't quite tell what the hell is happening because the judging staff is using this convoluted system of cards marked with 1 or 2 on them to declare winners. Now they're holding up 2. Are we 2? Is the other team 2? A couple members from our team murmur to themselves, apprehension rises, murderous intent over this lackluster clarity boils....
And it's us. *fist bump*
We rode that wave of jubilation to the next round and beyond, stomping our feet and shouting till our vocal chords cried for mercy. Not really a cry, I suppose, but more of a whimper. And although we were poised for rounds 4, 5, 6, the fucking world, the solar system, GALAXY WIDE COMPETITION, BRING IT ON ALIENS, we lost in the 3rd round to the team that ended up taking second. Bitter as tarnished silver, that loss.
It was alright, I suppose. No one really expected us to go that far, within our team or outside of it. Kanazawa is a very middle of the pack school, with a pretty fresh faced team, myself especially so. And yet we rocked it, so fuck yeah for us. Wait till next time Ishikawa-Ken (our prefecture), we're gonna turn you on your head.
The bus ride home after the competition was a mix of sleepy excitement, soft smiles and chocolate someone had brought for the team. Pretty good atmosphere. Pretty good day. Pretty good people.
Peace.
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
International Exchanges, Sucka
Yeah, not the most creative title, especially considering that it's essentially the theme for this entire year. It's as if Rowling got lazy and named one of her chapters, "Magic and Friendship, Muggle." I think I almost just referenced My Little Pony. Now I actually did just reference it. Shit happens.
Regardless, this overdue post's two themes are:
- A night at Aina's a.k.a international drinking games night, and
- A conversation with an elderly man
Let's begin, shall we?
OOOOOOOOOOFFFFFFFFFFFFF WEEEEEEEEE GO
A Night at Aina's
Two weeks ago a ragtag group of misfits and miscreants set out into the shady backstreets of Kanazawa, cradling alcohol and hopes of a good night in their arms. These fresh faced and eager young 'uns were in high spirits from their raucous dinner at GB's, the American diner themed restaurant where the food is neither American or even remotely diner-like, sole exception being the BLT that is served on a bed of rice...... points for trying, right?
Off into the night they walked, blindly following the footsteps of their two leaders, experienced trackers in this neck of the Kanazawa jungle. A few hops, skips, back alley short cuts and they were there, ready to really start the night off.
And that's where our tale begins. That's where we start.
OH, shit. Hold on a second. Let me give some context. The group I was walking with consisted of Alan, Frances, Sebastian, Annika, and Ollie (you may not know some of these people. REST ASSURED, they're all good people.) We were going to meet Aina and the people hanging with her out her house. That included Teemu, Veronica, Saori, Carlos, Mina, Q, friend that I forgot the name of, and Albina (you may not know some of these people. REST ASSURED, they're all pretty terrible human beings.)
OK, now we can start.
The ragtag group settles in, plopping down on an assortment of cushions, blankets, and open floor space surrounding one of the tables in the room connected to the living room. Aina came over with a tray of jello shots they had made earlier, featuring banana blitz, strawberry strugglefest, and I-hope-insurance-covers-stomach-pumps green-lime. In all honesty they were tasty and good, especially the banana. Seconds, please and thank you. After some talking and futzing around I reached into my pants and whipped out my deck of cards. TIME FOR A GAME OF KINGS. Or ring of fire, as Ollie referred to it as. Different versions of the same shit.
Although getting past the language barrier was a little difficult, we managed. Card after card was flipped, games were played, and at one point Ollie took out a bottle of absinthe to compliment the cheap beer we were drinking. Really, Ollie? Are you fucking kidding me? It's shit like this that makes nights both fun and destructively horrible. The cherry on top, however, was how nonchalant he was with it. "Oh hey guys, remember how I have a bottle of absinthe? *yoink*"
It was tasty tasty though, many thanks Ollie :D
As we neared the end of the game, we started getting more creative. For a game of categories we had "bad words around the world." Any language was fine. I felt kind of sad for Mina since Japanese doesn't have that many bad words.
Sample of that game: Cock monger, perrrrrkeleee, aho, mierda, baka, douche bag, asshole, twat, puta madre, (honestly too many to remember, but there were some good ones.)
However, the game came to a close when the final king was pulled by yours truly. //end life
To make matters worse, when I was in the bathroom someone slipped some black umeshuu into the drink (by someone, I mean Aina. Fuck you, Aina) DOWN THE HATCH //continue ending life
But all complaining aside, it wasn't too bad. And then we continued the night playing battle mode on Wario Ware for the Wii. SO MUCH FUN. TOO MUCH FUN. Like actually, I could see myself playing it in my room by myself (maybe not). All of these stupid tasks that are made even sillier when you find yourself flailing to complete them in the 5 second window.
Picking someone's nose? Normally really easy, right? NOPE. Try doing that while tipsy and freaking out about the possibility of messing up and falling into last place.
Bowing in front of an audience? Normally a piece of cake, right? NOPE. Trying doing that while screaming at the person to your right that they're a dirty witch and are cheating at the game. Also while tipsy.
Flipping a pan? Okay, that's actually takes a little coordination. Just imagine what something that requires a little coordination will morph into when given a group or people giggling their tushies off because last person to go failed to pick a nose properly. Struggle.
All good though. After some waiting and help by Aina, Veronica and I wrangled a taxi back to campus, ready to crawl back to our dorms and sleep until the sun decided it was about damn time to wake up and pursue the next day. I closed my shades. Fuck the next day.
//end
A Conversation with an Elderly Man
One of the classes I'm taking this semester is Education in Japan. Frankly speaking, the class is a joke in terms of work. We take field trips and then have to write a 2+ page writeup with pictures allowed. Yeah, OK.
However, just because the work is a joke doesn't mean the class itself has no value. Those two things are not intrinsically connected. The field trips themselves are actually pretty damn cool. We've gone to high schools, middle schools, colleges, etc. And while you have to dig past the candy coated layer of bullshit introductions that most places give you, you get a chance to get a feel for the place and institution when you sit down one on one and talk with the people. Admittedly, the time spent sitting down and talking is sparse (30 min - 1 hour), so even then you only get a glimpse of the school and its inner workings, but sometimes a glimpse is enough to get the gist of it.
This particular story is about the Open University of Japan, a school somewhat similar to the University of Phoenix in America in that it holds classes online. I am not sure if the two are similar in how much esteem and credibility they have, but I'm afraid they might be. However, this story is not about the lackluster teaching abilities of schools that focus on online courses! No, this story is about my conversation with an elderly gentleman who was taking classes in person at the school.
*enter stage right*
*Education in Japan students are bright eyed eager to learn*
*Open University of Japan students are waiting with warm smiles*
*Our teacher is wearing her backstage pass from the Aerosmith concert she attended weeks before in America*
*Our teacher is a pretty damn awesome*
// SIDENOTE //
My Education in Japan teacher is fucking ridiculous. She is phenomenally quirky, with a fashion sense that rails against stereotypes of age and profession. She is a bit of an older lady, maybe mid-50s, yet she dresses as she damn well pleases, rocking big leather boots and denim jackets that tell you to back the fuck off. Of course, the fact that she's 5 foot, maybe 100 lbs, and sweet as can be doesn't clash at all with this image. The cherry on top is that when she went to America to give lead some seminars, she made time to go see Aerosmith where she was literally 10 feet from the stage. She had the photos to prove it, too. Somehow, after the show, she managed to get a snag a few pics while rocking Joe Perry's guitar.
She's also a good teacher, and nice and willing to help in anyway, be it study, finding a part time job, or just giving you some candy to make the homework go by better. 尊敬
// END SIDENOTE //
We plop down around a large, square conference table next to a Japanese student, ready to dive into a conversation filled with awkward poses and lots of gesticulating to get your message across. Now, as a man that is used to using his hands to speak (as well as the rest of my body, ask Gabe Beckerman if you have the chance), I am perfectly fine with this. The awkward poses aren't even that bad, too, considering I've been living in Japan for the past two months and I'm no greenhorn when it comes to fumbling for vocab and grammar. Fuck yeah language inadequacy! Soldier on and get better, sucka.
The man I sat down next to was an amicable looking man named Minoru. He showed me has handwritten name placard (a piece of paper folded over twice) and gave me a firm handshake and sharp smile. This guy was here to fucking converse.
The conversation starts off with the usual "Where you from"s, "What are you studying"s, "What are you interested in"s, etc. Then we somehow managed to start talking about the politics and a blinker in my mind starts going off. I hadn't seen this blinker for a while so I didn't realize what it meant, but as the conversation continued I started to remember.
"CHANGE THE FUCKING CONVERSATION, YOU ARE APPROACHING A TOPIC YOU HAVE HOPES OF COMMUNICATING ABOUT, EVEN IF YOU ASK SOME QUESTIONS ABOUT VOCAB. THIS IS A SUICIDE MISSION."
Unfortunately, this didn't come to me until I had already dug myself into a hole.
Me: "So, do you know anything about American politics?"
Minoru: "Obama and Romney, right? This most recent election. Obama won. I know that."
Me: "Yeah, it was a really intense election. Depending on the source, the person who was "supposed' to win was different. Some people thought Romney had it for sure, other not.
Minoru: Yeah. I don't follow it that much, but it comes up on the news.
*Me feeling confident*
Me: So, what about Japanese politics. I don't know much about it, would you mind telling me a bit?
Minoru: "Well......."
JAPANESE. SO MUCH JAPANESE. YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND THIS JAPANESE. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? DID HE JUST FINISH A SENTENCE? NOD AND SMILE. MAKE SOME NOISE IN YOUR THROAT AS IF YOU UNDERSTOOD. WHAT ARE THESE WORDS? YOU KNOW THESE SOUNDS, RIGHT? CHANGE TOPIC NOW. CHANGE. NOW!
Me: "So how do you like baseball?"
Eventually we started talking about the states themselves and got onto the topic of Vegas.
*Note, this next part was in English*
Me: "So have you been anywhere besides New York?"
Minoru: "I've been to Nevada."
Me: "Vegas?"
Minoru: *rubbing fingers like cha-ching* "Yup yup." *shit eating grin*
Me: "You went gambling? Haha, sounds fun."
Minoru: "I did a LOT of things in Vegas."
Me: "Like what?"
Minoru: "Well... the food, there was a lot. And drinks. you know, osake, beer? Lots of that. And, how do you say it? Slots? Yeah, that too."
Me: "........."
Minoru: "I went some of my friends."
Me: "........"
Minoru: "Lost some money."
Me: "Would you go back."
Minoru: *Huge thumbs up* "Yes!"
And then the conversation went on, with him explaining how he was traveling the country with his friends on a bus that was going state to state. A big ol' adventure that hit some of the more well known places on the West coast, with Minoru's highlights being the California stops in San Fran and Venice.
After a little bit more our time finished up, but we exchanged contact info and have run into each other on my campus since he takes some Spanish classes every now and then and likes to stop in at the dining hall for lunch when its over. Definitely an interesting character.
Well, that's it for this weeks post. Sorry for slacking this past month. When I post it's usually to talk about the interesting things that have happened which is always in flux; some weeks are worth writing about (to me), and others aren't. However, I'll be having some good stories these upcoming weeks, as well as some backlogged stuff.
Peace
Regardless, this overdue post's two themes are:
- A night at Aina's a.k.a international drinking games night, and
- A conversation with an elderly man
Let's begin, shall we?
OOOOOOOOOOFFFFFFFFFFFFF WEEEEEEEEE GO
A Night at Aina's
Two weeks ago a ragtag group of misfits and miscreants set out into the shady backstreets of Kanazawa, cradling alcohol and hopes of a good night in their arms. These fresh faced and eager young 'uns were in high spirits from their raucous dinner at GB's, the American diner themed restaurant where the food is neither American or even remotely diner-like, sole exception being the BLT that is served on a bed of rice...... points for trying, right?
Off into the night they walked, blindly following the footsteps of their two leaders, experienced trackers in this neck of the Kanazawa jungle. A few hops, skips, back alley short cuts and they were there, ready to really start the night off.
And that's where our tale begins. That's where we start.
OH, shit. Hold on a second. Let me give some context. The group I was walking with consisted of Alan, Frances, Sebastian, Annika, and Ollie (you may not know some of these people. REST ASSURED, they're all good people.) We were going to meet Aina and the people hanging with her out her house. That included Teemu, Veronica, Saori, Carlos, Mina, Q, friend that I forgot the name of, and Albina (you may not know some of these people. REST ASSURED, they're all pretty terrible human beings.)
OK, now we can start.
The ragtag group settles in, plopping down on an assortment of cushions, blankets, and open floor space surrounding one of the tables in the room connected to the living room. Aina came over with a tray of jello shots they had made earlier, featuring banana blitz, strawberry strugglefest, and I-hope-insurance-covers-stomach-pumps green-lime. In all honesty they were tasty and good, especially the banana. Seconds, please and thank you. After some talking and futzing around I reached into my pants and whipped out my deck of cards. TIME FOR A GAME OF KINGS. Or ring of fire, as Ollie referred to it as. Different versions of the same shit.
Although getting past the language barrier was a little difficult, we managed. Card after card was flipped, games were played, and at one point Ollie took out a bottle of absinthe to compliment the cheap beer we were drinking. Really, Ollie? Are you fucking kidding me? It's shit like this that makes nights both fun and destructively horrible. The cherry on top, however, was how nonchalant he was with it. "Oh hey guys, remember how I have a bottle of absinthe? *yoink*"
It was tasty tasty though, many thanks Ollie :D
As we neared the end of the game, we started getting more creative. For a game of categories we had "bad words around the world." Any language was fine. I felt kind of sad for Mina since Japanese doesn't have that many bad words.
Sample of that game: Cock monger, perrrrrkeleee, aho, mierda, baka, douche bag, asshole, twat, puta madre, (honestly too many to remember, but there were some good ones.)
However, the game came to a close when the final king was pulled by yours truly. //end life
To make matters worse, when I was in the bathroom someone slipped some black umeshuu into the drink (by someone, I mean Aina. Fuck you, Aina) DOWN THE HATCH //continue ending life
But all complaining aside, it wasn't too bad. And then we continued the night playing battle mode on Wario Ware for the Wii. SO MUCH FUN. TOO MUCH FUN. Like actually, I could see myself playing it in my room by myself (maybe not). All of these stupid tasks that are made even sillier when you find yourself flailing to complete them in the 5 second window.
Picking someone's nose? Normally really easy, right? NOPE. Try doing that while tipsy and freaking out about the possibility of messing up and falling into last place.
Bowing in front of an audience? Normally a piece of cake, right? NOPE. Trying doing that while screaming at the person to your right that they're a dirty witch and are cheating at the game. Also while tipsy.
Flipping a pan? Okay, that's actually takes a little coordination. Just imagine what something that requires a little coordination will morph into when given a group or people giggling their tushies off because last person to go failed to pick a nose properly. Struggle.
All good though. After some waiting and help by Aina, Veronica and I wrangled a taxi back to campus, ready to crawl back to our dorms and sleep until the sun decided it was about damn time to wake up and pursue the next day. I closed my shades. Fuck the next day.
//end
A Conversation with an Elderly Man
One of the classes I'm taking this semester is Education in Japan. Frankly speaking, the class is a joke in terms of work. We take field trips and then have to write a 2+ page writeup with pictures allowed. Yeah, OK.
However, just because the work is a joke doesn't mean the class itself has no value. Those two things are not intrinsically connected. The field trips themselves are actually pretty damn cool. We've gone to high schools, middle schools, colleges, etc. And while you have to dig past the candy coated layer of bullshit introductions that most places give you, you get a chance to get a feel for the place and institution when you sit down one on one and talk with the people. Admittedly, the time spent sitting down and talking is sparse (30 min - 1 hour), so even then you only get a glimpse of the school and its inner workings, but sometimes a glimpse is enough to get the gist of it.
This particular story is about the Open University of Japan, a school somewhat similar to the University of Phoenix in America in that it holds classes online. I am not sure if the two are similar in how much esteem and credibility they have, but I'm afraid they might be. However, this story is not about the lackluster teaching abilities of schools that focus on online courses! No, this story is about my conversation with an elderly gentleman who was taking classes in person at the school.
*enter stage right*
*Education in Japan students are bright eyed eager to learn*
*Open University of Japan students are waiting with warm smiles*
*Our teacher is wearing her backstage pass from the Aerosmith concert she attended weeks before in America*
*Our teacher is a pretty damn awesome*
// SIDENOTE //
My Education in Japan teacher is fucking ridiculous. She is phenomenally quirky, with a fashion sense that rails against stereotypes of age and profession. She is a bit of an older lady, maybe mid-50s, yet she dresses as she damn well pleases, rocking big leather boots and denim jackets that tell you to back the fuck off. Of course, the fact that she's 5 foot, maybe 100 lbs, and sweet as can be doesn't clash at all with this image. The cherry on top is that when she went to America to give lead some seminars, she made time to go see Aerosmith where she was literally 10 feet from the stage. She had the photos to prove it, too. Somehow, after the show, she managed to get a snag a few pics while rocking Joe Perry's guitar.
She's also a good teacher, and nice and willing to help in anyway, be it study, finding a part time job, or just giving you some candy to make the homework go by better. 尊敬
// END SIDENOTE //
We plop down around a large, square conference table next to a Japanese student, ready to dive into a conversation filled with awkward poses and lots of gesticulating to get your message across. Now, as a man that is used to using his hands to speak (as well as the rest of my body, ask Gabe Beckerman if you have the chance), I am perfectly fine with this. The awkward poses aren't even that bad, too, considering I've been living in Japan for the past two months and I'm no greenhorn when it comes to fumbling for vocab and grammar. Fuck yeah language inadequacy! Soldier on and get better, sucka.
The man I sat down next to was an amicable looking man named Minoru. He showed me has handwritten name placard (a piece of paper folded over twice) and gave me a firm handshake and sharp smile. This guy was here to fucking converse.
The conversation starts off with the usual "Where you from"s, "What are you studying"s, "What are you interested in"s, etc. Then we somehow managed to start talking about the politics and a blinker in my mind starts going off. I hadn't seen this blinker for a while so I didn't realize what it meant, but as the conversation continued I started to remember.
"CHANGE THE FUCKING CONVERSATION, YOU ARE APPROACHING A TOPIC YOU HAVE HOPES OF COMMUNICATING ABOUT, EVEN IF YOU ASK SOME QUESTIONS ABOUT VOCAB. THIS IS A SUICIDE MISSION."
Unfortunately, this didn't come to me until I had already dug myself into a hole.
Me: "So, do you know anything about American politics?"
Minoru: "Obama and Romney, right? This most recent election. Obama won. I know that."
Me: "Yeah, it was a really intense election. Depending on the source, the person who was "supposed' to win was different. Some people thought Romney had it for sure, other not.
Minoru: Yeah. I don't follow it that much, but it comes up on the news.
*Me feeling confident*
Me: So, what about Japanese politics. I don't know much about it, would you mind telling me a bit?
Minoru: "Well......."
JAPANESE. SO MUCH JAPANESE. YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND THIS JAPANESE. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? DID HE JUST FINISH A SENTENCE? NOD AND SMILE. MAKE SOME NOISE IN YOUR THROAT AS IF YOU UNDERSTOOD. WHAT ARE THESE WORDS? YOU KNOW THESE SOUNDS, RIGHT? CHANGE TOPIC NOW. CHANGE. NOW!
Me: "So how do you like baseball?"
Eventually we started talking about the states themselves and got onto the topic of Vegas.
*Note, this next part was in English*
Me: "So have you been anywhere besides New York?"
Minoru: "I've been to Nevada."
Me: "Vegas?"
Minoru: *rubbing fingers like cha-ching* "Yup yup." *shit eating grin*
Me: "You went gambling? Haha, sounds fun."
Minoru: "I did a LOT of things in Vegas."
Me: "Like what?"
Minoru: "Well... the food, there was a lot. And drinks. you know, osake, beer? Lots of that. And, how do you say it? Slots? Yeah, that too."
Me: "........."
Minoru: "I went some of my friends."
Me: "........"
Minoru: "Lost some money."
Me: "Would you go back."
Minoru: *Huge thumbs up* "Yes!"
And then the conversation went on, with him explaining how he was traveling the country with his friends on a bus that was going state to state. A big ol' adventure that hit some of the more well known places on the West coast, with Minoru's highlights being the California stops in San Fran and Venice.
After a little bit more our time finished up, but we exchanged contact info and have run into each other on my campus since he takes some Spanish classes every now and then and likes to stop in at the dining hall for lunch when its over. Definitely an interesting character.
Well, that's it for this weeks post. Sorry for slacking this past month. When I post it's usually to talk about the interesting things that have happened which is always in flux; some weeks are worth writing about (to me), and others aren't. However, I'll be having some good stories these upcoming weeks, as well as some backlogged stuff.
Peace
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Guys Waack? (And quick recap of this weekends)
You bet your ass they do.
If you don't know what I'm talking about, go on to youtube or something similar and look up "waack," spelled exactly that way.
See, I really don't have a style. I guess it might be hip-hop if I had to pick, but even then I feel I dance a little bit weirder than that. However, to be perfectly honest, a competition I went to a while back had people in the hip-hop genre who I would've definitely put in the freestyle, and vice-versa. To each their own, I s'pose.
So, ever the hoarder, when I see a move, step, or banger that I like, I think to myself, "hey, let's go learn that." As a consequence there are a bunch of things running around my head from different styles and genres. The game is making them fit together. I haven't won that game, yet. In my mind's eye they would flow together seamlessly (of course) and look really bad-ass (of course). There would be smooth moves leading up to hard-pauses, and fast steps with big stops to flop onto the floor and crank something out similar to footwork from breakdancing, all to crescendo up into a freeze, popping out of that and languidly body rolling my way out of the battle circle.
See, that would be cool. (Maybe words aren't the right medium for describing this. //shit)
As of recently, the thing that's caught my eye is waacking, which really works the arms. They whip and twirl them around their body, articulating the beat of the music. There aren't so many "big" moves as you may find in other styles, and so a lot of the performance is based on linking smaller moves together in quick succession. In a sense, it's like a lot of blocks of 2 8-counts or 3 8-counts . //possibly talking out of my ass. This is just from what I've seen
And I want to learn it. As a guy, I'm definitely out of the norm, especially since waacking somewhat lends itself to vogue, another dance style predominantly performed by women. But fuck that shit, right? All about breaking gender norms and tearing down those oppressive social constructs. And to be frank, people really don't care so much within the dance community over here as long as you're good at what you're doing. Practice hard, dance well, and even a performance while rocking a bagelhead will receive applause.
// End waack talk //
Anywho, anyway, waywho, yahoo? This past weekend was a lot of me time, which is perfectly fine. Saturday was spent doing 3 loads of laundry including my karate gi, cleaning up the room, making dinner and lunch for Sat/Sun (big meals and storing for later), getting some homework done, and then capping the day off with a battle hosted by the club I'm in, 8-street. Unfortunately, I wasn't yet part of the mailing list for the group so I didn't get a chance to register beforehand, but that has been rectified. Regardless, watching the battle itself was a real treat. Nobody from our circle made it into the final 4, which while not completely surprising, but still somewhat upsetting. However, it was definitely understandable, considering the people that came out from Osaka and the surrounding towns were disgustingly good. The format of the tournament was 2-person teams, with hip-hop, breaking, waacking, locking, and popping all represented. The final itself was between two breaking teams and was hella fun to watch. My interest, though, was in the hip-hop teams and I managed to get a few videos of them.
After the battle finished, audience members and battlers alike broke up into dance circles and took turns performing in the center. Here is where I finally got a chance to let out some steam and break it down for a bit.
Today, Sunday, was spent with some more homework, finishing up Kafka on the Shore by Murakami, and a nice 2 hour long bike ride around the area. The weather was great today and going out for a ride seemed like the right thing to do. In addition, one of the characters in Kafka on the Shore kept listening to Radio Head throughout the book and I realized it's been a long time since I've listened to them. After putting Kid A and Hail to the Thief on my iPod, I sped off into the day, listening to both without a break between.
Well, that's it for now. Peace.
OH, AND THANKSGIVING FOOD IS FUCKIN' DELICIOUS. AND I MADE THE BOMB-ASS BANANA CHOCOLATE CHIP BREAD FOR DESSERT. GET ON MY LEVEL. ACTUALLY, GET ON VERONICA'S LEVEL. SHE MADE THANKSGIVING DINNER FOR 9 PEOPLE. FUCKING AWESOME. 尊敬
CAPS LOCK CRUISE CONTROL
If you don't know what I'm talking about, go on to youtube or something similar and look up "waack," spelled exactly that way.
See, I really don't have a style. I guess it might be hip-hop if I had to pick, but even then I feel I dance a little bit weirder than that. However, to be perfectly honest, a competition I went to a while back had people in the hip-hop genre who I would've definitely put in the freestyle, and vice-versa. To each their own, I s'pose.
So, ever the hoarder, when I see a move, step, or banger that I like, I think to myself, "hey, let's go learn that." As a consequence there are a bunch of things running around my head from different styles and genres. The game is making them fit together. I haven't won that game, yet. In my mind's eye they would flow together seamlessly (of course) and look really bad-ass (of course). There would be smooth moves leading up to hard-pauses, and fast steps with big stops to flop onto the floor and crank something out similar to footwork from breakdancing, all to crescendo up into a freeze, popping out of that and languidly body rolling my way out of the battle circle.
See, that would be cool. (Maybe words aren't the right medium for describing this. //shit)
As of recently, the thing that's caught my eye is waacking, which really works the arms. They whip and twirl them around their body, articulating the beat of the music. There aren't so many "big" moves as you may find in other styles, and so a lot of the performance is based on linking smaller moves together in quick succession. In a sense, it's like a lot of blocks of 2 8-counts or 3 8-counts . //possibly talking out of my ass. This is just from what I've seen
And I want to learn it. As a guy, I'm definitely out of the norm, especially since waacking somewhat lends itself to vogue, another dance style predominantly performed by women. But fuck that shit, right? All about breaking gender norms and tearing down those oppressive social constructs. And to be frank, people really don't care so much within the dance community over here as long as you're good at what you're doing. Practice hard, dance well, and even a performance while rocking a bagelhead will receive applause.
// End waack talk //
Anywho, anyway, waywho, yahoo? This past weekend was a lot of me time, which is perfectly fine. Saturday was spent doing 3 loads of laundry including my karate gi, cleaning up the room, making dinner and lunch for Sat/Sun (big meals and storing for later), getting some homework done, and then capping the day off with a battle hosted by the club I'm in, 8-street. Unfortunately, I wasn't yet part of the mailing list for the group so I didn't get a chance to register beforehand, but that has been rectified. Regardless, watching the battle itself was a real treat. Nobody from our circle made it into the final 4, which while not completely surprising, but still somewhat upsetting. However, it was definitely understandable, considering the people that came out from Osaka and the surrounding towns were disgustingly good. The format of the tournament was 2-person teams, with hip-hop, breaking, waacking, locking, and popping all represented. The final itself was between two breaking teams and was hella fun to watch. My interest, though, was in the hip-hop teams and I managed to get a few videos of them.
After the battle finished, audience members and battlers alike broke up into dance circles and took turns performing in the center. Here is where I finally got a chance to let out some steam and break it down for a bit.
Today, Sunday, was spent with some more homework, finishing up Kafka on the Shore by Murakami, and a nice 2 hour long bike ride around the area. The weather was great today and going out for a ride seemed like the right thing to do. In addition, one of the characters in Kafka on the Shore kept listening to Radio Head throughout the book and I realized it's been a long time since I've listened to them. After putting Kid A and Hail to the Thief on my iPod, I sped off into the day, listening to both without a break between.
Well, that's it for now. Peace.
OH, AND THANKSGIVING FOOD IS FUCKIN' DELICIOUS. AND I MADE THE BOMB-ASS BANANA CHOCOLATE CHIP BREAD FOR DESSERT. GET ON MY LEVEL. ACTUALLY, GET ON VERONICA'S LEVEL. SHE MADE THANKSGIVING DINNER FOR 9 PEOPLE. FUCKING AWESOME. 尊敬
CAPS LOCK CRUISE CONTROL
Monday, November 12, 2012
Nature and Small Children, Good Sources of Amazement
Howdy y'all. How are things these days? How's life?
Kanazawa has fallen into a familiar pattern of grey rainy days that clear up into patches of thick, dark clouds with a clear blue sky or setting sun sitting behind to outline them. Naturally, carrying an umbrella has become a thing. And putting on waterproof boots. And tossing on a couple extra layers to guard against the wind when it blows. And rockin' a beanie - the long stretch of mid-fall to spring where Graham wears the same damned beanie every day has begun, and it is glorious.
However, outside of a few changes to wardrobe and accessories (can you call an umbrella an accessory?), life chugs on in the same happy fashion it has been. It's almost strange. Things should't be going this well. The air holds this tension, as if the whole world is holding its breath waiting for the bubble to pop. I mean, shit, how long can someone hold their breath for? Maybe I'm just not used to lulls this long. Where's a big ol' needle when ya need it?
There are moments, though, where I forget about it. Take, for example, this past weekend where I was able to experience two awesome and completely unrelated things: the colors of the changing season, and a dance battle.
Saturday, the 10th, I ventured off to Kurobe, a place about two hours away by bus from Kanazawa.
A friend of mine, Willy, has some buddies in the Indonesian community in Kanazawa, and as such, was invited to come with them and see the season's colors in Kurobe. In addition, though, he was told he could invite whomever he wanted - voila! I, Silvia, and Veronica found ourselves stuck in the middle of a big group of Indonesian families all going to see the trees and mountains in Kurobe.
And shit. I mean, shit. When I first heard about this excursion I was interested yet not ecstatic. It seemed like a cool chance to visit some other places in Japan and it was relatively hassel free since all I had to do was pony up the bus/train fare. I'm down for that.
But I was shocked. I find myself impressed with nature every now and then, but those moments usually last the span of a couple thoughts or breaths, and then I move on. This trip, however, was an entire fucking day of appreciation.
And this wasn't the kind of half-assed appreciation you find yourself doling out when you go to the museum and see an exhibit you know nothing about. You know the feeling, don't you? You stop at each painting or sculpture, and because you've heard that the average time spent looking at each work is a scant ~10-15 seconds, you force yourself to try and "appreciate" the painting in an effort to really find the value in it, standing there for 20 or more seconds and really digesting the colors, brush strokes, shapes, shadows, lines, etc. And yet, that extra 5 or so seconds doesn't enlighten you. You don't feel absorbed into the work, enthralled with what it says. All it amounts to is something you stared at for another 5 seconds.
Well yeah, fuck that shit. This day was spent devouring the landscape, and not because I felt obligated to, but because it just felt right: "This is some pretty heavy stuff. Me gusta."
Just take a second to enjoy, ok?
(Oh, and to give you an idea of the actual picture taking process, I was on a train which wound through the mountains, passing in and out of tunnels. This made taking pictures somewhat tricky as I had to fight for window space, time it right between passing rails and pillars, as well as standing straight so the pictures came out somewhat not-lopsided. If you add all of these hindrances together, in conjunction with my pisspoor skill as a photographer, you can understand why I am amazed with how these photos came out. I mean, that's the only reason I'm showing these. I think they're purtty and I like them. In all honesty, my pictures do no justice to what I saw, but at least it gives you an idea.)
And yeah, in addition to whole being amazed by nature and shit, I met a few cool cats along the way. Everyone on the trip was really welcoming and it was a good time. A darn good time. Cap the day off with a nice sleepy bus ride back, wine and pasta with Anthony, Silvia, Veronica, and Saori while watching The Princess Bride, and you got yourself a memory to hold on to for a while.
The very next day I spent being amazed by man, not nature. Okay, I apologize for that segue. Shit. That's pretty bad.
Regardless, Sunday I spent the day at a dance battle, spectating, taking pictures and vids, and generally being wowed by what I was watching. The group I'm in, 8-Street, had a few members taking part, and a lot more in the audience rooting them on. The event was held at a smell venue on the fourth floor of a random building - this hole in the wall club. The dance floor was thronged with spectators who would back up to the edges and sit down on the floor, eating up the bouts before them, cheering for friends, and clapping when something ridiculous happened. Which happened a lot.
The event itself was broken up into 3on3 freestyle, Pop, Locking, and Waack. If you're not sure what these mean I advise you go peep some educational clips on youtube and learn yourself something about a little something something. This shit's ridiculous. And everyone at the event was pretty good (or at least by my standards, which may not mean much, to be honest; I'm still at the bottom of the hill and can't see how high up it is or understand how hard it is to get there). Yet, besides the overall skill of the people there, the biggest surprise was the number of kids who entered the battle. And these weren't kids who showed up to get some experience and practice battling in front of a crowd. No. Not even a little bit. These were dancers who were monsters in their own right and came to win. A few made it to the semis in their respective genres (Locking, 3on3), and one even won (Locking).
It's incredibly interesting to look at the differences between kids performing and adults performing under the same genre. The differences in body and mentality definitely showed, with the kids hitting hard and fast movements that they only pulled off because they had that much less to swing around, and the adults showing practice in technique and finesse, with a lot of finer movements and fundamentals nailed down really well. Shit was cray cray.
And all amazing. Going to one of these events is the perfect kick-in-the-ass, motivation building kind of thing. I feel it may be the same in most competitions, regardless of what the activity is. You come and enjoy yourself and see how much wider the pond really is, and how much deeper it really goes. What you thought to be a shallow puddle before actually extends meters below the surface, and if you take the time and energy to dive down there you may find yourself in an underwater cave and shit. Pretty awesome, right? (Not sure where that analogy went. Just deal with it)
But yeah. Here's to another week of life.
Kanazawa has fallen into a familiar pattern of grey rainy days that clear up into patches of thick, dark clouds with a clear blue sky or setting sun sitting behind to outline them. Naturally, carrying an umbrella has become a thing. And putting on waterproof boots. And tossing on a couple extra layers to guard against the wind when it blows. And rockin' a beanie - the long stretch of mid-fall to spring where Graham wears the same damned beanie every day has begun, and it is glorious.
However, outside of a few changes to wardrobe and accessories (can you call an umbrella an accessory?), life chugs on in the same happy fashion it has been. It's almost strange. Things should't be going this well. The air holds this tension, as if the whole world is holding its breath waiting for the bubble to pop. I mean, shit, how long can someone hold their breath for? Maybe I'm just not used to lulls this long. Where's a big ol' needle when ya need it?
There are moments, though, where I forget about it. Take, for example, this past weekend where I was able to experience two awesome and completely unrelated things: the colors of the changing season, and a dance battle.
Saturday, the 10th, I ventured off to Kurobe, a place about two hours away by bus from Kanazawa.
A friend of mine, Willy, has some buddies in the Indonesian community in Kanazawa, and as such, was invited to come with them and see the season's colors in Kurobe. In addition, though, he was told he could invite whomever he wanted - voila! I, Silvia, and Veronica found ourselves stuck in the middle of a big group of Indonesian families all going to see the trees and mountains in Kurobe.
And shit. I mean, shit. When I first heard about this excursion I was interested yet not ecstatic. It seemed like a cool chance to visit some other places in Japan and it was relatively hassel free since all I had to do was pony up the bus/train fare. I'm down for that.
But I was shocked. I find myself impressed with nature every now and then, but those moments usually last the span of a couple thoughts or breaths, and then I move on. This trip, however, was an entire fucking day of appreciation.
And this wasn't the kind of half-assed appreciation you find yourself doling out when you go to the museum and see an exhibit you know nothing about. You know the feeling, don't you? You stop at each painting or sculpture, and because you've heard that the average time spent looking at each work is a scant ~10-15 seconds, you force yourself to try and "appreciate" the painting in an effort to really find the value in it, standing there for 20 or more seconds and really digesting the colors, brush strokes, shapes, shadows, lines, etc. And yet, that extra 5 or so seconds doesn't enlighten you. You don't feel absorbed into the work, enthralled with what it says. All it amounts to is something you stared at for another 5 seconds.
Well yeah, fuck that shit. This day was spent devouring the landscape, and not because I felt obligated to, but because it just felt right: "This is some pretty heavy stuff. Me gusta."
Just take a second to enjoy, ok?
And yeah, in addition to whole being amazed by nature and shit, I met a few cool cats along the way. Everyone on the trip was really welcoming and it was a good time. A darn good time. Cap the day off with a nice sleepy bus ride back, wine and pasta with Anthony, Silvia, Veronica, and Saori while watching The Princess Bride, and you got yourself a memory to hold on to for a while.
The very next day I spent being amazed by man, not nature. Okay, I apologize for that segue. Shit. That's pretty bad.
Regardless, Sunday I spent the day at a dance battle, spectating, taking pictures and vids, and generally being wowed by what I was watching. The group I'm in, 8-Street, had a few members taking part, and a lot more in the audience rooting them on. The event was held at a smell venue on the fourth floor of a random building - this hole in the wall club. The dance floor was thronged with spectators who would back up to the edges and sit down on the floor, eating up the bouts before them, cheering for friends, and clapping when something ridiculous happened. Which happened a lot.
The event itself was broken up into 3on3 freestyle, Pop, Locking, and Waack. If you're not sure what these mean I advise you go peep some educational clips on youtube and learn yourself something about a little something something. This shit's ridiculous. And everyone at the event was pretty good (or at least by my standards, which may not mean much, to be honest; I'm still at the bottom of the hill and can't see how high up it is or understand how hard it is to get there). Yet, besides the overall skill of the people there, the biggest surprise was the number of kids who entered the battle. And these weren't kids who showed up to get some experience and practice battling in front of a crowd. No. Not even a little bit. These were dancers who were monsters in their own right and came to win. A few made it to the semis in their respective genres (Locking, 3on3), and one even won (Locking).
It's incredibly interesting to look at the differences between kids performing and adults performing under the same genre. The differences in body and mentality definitely showed, with the kids hitting hard and fast movements that they only pulled off because they had that much less to swing around, and the adults showing practice in technique and finesse, with a lot of finer movements and fundamentals nailed down really well. Shit was cray cray.
And all amazing. Going to one of these events is the perfect kick-in-the-ass, motivation building kind of thing. I feel it may be the same in most competitions, regardless of what the activity is. You come and enjoy yourself and see how much wider the pond really is, and how much deeper it really goes. What you thought to be a shallow puddle before actually extends meters below the surface, and if you take the time and energy to dive down there you may find yourself in an underwater cave and shit. Pretty awesome, right? (Not sure where that analogy went. Just deal with it)
But yeah. Here's to another week of life.
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