2) Not understanding how bad you are until you're good
I've always enjoyed dancing.
Ever since I figured out I could do the worm and a half-assed attempt at the robot that made adults "ooh" and "ahh," I realized that it was something special to me. Now, mind you, I never took it seriously to the extent of lessons or teachers; it was always just the kind of thing that I practiced on my own in the comfort of my bedroom at 3 in the morning. Looking back at myself in the earlier years of dance exploration I chuckle a little bit because I drew inspiration from movies like, "You Got Served," and other terrible excuses for film. When watching those movies I never really understood what style I was watching, be it breakdancing, locking, hip hop, some weird kind of house, or a mishmash freestyle. Yet, what I clearly understood was that I wanted to be able to move like that in some way.
Freshman year at Tufts I joined TURBO, Tufts smallish breakdance group headed by a few seniors who were good friends. The group itself never really fell into a groove -- it never knitted together -- but regardless, I was learning and the people were fun.
Freshman year was when I started to comprehend the distance between myself and good dancers. That isn't to say I'm bad at dancing, but where I throw in a lot of random movements that seem right, other people have actually tested the waters and their bodies know the right feel, how to respond to the rhythm and melody properly, how to shift weight, how to isolate your chest while the rest does its own thing, etc.
Sophomore year, however, dancing took a backseat to Quidditch, Japanese, Event Staff, and ZBT. I guess "took a backseat" isn't the correct phrasing. I pushed dancing off of my ladder of priorities and watched it fall down into the pool of activities I wistfully think of putting time and effort into, yet never actually do. It's a big expanse of water, I regret to say.
However, Junior year, this year, the-year-I'm-in-Japan year, I've reached down into the depths of those murky waters and thrown dancing up near the top wrung, right below Japanese and Friends, above masturbation and homework. In its own way, though, dancing is also conducive to Japanese and Friends, seeing as I'm in a Japanese speaking circle, and I'm making new friends in the process. (And abs, I'm making those too. It's amazing what 15+ hours a week of extra exercise does for you. //more shameless than a mirror pic).
And so that's where this blogpost's title has come from. Having joined 8-Street (the dance circle), I've come a little bit closer to understanding how much I really don't know about dancing.
I read this thing, somewhere a while ago (fuck you, I can be vague, it's my blog) that said something along these lines: "The discrepancy is that novices don't know enough to accurately gauge their own skill, and in that confusion they rank themselves higher. Experts, however, understand how much more they need to learn, and in that regard rank themselves lower." I think I'm misquoting it, but you get the gist, right?
You don't know how bad you are until you're good. You'll never know how high the tallest mountain is until you get to the top of your own and see for yourself how far you have to go. And so, after reading that, I tried approaching life with a little more humility. (Might be hard to notice under my stupid cockiness. Forgive me, please) Now, when I begin something anew, I pretend that I'm deaf and blind, only being led by the sensation of touch. Only when I have touched something do I know it's there. However, to understand where everything is in relation to everything else, I have to touch upon a lot of things. That's when I can start drawing a picture in my head of where I am, how I'm doing.
(This is a somewhat twisted example, but just follow along).
I guess an easier to understand analogy is when you're playing Zelda and you only have the map and not the compass, so the only time your map displays new rooms is when you actually enter them. But, take it a step further. Pretend there is not map at all, and you have to draw everything yourself onto a piece of dried up parchment. Yet, instead of seeing what you're drawing, you close your eyes and hope your hand can trace it the way you see it in your head.
Now take it even one step further, and imagine that you've been blind your whole life, and the only reference you have for what something looks like is to feel it for a while and compare it to other things you've touched in your life.
Now maybe that's not a fair description of me in a new activity, since a lot of things in life overlap even if you don't realize it, and you probably have more experience than you think, but that's the gist: that's the humility I try to enter something with.
// SUPER SIDENOTE //
I'm reading Norwegian Wood right now (Haruki Murakami), and wow. WOW. Murakami is phenomenal.
Excerpt:
"You're really cute, Midori," I corrected myself.
"What do you mena really cute?"
"So cute the mountains crumble and the oceans dry up."
Midori lifted her face and looked at me. "You have this special way with words."
"I can feel my heart softening when you say that," I said, smiling.
"Say something even nicer."
"I really like you, Midori. A lot."
""How much is a lot."
"Like a spring bear," I said.
"A spring bear?" Midori looked up again. "What's that all about? A spring bear."
"You're walking through a field all by yourself one day in spring, and this sweet little bear cub with velvet fur and hsine little eyes comes walking along. And he says to you, 'Hi, there, little lady. Want to tumble with me?' So you and the bear cub spend the whole day in each other's arms, tumbling down this clover-covered hill. Nice, huh?"
// END SIDENOTE //
Thursday, October 25, 2012
People Don't Think Like it Be Like it is But it Do (1)
First, let me start off with an apology for how late this post is. (/Not actually sorry)
To all the people that read this blog, I know I've kept you waiting with bated breath. (/If you've actually been holding your breath you'd be dead by now. My B)
However, I will finally put down the words on the page. (/No snarky commentary, I just felt this sidebar was necessary for the feng shui)
So, this weeks blogposts are about a few unrelated things:
1) Going home with a Japanese girl
2) Not understanding how bad you are until you're good
3) Masturbation!
This post is about 1)
-----------------------
Last Friday, the 19th, there was a large welcome party for all of the international students, fittingly held at the international student dormitory. A couple friends and I (RonRon, Matty Fly, SilvySiesta, AnthonyLajoie, Nice-to-meet-you-Mina, Eliza [gomen, no nickname], Genki-Saori, and two guys who I hadn't met) decided to nosh on a quick homemade meal courtesy of Veronica, knock back a few beers, and then head out into the black of the night, hoping to find adventure in the nooks and crannies of this spacious campus. Or, ya know, a bear, because those things live here, too.
It was a good start to the night, neither auspicious nor foreboding: a regular night out.
We trudged down the hill in a pack that swallowed the width of the sidewalk, creating a formidable human wall that not so quietly said, "move." When we arrived at the international dorm we were greeted with signs of life through the windows on the second floor, an open door, and the raucous sounds of a party in full swing.
Everyone shuffled in, paid the $10 fee, dropped their coats off on the chair, and started drinking, mingling, and strutting their stuff. Me, being the incorrigible fucker I am, was unable to defend myself from the waves upon waves of people saying, "TOAST." Drink, after drink, after drink, after drink, after drink.
College didn't prepare me for this.
The worst was when Nice-to-meet-you-Mina went up to the makeshift bar being manned by 3 older Japanese students and returned with glasses filled a 1/3 of the way up, insisting that me and a few others take a shot.
MINA, A SHOT IS REASONABLE AMOUNT OF ALCOHOL THAT YOU CAN DRAIN IN ONE GO. A 1/3 OF A FUCKING SOLO CUP IS NOT A SHOT. THAT IS A SMALL BODIED PERSON'S DRUNKENNESS, AN AVERAGE PERSON'S TIPSY, AND MY DRUNK ASS' DOOM.
Of course I obliged her. Or she obliged me. Something along those lines. However, the night hadn't caught up to me yet and so I still felt peppy and raring to go. I had been on the dance floor for a bit (go check the FB photo, "dancing キング"), but now I was attacking it with a fervor. The dance floor was no longer a friendly place of camaraderie and merriment, but rather a bloodbath of rhythm and body sweat. I stomped my feet, howled to the chorus, swung my hips, and splashed my drink.
// Sidebar //
In case you didn't know, the people that dance at a party in Japan are much smaller in number than those that stand and talk. So, as you might imagine, the space that people can dance in is actually somewhat restricted because everyone else is just standing there. Add to that my larger-than-average size body, and you might start to see the tight situation I was in. This isn't to say that I was the only one dance, or that I was taking up the most space, or that I was the most enthusiastic. No, that honor goes to a 4' 10" girl named Manami, and she is awesome. Cho Genki. Cho Fucking Genki. (This is the same Manami that let me drive her car around for a bit)
// End Sidebar //
However, my body eventually caught on to what was happening within it. I had been able to hoodwink it up until that point with adrenaline and a thumping heartbeat, but finally it removed the veil from its eyes and realized what was happening. I was drunk. Drunk
A quick trip to the bathroom confirmed that. (Don't worry, I cleaned up)
After my short prayer session to the porcelain gods, I returned to the party room visibly drunk. I plopped myself down and started to regret some of the decisions in my life. Why do I ever drink? Why do I drink to excess sometimes? Why do I let small Japanese women cajole me into diving off the deep end into the oblivion that is drunk?
*Friend comes over*
Angela: Are you okay?
Me: Nah, I'm fine (read: I'mmmmmm fffinnne. Nahhhhhhh nahh, yeah, I'm goood.)
...
Me: Seriously, I can go home by myself (read: I'll.... walk home... yeah, yeah yeah yeah. It's fine.)
...
Me: Just a little water, and I'll head on home. (read: blechhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh)
So, with that encouraging conversation, the oh so wonderful Saki (早紀) took my drunk ass home. On the way up I found myself apologizing and feeling bad that I had possibly ruined her night. She mollified me with assurances that she was actually tired and just wanted to go home.
At some point on the walk back I remember us sitting down on the pavement to watch the stars. Kanazawa has some of the clearest skies I've seen (However, coming from the NY suburbs and Boston, I'm not sure if those are acceptable places to compare to).
And, to wax poetic for a second, the skies here are really picturesque, with some nights so crisp that you can reach out and cup a bit of the heavens in your hand, enjoying the twinkle of hot giants already deceased, their last message a dot in our sky.
And that's how I went home with a Japanese girl. Thanks Saki!
// Sidebar //
Did you really think I was gonna talk about my sex life on a blog? I mean, really? I can be crude, grotesque, and gross at times, but even I understand where to draw the line. Kinda. Maybe. I might write about my sex life if I can successfully pull off the Wookie sound.
// End Sidebar //
Peace
To all the people that read this blog, I know I've kept you waiting with bated breath. (/If you've actually been holding your breath you'd be dead by now. My B)
However, I will finally put down the words on the page. (/No snarky commentary, I just felt this sidebar was necessary for the feng shui)
So, this weeks blogposts are about a few unrelated things:
1) Going home with a Japanese girl
2) Not understanding how bad you are until you're good
3) Masturbation!
This post is about 1)
-----------------------
Last Friday, the 19th, there was a large welcome party for all of the international students, fittingly held at the international student dormitory. A couple friends and I (RonRon, Matty Fly, SilvySiesta, AnthonyLajoie, Nice-to-meet-you-Mina, Eliza [gomen, no nickname], Genki-Saori, and two guys who I hadn't met) decided to nosh on a quick homemade meal courtesy of Veronica, knock back a few beers, and then head out into the black of the night, hoping to find adventure in the nooks and crannies of this spacious campus. Or, ya know, a bear, because those things live here, too.
It was a good start to the night, neither auspicious nor foreboding: a regular night out.
We trudged down the hill in a pack that swallowed the width of the sidewalk, creating a formidable human wall that not so quietly said, "move." When we arrived at the international dorm we were greeted with signs of life through the windows on the second floor, an open door, and the raucous sounds of a party in full swing.
Everyone shuffled in, paid the $10 fee, dropped their coats off on the chair, and started drinking, mingling, and strutting their stuff. Me, being the incorrigible fucker I am, was unable to defend myself from the waves upon waves of people saying, "TOAST." Drink, after drink, after drink, after drink, after drink.
College didn't prepare me for this.
The worst was when Nice-to-meet-you-Mina went up to the makeshift bar being manned by 3 older Japanese students and returned with glasses filled a 1/3 of the way up, insisting that me and a few others take a shot.
MINA, A SHOT IS REASONABLE AMOUNT OF ALCOHOL THAT YOU CAN DRAIN IN ONE GO. A 1/3 OF A FUCKING SOLO CUP IS NOT A SHOT. THAT IS A SMALL BODIED PERSON'S DRUNKENNESS, AN AVERAGE PERSON'S TIPSY, AND MY DRUNK ASS' DOOM.
Of course I obliged her. Or she obliged me. Something along those lines. However, the night hadn't caught up to me yet and so I still felt peppy and raring to go. I had been on the dance floor for a bit (go check the FB photo, "dancing キング"), but now I was attacking it with a fervor. The dance floor was no longer a friendly place of camaraderie and merriment, but rather a bloodbath of rhythm and body sweat. I stomped my feet, howled to the chorus, swung my hips, and splashed my drink.
// Sidebar //
In case you didn't know, the people that dance at a party in Japan are much smaller in number than those that stand and talk. So, as you might imagine, the space that people can dance in is actually somewhat restricted because everyone else is just standing there. Add to that my larger-than-average size body, and you might start to see the tight situation I was in. This isn't to say that I was the only one dance, or that I was taking up the most space, or that I was the most enthusiastic. No, that honor goes to a 4' 10" girl named Manami, and she is awesome. Cho Genki. Cho Fucking Genki. (This is the same Manami that let me drive her car around for a bit)
// End Sidebar //
However, my body eventually caught on to what was happening within it. I had been able to hoodwink it up until that point with adrenaline and a thumping heartbeat, but finally it removed the veil from its eyes and realized what was happening. I was drunk. Drunk
A quick trip to the bathroom confirmed that. (Don't worry, I cleaned up)
After my short prayer session to the porcelain gods, I returned to the party room visibly drunk. I plopped myself down and started to regret some of the decisions in my life. Why do I ever drink? Why do I drink to excess sometimes? Why do I let small Japanese women cajole me into diving off the deep end into the oblivion that is drunk?
*Friend comes over*
Angela: Are you okay?
Me: Nah, I'm fine (read: I'mmmmmm fffinnne. Nahhhhhhh nahh, yeah, I'm goood.)
...
Me: Seriously, I can go home by myself (read: I'll.... walk home... yeah, yeah yeah yeah. It's fine.)
...
Me: Just a little water, and I'll head on home. (read: blechhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh)
So, with that encouraging conversation, the oh so wonderful Saki (早紀) took my drunk ass home. On the way up I found myself apologizing and feeling bad that I had possibly ruined her night. She mollified me with assurances that she was actually tired and just wanted to go home.
At some point on the walk back I remember us sitting down on the pavement to watch the stars. Kanazawa has some of the clearest skies I've seen (However, coming from the NY suburbs and Boston, I'm not sure if those are acceptable places to compare to).
And, to wax poetic for a second, the skies here are really picturesque, with some nights so crisp that you can reach out and cup a bit of the heavens in your hand, enjoying the twinkle of hot giants already deceased, their last message a dot in our sky.
And that's how I went home with a Japanese girl. Thanks Saki!
// Sidebar //
Did you really think I was gonna talk about my sex life on a blog? I mean, really? I can be crude, grotesque, and gross at times, but even I understand where to draw the line. Kinda. Maybe. I might write about my sex life if I can successfully pull off the Wookie sound.
// End Sidebar //
Peace
Sunday, October 14, 2012
I'm Bad at Society
So, the people voted and..................
*drum roll*
*continue drum roll*
*continue drum roll*
*continue drum roll*
*pause for breath*
*resume drum roll*
*break drum*
*get new drum*
*resume drum roll*
D/A) "Making faces at small children and old ladies" & "First time driving in Japan" were the winners for this weeks blog!
Let's begin with D.
So, as a representative of most foreigners, specifically those from America, my actions reflect beyond myself to the greater community that I come from. What does this mean? I fuck around with people every now and then.
Kids, in my experience, will always look at you if you happen to be in their line of sight. It's one of the stranger relationships within society that has yet to be explained in full detail by science, religion, or any other "authority." Is it because kids are infinitely curious? Is it because, to them, each person is something new in their life, essentially expanding their understanding of the world? When a kid looks at you, it's not because you yourself are inherently interesting, you are simply new. At least, that's my interpretation.
Or, ya know, it might happen to me because I'm a goofy looking fucker who wears a stupid smile and who has a childlike sense of wonder and naivety that harkens to them like some kindred spirit who still shits their pants. I don't know. Don't ask me for a proper explanation.
However, regardless of why they look, I almost always look back. Nine out of ten times, it will be with a smile, a nod, a wave, or a comical thumbs up pose. But, that tenth time. That tenth time, my friend, I allow myself to be a jackass.
// Possible Scenario //
Kid: *eating some chicken and rice in a bowl, sitting in a high chair next to an older man, presumably his dad*
Me: *eating some chicken and rice in a bowl a few tables away with my friends*
Kid: *scans room, finds foreigner, briefly stops eating food and stares*
Me: *smile*
Kid: *breaks eye contact and resume eating*
....
Kid: *scan room again, stare again*
Me: *MEANEST EXAGGERATED FUCKING STINK EYE AND SNEAR YOU CAN IMAGINE ON THIS MUG*
Kid: *breaks eye contact and is visibly shaken*
Me: *Inappropriate sense of accomplishment, fist pump*
Friends: *"Graham, you're fucking weird" look*
// End Scene //
However, this jackassery extends beyond children. Oh, dear friend, it is so much more than that. I am stupid to many, many, many people. One particular demographic I savor these moments with is older folks. In my eyes they've lived long enough to see a lot of things, they've been around the block a few times, and so things aren't too exciting. So, why not surprise them every now and then? New experiences keep you young at heart, right? Or do new experiences frighten and cause heart attacks? Not sure. Maybe I should go back and ask the old lady on the floor what she thinks.
ごめんね
But seriously, it's a bit of a stupid pleasure I get. When an older person in Japan happens to make eye contact with you, the furthest thing from their mind (in my experience), is "this guy's gonna give me a comically dirty look." And so, when I do in fact give them a dirty look, I get a few reactions.
1) Shock
2) Revile
3) A mean look back
And the best for last
4) A chuckle.
Sometimes, ya know, every once in a while, the people I throw a social curve ball at throw one right back. It's these rare moments of human interaction that make me smile from ear to ear. Go you, random older person, for not taking my shit. Even more kudos for making me laugh. Let's be friends, aight?
The second story of this post is unfortunately short and I believe I mislead you.
A) "First time Driving in Japan"
I, along with Matt, met this awesome and bubbly KU student named Manami after our Karate class last week (FUCK YEAH, KARATE). We struck up a conversation with her after she helped Matt locate his shoes, ending with an exchange of FB info. Lo and behold, later that week she invites us both to a hotpot party with some of her friends. Who said you had to be the one to nag Japanese students to hang out?
She picks us up Saturday night, along with a another girl named Salomi, and we head off to first get Matt a cell phone and then right after start dinner. Food was delicious, Manami's friends were awesome, her boyfriend Suna (I think?) and I talked about music, English puns, and just life in general. Everyone was having a blast. After dinner finished, the foreigners (Matt, Salomi, and I) rallied a little bit to get energized for karaoke. Unfortunately, we all hit a wall pretty soon into it leading to Manami graciously driving us back home. When we arrived I asked her if I could take a hand at the wheel. She said, "Okay!" let me drive a bit, and then she got back in the driver's seat and went off into the night.
Yeah, not too exciting. However, she did say that she would be cool with me getting behind the wheel again in the future, as long as no one else was on the road (read: 3AM). I'M FUCKING EXCITED.
And, with these words, I bid you adieu.
Peace,
Bitches
*drum roll*
*continue drum roll*
*continue drum roll*
*continue drum roll*
*pause for breath*
*resume drum roll*
*break drum*
*get new drum*
*resume drum roll*
D/A) "Making faces at small children and old ladies" & "First time driving in Japan" were the winners for this weeks blog!
Let's begin with D.
So, as a representative of most foreigners, specifically those from America, my actions reflect beyond myself to the greater community that I come from. What does this mean? I fuck around with people every now and then.
Kids, in my experience, will always look at you if you happen to be in their line of sight. It's one of the stranger relationships within society that has yet to be explained in full detail by science, religion, or any other "authority." Is it because kids are infinitely curious? Is it because, to them, each person is something new in their life, essentially expanding their understanding of the world? When a kid looks at you, it's not because you yourself are inherently interesting, you are simply new. At least, that's my interpretation.
Or, ya know, it might happen to me because I'm a goofy looking fucker who wears a stupid smile and who has a childlike sense of wonder and naivety that harkens to them like some kindred spirit who still shits their pants. I don't know. Don't ask me for a proper explanation.
However, regardless of why they look, I almost always look back. Nine out of ten times, it will be with a smile, a nod, a wave, or a comical thumbs up pose. But, that tenth time. That tenth time, my friend, I allow myself to be a jackass.
// Possible Scenario //
Kid: *eating some chicken and rice in a bowl, sitting in a high chair next to an older man, presumably his dad*
Me: *eating some chicken and rice in a bowl a few tables away with my friends*
Kid: *scans room, finds foreigner, briefly stops eating food and stares*
Me: *smile*
Kid: *breaks eye contact and resume eating*
....
Kid: *scan room again, stare again*
Me: *MEANEST EXAGGERATED FUCKING STINK EYE AND SNEAR YOU CAN IMAGINE ON THIS MUG*
Kid: *breaks eye contact and is visibly shaken*
Me: *Inappropriate sense of accomplishment, fist pump*
Friends: *"Graham, you're fucking weird" look*
// End Scene //
However, this jackassery extends beyond children. Oh, dear friend, it is so much more than that. I am stupid to many, many, many people. One particular demographic I savor these moments with is older folks. In my eyes they've lived long enough to see a lot of things, they've been around the block a few times, and so things aren't too exciting. So, why not surprise them every now and then? New experiences keep you young at heart, right? Or do new experiences frighten and cause heart attacks? Not sure. Maybe I should go back and ask the old lady on the floor what she thinks.
ごめんね
But seriously, it's a bit of a stupid pleasure I get. When an older person in Japan happens to make eye contact with you, the furthest thing from their mind (in my experience), is "this guy's gonna give me a comically dirty look." And so, when I do in fact give them a dirty look, I get a few reactions.
1) Shock
2) Revile
3) A mean look back
And the best for last
4) A chuckle.
Sometimes, ya know, every once in a while, the people I throw a social curve ball at throw one right back. It's these rare moments of human interaction that make me smile from ear to ear. Go you, random older person, for not taking my shit. Even more kudos for making me laugh. Let's be friends, aight?
The second story of this post is unfortunately short and I believe I mislead you.
A) "First time Driving in Japan"
I, along with Matt, met this awesome and bubbly KU student named Manami after our Karate class last week (FUCK YEAH, KARATE). We struck up a conversation with her after she helped Matt locate his shoes, ending with an exchange of FB info. Lo and behold, later that week she invites us both to a hotpot party with some of her friends. Who said you had to be the one to nag Japanese students to hang out?
She picks us up Saturday night, along with a another girl named Salomi, and we head off to first get Matt a cell phone and then right after start dinner. Food was delicious, Manami's friends were awesome, her boyfriend Suna (I think?) and I talked about music, English puns, and just life in general. Everyone was having a blast. After dinner finished, the foreigners (Matt, Salomi, and I) rallied a little bit to get energized for karaoke. Unfortunately, we all hit a wall pretty soon into it leading to Manami graciously driving us back home. When we arrived I asked her if I could take a hand at the wheel. She said, "Okay!" let me drive a bit, and then she got back in the driver's seat and went off into the night.
Yeah, not too exciting. However, she did say that she would be cool with me getting behind the wheel again in the future, as long as no one else was on the road (read: 3AM). I'M FUCKING EXCITED.
And, with these words, I bid you adieu.
Peace,
Bitches
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Banks, Soft and Regular
So classes started this week.
Yeah, I know. I had the same kind of reaction, like someone slowly sinking their tightly balled fist into the pit of your stomach. Each moment passing, their middle knuckle digs deeper and deeper until you realize, "Shit. This is gonna hurt."
Or not.
We'll see. From what I've heard, the classes here, at least compared to Tufts, are much easier. The main commitment will be my Japanese class, but even that doesn't look like it will be too troublesome. Hopefully by the time I get my feet under me I'll be able to take weekend trips and adventure throughout the land. Leave Friday night on a bus, get off Saturday morning, explore like a polite viking, party hard in the night, crash on some kind stranger's futon (or in a capsule motel), wake up Sunday, wash off the dust, and return back home.
Rinse and repeat until my Japanese is phenomenal or my body gives up. :D
But yeah, my classes include Japanese 3 times/week (around the same level as 21 back at Tufts. We're even using Tobira here), Kanji, Writing, Reading, Education in Japan, Karate, and Japanese Culture something something yada yada.
Hold the phone, buddy. Karate? FUCK YEAH, KARATE. My teacher isn't Mr. Miyagi, but I've got the next best thing: a happy-go-lucky German guy that gets all sorts of serious when he puts on his Gi. It's honestly a 180 flip from his day to day personality. The first time I met him was at the introduction to foreign students and he came off as a very pleasant guy, if not a little bit goofy. But give that bloke a karate gi to wear, an open space to practice in, and a switch flips inside of him.
OSU
OSU
OSU
(tip for the future: bolded and italicized means shit just got real)
Now, you may be wondering, "what the fuck is the relationship between what has been written so far and the title?"
And I'll tell you the god damn answer if you just sit your uppity ass down and learn a little something something. Here on Graham's blog he types whatever the fuck he wants to type. Does that mean it's always interesting? Hell yeah, it does.
Does that mean it's always easy to follow? Shit, of course not. But don't worry, I'll be getting to the title right about........
now.
Yesterday (Wednesday), I went with my tutor and two friends to go open up a bank account, which is necessary for getting a cell phone. My interaction with the bank was actually pretty agreeable, considering that I thought it would be a bureaucratic nightmare since I'm a foreigner who will only be using their services for a year. I guess money is money is money is money. Make that world go round.
The only hiccup was that I'm a dumbass. However, that's a general hiccup in life so I didn't consider it to be the bank's fault. I managed to incorrectly write my information three times, wasting three different forms. However, 4th time is the lucky one, right? My friend, Mikko, who was filling out the forms alongside with me, managed to get it done on his second try. Go fuck yourself, Mikko. The last thing I need is someone somewhat capable making my already hapless self look even more useless.
After filling out forms, we sat down and patiently waited. During this waiting process the other friend that came, Abdullah, kept commentating on how long it was taking, and how his took less time. I mean really, Abdullah? You can go fuck yourself, too. And shit, you only took 3 tries to get the forms right. But, honestly, chiding was necessary. The length was probably a combination of the few people in front of us and my chicken scratch handwriting.
CURSE YOU PRIMARY SCHOOL, YOU AND YOUR INSUFFERABLE WRITING LESSONS THAT MADE ME FOREVER FIGHT THE SYSTEM OF NEAT PENMANSHIP.
However, the real monster of a task was getting a cell phone. Now, you may think, "wouldn't a bank account be more difficult and time consuming to open? Like, that's a pretty serious thing, right?"
AND YOU WOULD BE WRONG. DEAD FUCKING WRONG. LIKE SHOT AND BURIED 6 FEET UNDAH WRONG.
You'd be incorrect. We went to Softbank (ahh, now the pun becomes clear) and sat down, hoping to get the whole thing over with.
Getting a fucking phone took two fucking hours of fucking miserable exchanges between poor fucking Japanese speakers and poor fucking English speakers (I, unfortunately, belonging to both camps). Fuck. I mean, fuck, man. Ultimately, however, Mikko and I decided upon some easy to use, big buttoned flip phones that seemed functional enough. For $20 a month we could call and text people. The only off point was that it was a 2 year contract, and that in order to transfer it (say to someone coming next year), we'd have to pay a $30 charge, as well as keep our Japanese bank account open the entirety of the summer until that person got to Kanazawa. So, we can do that and save some money, or just pay up the entirety of the second year of the contract before we leave Japan. We'll see what happens.
But, lo and behold, the fun continues. Apparently Mikko and I bought old people phones, which now makes the whole step counter on the main screen a lot more understandable.
Whatever, it's done. I don't care if I got an ojii-chan phone; I'm just happy to be done.
PEACE,
BITCHES
(´盆`〟)
Yeah, I know. I had the same kind of reaction, like someone slowly sinking their tightly balled fist into the pit of your stomach. Each moment passing, their middle knuckle digs deeper and deeper until you realize, "Shit. This is gonna hurt."
Or not.
We'll see. From what I've heard, the classes here, at least compared to Tufts, are much easier. The main commitment will be my Japanese class, but even that doesn't look like it will be too troublesome. Hopefully by the time I get my feet under me I'll be able to take weekend trips and adventure throughout the land. Leave Friday night on a bus, get off Saturday morning, explore like a polite viking, party hard in the night, crash on some kind stranger's futon (or in a capsule motel), wake up Sunday, wash off the dust, and return back home.
Rinse and repeat until my Japanese is phenomenal or my body gives up. :D
But yeah, my classes include Japanese 3 times/week (around the same level as 21 back at Tufts. We're even using Tobira here), Kanji, Writing, Reading, Education in Japan, Karate, and Japanese Culture something something yada yada.
Hold the phone, buddy. Karate? FUCK YEAH, KARATE. My teacher isn't Mr. Miyagi, but I've got the next best thing: a happy-go-lucky German guy that gets all sorts of serious when he puts on his Gi. It's honestly a 180 flip from his day to day personality. The first time I met him was at the introduction to foreign students and he came off as a very pleasant guy, if not a little bit goofy. But give that bloke a karate gi to wear, an open space to practice in, and a switch flips inside of him.
OSU
OSU
OSU
(tip for the future: bolded and italicized means shit just got real)
Now, you may be wondering, "what the fuck is the relationship between what has been written so far and the title?"
And I'll tell you the god damn answer if you just sit your uppity ass down and learn a little something something. Here on Graham's blog he types whatever the fuck he wants to type. Does that mean it's always interesting? Hell yeah, it does.
Does that mean it's always easy to follow? Shit, of course not. But don't worry, I'll be getting to the title right about........
now.
Yesterday (Wednesday), I went with my tutor and two friends to go open up a bank account, which is necessary for getting a cell phone. My interaction with the bank was actually pretty agreeable, considering that I thought it would be a bureaucratic nightmare since I'm a foreigner who will only be using their services for a year. I guess money is money is money is money. Make that world go round.
The only hiccup was that I'm a dumbass. However, that's a general hiccup in life so I didn't consider it to be the bank's fault. I managed to incorrectly write my information three times, wasting three different forms. However, 4th time is the lucky one, right? My friend, Mikko, who was filling out the forms alongside with me, managed to get it done on his second try. Go fuck yourself, Mikko. The last thing I need is someone somewhat capable making my already hapless self look even more useless.
After filling out forms, we sat down and patiently waited. During this waiting process the other friend that came, Abdullah, kept commentating on how long it was taking, and how his took less time. I mean really, Abdullah? You can go fuck yourself, too. And shit, you only took 3 tries to get the forms right. But, honestly, chiding was necessary. The length was probably a combination of the few people in front of us and my chicken scratch handwriting.
CURSE YOU PRIMARY SCHOOL, YOU AND YOUR INSUFFERABLE WRITING LESSONS THAT MADE ME FOREVER FIGHT THE SYSTEM OF NEAT PENMANSHIP.
However, the real monster of a task was getting a cell phone. Now, you may think, "wouldn't a bank account be more difficult and time consuming to open? Like, that's a pretty serious thing, right?"
AND YOU WOULD BE WRONG. DEAD FUCKING WRONG. LIKE SHOT AND BURIED 6 FEET UNDAH WRONG.
You'd be incorrect. We went to Softbank (ahh, now the pun becomes clear) and sat down, hoping to get the whole thing over with.
Getting a fucking phone took two fucking hours of fucking miserable exchanges between poor fucking Japanese speakers and poor fucking English speakers (I, unfortunately, belonging to both camps). Fuck. I mean, fuck, man. Ultimately, however, Mikko and I decided upon some easy to use, big buttoned flip phones that seemed functional enough. For $20 a month we could call and text people. The only off point was that it was a 2 year contract, and that in order to transfer it (say to someone coming next year), we'd have to pay a $30 charge, as well as keep our Japanese bank account open the entirety of the summer until that person got to Kanazawa. So, we can do that and save some money, or just pay up the entirety of the second year of the contract before we leave Japan. We'll see what happens.
But, lo and behold, the fun continues. Apparently Mikko and I bought old people phones, which now makes the whole step counter on the main screen a lot more understandable.
Whatever, it's done. I don't care if I got an ojii-chan phone; I'm just happy to be done.
PEACE,
BITCHES
(´盆`〟)
Monday, October 8, 2012
Japanese Family
// Warning: Feelings >> Funny. Too soon for a serious post?
I'm a strong believer in meeting new people. And, while I know that sounds somewhat cliche or trite, just listen for a second.
Each person and experience in the ocean of your life is a drop of water, or a bucket, or a torrential downpour, what have you. What I mean to say is that each thing has its own effect, casts its own ripples around your world. Ultimately though, with each new person and experience, there is more water. There is more life. You have lived more. And, true to American roots of excess, I believe more is better, at least in this case. More experiences, more people, more memories, everything: the whole shebang, kit and kaboodle, bouquet, yada yada yada.
And so, with many waves and eddies, white crests and swirling depths, two more people have entered my life.
Enter Stage Right: Mama Shimoie and Older sis Makiko （下家お母さんと真紀子姉ちゃん）
Now it might be a bit presumptuous of me to announce these two as my Japanese Family, considering that it's only been a week, and I met them because they work for the Tufts Program, rather than just meeting them myself, but I got that feeling, ya know? Something in the pit of my stomach is saying, "Hey, remember their names. Remember their faces. You'll be keeping them with you for a while."
And so, with that bit of background, here begins the post where I, along with the other members of the Tufts crew (Veronica, Matt, Shane), got spoiled like nothing else and enjoyed a day of sightseeing and food with the venerable Makiko as our guide and friend.
Light comes streaming through the window, catching the shades and throwing shadows on the floor. A motionless figure lays on the bed, the blanket a sea of folds and creases, clear signs it has been a night of tossing and turning. 11 AM
I got up, did the usual morning routine, all a bit more sluggishly though thanks to a hangover, and went out the door to meet with Shimoie and the Tufts people. A new woman who I hadn't met before, Makiko, was also there. She flashed a big and toothy grin and said, "Let's go."
And awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww yeah. Yeahhhhhhhhhh buddy. Fackin' delicious. The must sumptuous food your mortal eyes could lay upon. I actually think an angel came down from the heavens above just to deliver our lunch. Or, ya know, it was because the place was shwanky as fuck and cost an arm and a leg. Did I mention we were spoiled?
Lunch consisted of tender steak, mushroom soup, bread/rice, antipasto, stewed vegetables, and to top it all off, a delicate plate of assorted chocolates. All the while we were chatting in Japanese. My current command of the language allowed me to catch snippets of conversation yet unfortunately not piece the whole thing together. I think we talked about the aquaduct and water systems, a castle nearby, and a smattering of other topics. Anyway, lunch ended and Shimoie bid us ado, sending us off to go adventure with Makiko.
So many places. We must've walked at least 8 or 9 miles that day, which isn't terrible, but still, it's enough to make you wanna sit down in the middle of the street and just yell at the cars honking at you, "MY FEET HURT, CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND MY PAIN?!"
Highlights included going to the 21st century museum and playing around like a kid (peep those pictures on FB for a second, you'll see what I mean), bopping around the samurai district, talking to Makiko about her life over dinner, and a bunch of shtuff. By the end of the night it honestly felt like we had known Makiko like an old pal, maybe the cool aunt. Yeah, that's what she's like.
I'll keep this post to a somewhat reasonable length because of laziness and I'm hoping Mr. Helitzer will actually read the damn thing.
ピース、ビッチザ
I'm a strong believer in meeting new people. And, while I know that sounds somewhat cliche or trite, just listen for a second.
Each person and experience in the ocean of your life is a drop of water, or a bucket, or a torrential downpour, what have you. What I mean to say is that each thing has its own effect, casts its own ripples around your world. Ultimately though, with each new person and experience, there is more water. There is more life. You have lived more. And, true to American roots of excess, I believe more is better, at least in this case. More experiences, more people, more memories, everything: the whole shebang, kit and kaboodle, bouquet, yada yada yada.
And so, with many waves and eddies, white crests and swirling depths, two more people have entered my life.
Enter Stage Right: Mama Shimoie and Older sis Makiko （下家お母さんと真紀子姉ちゃん）
Now it might be a bit presumptuous of me to announce these two as my Japanese Family, considering that it's only been a week, and I met them because they work for the Tufts Program, rather than just meeting them myself, but I got that feeling, ya know? Something in the pit of my stomach is saying, "Hey, remember their names. Remember their faces. You'll be keeping them with you for a while."
And so, with that bit of background, here begins the post where I, along with the other members of the Tufts crew (Veronica, Matt, Shane), got spoiled like nothing else and enjoyed a day of sightseeing and food with the venerable Makiko as our guide and friend.
Light comes streaming through the window, catching the shades and throwing shadows on the floor. A motionless figure lays on the bed, the blanket a sea of folds and creases, clear signs it has been a night of tossing and turning. 11 AM
I got up, did the usual morning routine, all a bit more sluggishly though thanks to a hangover, and went out the door to meet with Shimoie and the Tufts people. A new woman who I hadn't met before, Makiko, was also there. She flashed a big and toothy grin and said, "Let's go."
And awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww yeah. Yeahhhhhhhhhh buddy. Fackin' delicious. The must sumptuous food your mortal eyes could lay upon. I actually think an angel came down from the heavens above just to deliver our lunch. Or, ya know, it was because the place was shwanky as fuck and cost an arm and a leg. Did I mention we were spoiled?
Lunch consisted of tender steak, mushroom soup, bread/rice, antipasto, stewed vegetables, and to top it all off, a delicate plate of assorted chocolates. All the while we were chatting in Japanese. My current command of the language allowed me to catch snippets of conversation yet unfortunately not piece the whole thing together. I think we talked about the aquaduct and water systems, a castle nearby, and a smattering of other topics. Anyway, lunch ended and Shimoie bid us ado, sending us off to go adventure with Makiko.
So many places. We must've walked at least 8 or 9 miles that day, which isn't terrible, but still, it's enough to make you wanna sit down in the middle of the street and just yell at the cars honking at you, "MY FEET HURT, CAN'T YOU UNDERSTAND MY PAIN?!"
Highlights included going to the 21st century museum and playing around like a kid (peep those pictures on FB for a second, you'll see what I mean), bopping around the samurai district, talking to Makiko about her life over dinner, and a bunch of shtuff. By the end of the night it honestly felt like we had known Makiko like an old pal, maybe the cool aunt. Yeah, that's what she's like.
I'll keep this post to a somewhat reasonable length because of laziness and I'm hoping Mr. Helitzer will actually read the damn thing.
ピース、ビッチザ
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Disregard Busses, Acquire Karaoke
So yeah, I did it. I finally popped my K-Cherry (not a reference to Krispy Kremes, Kangaroo-pouch-riding, or Kicking ass and chewing bubble gum).
And, oh man. Oh boy. Whoa, Nelly. It was good.
The day, up until the departure from Sakigake (my living area), had been a beehive of activity, with me literally running around the campus, scaring wild animals, bridge spiders, and native Japanese alike. See, if you know me (which you might, or may not. Regardless, I'm going to explain what you know about me, so it doesn't really matter if you do or don't....)
See, if you know me, you know I like talking to people. And hanging out with people. As a consequence, I prioritize things in my life a little bit differently than others. For example, if you gave me the choice of getting lunch with a friend (let's say 早紀 [Saki]) at a cafe on campus, or going to an important orientation for exchange students where they get their Residence Cards (important for living in Japan, right?), I might choose the lunch. I mean, I did. I went to lunch with Saki. But it was definitely the right choice. Did I mind spending the half hour after lunch running around the entirety of the Southern campus trying to find a meeting room that could fit around 200 people? Maybe, I suppose. A smidgen. Nah, more like a dollop. I minded a dollop's worth.
(QUICK NOTE: FUCK COOK BOOKS THAT SUGGEST PINCHES, SMIDGENS, AND DOLLOPS)
But it was Saki, and she's great. Ah man, she's so comfortable with her English now, which is dangerous and helpful. Good in the sense that she could tell me about her trip to Italy with all the fun details I might've missed otherwise, yet bad in that I'm here in Japan, and ya know, fuck that English thing.
// SIDENOTE
Japanese has a word 話す(hanasu), which means to speak. Another word, 喋る(shaberu), means to talk/chat. The nuance is that 話す carries a feeling of import: what you're talking about matters. 喋る, to my understanding, is more like you're talking at someone, rather than with someone. However, you can describe someone as speaking a language with 喋る, which kind of makes sense. If someone can "chat," then they are probably decent at a language. Chat has that implication of ease of talking, ya know?
// END NOTE
But yeah, the day was flurry of meetings, and orientations, and moments spent trying to catch my breath but ultimately failing because I would have to rocket off to somewhere else. Why the fuck is this place so big? And beautiful, too. Damn beautiful. You should come here, Mr./Mrs./Whichever-part-of-the-gender-spectrum-you-find-yourself-in Reader. I'll hook you up with some good vistas, a nice and comfy faux-wooden floor, delicious food, and a couple of good stories to slip into your back pocket for later. Scout's Honor.
However, after a solid block of good ol' nap nap time, I woke up bushy eyed and bright tailed, ready to take on the Japanese night life with a roar. RAWR, MOTHERFUCKER. I'M GRAHAM KERR AND I CAME HERE TO MAKE DECISIONS THAT RESULT IN GOOD STORIES. Let's have some fun tonight.
The group that walked the long long walk to the karaoke bar (about 35 minutes away, and no busses were available) was composed of Matt, Veronica, Saori, Mikko, Teemu, Silvia, Antony, and myself. There, we met up with two of Saori's friends, Mina and Shiori (fun fact: the character for her name means bookmark (栞)). Oh boy, that's a lot of names. Well, I suppose they're all people you'll see popping up later on in blogposts, so do well to remember them.
Beer Count (1): 500ml Sapporo from the Circle K, drunken on the walk over. There aren't open container laws in Japan, are there? Eh, I can Gaijin Smash worst comes to worst.
Anywho, we settle into a cozy room with enough space to comfortably sit everyone, and begin. Matt steps up to the plate first and lets loose an impressive display of singmanship (fuck you, it's a word). I was completely shocked, because here is a guy that I have known for over a year (and have lived with for close to 9 months), and yet not once have I heard him sing or express interest in making any music of any kind. And yet the kid hit it out of the park, pleasantly surprising everyone with a solid rendition of...... some Japanese song(?). The songs continue coming out left and right, people revealing great hidden voices (looking at you Antony, Mikko, and Teemu), and I even took a shot at it with some Billie Jean and YMCA action. After realizing I was out of drink, I popped out of the room to go to the vending machine to get another 500ml, this time Asahi.
Wait.
Wait, what?
What did you just type, Graham?
Did you... did you just really tell me there are vending machines that sell alcohol? And, wait, they don't have a system to verify age?
Damn... I knew they had used panty vending machines, but still.
Liver: * Frown *
Head the following day: * Frown *
Stomach the following day: * Frown *
Finnish boy: YAHOOOOOOOOOO (more on that later).
(Of course, I had already enjoyed this newfound freedom the very first night I got into Japan by cracking open a cold one in the tiny Japanese shower and drinking it down like only a fully grown adult can)
But, I digress.
Beer Count (2): 500ml Asahi "zero calorie." Tasted a lot like natty light, so, you know, water and pale yellow urine. Like, that color you get when you've drinking a decent amount of water, yet not nearly enough so that you have clear urine. Am I really describing this right now? Fuck you, yes I am.
So, I return to the room, break out some moves like Jagger, sing along to a couple more Japanese and American songs, and soon my beer is gone again. Back to the vending machine.
Beer Count (3): 500ml Asahi draft. This has a little more body to it and makes you think that some factory, somewhere around the world, decided to actually put beer into a can rather than having their employees pee into the opening in a slipshod manner.
More songs. More fun. More pictures. More peace signs. When in Japan....
Finnish boy (Teemu): Hey Graham, come get another drink with me?
Beer Count (4): 500ml Asahi draft. I then decided that I would stick with it for the rest of the night, on a count of there being a good price/size ratio. And that it didn't taste like shit. Yeah.
At this point of the night, I was definitely starting to feel something. A summer void of continuous amounts of binge drinking severely hampered my ability to poison myself, yet I felt I was putting up the good fight. One more final chug with Teemu and I felt good. And by good, I mean great. And by great, I mean I was drunk. By drunk, I mean drunk. Like, drunk. DRUNK
(mental note for future reference: italicized, bolded, and underlined means "fucked up"
But of course, what can I do in this state besides ruin my vocal cords further by dropping an octave and raising my voice a few thousand fucking decibels? And so I sang. I sang my little heart out, that bloody motor churning as fast as it could to keep my lurching body from falling over like Jenga.
Teemu: Graham....
Beer Count (5): Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking at this point. I wasn't stupid drunk, but I was at the point where I might start saying things I would regret later on if I continued the dive into drunkenness, ya know? And yet I plunged ahead, the depths of inebriation hugging my body like tight blanket.
However, it was around the time that the joint efforts of tiredness and drunkenness hit me like a slap to the face that everyone decided to head home. Fine by me, or at least, fine by my body. Three people had already called it quits for the night and the rest of the group was feeling it.
Brain: Hey, hey you. You, you with the moves like Jagger and the beautiful voice.
Graham: Me? Awww, shucks, you know I blush at compliments about my dancing skills.
Brain: Well, anyway, you should try to speak Japanese. Ya know, you gotta practice all the time, right? What better time than now, when your confidence is inordinately high and your fine motor skills, spatial reasoning, and general ability to think shit through have all been blasted to smithereens?
Graham: I'll think about it. I don't know, I'm slurring my words a bit.
Brain: Come on, give it a try.
Graham: Fine, but only because you noticed my dancing.
Brain: OH, yeah, totally, keep attempting to moon walk, too. People love that shit. Especially cars in the middle of the road, they think it's more entertaining than a Japanese game show.
Graham: OH TAY
And so with a train of thought similar to that I went over to talk to Mina, one of Saori's friends who happened to have studied abroad in England, and who also happened to be really cool.
I hit her with this:「みなの事もっと知りたい」
which I thought translated to, "Hey, I'd like to get to know you better." So yeah, some nuance of more than just friendly, but I honestly meant it in the same vane of "Let's hang out again soon, aight?"
Apparently, though, I was wrong. In Japanese, that sentence is loaded. There are strong implications of interest, romantic or otherwise, and it was somewhat akin to asking her on a date, followed by a walk on the beach in the moonlight followed by a quick shag on a blanket I set up beforehand, with candles, assorted picnic food, and smooth jazz playing. At least, that's what her reaction told me I had just told her. As well as Saori's reaction. And the reaction of stranger passing on the street. And the moon, I'm pretty sure the moon physically cringed in response.
God fucking damn it. A;lrkjasdlfkjasd;lfkjasd;lfkjsad;lfkj
Last thing I need is the circle of people I hang out with thinking there's more blood circulating around my groin than up top. But alas, woe is me, and the comedy was oh so rich.
So, wich much ribbing and jokes, as well as a few desperate pleas for help from me to Saori, to at least explain what I was trying to say, we stumbled back home at 5 in the morning.
Teemu: Hey Graham, one more beer before bed?
Graham: * Falls to the pavement and lies down, hoping to god Teemu thinks he is dead and will thus ignore this prey for it has no fight left in it *
Teemu: Okay, night night.
ON NEXT TIME'S ADVENTURES:
GRAHAM AND TUFTS' FRIENDS ENJOY BEING SPOILED BY THEIR JAPANESE MOM AND JAPANESE OLDER SISTER.
PEACE, BITCHES
And, oh man. Oh boy. Whoa, Nelly. It was good.
The day, up until the departure from Sakigake (my living area), had been a beehive of activity, with me literally running around the campus, scaring wild animals, bridge spiders, and native Japanese alike. See, if you know me (which you might, or may not. Regardless, I'm going to explain what you know about me, so it doesn't really matter if you do or don't....)
See, if you know me, you know I like talking to people. And hanging out with people. As a consequence, I prioritize things in my life a little bit differently than others. For example, if you gave me the choice of getting lunch with a friend (let's say 早紀 [Saki]) at a cafe on campus, or going to an important orientation for exchange students where they get their Residence Cards (important for living in Japan, right?), I might choose the lunch. I mean, I did. I went to lunch with Saki. But it was definitely the right choice. Did I mind spending the half hour after lunch running around the entirety of the Southern campus trying to find a meeting room that could fit around 200 people? Maybe, I suppose. A smidgen. Nah, more like a dollop. I minded a dollop's worth.
(QUICK NOTE: FUCK COOK BOOKS THAT SUGGEST PINCHES, SMIDGENS, AND DOLLOPS)
But it was Saki, and she's great. Ah man, she's so comfortable with her English now, which is dangerous and helpful. Good in the sense that she could tell me about her trip to Italy with all the fun details I might've missed otherwise, yet bad in that I'm here in Japan, and ya know, fuck that English thing.
// SIDENOTE
Japanese has a word 話す(hanasu), which means to speak. Another word, 喋る(shaberu), means to talk/chat. The nuance is that 話す carries a feeling of import: what you're talking about matters. 喋る, to my understanding, is more like you're talking at someone, rather than with someone. However, you can describe someone as speaking a language with 喋る, which kind of makes sense. If someone can "chat," then they are probably decent at a language. Chat has that implication of ease of talking, ya know?
// END NOTE
But yeah, the day was flurry of meetings, and orientations, and moments spent trying to catch my breath but ultimately failing because I would have to rocket off to somewhere else. Why the fuck is this place so big? And beautiful, too. Damn beautiful. You should come here, Mr./Mrs./Whichever-part-of-the-gender-spectrum-you-find-yourself-in Reader. I'll hook you up with some good vistas, a nice and comfy faux-wooden floor, delicious food, and a couple of good stories to slip into your back pocket for later. Scout's Honor.
However, after a solid block of good ol' nap nap time, I woke up bushy eyed and bright tailed, ready to take on the Japanese night life with a roar. RAWR, MOTHERFUCKER. I'M GRAHAM KERR AND I CAME HERE TO MAKE DECISIONS THAT RESULT IN GOOD STORIES. Let's have some fun tonight.
The group that walked the long long walk to the karaoke bar (about 35 minutes away, and no busses were available) was composed of Matt, Veronica, Saori, Mikko, Teemu, Silvia, Antony, and myself. There, we met up with two of Saori's friends, Mina and Shiori (fun fact: the character for her name means bookmark (栞)). Oh boy, that's a lot of names. Well, I suppose they're all people you'll see popping up later on in blogposts, so do well to remember them.
Beer Count (1): 500ml Sapporo from the Circle K, drunken on the walk over. There aren't open container laws in Japan, are there? Eh, I can Gaijin Smash worst comes to worst.
Anywho, we settle into a cozy room with enough space to comfortably sit everyone, and begin. Matt steps up to the plate first and lets loose an impressive display of singmanship (fuck you, it's a word). I was completely shocked, because here is a guy that I have known for over a year (and have lived with for close to 9 months), and yet not once have I heard him sing or express interest in making any music of any kind. And yet the kid hit it out of the park, pleasantly surprising everyone with a solid rendition of...... some Japanese song(?). The songs continue coming out left and right, people revealing great hidden voices (looking at you Antony, Mikko, and Teemu), and I even took a shot at it with some Billie Jean and YMCA action. After realizing I was out of drink, I popped out of the room to go to the vending machine to get another 500ml, this time Asahi.
Wait.
Wait, what?
What did you just type, Graham?
Did you... did you just really tell me there are vending machines that sell alcohol? And, wait, they don't have a system to verify age?
Damn... I knew they had used panty vending machines, but still.
Liver: * Frown *
Head the following day: * Frown *
Stomach the following day: * Frown *
Finnish boy: YAHOOOOOOOOOO (more on that later).
(Of course, I had already enjoyed this newfound freedom the very first night I got into Japan by cracking open a cold one in the tiny Japanese shower and drinking it down like only a fully grown adult can)
But, I digress.
Beer Count (2): 500ml Asahi "zero calorie." Tasted a lot like natty light, so, you know, water and pale yellow urine. Like, that color you get when you've drinking a decent amount of water, yet not nearly enough so that you have clear urine. Am I really describing this right now? Fuck you, yes I am.
So, I return to the room, break out some moves like Jagger, sing along to a couple more Japanese and American songs, and soon my beer is gone again. Back to the vending machine.
Beer Count (3): 500ml Asahi draft. This has a little more body to it and makes you think that some factory, somewhere around the world, decided to actually put beer into a can rather than having their employees pee into the opening in a slipshod manner.
More songs. More fun. More pictures. More peace signs. When in Japan....
Finnish boy (Teemu): Hey Graham, come get another drink with me?
Beer Count (4): 500ml Asahi draft. I then decided that I would stick with it for the rest of the night, on a count of there being a good price/size ratio. And that it didn't taste like shit. Yeah.
At this point of the night, I was definitely starting to feel something. A summer void of continuous amounts of binge drinking severely hampered my ability to poison myself, yet I felt I was putting up the good fight. One more final chug with Teemu and I felt good. And by good, I mean great. And by great, I mean I was drunk. By drunk, I mean drunk. Like, drunk. DRUNK
(mental note for future reference: italicized, bolded, and underlined means "fucked up"
But of course, what can I do in this state besides ruin my vocal cords further by dropping an octave and raising my voice a few thousand fucking decibels? And so I sang. I sang my little heart out, that bloody motor churning as fast as it could to keep my lurching body from falling over like Jenga.
Teemu: Graham....
Beer Count (5): Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking at this point. I wasn't stupid drunk, but I was at the point where I might start saying things I would regret later on if I continued the dive into drunkenness, ya know? And yet I plunged ahead, the depths of inebriation hugging my body like tight blanket.
However, it was around the time that the joint efforts of tiredness and drunkenness hit me like a slap to the face that everyone decided to head home. Fine by me, or at least, fine by my body. Three people had already called it quits for the night and the rest of the group was feeling it.
Brain: Hey, hey you. You, you with the moves like Jagger and the beautiful voice.
Graham: Me? Awww, shucks, you know I blush at compliments about my dancing skills.
Brain: Well, anyway, you should try to speak Japanese. Ya know, you gotta practice all the time, right? What better time than now, when your confidence is inordinately high and your fine motor skills, spatial reasoning, and general ability to think shit through have all been blasted to smithereens?
Graham: I'll think about it. I don't know, I'm slurring my words a bit.
Brain: Come on, give it a try.
Graham: Fine, but only because you noticed my dancing.
Brain: OH, yeah, totally, keep attempting to moon walk, too. People love that shit. Especially cars in the middle of the road, they think it's more entertaining than a Japanese game show.
Graham: OH TAY
And so with a train of thought similar to that I went over to talk to Mina, one of Saori's friends who happened to have studied abroad in England, and who also happened to be really cool.
I hit her with this:「みなの事もっと知りたい」
which I thought translated to, "Hey, I'd like to get to know you better." So yeah, some nuance of more than just friendly, but I honestly meant it in the same vane of "Let's hang out again soon, aight?"
Apparently, though, I was wrong. In Japanese, that sentence is loaded. There are strong implications of interest, romantic or otherwise, and it was somewhat akin to asking her on a date, followed by a walk on the beach in the moonlight followed by a quick shag on a blanket I set up beforehand, with candles, assorted picnic food, and smooth jazz playing. At least, that's what her reaction told me I had just told her. As well as Saori's reaction. And the reaction of stranger passing on the street. And the moon, I'm pretty sure the moon physically cringed in response.
God fucking damn it. A;lrkjasdlfkjasd;lfkjasd;lfkjsad;lfkj
Last thing I need is the circle of people I hang out with thinking there's more blood circulating around my groin than up top. But alas, woe is me, and the comedy was oh so rich.
So, wich much ribbing and jokes, as well as a few desperate pleas for help from me to Saori, to at least explain what I was trying to say, we stumbled back home at 5 in the morning.
Teemu: Hey Graham, one more beer before bed?
Graham: * Falls to the pavement and lies down, hoping to god Teemu thinks he is dead and will thus ignore this prey for it has no fight left in it *
Teemu: Okay, night night.
ON NEXT TIME'S ADVENTURES:
GRAHAM AND TUFTS' FRIENDS ENJOY BEING SPOILED BY THEIR JAPANESE MOM AND JAPANESE OLDER SISTER.
PEACE, BITCHES
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Fucking Japanese Toilets
So, this is was my 4th day in Japan. According to my "studying abroad guide," I am still well within the honeymoon period where everything is great, I can laugh at the little mistakes and different cultural norms, everything is new and interesting, and, above all, I am happy. It is kinda depressing, honestly, to think that after a couple weeks I will be dropped from paradise into the cold pool of harsh reality: my cultural faux pauxs will longer be tolerated, -- I should learn by then -- my inability to communicate what I really want to say, due to a lack of vocab/grammar, will no longer be a nuisance but something that hobbles and obfuscates day to day interaction, as well as the knowledge that these friends, with the exceptions of the ones that speak English fluently, really won't know me. I understand "actions speak louder than words," and through that I can communicate, but at the same time my actions are tinted through whatever cultural lens the people around me are using, be it a small town in Germany or Finnland, the countryside of Japan, a bustling city in Spain, or a quaint suburb in Korea. This shit sucks, man. I'm all about communicating and being understood, but this is a whole new challenge.
// End edging-on-self-pity complaints regarding studying abroad
In other news, Japan's still awesome. I've met tons of people over the last few days, and have also spearheaded the whole "make a FB group for people in the program in order to meet new people" initiative. However, the most interesting person I have met is not a fellow student in the program, but my tutor, an energetic and animated character named Satoru （悟）: he's a godsend. Now, lot's of people are my kinda people, but he's the kind of strange enthusiastic individual that yells in the face of conformity while at the same time not coming off as a tool. He is who he is, and that's fackin' phenomenal. Plus he has a sky blue car to drive me around the town. +1 for Graham, Boo Yah
These past few days have revolved around getting settled into the program, including getting a local residency card, signing up for insurance, taking the placement tests for class (bombed or DOMINATED WITH MY #2 PENCIL, who knows?), and just getting my shit together. Man, I think I understand to an extent why people hate moving. The whole process of uprooting your life and moving elsewhere is painfully long and tedious. So much paperwork. So many possessions you can't bring and have to buy new. So many strange things to get used to. This ain't no "let's go to Tufts, kids" trip, this shit is half way around the world. You want cutlery, cooking pans, and basic ingredients so you can avoid eating at the dining hall everyday? BUY THAT SHIT OVER THERE. You want insurance? FILL OUT THIS FORM THAT IS REPLETE WITH WORDS YOU DON'T KNOW. You want to use the toilet? ENJOY THE HEATED SEAT AND SONG IT PLAYS YOU AS YOU FLUSH. Okay, to be honest, the last one is pretty fucking legit. I'm trying to see if I can get a toilet to play "call me maybe".... I'll let you know how it goes.
...
"Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but enjoy the heated seat, let me sing to you baby."
Ya know, something like that.
BUT YO
YO YO YO YO YO
Lemme talk about tonight for one quick second. A real quick second. A lickity split second.
Tonight was the first night that I started drinking with my new friends, European, Japanese, and American alike. Social Lubricant, what can I say? It was only just a mishmash of broken English and Japanese, but through the flaming wreck that represented our attempts at communicating, a shining phoenix of respect, admiration, and appreciation arose (for a few reasons): we all were mystified, enthralled with, or excited by the bidet function of the toilet. One friend in particular, Teemu, a Finnish lad that has a great store of English idioms up his sleeves, led the discussion and spoke about the merits of this powerful bidet, hereafter referred to as the "lady button" (his words, not mine). In his childlike wonder he pressed the button without understanding what would unfold, and there he sat, listening to the whirring machinations of this futuristic toilet as a cool jet of water took him by surprise, grasping not only his attention yet also some of his innocence. However, after the potentially traumatic experience, he grew to appreciate it. And called it the lady button. I don't fucking know.
But, more than the mutual appreciate for the "lady button," I found my taste in music overlapped pretty well with one of the Japanese grad students there. We exchanged music for a bit on youtube and I ended up walking away with some new American bands, namely The Bird and The Bee. I in turn showed him Sleigh Bells and Daft Punk.
Ah man, I wish I could write well enough to fully go into detail about everything that happened today (because a lot happened, ya know?). Alas, it is 5 in the morning, and my creative juices ain't flowing like they should be.
ANYWHO, TODAY (abridged version):
Wake up, take placement test, exchange FB names/email addresses with many people, get lunch with tutor and friends, crash the fuck out for a bit, go shopping in town, miss bus back home and walk 40 minutes in the rain carrying groceries and other stuff, go drinking with buddies, talk about misfortune in communication because we aren't good enough at each other's languages, talk music, talk useless physical abilities (fingers like Spock, curl tongue, move ears, bend thumb, suck own penis, etc.), talk about the yawning, so on and so forth.
Quick idea for next time. I was thinking of putting up certain parts of my day in a status post, and then by consensus (so most likely the only person who responds), I'll write about a specific part or two. Let me know what you think.
PEACE,
MOTHA FUCKAS
BITCHES (ah, almost got you, right?)
// End edging-on-self-pity complaints regarding studying abroad
In other news, Japan's still awesome. I've met tons of people over the last few days, and have also spearheaded the whole "make a FB group for people in the program in order to meet new people" initiative. However, the most interesting person I have met is not a fellow student in the program, but my tutor, an energetic and animated character named Satoru （悟）: he's a godsend. Now, lot's of people are my kinda people, but he's the kind of strange enthusiastic individual that yells in the face of conformity while at the same time not coming off as a tool. He is who he is, and that's fackin' phenomenal. Plus he has a sky blue car to drive me around the town. +1 for Graham, Boo Yah
These past few days have revolved around getting settled into the program, including getting a local residency card, signing up for insurance, taking the placement tests for class (bombed or DOMINATED WITH MY #2 PENCIL, who knows?), and just getting my shit together. Man, I think I understand to an extent why people hate moving. The whole process of uprooting your life and moving elsewhere is painfully long and tedious. So much paperwork. So many possessions you can't bring and have to buy new. So many strange things to get used to. This ain't no "let's go to Tufts, kids" trip, this shit is half way around the world. You want cutlery, cooking pans, and basic ingredients so you can avoid eating at the dining hall everyday? BUY THAT SHIT OVER THERE. You want insurance? FILL OUT THIS FORM THAT IS REPLETE WITH WORDS YOU DON'T KNOW. You want to use the toilet? ENJOY THE HEATED SEAT AND SONG IT PLAYS YOU AS YOU FLUSH. Okay, to be honest, the last one is pretty fucking legit. I'm trying to see if I can get a toilet to play "call me maybe".... I'll let you know how it goes.
...
"Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but enjoy the heated seat, let me sing to you baby."
Ya know, something like that.
BUT YO
YO YO YO YO YO
Lemme talk about tonight for one quick second. A real quick second. A lickity split second.
Tonight was the first night that I started drinking with my new friends, European, Japanese, and American alike. Social Lubricant, what can I say? It was only just a mishmash of broken English and Japanese, but through the flaming wreck that represented our attempts at communicating, a shining phoenix of respect, admiration, and appreciation arose (for a few reasons): we all were mystified, enthralled with, or excited by the bidet function of the toilet. One friend in particular, Teemu, a Finnish lad that has a great store of English idioms up his sleeves, led the discussion and spoke about the merits of this powerful bidet, hereafter referred to as the "lady button" (his words, not mine). In his childlike wonder he pressed the button without understanding what would unfold, and there he sat, listening to the whirring machinations of this futuristic toilet as a cool jet of water took him by surprise, grasping not only his attention yet also some of his innocence. However, after the potentially traumatic experience, he grew to appreciate it. And called it the lady button. I don't fucking know.
But, more than the mutual appreciate for the "lady button," I found my taste in music overlapped pretty well with one of the Japanese grad students there. We exchanged music for a bit on youtube and I ended up walking away with some new American bands, namely The Bird and The Bee. I in turn showed him Sleigh Bells and Daft Punk.
Ah man, I wish I could write well enough to fully go into detail about everything that happened today (because a lot happened, ya know?). Alas, it is 5 in the morning, and my creative juices ain't flowing like they should be.
ANYWHO, TODAY (abridged version):
Wake up, take placement test, exchange FB names/email addresses with many people, get lunch with tutor and friends, crash the fuck out for a bit, go shopping in town, miss bus back home and walk 40 minutes in the rain carrying groceries and other stuff, go drinking with buddies, talk about misfortune in communication because we aren't good enough at each other's languages, talk music, talk useless physical abilities (fingers like Spock, curl tongue, move ears, bend thumb, suck own penis, etc.), talk about the yawning, so on and so forth.
Quick idea for next time. I was thinking of putting up certain parts of my day in a status post, and then by consensus (so most likely the only person who responds), I'll write about a specific part or two. Let me know what you think.
PEACE,
MOTHA FUCKAS
BITCHES (ah, almost got you, right?)
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Bye Bye!
Bye Bye!
Ah man. Oof. That plane ride was a curb
stomp to my physical wellbeing. Now, it really wasn't all to
terrible, but in the future I wouldn't mind taking some precautions
to ensure my sleep comes easily (nyquil, getting plastered and
throwing up in the bathroom to fall asleep on the toilet, having
someone clock me one, or depriving myself of an extreme amount of
sleep beforehand).
At the airport I managed to get my bags
checked, say goodbye to mama, and get through customs with ease,
except for the part where I left my shoes on the other side of the
scanning machine. It was actually kind of a funny exchange:
*
Taking all of my things out of the plastic bin on the opposite side *
Me: Uhm, excuse me. Did you take my
shoes out to inspect them or something?
TSA: No, you didn't have any shoes.
Me: I had shoes.
Passing Person: I think I saw them on
the other side...
Me: * facepalm *
TSA: * rolls eyes *
Passing Person: * rolls eyes *
Everyone still on line on the other
side when I go back to get shoes: * rolls eyes *
Life: * roll eyes *
So, ignoring that minor embarrassment,
everything was smooth sailing. The plane itself was delayed a bit due
to a monstrous typhoon occurring in the vicinity of Japan, but
eventually we all walked on the plane and plopped into our seats.
Entertainment for this flight consisted
of a 14 hour playlist I made for myself, the surprisingly decent
selection of inflight movies, counting the amount of people sleeping
with their mouths hanging open and joking about this with the
obaa-chan sitting next to me, talking to the obaa-chan next to me,
and reading the newest Tucker Max book I found at the store prior to
the flight.
GRAHAM'S RATINGS OF INFLIGHT
ENTERTAINMENT (1-5 stars)
Obaa-Chan: Obaa-Chans
seem to be universally awesome. This particular obaa-chan put up with
my turrible Japanese and we managed to get through a somewhat
cohesive conversation. She's 65 and has lived by Nara for the last 40
years, has two children who have their own families that also live
nearby, learned English in high school but didn't pursue anything
because she didn't feel she was that good at it, and visited Macchu
Picchu. She wants to visit the Grand Canyon but doesn't know when
she'll have time for it. She also laughs like a slice of watermelon,
all wide and toothy, filled with a simple sweetness that makes anyone
feel like her grandchild.
(4.5) Stars! (would've been more if I
could have understood/appreciated better what she was saying)
Inflight Movies:
The selection was large and diverse enough to cover all the bases:
latest action flicks, past box office hits, middle aged romantic
comedy, teenage drama, obscure foreign production, and of course the
visually stunning documentaries about cultural happenings around the
world (crabs in Japan, temples in China). The three movies I watched
were MIB 3, The Social Network, and Brave. I hadn't seen MIB 3 in
theaters yet I had heard good things about. And, in accordance with
those good things, I enjoyed the film even though I watched it on a
screen tiny enough that a baby's head could fully block out. The
Social Network I had seen in theaters so I knew what to expect. I
wasn't sure why watching it a second time would be a good idea. It
was fine to see it the first time on the big screen, but didn't
deserve a second viewing. Brave was a curious film. The trailers for
it had led me to believe the story would take a much different route
than it did. I'm still happy with how it ended up, but at the same
time I felt it could have pulled through better.
4
Stars
Tucker Max Book
Funny, but don't buy it. With all these awesome sequels coming out in
the film world I was hoping that some of the magic would rub off onto
this tired looking book, but alas t'was not so.
A meager 3 stars. (Which, according to XKCD's Amazon rating chart
analysis, means it's complete shit)
And then I landed in Japan. Life's good.
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