William Matheson's Journal

01:30 am - shakedown cruise

I gave The Slideshow tonight to Uncle Shane and Aunt Shirley. (It's a shorter version of the abridged collection available here. I'll be leaving the online collection as it is, though - it's currently just fine for browsing piecemeal and contains some things that I found painful to cut.)

The Good News: It held interest. It wasn't nearly so onerous as I thought it would be. I will probably be keeping the slideshow as it is now. I had a notepad available to write down photos Uncle Shane might have figured that I could toss, and I never once needed to use it. The images and videos looked great on the TV. It really brought things to life - Aunt Shirley testified it was like being there, and that she wished I was her teacher.

The Bad News: It's three hours long. =)

The solution, therefore, is to split it into two 90-minute chunks. I had some misgivings about this - people will agree to sit down for a slideshow out of politeness, but there's no way you're going to get more than lip service for a second sitting unless it's damn good. I'm confident now, though.

So this is an albatross off my back. Of course, I never made up slideshows for Alberta, Poland, and Ukraine, and I probably should have. Maybe someday - now that everything will fit easily on a laptop harddrive, (and the fact that I have a laptop) makes a show feasible now where it wasn't then. I also think that more people have expressed interest in Japan than Poland and Ukraine.

Will's Japan Slideshow: Coming soon to a S-Video-equipped living-room television set near you.

Current Mood: accomplished

10:20 pm - slideshow musings

I'm in the midst of creating my slideshow, but as things go these days, it's mostly a matter of what to leave out, not what to put in. I've whittled the abridged collection down to 1,871 from the original of 7,306 (and counting: I've found more things to upload).

1,871 is a few too many for one sitting though, unless I'm spending like three seconds on each slide, making for a humane 90-minute show. Actually three seconds is kind of realistic for a lot of them. Maybe I'll unleash it on my folks and see how they hold up. =) In any case, given the luxury of time, this would be the show I'd give, accompanied by a lot of stories and tidbits that I haven't even begun to type into the Flickr version.

Still, I think I'll make a ridiculously shortened version too. Some of you are probably waiting for such a thing. =)

Update: OK... 1,503. I don't want to do this anymore. Cutting more would take too much of a toll... or would it? I'm obsessing over this too much.

Current Mood: awake

01:51 am - Japan Photos: Finished

Japan 2008
A collection by blue_william.

Current Mood: accomplished

11:32 pm - Our Creep Memories

Creep Memories
Originally uploaded by blue_william.

Current Mood: amused

12:43 am - Internship Essay

I took Grandma’s car for a spin to the post office to get the mail – it barely started, the temperature was around -20°C – and while I was out I got a Rockstar Juiced, drank it, put the finishing touches on this essay, and now I have the shakes, probably due to the cold and the caffeine... Aunt Shirley’s in bed, so I’ll just turn this thermostat back up a little... ;-)

In 2008, I was an interning primary school teacher at a nominally bilingual private school in the quiet Ojin Town neighbourhood of Tokushima City, in Tokushima Prefecture, on the charming, picturesque, friendly island of Shikoku, in the fine country of Japan.

Now that I am back in Canada, I am finding that it is not as easy to process my experience as I had supposed. Perhaps all my grey matter has leaked into my hair. A lot of people say that the first year of teaching is the toughest. I have to agree. It takes time to learn how to think in three dimensions and how to anticipate challenges and setbacks before they happen. It takes experience to become efficient and effective. I’ve never been to teacher’s school, but having learned on the firing line that was my job, I feel that, say, a two-year post-degree education programme is at the same time far too long and far too short.

As I begin to write this report on a Sunday night, it is the start of a whole new workweek in Japan. At 7:34am Monday morning the trains and streets are busy, and the people are going back to their jobs – including my old job. As I type through the top of the hour, my former co-workers are standing up and dronely reciting “I will work selflessly in my life for others. Others’ lives are affected by the way I conduct my life. The light that I seek is found not around me, but within myself. Only after we have found the light inside ourselves, can we accept it from others.”

Though I am safe in Canada, though, my job is not yet finished. As part of my agreement with my university, I am to leave some sort of legacy, such as the essay you are now reading. If you are embarking upon my internship or a similar venture elsewhere, perhaps you will find this useful. I had a wearisome experience complicated by politics and my naïveté and inexperience. I should also say that this was a year that I do not wish to repeat, even knowing what I know now. However, this fact alone should not be a catalyst for your decision, one way or the other.

So here’s the hypothetical deal: ( the rest (which you may have read two posts prior - the revisions are minor) )

Current Mood: cold

11:16 pm - Report, Second Attempt

I'm not quite up to the suggested length, but I might try to get away with a version of this. What say you? Internet Land, are there any questions you want me to answer - not so much work stuff, but about living in Japan in general? It'd really help. 01/26: A tenth “coping strategy” has been added.

As I write this (Sunday night, 6:34pm, in Souris, Prince Edward Island), it’s the start of a whole new workweek in Japan. At 7:34am Monday morning the trains and streets are busy, and the people are going back to their jobs – including my old job, as a (interning) primary school teacher at a “bilingual” private school in Tokushima, on the homely isle of Shikoku.

This is one morning meeting that I’m happy to miss. But my job is not yet finished. As part of my agreement with my alma mater, I am to write a report on my experience. I know, I know, this is so meta. You hate reading about writing what you’re reading as much as I do. But in this case I feel it’s important to note that I started this report before, wrote a few pages, and then gave up by cause of exhaustion. I was determined to paint an accurate, unsentimental portrayal of what my job was like – or what it felt it was like, and do so without coming off as spoiled or spiteful.

It was impossible. What’s more, things are such that… well, nobody cares to read about negative experiences that with foresight one could have avoided. If I’m to do this, I ought to focus on the positive – like, how I coped!

I mean, besides alcohol.

<Krk-ksssh!>

So here’s the deal, like it or not: You’re in Japan, you’re on a contract, they paid for your airfare, and if you leave you’ll not only be liable for that but you’ll also be putting your coworkers in the lurch for as long as it takes for your employer to lure a replacement. Running out like a thief in the night isn’t really an option – the question there would be how much kerosene would you like to go with your bridge. Here are some things that helped me.

1. Foreign coworkers. Considering that we were just random people thrown together, we got along remarkably well. I didn’t always agree with them, but the perspectives that they brought to bear both on the job and to the city and country were invaluable. Sometimes I didn’t want to do the things they wanted to do, but we did enough things together to make ourselves feel like a family of sorts. We stuck together – and yes, we were stuck together.

I can honestly say that there is no way I would have even considered staying for the year were it not for the care and support of my foreign coworkers. Even a simple statement like, “You can do anything for a year,” worked wonders. While we may not exchange wedding invitations, we will always be close in a way that transcends ordinary friendships. We all pulled together, and we survived.

2. Pre-existing connections. I think it’s fair to say that you will have a different experience in Japan if you have connections made here that have a place over there. One of my coworkers had a very good friend whom she met in Canada, and there were lots of comings and goings on that front – such that she felt completely welcome in Japan in a way that your employer alone can’t, and probably shouldn’t hope to express. I had a connection as well, and it was nice to know that someone in Japan cared about how I was doing. There were a few times when that was all I had.

3. Staying connected. In this Internet Age, there’s no need to speak of the how, the only question is how much. It can be a double-edged sword; if you’re spending all your free time checking up on your hometown friends on Facebook, that’s time that you’re not experiencing Japan. Still, keeping in touch with your mates once in a while helps you keep a certain kind of perspective.

4. Getting out. Get out a lot. Try to go out even when you don’t feel like it. I also recommend organizing (and <ahem> budgeting for) trips when you happen to have a free long weekend – Japan has a lifetime’s worth of things to see and do. Shikoku has more than its share of pretty, quiet places, and it is also the home of the fascinating 88 Temple Pilgrimage. I made it to 54 out of the 88, thanks to weekend trips, side trips, and long bicycle journeys. In general, having something to think about besides work makes life a lot easier.

5. Learn Japanese. I actually didn’t do very well on this objective. In the beginning, we had a coworker of Japanese background who’d been learning the language for years and was also a gifted teacher – he was able to teach us from our perspective, and use his experience of having to know the nuts and bolts (as many second-language speakers do) to our benefit. He took a job at another school in another town, though, and then we had to go to city lessons on our own. While it was good that the city offered lessons, they seemed to target Chinese workers more than alcoholic Canadians. (Clearly, the Chinese had an advantage.)

6. Smile. At my workplace, there was a dearth of warm, sincere smiles. There were some, but there could have been many more, and I should have endeavoured to let a smile be my umbrella more often. It’s a cheap coping mechanism, but it often works wonders. It’s also good to bear in mind that no matter what may go wrong (say, with a class), it’s really not so serious – there’ll be a chance to try again. If you’re being condemned, do what you can and wait it out – they’ll find bigger fish to fry.

7. Be Confident or Feign Confidence. Just because your employer hired you as an intern does not mean they want to be reminded of it, especially if they’re letting the parents assume that you’re all accredited instructors in your home countries. Any appeals to your inexperience when under pressure will backfire tremendously. If you don’t know what you’re doing, and you’re in a similar situation, act as if you do know. If there’s anything seriously amiss, they won’t hesitate to correct you. If it’s something minor, well, it’s minor – best to live with a small mistake than a major blow-out.

8. Listen more than you talk. You have an opinion, and it is important. Unfortunately, you’re swimming upstream even at the best of times. In this context, not only are you probably young, but you’re not even from the country. Your opinions are informed differently. Bear this in mind when you do speak up.

9. Budget. You’re working a job and your pay might be pitiful and you can’t leave. Fight back by budgeting! Japan is actually a very easy country to budget in, as the economy is cash-based and the ATMs have limited hours. I withdrew about 60% of my net pay from the ATM on payday and used that for my expenses for the month (save rent, which was deducted directly from my pay prior to its deposit). When you can actually see the notes coming out of your wallet, and know how much hard work is behind them, you spend less!

10. The kids. Establishing an atmosphere of mutual respect with your students can be an ace-in-the-hole. There were days when the only thing that made me get out of bed was the fact that I wanted to be there for them. On a more practical level, if the kids like you, the parents like you, and that’s one of the royal roads to job security in a private school! (I ruffled enough feathers through my, er, exuberant innovations in the art of office survival as to virtually guarantee an intracontractual departure had things been otherwise.) My “tactic,” if you could call it that, was teaching the children as I would have liked to have been taught. I strived to meet that goal as best I could – of course, sometimes I would fall short and at the same time gain a better appreciation of the realities (especially time and resource constraints) that might have held my own teachers back.

Incidentally, giving in – not that I’m advocating as blunt or obtuse a strategy as “never giving in” – is not a way to earn respect. It’s a slippery slope, and you could give in to the point where the class becomes utterly pointless and still not have any cachet. Fear, though, works – until your back is turned, that is. And, I’m almost sorry to say it, but as a foreign teacher you’re more or less a toothless tiger anyway.

Therefore, I recommend a humanistic approach. Have a bit of fun. Be fair but firm. If they ask why, tell them why. You’d be surprised how much they understand, even in this second-language situation.

Children, although they are only just learning the politics and subterfuge and tactics of adults, have an uncanny ability to see through hypocrisy and deceit. Their views and reactions and behaviours have taught me a lot about life. And yet for their undeniable virtues, there are times you just wish they’d smarten up and bring their books and do their homework.

* * *

As these things usually go, your mileage will vary. Being open to new experiences, patient, and being able to change into a fully-aware cybernetic super-sensei are plusses. While we’re at it, having one of those little fish that you can put in your ear to translate everything would be cool, too. But in all seriousness, if you chose to teach at this school or another school in Japan, or any school anywhere, you’ll be amazed by what you learn. Even if you have a trying, difficult, thorny experience, you’ll be richer for it. You’ll be able to take the experience and apply it to your life back home. I apologize for having to use so many platitudes, but almost everything you need to make the best of a trying situation is present in our vernacular, and the rest, for the most part, is up to you. Good luck!

Current Mood: calm

11:12 pm - Report, First Attempt

I really don’t know where to begin with this.

Don’t give them an inch – don’t admit you’re an amateur, because they resent the fact they had to hire you on that basis. Once they get a leg up on you, you’re done for. You can’t admit you’re human, not even when your “boss” is out drinking with you: “Why are you telling me this?! Hello!”

People ask me what I thought of teaching, and my summation has been, “Teaching’s OK, I just can’t stand the politics.” People wonder what I mean by that. Well, in this particular situation, we were always combating a pervasive, institution-wide malaise. Things were such that it couldn’t be addressed – like everything else, it had to be covered up. You learn the meaning of the phrase “most ignorance is wilful.” Knowledge is paralyzing. Speaking out is suicide. Just put your head in the sand and finish your contract.

If things aren’t going well, the solution is always to work longer hours, and the blame is squarely yours. I came into the job with a self-effacing attitude, but I might have carried it too far as I began to be a magnet for rancour. I don’t behave like most people, either – even my contemporaries have difficulty understanding me, and many of the Japanese teachers probably thought I was an impudent little snot. I spoke out about things that I shouldn’t have and stood my ground when it would have been wiser not to. Eventually I learned to dabble in the low-grade deceit needed to survive. (For just one example, I couldn’t chase down every one of my students for every item of homework that they neglected to do and assign them extra homework like my predecessors would, and so I neglected this part of my duty but I also obscured it so that I would not be condemned again.) But unfortunately, the damage was done, both to my reputation and me.

Maybe I’m just not cut out for this sort of thing. I feel like I’ve been chewed up and spat out – just another (slightly squeaky, prone to seizure) cog in their wheel. All of the appearances and thank yous were there, of course, but it was all just for appearance’s sake. It was all counterfeit. So much of the actual job went that way, too. We weren’t even allowed to talk to the parents, lest they find out (again) that some of us weren’t accredited teachers in our home countries, and withdraw their students from the school in protest (again). Instead, everybody played this little game – well, I did, until I got sick of it and had nothing to lose. But then again, I would have felt kind of sheepish about it anyway, as those parents were paying good money and some of them were assuming that the school had changed its ways as it said it would and therefore I must be a real teacher, right?

It’s not that these little games and deceits kept me from doing my job. They just made me miserable about it, is all.

Among other things, I had to teach art, junior high math, and primary school science, and I knew embarrassingly little about any of it. If I had been trained as a teacher, I would have had to have some background in some or all of those things before any department of education would have admitted me. But I wasn’t, so I didn’t. However, I’m actually grateful for those experiences, however trying they may have been at the time, because they opened me up to the chasmatic gaps in my own, personal education. Because of what I lacked in math and science in particular, I determined to go back to school – not as a graduate student, but as a lowly graduated ever-student enrolled in university prep courses. (I must note that many of my friends are alarmed at this course of action. They’re wondering if I’ve thought about how it will feel to be nearly 30 and still a sort-of undergrad, with no career and few prospects (save returning to the Orient when I run out of money). Before I even graduated (the first time, in 2004), I was receiving criticism: “ur a loser cause u have no friends & have been in skool 4 like eva,” as one of my cousin’s friends once told me.)

Well, I feel that the best way to wash off the stench of failure is by succeeding at something, and I am bound and determined to spare no effort, no expense, nor leave any metaphorical stone unturned as I embark on my quest to become educated. I have to show people that I have some talent, some value, something to contribute to this world, both for my sake and that of others.

Your mileage may vary.

12:23 pm - Awa Odori

Awa Odori
Originally uploaded by blue_william.

Current Mood: cheerful

05:04 pm - Leaving Japan, Never Easy (Part 3)

Written at home under the snows of New Year’s Day

I got into Narita and called Masae – I said I was “standing under the ‘L’,” and maybe that wasn’t clear enough because she ended up paging me. =) First we went to the courier counter to pick up my suitcases – she was even going to pay for them (more than ¥4000!) but I couldn’t let her, social norms be damned I blurted out, “Watashi no kaban des!” and paid myself. (“O, nihongo!” she murmured to her husband. But it was nothing at all, really.) They were my stupid heavy bags, and my responsibility alone.

She had brought lots of little things for me to take home to share with family, so we spent a bit of time organizing and repacking and in the end I had to leave a few things with her to dispose of to make room for the pseudo-omiyage. Amusingly, she was saying “Thank you,” and I was saying to her, “No, thank you.” I knew it was all hideously inappropriate – this is a culture where gifts have to be new (and I did, thank God, get her a new stuffed toy of the Tokushima mascot – it elicited a sincere “Kawaii!” exclamation), and even though these weren’t gifts it felt really awkward. I hope that she understood, as I did, that these were extreme circumstances.

It wasn’t just a matter of space – it was more a matter of mass – I had to take things out of my checked bags and put them into my already-bursting carry-ons because one of my suitcases passed through a magic 32kg barrier and the $50 overweight charge would have turned into $200.

Anyway, once we got all this stuff sorted out, we sat down for a bit and enjoyed some tea her husband bought for us. We had quite a lot to talk about, and not much time to do it – twenty, maybe thirty minutes. All too soon, I had to get myself through security. As I passed through I could see that she was watching from the public side, and she didn’t leave until after I was out of sight. (I couldn’t really wave at that point – it would be too much like communicating, “Yes, I got the drugs through OK!” =)

Touching.

She had admitted to me over the phone a week earlier that she had been apprehensive about meeting me last January because she (correctly) remembered me as a lying, deceitful child, and “not a very nice boy.” She was really showing hospitality to my mother and father, and I was a proxy. But she said that she couldn’t believe how much I’d changed and now she has a completely different view of me.

I think I was in Grade 3 or 4 when she visited us – now that I think of it, Grades 3 through 10 were pretty bad years for me. =) 11 wasn’t hot either, but I used my notoriety to get elected to the Student’s Council at my high school and that really changed my life because it became my job to get interested in other people. A whole new world opened up for me around that time.

Still, I’ve had a lot of catching up to do. I was entering a new world, sure, but I was doing it without all of the experiences and wisdom that my contemporaries already possessed. It’s been a slog. I get along with some people and clash with others. I still brandish my opinions with a sting that is probably unnecessary and definitely unflattering.

2009 is going to be my fix-myself-up year.

* * *

I was going to take a window seat on the flight (I’d picked a seat online months earlier), but the check-in agent offered me the change to pick another seat, as the flight wasn’t crowded – I thought about it for a second and got an aisle seat, as it would be nighttime at both the departure and destination airports. The sun would come up in mid-flight and go down again later, but in any case I wasn’t in the mood to attempt aerial photography.

Also, I realized this would be my first time experiencing arriving sooner than I left! (We didn’t take off until around 7:30pm, and we landed in New York around 5:25pm – both December 24th.) Of course, since I piddled away 95% of this time at JFK airport with customs, AirTrain rides, and baggage storage, it didn’t turn out to be as much of a thrill as I’d envisioned.

The immigration counter was a breeze – the woman looked at my documents and asked if I was coming back to Japan. “Ever?” I wondered, and then I realized, “No, not on this visa.” Theoretically, I did have the option of buying an re-entry permit so I could enjoy the last nine days of my permission to be in the country, but that would have been $60 and I would have had to get it way back in Komatsushima.

Incidentally, many people ask me if I’ll ever go back to Japan, and I’m happy to say that I will – I’ve got unfinished business, not the least of which is the pilgrimage! Essentially, I’ll go back when I run out of money (to work) or when I have an insane amount of money (to tour and visit).

There was random extra screening on the gangway between the gate counter and the plane – just something to be aware of; I was waved through it.

As I sat on the plane, one of the first things I wrote was: I hate air travel. They should just offer a surface baggage option. How often do you need every damn thing you take immediately?! I’d be happy to wait a month and avoid this mess. (Fewer things = happier travel) -> it was OK back when they didn’t monitor and screen (and measure) every little thing. (Did such a time ever exist?)

One of the flight attendants announced, “our flying time will be three-” (Trepidatious, tentative cheers from the passengers.) “… Sorry, thirteen hours.” (Laughter.)

I’m never a fan of taxiing – I don’t think anyone is, and in this case our initial distance to New York was 10,839km but now it was building to 10,841 and we were still on the ground. Were we just going to drive to France and take off from there?

ALRIGHT! Airborne, finally! And, this time, the entertainment worked, and my noise-cancelling headphones were OK too, but they weren’t comfortable enough to just wear for the entire flight. Also, the entertainment wasn’t really on-demand like I assumed it would be; it was really just a bunch of simultaneous channels running under a computerized menu. It’s kind of like how pay-per-view movies used to work in the early days of digital cable; the popular movies would start every fifteen or thirty minutes, but you might have to wait longer for some of the other ones.

I guess the games are on demand, but they’re about as responsive and quick as your average Java-based cellphone game, which is to say that they’re neither, and they take forever to load. (It’s hard to kill the five minutes of waiting for the next showing of Monk to start when the game you might want to play takes three minutes just to load.) I discovered that a controller was embedded in the armrest and could be extracted at the same time that I discovered the games, which was a good thing because I think the poor guy in front of me was able to sense my furtive jabs at the touch screen (he kept looking back sideways). Imagine playing Tetris on the back of his seat while he’s trying to sleep, sheesh…

Anyway, the system was far from perfect, and I didn’t watch any movies because they weren’t playing any good ones, but it was far better than the crippled airshow-only situation we had on the way over to Japan last January.

(I wish I could link to that great talk show clip where that guy is talking about how we should be amazed that we’re sitting in a chair whizzing through the air… does anyone have that? Even for more than ten hours, whizzing through the air at 953 km/h 11km off the ground is kind of cool.)

So flying’s fine: the only things I don’t like about it are checking in, security screening, take-offs, landings, collecting bags, clearing customs, the stupid way that some cities have their international and domestic services at separate airports, ascents, descents, and carrying a small country’s worth of belongings on my shoulders halfway to the moon.

As we were approaching JFK, I finally discovered that the tops of the headrest could be upfolded into a neck pillow so that your head doesn’t roll around and wake you up. Ah… next time!

11:57 am - Leaving Japan, Never Easy (Part 2)

Written late Christmas Eve at a Super 8 in Queens; finished later at home

One thing I will miss about Japan is the great service. Honestly, seeing the brash and sometimes rude airline / airport / hotel shuttle staff at their worst along this journey has been a huge shock. Most people are OK, but you still kind of have to approach them knowing that they may tell you to eff-off at any second. In Japan you never, and I mean never have to worry about that.

I heard no less than two employees – one at customs control and the other at a luggage storage place – basically tell people in line to go away (either to another line or just to come back later) because they were going on their breaks.

WTF?

When I was going out to wait for my shuttle, there was this one severely disgruntled man who popped out of a sketchy van marked “JFK INN” (there wasn’t even a logo) and start saying, “Man, what the fuck is this? There’s supposed to be a man and a woman. They’re still in there!” The van had just pulled in. Moments later, he sees them. It’s a young Asian couple. “Ramada?! C’MON, LET’S GO!”

I picked my way by him to get to my shuttle, which was then pulling into the lineup.

“Where are you goin’?”

“Super 8.” He waved me off. I was grateful to escape his further attention.

I mean, I needed help finding the shuttle platform – it’s not immediately obvious when you exit Federal Circle. These people might be on this continent for the first time. Don’t you think they might be a little bit “slower” getting around? Hmm?

Like… holy frig. Even on the airplane this one flight attendant went up to an older Japanese woman who was stretched out and sleeping across a few empty seats. I’d noticed earlier, based on her failure to comprehend an earlier curt request (from a marginally friendlier attendant) to close her overhead bin, that she didn’t understand (much) English. I saw all this from her perspective but couldn’t bear to:

“MA’AM, PUT YOUR SEATBELT ON PLEASE.”
“MA’AM? MA’AM? MA’AM, PUT YOUR SEATBELT ON.”
“YOU HAVE TO HAVE YOUR SEATBELT ON. WE NEED TO SEE YOUR SEATBELT.”

And so on it went. The idiot of a flight attendant could have just gotten one of the Japanese-speaking attendants (there were at least three, including one Caucasian who was pretty good on the PA with it and who I overheard answering questions from travellers in Japanese) to put it to her a bit more politely and gently, but noooo. I had to cover my face; I was ashamed to share a continent with the unfriendly moron.

Where was I? Oh, service! Well, the JAL check-in lady at Itami had asked me if I wanted a window or an aisle seat. Not only that – she specified that it would be behind the wing and that I might not see very much, but would that still be OK?

As it was, it was several rows behind and easy enough to over or underlook. My point, though, is that such kindness and consideration made me feel welcome and appreciated!

Also on that plane I noticed that the overhead bins had mirrors inside them so that you could see if anything was in them. For folks like me who are nearly 190cm tall they are a curiosity, but for shorter Asian folks (especially the flight attendants making their rounds) they’d be a necessity.

The plane was a 777-200, and we’d be in the air for about 45 minutes. The baggage handlers and other ground crew waved goodbye to us – yes, it was most likely mandated ceremony, but I appreciated it! And on the aircraft itself, the monitors showed a view from a forward camera so that we could see where we were going on the runway and the planes that were lined up to take off ahead of us. That was pretty neat; more airlines should do that.

The flight was very comfortable, and I’m glad I got the window seat – the skies were clear, and I got to see lots of things, including Mt. Fuji! Even though I’d never seen it in person before, it was utterly unmistakable. Also majestic, impressive, awe-inspiring, etc.. – even from an airplane! From a viewpoint where average mountains looked like carpet wrinkles and one could spy the curvature of the Earth itself, Mt. Fuji was yet breathtaking.

It’s so amazing that I’m going to spend another paragraph on it – it dwarfs everything, it stands above clouds – it’s like a giant in a playground. A few other “mountains” closer to our position were like anthills beside a traffic cone. Just: wow. You can see in a second that climbing it is a major undertaking.

Next time!

I got no flak for my heavy carry-ons, but I noticed later that I was really only allowed to have one. I think some European airlines are like that, too (Lufthansa for instance) – maybe it’s the norm outside North America. If everyone travelled as heavily as I do, the whole “system” would collapse!

I learned this and other things from the safety and etiquette cartoons that were playing while we were on the descent into Haneda. One cartoon featured a cartoon businessman getting whacked in the face with a loosely-slung backpack: “Attention to other customers appreciated while walking aisle with baggage.” [sic] Other charmingly-illustrated gems included “Consideration appreciated when putting back table,” and “Be reminded that alcohol will affect air passengers more quickly.” (For this they should have shown a businessman with his tie off dancing on top of a baggage carousel.)

At Haneda I had a ten-minute wait for my “baggage” (an empty, beat-up knapsack that I’d wind up disposing of two hours later – I was surprised that they checked it without complaint), and I started to get a little bit impatient, but as it turned out I had lots of time because everything I needed after that was RIGHT THERE – as I stepped into the arrivals hall, there was the ticket machine, and there was the bus stop. It couldn’t have been any easier.

The airport limo operation was a well-oiled machine – some workers even tagged the bags we’d be putting under the bus, and the tags were color-coded by our destination (Narita Terminal 2 versus Narita Terminal 1, for instance).

We got going and got into rush-hour Greater Tokyo Area traffic, but at least we were moving. I saw an aborescent overhead sign that had colored LEDs in the arrows to indicate the traffic conditions on various routes. I even saw Disneyland – unfortunately, it was on the other side of the bus, so I have no pictures. =)

Narita, by the way, is a very long way from Haneda. Narita cannot really be said to be an airport of Tokyo – it would be like saying… it’d be almost like saying that Moncton’s airport was Charlottetown’s. You can take a cab from Narita to downtown Tokyo, though – it’ll just cost you ¥20,000 (over $200). I know this because one of my co-workers did just that on his first visit to Japan, when he regrettably didn’t know any better.

As I reflected that our old friend Masae would be getting to the airport in fifteen minutes while we were still 40km away, I flipped through the Airport Limo’s Onboard Magazine:

“Portable telephones should not be used on the bus and may annoy the neighbours.” (Sadly, the driver did not allude to dumping us out on the side of the Interstate or turning the bus around and going back to the terminal.)

“And last year, the Limousine Bus started routes from Akihabara to Haneda Airport. Now, Akihabara is a truly base from which one can step out and see the world.” (This is doubly hilarious since Akihabara is the gaming Mecca of Japan.)

As we approached the airport, there was a string of love hotels, including a “Hotel First Wood.”

After getting off (the expressway), we had to pass through a security checkpoint. Uh-oh! They asked for passports, but my passport was in my bag under the bus! I didn’t know about this – the idea of getting screened while still in the bus was alien to me. Fortunately, I had my alien card, and that sufficed.

Okay, I’m going to stop it here and give you the third part later today.

09:32 pm - Leaving Japan, Never Easy (Part 1)

Written on Christmas Eve in Osaka

I stepped out wearing my indoor shoes. I’d be pitching my old beat-up shoes, and I wouldn’t need a separate pair of indoor shoes anymore. I wasn’t coming back. Alone, I walked out of the genkan and out onto the driveway.

I saw S. and spoke to him. “You’re done? That’s it? Must feel good!”

“Yeah, but I feel like there’s more I could have done, but I guess I have to blow the whistle somewhere.”

I got back to the apartments to find the ball players washing and scrubbing the steps. I guiltily picked my way through them and into my apartment.

K. hadn’t returned my bicycle key and wasn’t home, so … I had to go back to the school again to get the other key from F. I hiked up the steps in my sock feet.

More teachers were in the staff room now than when I’d “left” - this was a good thing, because I’d said goodbye but as it turned out most of the Japanese teachers didn’t realize it was the final goodbye.

My first cooperating homeroom teacher was solemn and stoic. The vice-principal thanked me for putting in so much extra time lately (but it still wasn’t enough – my desk looks acceptable at first glance but it is quite messy on the inside; I wrote a brief apologia for this at the beginning of the 14 pages of notes I’d prepared for my successor). The other teachers said simple goodbyes with varying degrees of warmth and sincerity. I know that some of the teachers weren’t quite satisfied with the job I’d been doing, so it was an awkward experience all around.

I went outside again. I saw my third-grade homeroom class playing on the driveway by the gymnasium. I said goodbye and was prepared to walk away – I didn’t want to drag it out – but three or four of the girls came running to where I was and surrounded me. One nuzzled my mitt with her cheek and said “I am Canada!” (meaning that she intends to come and visit me if she gets her druthers).

I was overwhelmed. First there was the book the kids prepared on Saturday (when I naturally wasn’t there, so it was the perfect opportunity), and now this show of affection – it felt like love. Maybe it was. I certainly loved them. I’m not a professional, but if I were I’d hope that they forget about me, because I won’t be back except to visit.

Going home is a melancholy experience at best. Even finishing up at S.G. is like “winning” a war. I can’t complain, but that’s because I no longer have the energy to do so. That was the better part of the real reason I stopped writing – I couldn’t sustain the pace. I also felt guilty, as if Japan didn’t want to be exposed to my scrutiny and was punishing me for it. Now I realize that Japan wasn’t the problem – it was my job. To put it candidly, my former employer is spiritually bankrupt and can’t afford the slightest candor. (My new favourite anecdote is how the boss’ daughter and our translator were tearing the ¥700 price tags off of some junior high English books so that they could turn around and charge the parents ¥1500 for them.)

So I said goodbye again – I wished for a moment that I could stay… I doubt that very many of their many future teachers will be as obsessed about writing as I am, and the students felt that they had gotten a lot from me (I was even complimented about the science classes, which surprised me). I was giving more than I could sustain, though. As I write this, my right wrist is still kind of wonky because of the thousands of hours of corrections and suggestions and responses written in their journal books. Teaching demands sacrifice – sometimes unsustainable sacrifice.

I said goodbye again and got on my bike and drove to Awa Bank in the drizzle, whistling “Why Don’t You Write Me?”

I got to the bank and was thoroughly nonplussed by the service procedure – I expected there to be a machine to take numbers from but what was really happening was this: you’d give your passbook to the teller at kiosk #1 and tell her what you were there for, and the teller at kiosk #2 would call you back up to collect your passbook and your paperwork, money, or whatever. It’s not really analogous to a Canadian bank. Furthermore, the hours are ridiculous – the branch closes at 3pm, and ATMs have limited hours as well. Awa is not the worst - JPBank is now advertising that their ATMs will be closed entirely on the first, second, and third of January. (“Why?!” I exclaim incredulously at the TV. “Why do you hold your customers in such contempt? You should be advertising that you’re opening (certain?) ATMs 24/7!”)

So yes, you have to take time off work to get your in-person banking done. In this case, I had to transfer my hard-saved yen via furikomi to GoLloyds, who would then remit the funds to my Canadian bank account minus a handling fee. The rate is quite favourable right now, and in any case the direct remittance rate is always better than the cash rate.

The procedure was straightforward, and I could even sort of follow along with what was going on as the teller keyed her way through it on the ATM, but it would have been hopeless trying to do it myself, as the interface was unilingual Japanese. (Awa Bank is local to Tokushima Prefecture.) At the end of it, the machine spit out a new card that I could use for future transfers to the same account.

I transferred the entire contents of my account, minus a ¥420 transfer fee. You get nickeled and dimed everywhere; CIBC also extracts a $10 fee as they handle the inbound remittances. Still, with large amounts, it’s far safer and somewhat cheaper than exchanging cash (though that was my original plan – just what I’d need: even more things to worry about while travelling!).

And lastly, I hope GoLloyds isn’t taking me for a ride.

Downtown, I treated myself to lunch at my favourite place in the whole world – CoCoICHI curry! I took the pork cutlets, an extra 100g of rice, and ate at level 2. They give you a personal pitcher of ice water. At level 3, I’ve had to drink it and then some.

I went to the Awa Odori kaikan for gifts for Mom and Masae, then I went home. I still had to clean. I didn’t get much done before we left for the secret party we primary school foreign teachers had in lieu of the one we would have had (as the primary school teachers entire) were it not for Mr. O’s passing. I’ll write more about this later; suffice it to say that Japanese custom has it that social gatherings and observances shut down completely for a month after someone dies. Of course, in Western culture, going out for a few drinks in someone’s honour is a good thing. My homeroom cooperating teacher understood this perspective, but here such an outing is too necessarily celebratory and would therefore be inappropriate.

I also had to speak to Mk. again that afternoon, as I wasn’t able to contact NTT through their English help line. I’m not the only one having problems with it; it’s almost always busy. Anyway, Mk. called the Japanese line and at one point I was required to say, “William Matheson,” and “Yes, I would.” in reply to “What is your name?” and “Would you like to cancel your NTT phone line?” The call took fifteen minutes, but that wasn’t as bad as the Yahoo!BB internet cancellation call that took the better part of thirty. Japan: Life in the Fast Lane!

Another awkward goodbye: “Thank you for doing good job!” Meanwhile, I’d spotted contract extension papers in her arms that two of my co-workers presumably signed minutes earlier.

We went to an Italian restaurant – I ordered a terrific calzone; it took more than thirty minutes to get it, but it was worth it! The only down side is that most of the others were finished their meals by the time I dug into mine. They don’t follow our practice of holding all the dishes in the kitchen until they’re all ready, and then bringing them all out at once.

Singing at Casanova, F. discovered that the karaoke remote had a tone adjustment control. I’d been trying to sing the songs the way I thought they should be while the backing was flat – I sing by ear, so it was a disaster. But once we figured out the tone adjustment, it was like getting a new lease on life! It was then that I also realized the karaoke music here is entirely synthesized. Back home, most karaoke is CD+G based, meaning that the backing track is regular CD audio and is probably recorded in a studio – even though it’s almost never by the original artist, it still means a better and truer karaoke experience. It’s the one Japanese thing that I think we’ve improved upon. (There are hundreds of our things that they’ve improved on… =) The downside is that our system usually requires a karaoke operator to handle the discs. In Japan, you key in the songs on your own, and there are wireless remotes with which to do this – some even have a touch-screen on them so you can pick a song without looking through a book. Still, I prefer our system.

Anyway, I can’t explain how happy I was to find that there was a tone adjustment. Sometimes I’d sing and I’d be completely out of whack and I had to pause and think, “Gee, maybe I just suck.” Blaming the machine just sounded like a childlike, narcissistic way to avoid reality. But in these cases the machine may really have been to blame! Even though C1 said that I was the “Karaoke King,” I’ve had as many misses here as hits, and I’m chagrined to be discovering a possible reason why just as I’m leaving.

After we went our separate ways, I went to Komputa Taxi to catch a discounted cab. The cabbie didn’t know where S.G. was! We got into Ojin-cho and took a roundabout way to get there – I directed him, and I think I learned the Japanese word for “straight” – since he knew of “left” in English, we were OK. Even as we approached the school the incredulity in his voice was saying that he didn’t believe S.G. was where it was!

He may also have wondered why I was going there, so I volunteered: “Watashi wa ego no kyoshi deshta. Suiobi wa Canada e dekakemas.” (I think I was saying, “I was an English teacher. I’m going to Canada on Wednesday.”)

Anyway, it was a very comical end to the cab ride – “I’m sorry!” he stated and bowed repeatedly. Under the influence of good-humoured laughter I was in my apartment just ten minutes after midnight.

The next day: cleaning.

Drain cleaning was ick. And after I’d finished cleaning out the kitchen and the fridge, I discovered that I still had to clean the fan, the A/C filters, and wash the windows! My string of panicked exclamations is best left to your imagination. S. was coming to get us at 4 – it’s a good thing he was late, as I was still scrubbing under my fridge at 4 when I discovered that vacuuming just wouldn’t do.

S. was mercifully about fifteen minutes late and wasn’t in a hurry – he had a dryer and was willing to dry a few of my wet clothes, so I threw them in a trash bag and ran out the door. We all piled into the car and set off. He was hosting K. and I and other interested parties for a farewell, and K. and I would be crashing there as he lives near the Matsushige bus stop.

At S.’s we drank, ate, bitched, watched funny YouTube videos, the whole shebang. He’s got a great place; his washer is also a dryer, and it even weighed my clothes and estimated how long they would take to dry and acted accordingly. I am getting one of those. His fridge door also opens on both sides – you kind of have to see it to believe it; there are latches to hold it up on both ends, and they come out seamlessly when you tug on their particular end. You can close the door with the left handle and as soon as it clicks you can open it again with the right. I may have to get one of these too when the time comes. He and his wife were justly proud of their appliances and had brought them down from their previous house in Sapporo!

I was feeling a little bit sickly later on in the evening, and I was starting to wonder when the children would take themselves to bed. (answer: never =) I enjoyed playing with them, or rather, they enjoyed playing with me – they seemed to latch onto me for some reason. I was coughing, too – perhaps I’m coming down with something, and in any case I was definitely reacting to all the dust I’d stirred up cleaning. Mostly because of this and my fatigue / exhaustion, I didn’t have as much patience for them as I would have liked, but I tried my best to humour them with the energy that I had.

Oh, I should mention that S.’s older son had seen my Idol appearance! S. warned me that he might be singing “I Am A Rock,” and sure enough, he was. Gracious. I can’t go anywhere… =)

In the end, S.’s and his wife’s hospitality did a lot to ease my worries – I wanted to be home, but I didn’t want to go home, if you gather me. Now that I’m underway I’m feeling fine. (Although I wonder what will happen when Mk. discovers I didn’t clean my microwave… since the bulb in it is out it’s not really an aesthetic concern and I barely used it anyway. K. and I also put all our garbage out for collection even though this morning was only for non-burnables.)

S. took K. and later me to the bus stop – good thing, too, because he was able to look at my ticket and tell me that I had to get off at my bus’ penultimate stop. Itami Airport is north of Osaka, so going all the way down to Namba station would eat up time and yen unnecessarily.

In Umeda, I had a nasty bout with Osaka signage and got quite turned around and lost. Fortunately, there was an English-friendly information desk inside Osaka Station to put me back in the right general direction. I was very glad that I was only carrying handbaggage (my suitcases left Sunday by courier), and even that was onerously heavy. I would have been spitting blood had I been wandering around with my suitcases.

And now I’m on the departures concourse at Itami! It seems like a small airport – I don’t think it’s any bigger than Stanfield. Sadly there is no free internet (although there are coin-operated kiosks and non-free wifi), but I do have the chance to plug myself in electrically and type. In my search for a power outlet, I pushed on a button by the window marked “PUSH” and suddenly there’s this clicking and grinding and I’m wondering if an alarm is going to go off and I’ll be hauled to security and sent to a Japanese jail (etc..) but then I look up and discover that all I did was open a window.

Speaking of security, if you bring something sharp through security here (especially knives, even the Swiss-army kind), you could very well be fined, to the tune of half a million yen. Ouch. I guess they figure that the time for simple confiscation is over and it’s time to put in a serious deterrent! So, as always, pack carefully.

OK, time for a bathroom break and a snack and then it’ll be time to board! It’s still a long trip yet – there’ll be another bus trip between the Haneda and Narita airports in Greater Tokyo, and I will be staying overnight at a seedy motel in Queens. See you soon!

08:36 pm - The 'Net in Nunavut + The Herald Line

Every day, CBC puts out an "Editor's Choice" podcast (feed here), and the Choice podcast the other day alerted me to the state of the internet in Nunavut. I have to admit that it wasn't something I'd really thought much about.

The full interview is also available (and originated from) the latest Spark podcast. Rankin Inlet correspondent Jackie Sharkey explains how they live with a very limited internet experience. The good news: The new banking and shopping possibilities are a godsend. On the other hand, watching videos on YouTube or uploading pictures to Facebook (let alone Flikr) is pretty much out of the question, as they live under a 2GB monthly transfer limit. If you exceed that, you get an e-mail about how you're not sharing very well, and you get bumped down to dialup-equivalent speed. (You'll also hear that in Nunavut, "not that cold" means -15°C.)

Meanwhile, here I am in Japan, downloading podcasts willy-nilly, streaming TV (mostly live sports) from our basement back home, and watching full broadcasts of The National whenever I feel like it (usually Friday nights Japan Time, as Rex and the political panel (one of the best in the Anglosphere) are on the Thursday night broadcast). I may be better "connected" than many Canadians. Of course, one could argue that I'd be better off in the real world instead of functioning like a low-grade neural net, but I just have to know.

Remember the Herald Line? In the early 1990s, I called it every day - I just had to hear the latest Earth and Sky broadcasts, among other things. The road reports were also fun to listen to - you could imagine the plight of those poor drivers on "snow covered, passable with caution" roads in far-off Cape Breton. My junior high school even put the homework assignments on the hotline! Once in a while the paper would print a list of the four-digit access codes and I'd cut it out and save it and write in all the older codes and the codes they didn't reprint. I even discovered things like the homework hotlines of other schools. It was just - WOW - instant information! Metro lake ice conditions! Beach and ski reports! There were even games, if you can believe it - mostly music-related, if-that-was-Stealers-Wheel-press-2 kinds of games. I remember that my then-Aunt suggested that I might be addicted to information. I think she was right. And I honestly thought that the Herald Line, or services like it, would be how we'd get information going into the 21st-century.

Getting back to the bandwidth issue, when I was in Ukraine, the internet at the Academy was metered, and although we had "unlimited" quotas, the Academy students did not, and we had our own accounts disabled when they detected that we were sharing our access codes with our friends in the student body. For better or worse, it was a for-profit operation, and the Rector got a cut. Upon further reflection, I suppose that arrangement was better than no internet at all, and as Shelley put it then, "We don't appreciate how valuable the Internet is!"

It's humbling to realize that this also applies within my own country.

Current Mood: nostalgic

05:14 pm - Announcement

Due to circumstances, I am cancelling my ongoing series of journal entries about Japan. I will continue to write about other things in this space, especially North American news and politics, but Japan is off the table.

I suppose NaNoWriMo, for me, is going to be National Not Writing Month. =)

Current Mood: intimidated

09:25 pm - 141. Temples 20-21

Sometimes I get so wrapped up in the off-and-on shenanigans at work that I forget that there’s more to Japan besides the school I work for. It’s easy enough to do, because I live on school property and have to follow their rules even after I punch out for the night.

Really, Japan is not that bad – don’t let my writings dissuade you from coming here for the right reasons. I said to Joe that there was little I could recommend, but I was really thinking in terms of employment. And even that said, there are opportunities here, especially if you have a special talent. If there’s something that you’re good at besides just teaching English, you could probably have a good go at things here.

Me, I’m still a one-trick pony, but I hope to change. The catch is that you practically can’t develop your budding skills here, unless one of your skills happens to be being a Japanese language whiz. Especially when you’re in a job that’s not really conductive to full-blown language learning. (From my language-learning perspective, the difference between Japanese and Ukrainian is eight hours on a plane.)

Maybe I have special needs – so far in my life, the only two things that have really worked for me have been: 1) living in a host family in Poland 2) taking part in a French immersion program at Universite Sainte-Anne. The list of things that didn’t work for me is about ten times longer. Oh sure, I could “go out and make my own opportunity,” but let’s get real here – you, yes you there, reading this – you have the opportunity to study any language you want via internet tutorials and library resources – why aren’t you getting on that? Huh? Huh? Huh? Words are only for recreation or for assistance (when you need to look something up). The effective experiences of 1) and 2) above – and I think most effective experiences – can’t be bound inside a book.

But here’s an effective experience I did have here, though it’s not really language-related:

* * *

Temples 20 and 21

On Saturday, I biked all the way down to the Temple 21 ropeway, visiting Temple 20 along the way.

Getting to 20 was tough, but not impossibly so. I approached, and recommend approaching it, from the North – it’s a moderately easy bike inland along a river before you have to climb.

Of course, this part of the journey was not without its tribulations – there were gigantic gravel trucks going by me about once a minute, which really mystified me until I biked past a quarry. I could hear the distant sounds of blasting right up until I left Temple 20.

About halfway along, I found a beautiful little waterfall – I took a wrong turn there and ended up climbing a hill unnecessarily, but I did find the waterfall, and I had a rather peaceful, contemplative time observing it. I got back on the road and while I was looking sideways at a decrepit roadside bus that was functioning as a liquor purveyance, I heard a horrible screeching sound. Oh, my basket was scraping the guardrail. Good thing it was there, or I would have gone into the culvert. Mega-ouch that would have been.

I eventually got to a small town where the road up the mountain left from, and there was a 3km walking route and a 5km road route. I walked my bike up the road – it was about 3km of steep uphill slogging and remembering to breathe right, but it wasn’t worse than the worst parts of the hike between Temples 11 and 12. I can thus recommend this method, but it is difficult, I have to warn you.

Once you get to the top of the hill on the through road, there is an additional 2km road that snakes its way to the temple itself. Exhausted and sick of pushing my bike, I left it at the intersection and walked up the road for a few hundred metres, then joined the walking path. As you just read, the total walking path is about 2km shorter than the road, but you can’t take your bike up the walking path. Anyway, the walking path by that point may have saved me a couple of hundred metres, and since I was feeling every metre I was grateful.

Temple 20 was nice – a bit small, but nice. It wasn’t expansive like 12, and I suppose 12 is all the more impressive because it really is in the mountains in the middle of nowhere. 20 is a short (albeit hilly) southbound drive from / northbound drive to civilization. It’s in the middle of nowhere too, but in this case the nowhere is smaller, if you follow me.

Of course, walking down from 20 and then biking south down the mountain was a cinch and took barely twenty minutes. I was back down on level ground following the river to the Temple 21 ropeway before I knew it.

This was a long ride, but nothing too strenuous – the inclines were short and not too serious. There were only one or two places where I hopped off and walked, and only for a few steps even then. Still, I noticed that there weren’t exactly a lot of bicycles in the area. In fact, there wasn’t a lot of anything. The road was one lane for numerous stretches.

Temple 21 can be accessed various ways, but for those who put a nominal dollar value ($24) on not having to fall over and die on the way up to it, I recommend the ropeway. When D. first told me about it I scoffed at the expense, but that was before I realized how far out of the way the place was and how much of a climb it would be. Please, I’m begging you, splurge on the ropeway, unless you have a motor scooter or rented car or something.

Of course, getting to the ropeway base station is not easy. It’s on the southwest side of the mountain – which is about as inconvenient as it gets if you’re coming from the north.

But anyway, once you’re there, you realize it’s a special place – the base station itself is very nicely appointed, and once you fork over your car payment to the clerk she’ll give you a photocopied (but translated!) booklet about the temple, and you’ll be whisked away to the top in no time.

Temple 21 was gorgeous – I’d say it’s one of the best ones I’ve seen. I mean, I came just so I could cross it off my list, but it’s worth visiting on its own merits. The trees are a sight in and of themselves – just picture a beautifully landscaped and ornamented hillside with trees as tall as office buildings and as stout as two or three sumo wrestlers. It’s fantastic. It’s also about the right size, too – I had about two hours to wander around before catching the second-last ride back down the mountain at 4:40, and that was comfortably enough. (Temple 66, on the other hand, is a half-day sort of place, but we barely had three-quarters of an hour there.)

I also want to mention how friendly the people were there. People approached me out of the blue and asked where I was from. The clerks at the summit station (Tairyuji-Sancho) offered me mushroom tea, which I politely declined. =) (On second thought, it might have been osettai, so I should have forced myself to drink it – I did, though, say that it was because I didn’t like mushrooms.) But anyway, the people were just fantastic – they seemed as pleased as punch that I paid them a visit. I don’t think I’ve ever been so warmly received travelling alone in my life.

My presence might have been slightly – just slightly – out of the ordinary; I overheard countless people referring to me in giddy whispers among themselves. I could tell it wasn’t mean, so I was cool with it. I dunno; maybe they thought I brought good luck? =)

Okay, that just leaves the trip back. I biked to the intersection where I’d come down from the other mountain, and I figured, hey, a little bit further and I’d be on the 55 again.

NO.

No, I had a long (~20km), twisty, scary ride through hamlets and hovels with only the moon and my feeble dynamo lamp (which generates more noise than illumination) to light my way. I’d see a bridge or something coming up, and I’d keep hoping it was the 55, but later I discovered that I wasn’t even close.

I attracted some curious stares from the few locals as I went – I don’t imagine they expected to see a lone foreigner cruising through their cantons on a shopping bike after dark.

Years seemed to pass. A scary dog chained to a stake in a rice field barked at me while I unfolded my prefectural road map in the light of an intersection streetlamp. Panic was starting to set in, especially as the next turning I was to take took me into total darkness. I mean horror-movie, “Don’t go in there!” kind of darkness. Fortunately, this wasn’t for long, and I soon reached a sublime combination of a streetlamp, an overhead sign, a blind curve, and some vending machines. (I’ll be sure to share the photo when the time comes.) The overhead sign said that I could continue around the curve to Tatsue, or, if I liked, I could take the next turning and go to Tatsue.

I had to laugh. I did. And I checked the clock on my camera and found that I’d only left the ropeway 90 minutes ago! To enlighten me further, another placard on the overhead said that I could get to Temple 19 by taking the turning. I happened to know that was near the 55, so I took the turning.

The road I took was blissfully straight – it wasn’t very well-lit, but it got me where I needed to go. It turned out that I was driving on a completely new road, one that wasn’t on my 2007 map. I loved that, but as new roads tend to do it ended rather abruptly within sight of the 55. I pondered my map for a minute before figuring out what had happened, and then I headed in the direction of Temple 19. It wasn’t like I was lost, and there wasn’t much further to go, but it was still disheartening to have to pedal even a bit more to get back to civilization and known ground. I mean, I could see the gas stations and cheap apartments for crying out loud.

At length, I got back on the 55 and started north. I got to go through the Akaishi Tunnel again, which was fun.

I should add that I was ravenously hungry at this time. I hadn’t eaten since I stopped at a Lawson Station convenience store around 11 in the morning on the way to Temple 20. I finally, finally, finally got to a McDonald’s – I was craving a Big Mac or McMega meal, but I ended up getting a McRib – it was OK, but a straight hamburger would have been much better. Plus, I was still hungry! I ended up stopping at the next McDonald’s 10km up the road and getting a ¥100 hamburger. I also wanted to come in from the cold. It was only 16°C – right now, that's quite cold for me.

By the time I got home, my legs were like Jell-O. I muttered unspeakable things under my breath as I climbed the stairs. I opened the door and looked at the clock on my microwave. It was 20 after 9 – twelve hours and twenty minutes (and nearly eighty kilometres) after I left. To say I was exhausted would be a ridiculous understatement. Thank goodness I didn’t have to work the next day.

Thanksgiving Day in Canada happened to be Health and Sports Day here in Japan, and so we had the luxury of time to prepare a Thanksgiving-esque potluck for a pleasant Monday evening at F.’s apartment. No turkey, but we did have chilli, rice, salad, and pasta. A fine feast.

All in all, a productive weekend. I’ve visited all of the canonical temples in Tokushima Prefecture. Next is Temple 88 (which is even more distant than Temple 21, but the roads look easier), then probably a rental-car road trip to Kochi in Novemeber to get Temples 24 and beyond (getting to 36 would be nice). I’ll keep you posted!

01:15 am - 140. Frightful Friday

I was at the DeoDeo tonight shopping for new rechargeable batteries for my camera when I happened upon a section of the laptop department dedicated to Netbooks. Several models were represented, including the Dell Inspiron Mini 9, which I had been coveting for some time. I like my current Dell laptop with its 15.5” screen and capable keyboard (can you see where this is going yet?), but it’s too bulky to be considered conveniently portable. It’s a chore to take anywhere.

What I want to have is a word-processing and net surfing machine that I can curl up into a corner with. I guess this machine fits the bill – I’m sitting on my bed with it now because the table in my room is too high to type comfortably for long periods – but detaching it from its veritable menagerie of disparate cords dampens most “Quick! I want to write something!” impulses. What I need is something small that I can always grab. Oh, and the price can’t be outrageous.

So as you can imagine, I was about ready to leap out of my socks with joy when I finally saw these machines that I’d been reading about for so long. I could even try them out, and I did!

/greetings drim dEoDeo, Gosh darm it,s harf to tyype on this thing;

Nothing dampens Netbook enthusiasm as quickly as trying to type on one. The experience is akin to conducting an all-recorder version of Beethoven’s Ninth or mowing your lawn with scissors. Their right shift keys were the worst offenders, scaling in at about the size of a crossword puzzle square on the microfiche of an archived newspaper. The thought of actually trying to compose anything on one made me shudder.

It’s too bad, really, because aside from their keyboards these are capable little computers. But the way they are now, they’re useless for, say, taking notes in class, even though they’re just the right size to carry around to and between classes, and they’ll sit comfortably on top of Saint Mary’s famous porkchop desks.

Advice: Wait. Keyboards and perhaps even prices will improve. Eventually the ($500) netbook will be offered in a broader chassis that will accommodate a proper keyboard. Or you could get a used MacBook Air by then, provided you can find a local, deceased Apple enthusiast to pry it from the cold, dead hands of.

But maybe one can get used to the keyboards, undersized though they may be. I should go back and try again for a good solid fifteen minutes and see if my fingers get used to it. Stranger things have happened. If I can train myself to type on a Mini 9 as effectively as I can on my 6400, I’ll probably buy one when I return. If not, then fughedaboudit.

I had a truly awful day at work today. It’s not even really work’s fault – I think I’ve been taking things a little too seriously, for one thing. For another, I’m seeing how my youth and inexperience has put me in this position where I am made to feel somewhat exploited. But as Joe said, “Now you know.” I just wish the knowledge wasn’t so bleak and grim.

It’s eat or be eaten in the big, bad world, and even though I think I finally have it in me to switch sides (or at least begin the journey in that direction), many times I have doubts, and I had them in spades today. It didn’t help that all I wanted to do was go far, far away. My classes went fairly well, but I didn’t want to teach them at their outsets – by the last class, I was shaking and trembling somewhat, and I wondered what would happen if I just dropped everything and walked. The innocent enthusiasm and unconditional approbation of the children was almost all that kept me from finding a quick, vertical balcony exit.

Sometimes I think children are the only people worth getting to know. Ours are artless, principled, and generally of good character. Adults are always playing little games of one sort or another – I do too, but not as effectively. I’ll miss these kids. I wish I’d made adult friends here, but that’s hard: “What do you do?” “I work in office! 720 hours every weeks! It is very stress!” “Oh, um, gee…” and you put in platitudes while looking for the conversational equivalent of a freeway off-ramp.

The day started on the wrong note when one of the big shots started barking out cleaning monitoring instructions to us. She was speaking Japanese, and the “translation” came later, but the tone she took was outrageous. There’s no need to talk (down) to co-workers like she did. M. pointed out that it’s something that he finds tends to happen to teachers, and that’s a fair explanation, but I don’t think it’s an excuse.

[On the humorous side, the associated duty chart is entitled “Clean and the Fire Managers.” Wouldn’t that be a terrific name for a band?]

The worst part is, it’s not like this is unusual – she does this to us all the time. It’s really upsetting – it puts me straight into defensive mode, and it makes me curse her (silently) and curse the school (sometimes silently). And yet, I could expect this again and again over my final two-plus months here. (“Kill me with a hammer,” I wrote.)

I began to brood. I wanted out of education entirely. The system is fundamentally flawed, and I can’t fix it. Where would I begin? Besides, I don’t even know enough sometimes to know that I know nothing. I feel tired, frustrated, helpless, and hopeless.

And the last straw came when Mk. came by and delivered an application form to one of my colleagues who will be having a guest stay over. I was shocked to see that such a form was made – essentially in response to the colleagues’ asking if it would be okay. (Tip: Never ask permission for things here if you can help it.) The reality was that the ball players and other students we share these dorms with aren’t allowed to have guests over, period. With us, the question had never come up, but now that it has, the administration in their wisdom penned this friendly form:

Request form
(visitor @ S.G. residence)

Date:
Name of applicant:
Room number:
Name of stayer: [my favourite line]
Sex: [is this a yes or no question?]
Relationship with applicant: [see above answer]
Passport No.: [I suggested my colleague just fake this. Two random letters and six random digits should do it. I gave my old passport number and suggested its use.]
Intended length of stay:
Purpose of stay: [see field five]
Signature

I wish my camera was working at that moment, because I would definitely have photographed the form. I had to transcribe it instead. Now, at this moment, with a bit of sober reflection, I might not even do that, but at that moment I’m sure smoke was coming out of my ears. I’ve never had any outside guests in for overnight or multi-night stays, but if I chose to do that, I sure as ____ wasn’t going to ask the school permission. I mean, within reason, I guess. Having somebody in for a month or more would be a little weird. But this has been done. More to the point, in the context of much shorter stays, I feel that who we have over is our _______ business, not theirs. And… passport number? Really.

Anyway, my colleague was actually prudent to ask in this situation, and I was a fool to remark upon any of it. I’ve learned from this not to get involved in things that don’t concern me – my two cents were not wanted by either party. There’s no way to escape it: I looked like, and was, an ass.

Sankanbi Recap: I didn’t teach a sankanbi lesson, but I taught a lot that day, and I also had driveway duty – I stood by the road and smiled and bowed slightly to the incoming parents. This is spiritually crushing, because they are more often than not coming in driving Lexuses, BMWs, Mercedes… It was a long, taxing day, and at the end of it all we had to change classrooms – the West Building was open again! While that means no more having to change shoes twice to go to Year One and Two classes (and thank God for that), it meant we had to reshuffle everything – and we’d just decorated for Sankanbi! (What a waste! We should have moved everything, decorated, and then held Sankanbi. Still, it’s not like you can schedule renovation work that precisely.)

[The west building being open means that a certain Pokémon poster promulgating the food groups is visible again. I’d said that I didn’t like what it represented (and it’s advertising inside a school to boot), but I guess it is appropriate because Pikachu.]

As part of the preparations, we waxed the floors the night before – you learn something new every day with this job! All of the little extras lately have run me ragged. Even cleaning the male teacher’s bathroom today as part of my Week Duty was taxing. When I get home in the evenings, all I want to do is listen to podcasts, watch political pundits, and drink beer. My abortive posts would begin with, “I’m so tired…”

If the rain presently falling lets up, I’m leaving early this morning for Temples 20 and 21. The kindergartener’s sports festival is also this morning, so there’ll be no sleeping in anyway (gee, if ya think batting practice is loud…) – I might as well be on the road, and away from any reminders of work. Update: Still here. I was up too late last night fighting off sleep and composing this, and this morning I almost had to sleep until 12:30. Eeesh. I'll go tomorrow. This is a long weekend, so I have that kind of casual, easy flexibility.

Current Mood: microsleeping

10:34 pm - 139. Video Cafe Fire, Suicide-by-Death-Penalty, Awful Playgrounds- wait, this is starting to get bad

I had a pretty good day today! It was a Monday with a cherry, cream, and caramel fudge topping!

I’ve been meaning to talk about this for a few days – last week, M. told me about a fire at a “video café” in Osaka.

(“15 killed in pre-dawn fire in Osaka Japan”)

For someone who frequently stays overnight at similar establishments* (I’ve done so four times so far this sojourn), this is food for thought. I’ll definitely be keeping an eye out for the fire exit(s) and noting them before going to sleep.

From Japan Today:

Police arrested a 46-year-old man Wednesday on suspicion of arson and murder following a predawn fire that left 15 people dead and 10 others injured, three seriously, at an establishment for viewing videos in a multi-tenant building in Osaka.

Kazuhiro Ogawa, an unemployed man from Higashiosaka, Osaka Prefecture, is suspected of setting fire to a newspaper in his bag while using one of the rooms in the establishment, according to police. They quoted him as saying he had ‘‘got fed up with life.’’

All of the dead, found in individual rooms, were male customers and are believed to have died of carbon monoxide poisoning or inhalation burns, according to firefighters.

There were 32 individual rooms, each equipped with a reclining sofa, TV and video recorder, and 26 customers, two staff members and the manager were present when the fire broke out, police and firefighters said.

Most of the dead were found in the individual rooms, while several were found collapsed in the aisle, which is 1.2-1.6 meters wide.

A 37-year-old customer from Itami, Hyogo Prefecture who managed to escape said he had gone to the establishment at around 1 a.m. following work in order to stay there overnight. The layout of the establishment ‘‘is so complicated that customers who visited here for the first time may have found it difficult to escape.’’

At the fire-hit Osaka establishment, a customer could stay for up to 11 hours from 11 p.m. at a cost of ¥1,500 ($15)

When he was arrested, Takuma reportedly told police, ''I'm exhausted. I've become disgusted with everything. I've tried to kill myself several times, but couldn't. Give me a death sentence.''

Current Mood: awake

07:01 pm - 138. Movies, Politics, Japan, Messages and MORE

I was going to go to Temple 88 this morning, but I wussed out. I wasn’t awake until 10am, which I think is too late to get a good run at it. I’ve set my alarm for 7 and I’ll try again tomorrow. [No, I'll leave it. It's too far away. I'll get it someday when I return. (And it also ended up raining.)] Next weekend, the long weekend, I hope to get to 20 and 21. Then there may be a road trip to Kochi on the second November long weekend (the first is taken up by an open lesson).

I’m embittered yet happy. It’s an odd feeling.

I just watched Casino Royale – the original Casino Royale, one of the two non-canonical 007 movies. It’s a funny film, and by that I mean ‘odd.’ It’s got a terrific score, high production values, a cornucopia of sexy eye candy, and it sometimes works as a satire, but much of the time it’s just ridiculousness for ridiculousness’ sake. That approach has worked exactly once (as far as I’ve seen, anyway), and even the Holy Grail of meaningless satire unravels towards the end. I laughed out loud a few times during Casino Royale, but it wasn’t compelling and I waited for it to be over.

(The other non-canon 007 movie, Never Say Never Again, is far more satisfying. It’s a worthy instalment – Connery looked old in the tedious Diamonds are Forever, released 12 years earlier, but he looked to be in his prime in this one. It can definitely be called Bond 13a and put on the shelf between Octopussy and A View to a Kill.)

On Wednesday night we saw Hancock. It was OK, but it left me wanting. I could have used at least another half-hour of Will Smith ‘Tude. The main plot was workable, but the subplots (if you can even call them that) were thin and utterly disposable. And the origin story is revealed way too early. It would have been better if Hancock just was. I didn’t even care about where he came from – I just wanted to see him smash stuff around and make wisecracks. Oh, and Charlize Theron is hot.

The best part of Hancock was seeing the trailer for Quantum of Solace. I jumped out of my seat and cheered, thinking I’d be seeing it soon. But a second glance at the release date informed me that it wouldn’t be here until early next year. I go home at Christmas – I hope it will still be playing somewhere. I missed the chance to see the modern Casino Royale on the big screen because my “girlfriend” at the time couldn’t stomach it because her father also liked 007 movies. I saw it at home and when I tried to go to sleep that night I instead sat up handwriting a three-page sycophantic, rapturous “review.” I didn’t type it up and post it, because I feared it would make me look silly – much like these obsessive capsule-reviews probably are. =)

Election stuff: You’ve seen the Harpernomics ads. Those are a start, I guess. Why can’t the Liberals put out something like this, though? It’s so catchy!

Here’s something cute:
Harper Ad Spoof: Room for Everyone

South of the border, the VP debate was reasonably compelling – Biden was a bit restrained, and Palin performed respectably. Good for her, really. I wasn’t satisfied with either of their positions on gay marriage. Palin spoke of “tolerating” same-sex couples and perhaps begrudgingly granting rights such as hospital visits. Biden would grant marriage-equivalent rights, but not under marriage – he proposes what boils down to “separate but equal.” Um, NO. I’m sorry; I don’t find that the slightest bit acceptable. It’s every bit as odious as racial segregation was. Look, nobody’s talking about forcing religious entities to perform or even sanction same-sex marriages. We’re talking about allowing the same kind of social and political recognition that straight spouses are entitled to. There’s a big perception difference between, say, “boyfriend/girlfriend” and “husband/wife,” and we should afford gay couples who want to be married the same perception and recognition – we should extend marriage rights to same-sex couples. Oh, wait, we do. =)

People must like getting married – they do it so often and repeatedly! Allowing gay couples into marriage will hardly destabilize the storied, lifetime commitments made in the straight world. =)

School stuff: The pay discrepancy here is just retarded. I’ve talked about this before, but it’s getting more and more irritating by the day. Now, it’s one thing if novice teacher x gets a modest, liveable salary that’s only half or a third of what experienced teacher y is getting. I don’t categorically object to that. What drives me up the wall is that I’m going to have $5,500 saved for university at the end of this year of living off cup noodles and instant oatmeal. Not only is it a drop in the bucket, but if I were one of the local hires, who this term have one – one! – more class per week than I do, I would have been able to save $17,500 and not have to worry about tuition ever again. (I can thus safely say that the “intern” label is just a way to get people to do the same work for much less money.) Okay, if I were making more money, I’d probably be tempted to spend more, but I’d still make an effort.

When I was talking with one Western parent (which I suppose is a breach of the rules, but I’m almost daring these shysters to fire me), he said, “Oh, you guys can’t go anywhere, can you?” “Well, we have our mama-charis.” “Ha-ha, how quaint.” Stupid parents and their cars. =) Not that I need a car, but I can only dream about affording one, and I love to drive. When I take the children out in the afternoons to cross the street to the parking lot (God, that’s poor design, isn’t it?), I have to work hard to keep the resentment off my face when I see the Mercedes and Volvos and cavernous Toyotas come to pick them up. The whole setup here is a recipe for exploitation, and I am a target. If I could quit without severe consequences, I would. If I were fired, at least I could leave with my head held high. But surviving is not a bad option, either. There’s really not that much time left, and I’m still learning a lot of valuable lessons here.

One thing that sticks in my craw is the lack of congenial, relaxing space at school. Back in Canada, we actually have teacher’s lounges. Staff rooms have comfortable couches and are a place to eat, chat, or maybe do some lightweight work.

Here, if I’m feeling tired, I have to sneak up to the top of the East Building stairs (where the doors are to go out onto the roof) and have a quick nap there.

K. was telling me that some of the public schools here have lounges, and they sound like they could be better than Canada’s. They’re well appointed because they’re used to receive guests and have tea, but they’re also used by the teachers. The same cannot really be said of our well-appointed nook, because it’s the principal’s office. Generally speaking, you need permission to be in there (although right now that’s been relaxed because of the renovations that force us to use the room for utilitarian purposes).

I’m just, you know, getting tired of working under the eye of someone. I feel like I always have to look busy. It’s utterly stupid. Nobody can be effectively busy all the time. I feel like I’m expected to scurry about and look like I’m doing a million things at once. Gah, that’s no way to work!

OK, breathe. I’ve got a lot to be thankful for – yes, mostly in spite of the situation, but that’s still something valuable. And it’s not like the teachers or even the bosses are all bad, it’s mostly just the system that’s screwed up.

I wonder if the late Mr. M. knows how resentfully I eye his portrait that hangs in every room. If there’s clairvoyance in the Great Beyond, he’ll understand. (I say this knowing that I am in need of such clairvoyance myself. But… ( read on! )

You know something, though? Remember when you said "Yes, Will, run away from your problems, that's the answer." Or something like that. Of course you were being sarcastic. But in a way, I've found that it works! You can run away - to another country, another society. You bring your problems with you and discover new ones.

But when you're away from your home society, you get the advantage of looking on it from afar. I've given a lot of thought to where I was, what I'd done, and where I was going, and I'm learning a lot of things about myself and about other people and why they do and say the things they do.

I now see the opportunities I missed, the zigs I should have zagged, and why people have seen me the way they have. I can't correct everything, and I have decided to become unapologetic in pursuing my obsessive, odd interests, as that is the only way I'm going to accomplish anything with my wiring.

I can't wait to get back and apply my newfound knowledge. I had the same experience with Poland and Ukraine - after I returned, I found myself much more aware, and with Japan I think the same thing will happen again.

Sometimes it's good to sit out of things for a year, you know?

Current Mood: chipper

06:03 pm - 137. Wet Wednesday

Tonight we're celebrating L.'s birthday - we'll be meeting at Fuji Grand in about 90 minutes. We may go see Iron Man - word is it's pretty good.

This morning was dark, dreary, and rainy. It made me wonder what the consequences would be if I just didn't show up. I'd also woken up just minutes before my alarm. Don't you hate it when that happens?

When I got to the teacher's room, I sat next to F., and she asked how I was. I gave about the most dispirited "OK" reply imaginable.

"It's one of those mornings, isn't it?"
"Yep."
"I had to call two people who I know love me."

I get into class, and R-kun announces that he doesn't want to do our midterm test. Well, lah de dah. "You know what? I don't want to give the test, either. I want to go back to my room, have a beer, then catch an airplane and fly back to Canada."

Well, that shut him up. The students should realize that we're just as trapped and helpless as they are.

So here I am, teaching Year 3, and administering a test. The first item on it has students pick out the short vowel sound from a series of words; for example: "Sky, Flute, Cup" - you're supposed to pick cup. My own Grade 3 teacher taught us that long vowels are the ones that sound like letters, whereas the short vowels don't - but today I realized that was a gross oversimplification. What about "flute?" - we don't have a letter "oo." It's more about duration - hence the terms long and short! And this snapped into my mind after I'd given that set of questions! So I clarified that it was about duration, and went back and read it all again. It's my PEI education rearing its ugly head again.

Small mercies abounded today - the Year 9 math class was cancelled for their monthly Japanese-curriculum tests. Years 8 and 7 weren't keen on math, either. Actually, the only class I can really be said to teach is Year 7. Years 8 and 9 basically amount to me rediscovering algebra and geometry on the blackboard while the students whiz through their worksheets. The Year 7s still have enough to learn that I don't have to appear completely incompetent.

I'm actually thankful for teaching junior high math, as it will really help me out next summer. I would have been going in after nine years without math - having this experience, it'll only be about five months. Science too, has taught me critical thinking - between hearing myself talk and the questions that the children ask, I've discovered innumerable gaps in my conceptions of things, and I'm starting to be my own watchdog. I do fudge things sometimes, but I try my best to be honest about that, because science and authority should have nothing to do with each other - nothing ever happens "because I said so."

I was having fun using basic algebra to find angles and their complements and supplements, even though the students didn't give a crap. I suppose I could be doing more to "make it interesting." It's hard when I don't even really know the material, but maybe I'll find a way. Sometimes, though, I'm just stalling for time until the bells ring.

When I left for lunch, the sun was back and beaming brightly. It was very nice to see it again.

Current Mood: hungry

12:17 pm - 135. Story Problems, and a new wrinkle

Some story problems I made yesterday for tomorrow’s Year VII math class:

1. A book club sells memberships for $20 a year. A lifetime membership is $150. How long does it take to get your money’s worth?
[This was inspired by the LiveJournal situation.]

2. Suppose you want to rent a car for a three-week trip. The daily rate is ¥6,000. The monthly rate is ¥100,000. Should you rent by the day or by the month?

3. The Kitajima MaxValu sells six 350ml cans of ^^root beer for ¥680. The same ^^root beer is available in six 500ml cans for ¥990. Which is the better buy? (Tip: Always bring a calculator shopping, or use the calculator on your keitai.)

4. Next to the MaxValu, the Skylark sells a personal-size 320g pizza for ¥450. There’s also a large 960g pizza for ¥1575, but it requires two people to eat. Should you bring a friend to Skylark?

5. The JR train costs ¥20 per kilometer, plus a ¥120 fee. A competing bus service charges ¥18 per kilometer. You will be going to Kirimatsuwakashiimamiyayama, which is 115km away by train, but 145km by bus. Which way should you go?

6. What would you do if you knew that the train moved at 45 km/h and the bus at 75 km/h?

* * *

Uh-oh – it looks like we’re getting audited!

Hello, English teachers from SMU

The representative from SMU, Ms.M.A., will visit us in November.
She will observe your lessons and have individual meeting with you.

I will let you know when the details of her visitation is decided.

Mk.

It’s put up or shut up time!

Current Mood: nervous

08:22 pm - 134. Monday Night Musings

I've just realized that I have almost no reason to go back to Saint Mary's when I return, aside from its merits. And it's a meritorious school.

But now just about everyone I've had connections with has moved on.

I have to stay in the Halifax area - it's the only place that's near enough a full-service university / full-service city where I can live basically for free. Dalhousie is starting to look pretty good, but I don't want to get lost among the proto- lawyers and doctors, and other budding professionals. I just don't know. As uninformed a notion as it seems, it's Big Bad Dal until proven otherwise. I'll get to test drive the place this coming spring and summer, and if I like what I see, I may stay.

I got my voting kit in the mail today. I think I know who I want to vote for, but I don't feel quite well-enough informed just yet to punch the ticket (actually, I'll just be writing in the candidate's name) and mail it to Ottawa. I'll wait until after the leadership debates. They're not completely relevant - only the people who live in the leaders' ridings will have an opportunity to vote directly for any of them, but it will give me a better grip on how things are going party-wise, especially between the Liberals and the New Democrats.

* * *

We went to kaiten Sunday night - A.'s pal Mrk. - oh the heck with it - Mark was in for a stopover on his long travels. He taught in Korea (the ROK, I take it) for two years and then he started travelling. He went back to England, then came back here overland via Eastern Europe and Russia. Holy crap.

Anyway, I mention kaiten because since we weren't drinking, we spent a lot less than we usually do - most of us got out of there for less than ¥1,000. Of course, my clothes still smelled like fast-food-fish. As it always goes after kaiten, into the laundry pile they went.

Some of the other foreign teachers got their Foreign Buyers' Club order in today. Also, E-sensei had houseguests this past weekend, and she brought the surplus omiyage to school and shared it with us. That was our excitement for today. Also, my hotel in New York has been booked. It looks like a dive. =) "All standard guestrooms at Super 8 JFK Jamaica include complimentary wireless Internet access, cable TV, and windows that open." (!!) This is going to be fun, I can tell. I'll be packing overnight stuff in my carry-on and leaving my suitcases at Terminal 4 - no sense hauling them halfway into a sketchy part of Queens.

It's getting cold here now. They're keeping the classroom doors and windows shut to hold in the warmth. I'm still using my fan in my room, but it's probably out of habit. My balcony door doesn't need to be left open anymore to let the air circulate. It's sweater weather now - the children resumed wearing their turquoise pullovers today, and one needs a coat when going outside at night.

OK, back to election trolling!

Current Mood: complacent