Last Days and Lost Innocence

I am an English teacher no more. We are returning to America. I’ll miss traveling, great food, the sheer awesomeness of Tokyo, the new friends Kim and I made as well as co-workers and the students, but we can’t stay at this job any longer. My last week of work ended up being one of the craziest since coming to Japan. With a renewed zeal the children hankered for last minute pictures, autographs and ass pokes.

Students lined up with notebooks, backpacks, and yellow hats for me to sign. When one kid asks for a signature I know every child in the vicinity will want one too so I chose my moments carefully.

At Big Rice Field a cheeky 3rd grade boy nicknamed Shin-chan pulled his pants down, waving his butt in the air and begging me to autograph his ass. The troublesome tot really does look and act just like the poorly animated character Shin-chan who is also notorious for his pants less antics.

While frantically signing belongings an innocent looking boy in the same class as Shin-chan strolled up to me, yellow hat in hand, and thrust his pointed fingers deep into my testicles and penis. WHAT THE HELL! I totally let my guard down by surrounding myself with smiling happy faces and this little bastard takes advantage with a crotch poke. The kid then has the audacity to ask for a signature. NO YOU GET NOTHING. I shoved the ball-stabbing brat away and ran for the safety of the teacher’s room, screaming 3rd and 4th graders were hot on my tail yelling, “Sign sign sign!”

During cleaning time in the teacher’s room I was still angry with myself for letting my guard down. I tried to snap out of my junk poked funk by greeting the cleaning kids per usual. I bent down to shake a cute 1st grade girls hand. Still wary I sensed someone creeping up behind me but it was too late. The stabbing fingers struck my bent posterior hitting the bullseye and sinking in. I viciously grab the offender’s hand whose owner turns out to be a 'normal' 6th grade boy I never had problems with before. The smiling boy says, “Hello. How are you?” Disgusted I scowl at the boy and tell him in Japanese to go away and never talk to me again. So much for the safety of the teacher’s room.

I’m still so ashamed that I got hit twice in one day. Some teachers asked me what’s wrong and I told them. The universal response was, “What’s wrong with that?” Ugh. I don’t want to be in a country where children have impunity to attack foreigner’s private parts so in this respect I’m glad we’re leaving.

The absolute LAST lesson I had was probably the worst non Eri-Sensei related class of my ALT career. It was the terrible 2nd graders at Rural #1. A record eight children cried during the lesson for various bullying related reasons. In the middle of teaching the brawling and bawling classroom a ninja child (probably one of the same boys that attacked Bret) went for a dick swipe reach around. Instinctively I closed my legs tight, vice gripping the would be assassin’s arm between my thighs.

There I am with a boy’s groping arm sticking out from under my crotch as the homeroom teacher stupidly smiles on in the back while doing worse than nothing to control the children. I violently tossed the kid in the air, put him face to face and screamed, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” before setting the now terrified tyke down and shoving him towards his vacant seat.

I loathe this teacher. The crazy old lady actually encourages the loudmouth bratty kids to be louder and scolds the ones getting beat up for crying. I stopped the lesson at least half a dozen times to break up bullying with one hand and protect my penis with the other. Mercifully the bell rang and I skipped out without collecting any materials or saying goodbye.

There was a mixed reaction to my leaving. Some teachers are sad, many are indifferent, while a few appeared to be happy. Every school’s staff is worried that they will get a bad ALT in the fall like my predecessor, Alex. Alex is a creepy white guy who I met once. He is overly confrontational and complains a lot which is very bad for a Japanese workplace. Alex came to Big Rice Field’s graduation last March to visit his old students and was unceremoniously escorted off the premises by the livid principal for reasons I’m glad not to know. For a super polite Japanese society this is pretty shocking. One teacher put it together for me when she said, “he likes girls.” I asked, “Oh, he likes Japanese woman?” “No… he likes the little girl students.” Sooooo creepy.

After a year of analysis I have compiled a list in order of importance of what Elementary teachers want in an ALT.

#1 Japanese speaking ablity
#2 Always be genki! (energetic, happy, good attitude.)
#3 Punctuality
#4 Teaching ability

I noticed the more Japanese I learned the more responsibly and respect as a real staff member I was granted. After finding out about my return to American worried teachers told me, “What if the new ALT doesn’t speak Japanese? You can understand us so well so it will be VERY troublesome if the next person can’t.”

These complacent teachers were in an easy groove because I took over all the responsibility for English class, planning the lesson, making materials, and teaching almost always alone. If they cared to know I’d explain what I was doing to the Japanese teachers beforehand. I was a very low maintenance ALT who didn’t make waves so I can see why teachers are afraid of getting another creepy blowhard like my predecessor.

Kim had a hard time being an ALT because she is a real teacher in America and was used to her own classroom and American school rules. Her strongest point is #4 on the top heavy scale of what Japanese teachers want from ALTS. So poor Kim, a fantastic teacher with a masters in education and 10 years of expereince in America, wasn’t appreciated by most Japanese teachers. At least Kim was always genki even if she had to fake it at the end.

Kim is far and away a better teacher than me but I was a better ALT. My intermediate level Japanese coupled with my gaijin looks and genki clown act is exactly what teachers want from an ALT. The actual learning English part? Well the teachers would rather the ALT come on time every day then have the children actively learn English using inventive and exciting teaching methods.

There are some superb people teaching at the schools I worked at who make a hugely positive impact on student’s lives. I learned a great deal from them. On the flip side there are some awful teachers like the one from my very last lesson of 2nd graders at Rural #1 and most of the Ghost School's staff. I thought about saying to the bad teachers, “Why are you a teacher when you hate children you hate teaching and you hate yourself?” But coming from me they wouldn't have cared anyway so why bother. Shoganai.

Japanese people are very polite to strangers, but often not that friendly and take awhile to win over. At the Ghost School one office lady ignored me for 10 months then suddenly opened up to me. It turns out she is an Americophile with zero English ability. We had conversations whenever I had any free time at all. She made the last month at that horrible school bearable and gave me a letter and a huge sack of potatoes in the parking lot when I left so the other teachers wouldn't see the fond farewell.

Various teachers and friends ignored me for months before finally coming on to my gaijin charms as well. Although it took awhile for some Japanese people to warm up to me once I got into their good graces they ended up being some of the most fun and interesting friends I’ve ever had the pleasure to spend time with.

Unlike America Japanese people hate used household objects. I’ve seen brand new looking bicycles, leather chairs, tables etc in the trash ripe for the picking but the only truck roaming the streets to collect these choice items is the garbage man because its all been USED. In America put any piece of crap bookcase or blender on the sidewalk with a ‘FREE!’ sign and that sucker is gone within the hour. I thought about bringing my extra clothes to Ueno park and handing them out to the homeless but quickly dismissed the idea. The Japanese homeless are probably too good for my used clothing too.

This last weekend we went to summer festivals with friends. Many students who thought they’d seen the last of their ALTs were amazed to spot us at the festivals and screamed our names while demanding pictures be taken. Kids who we thought absolutely hated English class and ignored our existence at school ran up to us smiling and waving. Here is a short, badly lit video of a surprised student's reaction to seeing Michael Sensei.

Bret

Last month my friend Bret came to visit my wife and I in our sleepy little Japanese town. On the first day, Friday, I took Bret to Rural School #1 to show him what being an ALT is all about. Rural School #1 is a very calm place and definitely the most unremarkable of all the elementary schools. However, this is a very good thing because if I had taken him to either the Ghost School or Big Rice Field the savage students would have eaten him alive.

I went to Rural School #1 the day before to tell the vice principal that I was bringing my American friend with me the next day. For the first time in 10 months of working together I saw a gleeful smirk develop on the normally stone faced man as I described Bret’s 6’3” frame and long red hair. I also told the vice principal to keep Bret’s visit a secret to the children and the rest of the staff, further altering the stoic’s well formed facial creases of disapproval to ones of barely restrained gittiness.

The next day with Bret in tow the teachers and children greet us with dropped jaws and one-word exclamations of, “Big!” “Tall!” and “Amazing!” Word got around quickly that a new bigger and even stranger looking gaijin has come to school with Michael Sensei.

The faculty made attempts to speak to Bret in English, although the majority ended up pronouncing Bret’s name as “Brado.” Most people looked to me to translate even the simplest phrases like “how are you?” and “where do you live in America” when I know they can say it English. The now mirthful smirking vice-principal was particularly interested in my foreign friend.

The beginning of every class started with the students shouting “EHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH” when Bret ducked through the door of the classroom. Next questions were fielded about Bret’s life such as “Where are you from?” “How tall are you?” and “Is that your real hair color?” After the initial shock and generally timid Q&A sessions the students were mostly calm.

The only bad students at Rural #1 are the little terror 2nd graders, whom we did not teach that day. I really wanted to give Bret the full ALT experience though so after lunch I suggested we go to the younger students classrooms for a visit. One look at the uninitiated gaijin giant and it was on. Bret was swarmed by at least twenty pinching, poking, grabbing and stabbing piranhaesque seven year olds. I watched at a relatively safe distance as a couple particularly nasty boys snuck up on my occupied friend and flanked both sides to thrust their fingers into his tender nether regions. A few kids were so enamored with Bret’s plush auburn arm hair that they wouldn’t stop rubbing it and at least one lucky kid managed to pluck out a few souvenir strands. The homeroom teacher laughed and said to me, “he is having so much fun with the students.” Bret did not look like he was having fun, but I sure was.

After the last class Bret and I relaxed in the relative safety of the teacher’s room and reflected on our day as we watched the principal walk the pet goat around the playground. Intermittently students would venture into the teacher’s room to get a better look at Bret. A couple times the younger students would run away shouting “Kowaii kowaii!” (Scary, scary!”) To the urging of a PTA mom, Bret launched her child over his head and up to the ceiling. Weeks after Bret’s departure children from Rural #1 as well as other students that saw Bret in town asked, “where is your friend” and were sorely disappointed to hear that he returned to the land of giants.

Since Bret only had one weekend to spend in Tokyo we had to make it count. First stop the anime and nerd capital of the universe, Akihabara. Unfortunately the week before some loser rented a car and smashed through town before jumping out and stabbing innocent people, killing seven and wounding another ten. Akihabara was still in mourning from the attack and wasn’t teeming with cosplay freaks per usual. We made the most of it and still had fun basking in the unabashed geekiness.

Walk into any manga/toy store in Akihabara and past the innocent façade of the first floor one will be inundated with wall-to-wall porn. Porn in Japan has blurry mosaics on the sex parts, but with comics anything goes. It’s sad when hand drawn pictures are more disturbing than real life, but on the other hand maybe it’s a good thing. I’ve been to Akiba before but I am still amazed at the sheer volume of little girl lolita porn there is and how many creepy customers line up to buy it.

Akihabara is also famous for high tech computer equipment but we didn’t have the money or inclination to buy any.

We went to a futuristic arcade where gamers climb into the cockpits of a giant robots and have a gundum battle royal with other killer fighting machines. We were far too intimidated to brawl with the veteran robot pilots. Instead we played the drum game and Bret damaged his finger drumming too furiously.

We took a break at a maid café. Japanese women will dress up in frilly maid customs to serve socially awkward otakus overpriced drinks and snacks. Entering the café the first maid greets us with a formal, “Welcome home master.” At our frilly table we are given a miniature bell to ring in order to get a maid’s attention. The maid that served our coffee and cake stirred the milk and sugar in a deliberately slow and sensual way while giggling, “tee hee hee hee!”

I found the most hilarious part of this experience to be the enthralled patrons. A guy across from us ordered the $16 rice omelet. The maid used a ketchup bottle to draw a picture of Doraemon as the mesmerized otaku man looked on. The guy next to omelet man kept muttering, “moe moe moe” while obsessing over the cuteness of the maid’s act. One can buy extra services from the maids starting at $100 for talking. Foot massages and perhaps other types of massages cost extra. When we left our maid hopped up and down waving and smiling while screaming, “goodbye master come back again soon!”

Next Bret and I went to Akasaka for a ninja dinner at a ninja restaurant. In the dark restaurant we traversed though hidden passages and secret doors before arriving at our table. I wanted our ninja waiter to speak Japanese for a more authentic experience, but then I heard his English accent and it was hilariously awesome.

Ninja Waiter: “I will show my ninja power, HIYA” and with a gratuitous hand display he l the escargot on fire before serving.

The food was only good, not great, but the atmosphere was kick ass. I had to use the bathroom and needed a ninja guide to get there but then got hopelessly lost on my way back. I had to use the password, “zangatsu” on a passing ninja busboy who escorted me back. There was even a ninja magic show between the main course and dessert.

After dinner we hit up ganguro infested Shibuya for some wacky nightlife. How many women and men with overwrought tans and blond hair did we see in Shibuya that night? Too many too count, especially after several beers. Not all J-girls are cute subservient maids. Some are rebellious foulmouthed ganguros who hang out their menacing yakuza looking boyfriends in Shibuya. After taking in Shibuya’s drunken youth we decided to call it a night around 2:00 am. Since the trains stop running so freaking early in Japan we needed a place to crash.

Walking up love hotel hill we saw the most persistent prostitute EVER. She inquired if we wanted a “masajii” which both of us recently married men declined. Behind us was a short shy young man that the masajii woman quickly recognized as an easy mark. The pushy woman stopped the mark asking if he wanted a masajii, he tried to duck and swerve to avoid her but she leached onto him by grabbing his hands. We slowed down our pace to watch for awhile, but the awkward waltz continued until we were over the hill and out of sight.

Bret and I ended up at an all male capsule hotel built for cheapskate salary men to sleep off their nights of debauchery. It’s a good thing that neither of us are claustrophobic because it was like a coffin in there, albeit a coffin with AC and a television.

After a poor nights sleep we headed off to Shinjuku, Harajuku, and Omote-Sando so Bret could buy souvenirs and we gawk at more interesting characters. First we went to Shinjuku and some of the nicer department stores before finding our way to Kabuki-cho, the red light district. We declined the pushy hustlers demands to go to their strip bars and soap parlors. No I do not want to bathe and get all sudsy with naked Japanese strippers. There are tons more maid cafes and girly bars AND there is also a large number of butler cafes. Hey if men can get served and soapy then ladies should be able to get a little extra attention from primped up effeminate butlers. It’s only fair.

Harajuku was not in mourning. A full display of cosplay characters, Harajuku baby dolls, lolita girls and cutesy but a little scary goth lolita girls were strutting about the area in their intricate outfits. Bret bought more souvenirs here and at Omote-Sando.

It was a fun but exhausting weekend, maybe that’s why it took five weeks to write about it.

Sh*t is fun

Japanese people never hesitate to tell me just how sick they are. One of the most common complaints I get from co-workers is that they are constipated. Hmmmm maybe never eating bread crust or the skin/peel of any fruit while consuming white rice, which has next to no dietary fiber, for practically every meal is to blame?

Me: “How are you?”
Teacher: “Ugh I’m a little constipated.”
Me: "Ummmm… gambate" (good luck)!

I use the foods flashcards for several lessons. Every damn time I show the spaghetti card some students (always boys) will laugh and mock how I say the word. For a long time I thought it was because the Japanesey Engrish ‘supageti’ sounds so different from spaghetti.

A couple months ago a teacher at Big Rice Field unflinchingly tells me she isn’t feeling well because she has bad ‘geri’ or diarrhea. That same day I had a foods lesson involving spaghetti. It finally dawned on me that that the mischievous boys have been hearing spa’geri’ instead of spaghetti. All these months I’ve been pointing to a flashcard of spaghetti slathered in a lumpy brown meat sauce and loudly exclaiming, “spaGERI!” without knowing why it was so hilarious. With this newfound knowledge in mind I cannot look at the spaghetti picture without thinking it looks just like a messy plate of noodles covered in diarrhea. This is especially disgusting because it is supposed to be food. I can no longer use the spaghetti flashcard. It grosses me out too much.

The Japanese word for shit is kuso. It is a very common swear word amongst adults as well as children. Kids mutter kuso when they get an answer wrong and use the word as an insult to others. Additionally boogers and earwax are hanakuso and mimikuso, nose shit and ear shit respectively. A few weeks back I saw two 5th grade boys fighting in the teacher’s room. First they were digging in their noses and flinging hanakuso on each other while shouting “hanakuso BOMBU!” Next they were mining their ears for mimikuso to smear on each other’s arms. I made sure to break up the pair before they decided to escalate the fight to another kuso. I also washed my hands for a good two minutes afterwards.

Japanese love the swirly poop. It looks like a twisty plop of chocolate frozen yogurt. Kids draw swirly poops as funny symbols on their notebooks and I even saw a teacher giving out swirly poop stickers to lucky students.

Strolling though a park in Japan one will see a sign every twenty feet telling dog owners to pick up after their canines by showing a crossed out swirly poop. This curlicue excrement is called ‘fun’ (but pronounced foon.) I have yet to see man or beast produce an authentic 'fun' swirly poop. To accomplish such a feat one would have to poop slowly while walking in a circle and the size and texture would have to be just right. The logistics seem nearly impossible but one can always have fun trying.

Goooood Comedy

There is a terrible comedian on Japanese tv who I can’t stand. Her name is Edo Harumi and her shtick is to do a little song and dance routine to ‘My Sharona’ while shouting, “good good gooooood!” which sounds more like “goooo!” Read the Japanese TV Part I and II posts for more about horrible one-dimensional comedy acts. This woman’s (mercifully waning) popularity has left a lasting impression upon my students, like Kojima Yoshino’s lawn mower dance but much more annoying and frequently used.

This is a video of her doing her routine. She comes on at about :45.



When I teach kids English I use a lot of body language when I talk. When a student gives a right answer I generally give a thumbs up and say, “good job!” NOW because of Miss Edo whenever I say “good” I am received with mocking laugher and kids screaming “goooo!” back in my face. In English, especially teaching English, I say ‘good’ a lot, good morning, good afternoon, good job and so forth. I might not even mind the students ridiculing me with “goooo” if it was in any way funny, but it’s not. It’s horribly insane and stupid.

Riding the train to Tokyo a few weeks ago and I saw Edo Harumi in an ad for a new soft drink. She was giving her characteristic thumbs up and hideous ‘O’ face while a word bubble above her head claims that the new drink tastes “GOOOOOD!” Since the train was crammed I had to stare at her creepy plastic face for 50 minutes. In fact I’ve seen her in quite a few ads proclaiming with a double-fisted thumbs up that the product is very GOOOOOD.

Not all Japanese comedy is bad, in fact sometimes it’s hilarious. Such is the case for the comedy troupe Downtown. When I hear somebody say, “nande yanen” (what the hell!?) to the boke (idiot) character it’s so livid and malicious that it cracks me up every time. London Boots is funny too, the way they expose and completely humiliate cheaters is hilarious, but Downtown is the best.

Here is a short skit by Downtown totally ripping on English teachers in Japan. Awesome.

I See White People

I stride into my first class of the day and start off with a hearty, “goooood morning!” The collective Japanese second graders ape my greeting with a boisterous, “goooood morning!” Something doesn’t sound quite right. I continue with, “how are you?” Various children declare, “I’m fine” or “great” “sleepy” “hungry” etc. However, one distinctly American voice shouts, “I’m fine. How are you?” I turn my head towards the unexpected utterance and lo and behold in the far right seat of the front row is a freckled face white girl smiling at me.

What the hell is going on here? There is the occasional Indian or Peruvian kid in class but an American!? I quickly gather myself from the shock and start the English sing-along part of the lesson. While the three class reps bicker over who will put the cd in the cd player and who will hit the play button I hastily inquire the girl’s name and where she’s from.

The lesson is fruits which is really really easy since almost half the Japanese names for fruits are borrowed from English. Orenji = orange, remon = lemon etc. When I ask the class to tell me what fruit is on the flashcard the white girl, Lisa, barks the name out in her flawless American English adding “juicy” or “delicious” to ones she is particularly fond of. Luckily she gets bored of showing off after the first couple passes so the Japanese students have a chance to be heard.

When I ask the students, “What fruit do you like?” Lisa matter of factly states, “I like everything.” Throughout Lisa’s unexpected outbursts of English and our short conversation before the sing-along I’d been translating the English into Japanese for the rest of the class, except for juicy which I didn’t know the word for and said in Japanesey English, juushi.

Lisa’s English kept throwing off my teaching rhythm. I’d hear the American English mixed with the Japanese English and my brain took half a second to remember that YES I am still in Japan and teaching English and YES there is an American girl in my class.

The game was to lay out twelve fruit cards on a table as four or five children with their hands on their heads huddled around the cards. When I call out ‘peach’ the kids have to slap the card with a picture of a peach on it.

Side note. The peach on the fruits flashcards looks like a big fat naked butt. Some seemingly clever kids will call out “oshiri” or butt instead of peach much to the hilarity of the other students and homeroom teacher. Luckily there weren’t any oshiri comments during my lesson with Lisa.

Lisa repeatedly got beat by the experienced Japanese card slappers. Pouting and whining about losing, she eventually stopped playing all together. It’s not like she was doing badly though. I think she got three or four cards during the first game while the girl next to her never managed to grab any and seemed happy throughout.

Lisa’s behavior confirmed my suspicions that most of the competition style games played in Japanese schools would never fly in America because it would hurt the feelings of too many precious special unique gifted ‘we’re all winners’ children.

After the lesson I converse with Lisa a little more. I find out that she’s only been in Japan one week and her dad is a lawyer who also surfs and goes rock climbing. In case I forgot that her dad is a lawyer she managed to repeat it about ten times. Lisa then went on to tell me how many places in America and Japan she’d been to. I forgot how much American kids brag about themselves and their family. Not that Japanese children don’t do the same, but it’s on a whole different level with Americans.

I’ve been an ALT long enough to realize that nobody thinks it odd not to inform me that an American child is in the school let alone my first class of the day. I’m supposed to just know these things. But damn… I wish when I was eight I could have gone to Japan for summer vacation and made friends in a Japanese school.

After work last week I went to the grocery store by the train station to pick up some fresh produce for dinner. In the senbei aisle blocking my path is a triple chinned white woman with one of those small travelers backpacks on that sacrifices functionality for looking expensive and cute (or maybe it just looked small on her.)

I smile and say “hello.” The teenager throws me a sickened look as if I’d just farted in a crowded elevator. I slip my way past the disgusted obstacle and into the next aisle. Eh, I guess she’s Russian or something. Nope. One aisle over I overhear in a loud obnoxious valley girl drawl, “oh my GOD some creepy guy just smiled and said ‘hello’ to me.” Then an unseen white girl says, “oh my god that’s like soooo weird.”

What the hell? I live here bitch(es). I’m just trying to get some asparagus, tomatoes and coconut pocky for dinner. Since I dreaded seeing two or more revolt(ed)(ing) ugly faces much more than wanted to embarrass them I went to the checkout and got the hell out in a hurry.

Occasionally I’ll see an ALT or another white person that I don’t know out here in the boondocks. These are the unfriendliest group of people ever. It’s like I’m violating their inner Japanese sanctum where nothing Western may been seen or heard. Apparently they want to be the only gaijin in town because a city of 100,000 or so isn’t big enough for two foreigners and I’m the one that needs to leave.

The white people pretend not to see me but I catch contemptuous leers directed at me and can feel the animosity in the air. How DARE I be here to ruin their unique Japanese experience. Sometimes I’ll stroll over and talk to the white guy. (It’s almost always a haggard looking white guy.) They respond with a feigned look of surprise as if they only just spotted me as I’m right in front of them and asking if they speak English. I’ll get a nervous conversation with a brush off less than a minute in followed by one last angry glare as they try to extricate themselves from an association with their fellow Westerner as quickly as possible.

In Tokyo I blend in with the rest of the gaijin residents and tourists and have met some very friendly people. But get 20 kilometers outside of the city and I am outright HATED by other white people.

I can’t understand the prevailing anti-gaijin sentiments of contempt towards other gaijin. It’s like a self-hating Jew that’s not even funny, what’s the point? The grocery store bitches were the last straw for me. I’m not going to be hostile towards other white people but I’m not going to be friendly either. Of course if anyone wants to speak to me first then I’ll be receptive, however this has never happened outside of the tourist districts of Tokyo.

Sports Daze

In Japan the most popular sports are baseball, soccer and sumo in that order. There are tons of other minor sports such as golf, K1, boxing, badminton, long distance running and ping-pong which have their fans and brief moments of glory but they aren’t nearly as popular.

Baseball

Japan has twelve pro teams in two leagues. Every team has a sponsor attached to their name, for example, Yakult Swallows, Softbank Hawks and the Nippon Ham Fighters. I can see this happening to the cash strapped and/or greedy MLB teams in the near future. Most of the stadiums are already named after corporations and pretty soon the Verizon Pirates, Taco Bell Padres and Milwaukee’s Best Brewers will be a reality. I'm calling it.

Every day the tv news sports section has an update on how the Japanese MLB players are doing even when nothing really happens. Wow Hideki Matsui hit a sacrifice fly and Ichiro caught a ball he had to run for. They're really team players! With a Japanese player on both sides the media had a field day during the last world series. Every nuance of every pitch was analyzed and reanalyzed and when the two Japanese met on the field it made the front cover of every newspaper and was the top news story for a week.

Last weekend we finally went to the Tokyo dome to see the Yomiuri Giants play the Lotte Marines. We had to sit in the Marines cheering section because the Giants cheering section, which is four times larger, was sold out. If you’ve never seen a Japanese baseball cheering section it is really something to behold. So please behold it.



They are chanting 'Jose Ortiz', one of the gaijin players allowed to play for each team whose main job is to hit homers. Luckily he and a foreigner from the Giants both did their jobs and slapped a couple over the fence that game to make things interesting.

Along with organized cheering another cool thing about Japanese baseball is that the vendors walking up and down the aisles aren’t crusty old men screaming PEAAAAAAANUTS and tossing them in your face. Hell no! In Japan the ones hocking eight-dollar beers and squid chips are cute young women in tight brightly colored skirt suits, very eye catching.

The cheering sections aren’t content to simply chant and sing a batter’s name. Oh no. In the 5^th inning when the Giant’s pitcher was relieved the Marine’s fans did this,



This madness lasted three to four minutes. I got tired just watching them.

Soccer

Japan has a pro soccer league that is pretty popular, however since I’m an American I couldn’t care less.

Sumo

We haven’t been able to see sumo live yet, only on tv. The sport is nauseating yet fascinating at the same time, like a car wreck I can’t seem to look away and without noticing minutes and even hours slip away. The two current yokozuna are from Mongolia and are pretty damn good, especially the beefy Asashoryu. The winner of the last tournament however is an ozeki Bulgarian guy, the first European to ever win a major sumo tournament. Many Japanese newspapers and acquaintances have commented that he is very handsome and reminds them of David Beckam. I don’t see it.

Hmmmmm maybe Steven Seagal in his leaner years but not David Beckam.

I was talking to a co-worker that LOVES sumo and adorns his desk and classroom with sumo posters, a sumo calendar and several wrestler's pictures about the last tournament. He hung his head in shame and told me, “Today’s sumo is dominated by gaijin. Gaijin sumo is here,” raises his hand above his head, “and Japanese sumo is here,” lowers hand past his knee. “It is a GREAT shame.”

Sports Day

All of my Elementary schools recently had their Undokai or Exercise Event or how I like to translate it, Sports Day. Sports Day consists of half the school as red and the other half as white performing regular sports such as a relay race as well as American Gladiator type wacky sports like pushing giant balls around, grabbing logs, and tossing as many beanbags into a hoop in twenty seconds as possible. The emphasis is not on individual merit but how the team performs. There are also musical events complete with terrible choreography; terrible choreography is a Japanese trademark not only in schools but by “professional” Japanese musicians as well.

Here are the cute first graders playing the beanbag hoop game. It may look like the white team in the foreground isn’t doing too well, but out of the four groups that one took 1^st prize both times.



Much to my surprise The Love School’s principal wanted me to participate in a PTA event. The event was the beanbag hoop toss with a pole twice as tall as the first graders. Since I am at least a head taller than every other participate there was some pressure on me to perform. Unfortunately my group consisted of diminutive obasans who would toss the beanbag halfway up the pole then runaway as the bags rained down on their frail bodies. Our team lost badly both times. However, due to my effort in scoring half the points for my thirty odd member team I got a couple high (low) fives from the short statured Japanese grandmothers and THAT was awesome.

At The Love School the red team had won five years in a row. But this year white kicked red's ass. Is it a coincidence that the year I show up that the white team manhandles the red? I don’t think so.

Shoganai

One phrase that I hear practically every day from my Japanese co-workers and acquaintances is shoganai, or “it can’t be helped, so why worry about it?” Needless road construction makes me late to work? Shoganai. Boss is a total bastard? Shoganai. Fourteen-hour workdays? Shoganai. The pragmatic attitude of shoganai helps save a densely populated island nation from going crazy with stress and pressure, although “death from overwork” or karoshi is still a problem.

Sure the average Japanese worker gets rolled over and shit on, but it’s just shoganai and keep up that gambate spirit! Fortunately us gaijin aren’t recognized as part of the “Japanese” workforce and don’t have to adhere to such a strict code of conduct.

Unfortunately ALL the shit that the Japanese wouldn’t dare utter to another co-worker falls on my ears. I’ve been told secrets about infidelity, hating on bosses, or just confiding in me that they are having a particularly bad day. Sometimes the spate of words comes out so fast I can hardly understand a thing.

For example a couple days ago a young but weary Ms S asks me to come to the copy room. Wildly looking around for witnesses she closes the door behind us. No the unmarried woman is NOT making a pass at me but instead goes on to hastily whisper why she can’t stand that old bitch Ms Y that sits next to her because she is always undermining her in front of the other teachers and students. Relieved to get this information off her chest she sighs and looks up at me five years younger, happier and refreshed.

I’m not the only gaijin counselor in town, any halfway accommodating foreigner will do. Kim and other ALTs all have their own stories about being confidants to too many Japanese secrets.

Shoganai is annoying because the Japanese cannot air their grievances that accumulate over time and end up burying themselves in self-regret. Then again I prefer this method of keeping up a front of a happy workplace much more than the American system of bitching and moaning about every little thing. "I don’t care who yelled at you OR if your feelings got hurt. Just do your damn job!" Ugh, I've wanted to scream that to so many complaining American co-workers. There really needs to be a middle ground between the two opposite ideologies. Ahhhhh shoganai.

Golden Week

Golden week is a glorious time when holidays converge one after another to give the Japanese some much needed vacation days. Golden week happened two weeks ago but the memory still lingers.


On the first day off Kim and I went to our local Ito Yokado which is like a super Wal-mart and mini mall in one. To our surprise at the massive store that day were the super sentai heroes to rescue weary shoppers, young and old alike, with their costumed antics. When I happened by the spandex clad warriors I stopped to look. Every sentai member stopped waving and strutting about to inspect the white weirdo though their glinty visors. This was by far the most hilarious gaijin gawk I’ve yet experienced. Situations like having a gang of tight and shiny jumpsuit wearing guys thinks that I’m the oddball and crane their necks and do double and triple takes as I walk past them is just another unique and awesome Japanese experience.


We went to a small city called Kazo for Kid’s Day to visit friends who took us to see the world’s biggest koinobori, a jumbo flying carp. Kazo is known for the manufacture of koinoboris and handmade udon. I think every city in Japan is known for a specialty food, famous landmark and or products. This is great because anywhere I travel in Japan I get to eat some new and delicious foods.

For dinner I drank too much sake, freaking topping off the cup every time I take a sip doesn’t help me keep control. Our party of six was seated in a small sliding door room in a traditional Japanese sushi restaurant. My drunkenness coupled with my body size and natural clumsiness combined with the narrow confines of the room led to some embarrassing mishaps. I kicked the door so hard I thought I broke the damn thing, twice. Good thing they look more fragile then they are. I try not to be such a bumbling ogre when I’m in Japan to prevent people from having a negative impression of me and all big Americans, but sometimes I just gotta be me.

Kim and I also went to Kamakura during Golden Week. “Holy crap you went Kamakura during Golden Week are you crazy!?” was the general response I received when I told people where I went over the holiday break. This is because Kamakura is one of the top destinations for people during Golden Week and is notorious for jam packed crowds. This year was no different.

On the local train the staff were shoving people with sticks to cram as many riders into each stuffed train car as possible. It wasn’t comfortable. On the exhausting ride back not one but TWO freaking obasans were leaning on me. Obasans are light and frail and only about waist high but two of them inclining their entire body weight onto me still hurt like hell.

Kamakura has some amazing temples and a magnificent colossal Buddha statue. Their specialty food is sweet potato. So we loaded up on sweet potato ice cream, sweet potato croquettes, sweet potato chips and sweet potato rice. It’s been two weeks but I’m still sick of sweet potato.

Kim took a breather and was eating an apple on the stairs as I made my way to the alter of the last temple of the day. While I was walking back down the stairs I saw a hawk swoop down and crash into something. As I’m jogging down the stairs to see what happened I see Kim’s apple bouncing away. A slightly shocked Kim tells me, “That hawk tried to steal my apple!” An astonished elderly couple backed away from Kim like she was cursed. The hawk, with the ripped paper towel from the apple firmly in its talons, was doing a victory lap circling safely above us. I used some spare tissues to pick up the dirty half eaten apple, but since there is NEVER a trashcan when you need one in Japan I had to carry it for half an hour before disposing of it.

Golden Week was fun and quite memorable. Japanese Power Rangers gaping at me, seeing the jumbo koinobori, eating interesting foods, drunken antics, and viewing serene temples with hundreds upon hundreds of thousands of other tourists. A typical Japanese vacation.

Drill Time

Japanese schools have many kinds of emergency drills in place in order to safeguard the future of their precious children. After all the ever dwindling child population of Japan has the burden of supporting the massive elderly population who are growing older and more demanding by the day.

I experienced an earthquake drill at the Love School. When the alarm sounds kids don’t hide under their desks like in America, nor do they line up in an orderly fashion like one would expect of the Japanese. No, instead the children and teachers burst out of their rooms screaming bloody murder and flailing about in mock terror. When I asked the principal what should I do during the drill she simply told me, “run!”

At Kim’s junior high there was a fire drill a few months back. The first couple hours of the day were wasted as no student was paying attention to anything save the anticipation for the upcoming drill. When the alarm finally rang the mad dash of students bolt out of the school yelling “fire fire!” while pushing and trampling over the weak, small, and unsuspecting

Outside firefighters are giving safety lectures to the students and faculty. After the speeches the firefighters let the students try out the fire extinguishers and even set up bullseye targets for them to shoot down. Unfortunately with the entire student body and visitors watching the nervous kids forced into participating had terrible aim and missed the targets. If there really is a fire at the junior high I hope nobody scrutinizes the kids too closely or they’ll never put it out.

The last drill is if a crazy criminal with a knife or a kidnapper/molester breaks into the school. Just like the other drills the kids burst out of the rooms screaming for their lives yelling, “help me” “save me” and “I want to live!” At Rural School #1 where I experienced the kidnapper drill some of the children bring panic buttons that emit a horrible shriek. Of course on the day of the drill EVERY freaking student has one. When the policeman acting as the criminal “breaks” into the school the children shriek, panic buttons wail, and a thunderous stampede roars past me down the hall. Like a cannon going off in my ear, yes it was that loud.

Don’t trust strangers damn it.


Especially when they are trying to get you in their car to find the train station like this creepy man. Rule #1: If there is a wafting purple aura of pure evil surrounding a car it’s time to run away.

To combat against intruders teachers get to use a blunt edged double-pronged staff to push away the criminals. The only defense versus a crazy man with a knife for the frail women and elderly men of the elementary schools are these pushy staffs. However, a few enterprising teachers grabbed brooms instead and the wizened vice principal busted out a wooden kendo sword that he brandished menacingly toward the phony kidnapper. The burly policeman acted like the pushy staffs were holding him back, but then he would move and easily throw them off. Hopefully any child predators visiting Rural School #1 will be slow, weak and stupid.

Gotta keep the pushy staffs on hand by the green tea dispenser in case of a break in.

The thing that amazed me the most about the criminal invasion drill is that the students ran outside without changing their shoes. Oh my god wearing indoor shoes in the dirt outside!? It must really be an emergency!

Starting Over

The new school year has begun. I bore witness as the incoming 1^st graders at Big Rice Field Elementary endured an onslaught of identical inspirational speeches by PTA members and board of education cronies during the opening ceremony. Making six year olds sit and listen to grown ups prattle on for over two hours is asinine. At least during the copious bowing sessions before and after every speech the tykes got to stretch their little limbs, this helped to prevent some fidgeting. The whole ceremony seemed like one big fat excuse to dress up the little ones in suits and skirts to take a million pictures.

While the last class of 1^st graders were marching out of the gym a little boy from the kindergarten I taught at recognized me. I saw his eyes widen with a sparkle of recognition as he stopped in mid march holding up the procession behind him. Jumping up and down and flailing his arms the boy screams, “MICHAEL SENSEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEI!!!!!!!!!!” 500 heads swoop around, incredulously staring me down. “Uhhh… Helloooo!” I respond, sending the boy a lackadaisical wave. The thrilled smiling child marches on flapping like a bird and proclaiming to those nearest that I am Michael Sensei.

One third of the staff at every elementary school this year are new to the school. In Japan it’s mandatory that teachers switch schools every five years or so to keep them fresh and cagey. In addition to the new staff all the returning teachers change the grade from the one they taught last year. I have to meet about 40 new teachers and the ones I do know are now teaching a different grade. I’m pretty much starting over from scratch.

No matter how small the school every one of them has a principal a vice principal and a 3^rd principal. This 3^rd principal is generally quite an unhappy person who does all the shit work. One of these shitty jobs forced upon the principal's backup’s backup at the Ghost School is to “help” the ALT (that’s me) plan the next week’s English lesson. Last year the 3^rd principal would put off the dreaded deed until the last few minutes before I could leave, take a laboriously deep sigh, and talk down to me in broken English about a lesson I had done at least half a dozen times already. Like most everyone at the Ghost School he refused to believe I knew any Japanese and would close his ears to anything I said. Instead he would muddle through with wild gestures and a smattering of one word English questions and answers. I would tell the peevish middle age man that, “I’m sorry I can’t understand you” but he plowed on anyway.

This year the 3^rd principal from the Ghost School holds the same position at Big Rice Field. Thankfully he is NOT the one telling me what lessons to do. At BRF people treat me like a human being and I chat, joke, and get along with everyone in the teacher’s room just fine. With this friendly atmosphere around me the new 3^rd principal could plainly see which way the wind was blowing. While I’m conversing with a new teacher the fraud jumps in to exclaim, “Wow! I didn’t know you could speak Japanese! We worked at the Ghost School together and now it’s a pleasure to work with you here!” I wanted to wipe the man’s conceited smirk right off his face. I wanted to tell everybody just what an asshole he is. Eight months of talking down to me, rolling his eyes at me, and exuding exasperated gasps of annoyance every time I’d walk into the room and suddenly NOW we are supposed to be all buddy buddy. I felt sick. I gave the 3^rd principal my biggest fake smile and said, “THIS YEAR lets all get along and work hard together.”

Unfortunately it would only make me look bad to say anything negative, especially about a superior. I’m just really really annoyed when people treat others better or worse because of what their peers think instead of being civil to everyone. The 3^rd principal has made my list of frauds right under Mister Smiley.

Since I have more experience I can now dominate all the new English “helpers” because I’ve just about done every lesson there is to do for Elementary school. Telling the helpers that I’ve done a lesson multiple times and I already have the materials ready makes most meetings a breeze. Of course I have to constantly reassure the helper that if they have any input to please tell me and I say things like, “This is what I would do, what do you think?” Japanese always have to come to a consensus during meetings; it’s never supposed to be one person telling the other what to do. Consequently meetings that should take 5 minutes drag ass for half an hour as I go through every step of the lesson that the helper was supposed to be teaching me.

At city hall there was a big shake up where many elderly teachers were asked (told) to move on (retire or get fired) because older teachers cost much much more then new ones. A 22 year old girl just three weeks out of college started at Big Rice Field. She is kinda cute which means she has the attention of all the male staff. This also means she is incurring the wrath of some of the old jealous teachers as well. She’ll have a tough time this year.

At three other schools three new male teachers have started their teaching careers. At the Love School one these boy’s sits across from me named Mr. Y. Mr. Y sits to the left of Mrs. S who is about 30 years his senior.

The first day of the school year Mrs. S introduces me to Mr. Y by pointing to him and using English I never knew she possessed says, “He is fresh boy! Verrrry FRESH!” and pinches both the fresh boy’s cheeks while blowing a kiss. Mr. Y takes the abuse like the fresh boy that he is. The older ladies at the other schools use the same “fresh boy” expression about their new male teachers too. It’s more like “fresh meat” as the cougars pinch and prod these fresh boys mercilessly much to their unabashed titillation. Never mind about the young lady at BRF having a tough time, I fear for these young men.

A beaming Big Rice Field principal hustled me over to the white and red tiles that all teachers flip over to indicate if they are at the school. White means here, red means gone. He then presented me with my very own tile. I slowly turned the white side of my tile over to reveal a blinding flash of bright hot neon pink. Pink? Pink! Like 80’s lipstick or a shiny new lawn flamingo, gaudy, flashy, trashy pink. What the bullcrap! “Why is my tile pink and not red like everyone else’s?” I questioned. “Hmmmm… who knows” says the principal and walks away. Total brush off. I think my name stands out enough as it is the only one written in katakana instead of kanji, but no someone had to make sure my tile could glow in the dark. On one hand I’m happy I’m being accepted and have a tile like everyone else… but why does mine have to be a beacon of flashing pink in a sea of white and red. Damn little differences.

Most of Kim’s 1^st year students at the junior high are 6^th graders I taught last school year. Warui Chugakou: where decent kids are turned into little bastards. I neglected (on purpose) to tell my former students that my wife would be their new ALT at junior high school. When Kim broke the news to them a deafening, “EHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” echoed throughout the halls. Kim and the homeroom teacher busted up laughing because the exasperated students could only gape and utter “ehhhhh” for another 5-10 minutes. Most students seem to think I come from outer space and live under the earth, only digging out of my mole cavern long enough to teach the surface dwellers English. When a student sees me buying groceries or walking to the train station they are shocked to see that I’m a normal person who lives in their town. So finding out I am married AND my wife is their new ALT was just too much for them to comprehended all at once.

I think this year will be better then last year. Not that last year was too bad but now I’ve got Japanese teaching experience and can work the system instead of letting the system work me.

The Great Japanese Pervert

I was having a bad day at the Ghost school. Not that things were worse than usual there, just the hypocritical bullshit was really getting to me yesterday. Lunchtime finally comes. A welcome respite? Hardly. 41 bastard 6^th graders, formally the bastard 5^th graders, screaming, fighting and throwing food is not my ideal mealtime break.

Every day I eat lunch with students I’m bombarded by, “how do you say ____ in English” questions. Most are cute and harmless.

Student: “How do you say ‘bara’ in English?”
Me: “Rose.”

Some are funny.

Student: “How do you say ‘supidaamaan’ in English?”
Me: “Spiderman.”

Without fail the upper grades at the Ghost School skip the cute and funny questions and only ask me to translate dirty words into English. Normally I swat the persistent buggers away, keeping tight-lipped even when they go from asking in Japanese to acting out what body part or sexual act they want to me interpret for them.

The most tenacious pantomime artist in the class has the self-asserted moniker ‘Great Japanese Pervert.’ The Great Japanese Pervert shouts to whomever will listen, “I am the Great Japanese Pervert! I am more perverted than anyone!” GJP has a rival though; I’ll call him Tiny Japanese Pervert since he is also the smallest boy in class and at nowhere near the level of perversion or intensity as GJP. TJP also proclaims his extreme pervasion, but is rudely shouted down by GJP and his fiery desire to remain the alpha class pervert. Just to remind you these kids are twelve.

This type of behavior does not shock me anymore. I see old men on trains blatantly ogling porn mags, tilting the pages just so to get better angles of the nude pictorials. Women and children close by bother them nary a whiff. In Tokyo enormous quantities of lolita and other disturbing material are located in eight story brand name book stores readily available to all. Japanese admit to being perverts and ‘bad men’ because there isn’t a huge stigma against it and most just don’t care. Some just start younger than others.

After much pelvis thrusting harassment Great Japanese Pervert asks me, “How do you say ‘great Japanese pervert’ in English?” I was in no mood yesterday to feign ignorance and have to endure his shenanigans. I told him. GJP is thrilled to hear his title spoken in English and he practices, “great Japanese pervert” several times to get it just right.

Next GJP asks me to translate testicles. I oblige by saying, “balls.” Ball in Japanese is the same as in English, i.e. soccer ball = saaka baaru. GJP and many other boys nearby find this absolutely hilarious and scream, “baaru baaru” while grabbing their crotches.

Now GJP goes on to proclaim himself perverted in English as well as in Japanese. “I am the Great Japanese Pervert! I have big balls!” (*English in Italics ) Pointing to random boys, GJP sentences them, “YOU have small balls!” YOU have small balls!” Then shoving a finger in Tiny Japanese Pervert’s face, “YOU have VERY small balls!” TJP takes a few swipes at GJP but he dodges easily. In full form GJP bounces about handing down several more small balls decrees.

GJP snatches two rubber basketballs from the back of the room and places them in front of his crotch screaming, “I AM THE GREAT JAPANESE PERVERT. I HAVE BIG BALLS! TJP sees an opening and strikes, punching GJP’s left rubber ball with all his miniature might. GJP crumples like an origami swan in a typhoon. TJP tries to steal the basketballs out from under GJP limp grip, but he will not part with his treasured orbs without a fight. Finally TJP extricates the balls and triumphantly declares, “I am the Great Japanese Pervert I have big balls.”

The short-lived reign of the Great Japanese Pervert is over; long live the Great Japanese Pervert.

I usually don’t slip this badly, but I'm not upset about teaching these children dirty English either. The homeroom teacher was laughing his ass off all the way through Great Japanese Pervert #1’s antics and the bastard boys are always grabbing each other’s balls anyway. No matter what language one uses these kids are perverts.

Korea \ ^_^ /

South Korea is the forgotten country that most western travelers only journey to after Japan and China. During our six-day spring vacation in Seoul Kim and I didn’t see one tourist younger than us. Seoul reminds me of a gritty Tokyo five years in the past but with a vibrant energy of its own. My original perception of Koreans was that they are very similar to the Japanese. This was of course before our trip. In Korea the food, the people, and the culture are all unique and a refreshing change from living in Japan.

One of the first things I noticed is that Koreans are BIG. A lot of younger men were my height or taller and most women towered over poor Kim who at 5’3” it turns out is on the runty side for being Korean. Maybe it’s all the meat in their diet, but it’s inspirational to see that Korean women aren’t striving to become emaciated walking sticks like their female counterparts in Tokyo.

Koreans aren’t afraid to show their emotions. I was witness to a least half a dozen screaming matches by irate customers and quarreling couples and was rudely shoved several times on the subway. On the flip side many Koreans I met had eager smiles and an easy laugh.

In Japan I get stared at a lot, in Korea not so much. The one who got stared at ALL THE TIME was Kim. Creepy men would leer and do double and triple takes at Kim throughout our trip. Maybe it’s because she is with a white man or she is speaking fluent English or because she is beautiful? Probably all three. In Korea the unabashed oglers did not look away when stared back at but instead fixed their unyielding gazes until I (or Kim) was the one who had to look away.

Living in Japan I’ve gotten used to minimalist portions of food delicately seasoned and prepared, a feast for the eyes and the stomach so they say. Korean cuisine is the opposite. The food is so damn spicy it makes my eyes water just looking at it. Along with a main dish one is always served between 3 and 30 side dishes such as kimchi. This wasteful practice of extra side dishes surprised me at first but by the end of our trip if we didn’t get at least eight side dishes with our meal I was disappointed.


I can always tell I'm in a Japanese tourist area because they are clean, expensive and the Korean staff all speak Japanese. Since I only learned a handful of useful Korean expressions before our trip I ended up conversing with many Korean store employees in Japanese. Kim and I went to a spa where all the foreign customers were Japanese. Hocking extra services, the Korean attendant spoke to me in broken English but out of habit quickly switched to Japanese. For some reason he was shocked to hear me talk back in Japanese.

Attendant: “Oh you speak Japanese?”
Me: “Well you spoke to me in Japanese…”
Attendant: “But you said you are an American.”
Me: “Yes, but I live in Japan.”
Attendant: “Oh your wife is Japanese.”
Me: “No she’s Korean.”
Attendant: “Your wife speaks Korean then."
Me: “Uhhh no she speaks Spanish.”

The confused as hell attendant gave up after that but I let him talk me into a conciliatory foot scrub. Apparently the Korean spas are known for their vigorous scrubbing and roughly sloughing off dead skin. This information would have been great to know BEFORE a wiry old Korean man made me his bitch and took to me like a brillo pad takes to a greasy lasagna pan. My whole body is smooth as silk now… but I don’t know if I’d ever do it again.

During a rainy morning Kim and I visited the nicest and most expensive gift store in Seoul crowded by Japanese bargain shoppers. Two female Japanese tourists surprised by the rain exclaimed:

J-Tourist 1: “Ame ga furu? Waaa ame ame ne”
J-Tourist 2: “Ame? Ame ne. Sugoi ame neeee!
J-Tourist 1: “Ehhh sugoi ame.

After the Japanese headed off to another section of trinkets two Korean employees mocked the Japanese by mimicking their tendency to repeat the same word over and over again.

K-Employee 1: Ame? Ame ne! Sugoi ame ne!
K-Employee 2: Ame ame ame ame ame.

The Korean employees clucked and giggled to themselves until they had to regain composure as more Japanese women strolled by their stall of handcrafted bric-a-brac. I overheard a couple other instances of Koreans aping the Japanese “kawaii” and “sugoi” over and over as well but these aren’t nearly as hilarious to me as the ‘ame’ incident.

Koreans love Starcraft. I remember playing the computer game 10 years ago in high school and then moving on to bigger and better things like Sega Dreamcast. In Korea Starcraft isn’t so much a computer game as it is a national obsession. There are PC Bangs on every block where nerds line up to play Starcraft and Korea’s other super popular game Lineage.

I saw a guy on the subway playing Starcraft as a handheld video game. I thought, “Hey that’s neat!” and took a closer look. Upon closer inspection I noticed the protruding t.v. antenna and his passive fingers on the buttons of his phone that I thought was a video game. Wait a minute… this guy isn’t playing Starcraft he is watching Starcraft on television. What… the… hell?

Not one, not two, but THREE television stations air professional Starcraft tournaments daily. At any time on Korean television there is somebody playing Starcraft. Multiple announcers give the play by play as the serious gamers wildly click around the screen trying to best their opponent. Koreans love Starcraft so much they even named a van after it!*


*Okay, I know this a real car brand in America but I think it’s funny that I saw it in Korea.

Kim and I stayed at the Holiday In while in Korea. Not to be confused with the American motel chain Holiday Inn. What does that extra ‘n’ entitle guests to? A hell of a lot seeing as our room was more of a dank receptacle for our luggage then anything else. This was fine though since we prioritized our spending on lavish meals with way too many side dishes and seeing famous sites in Seoul instead of watching professional gamers playing Starcraft on t.v. or seeing the growing mold creep around the corner of the ceiling.

The largest bill Korea is the 10,000 won. This seemed impressive to me until I realized that this amounts to only 10 USD. Since I paid for the entire trip in cash I ended up with a FAT ass wad of bills bulging out of my pocket. Damn I felt like a rich player for a while flashing my 10,000 wons all over the place. Every time I whipped out my obese billfold stuffed with sweet sweet won the storekeepers would size me up and treat me like a rich Japanese tourist minus the barley hidden enmity.

This is a picture of a traditional Korean farmer performing traditional Korean break dancing.


We went to the Korean War museum; holy crap it’s enormous! It would take about two hours to walk through without stopping to look at anything. There are over a hundred military vehicles littered outside the museum grounds including a B52 bomber. The museum tour starts out with flints and arrowheads and ends with modern and future weapons of mass destruction.

The overly informative museum exhibits elaborate dioramas depicting battlefields throughout Korean history. World War II and the Japanese occupation are strangely absent however. The museum is stuffed with an army of creepy mannequins enduring eternal pain in dioramas and other displays. Koreans really like their creepy mannequins because they were at every historical building we visited in Korea.

After going though the museum I felt like I wanted to go to war! Maybe that’s why half the patrons there were uniformed Korean army soldiers whooping it up at every bloody interactive diorama.

From what I saw and heard Korean English is much better then Japanese Engrish. While the Japanese tend to have strange slogans and spelling mistakes the only weird and wonderful English I saw were unfortunate names of structures such as ‘Ho Suck Building’ and ‘Young Dong Training Center.’


South Korea is a great country, too many motorcycles driving on the sidewalk for my taste, but still a great country. I am glad to be back ‘home’ in Japan where people are more reserved and I don’t have to haggle for prices. Would I go back? Maybe some day when I have an unquenchable appetite for fermented vegetables and spicy grilled beef or I’m invited to a Starcraft II tournament with a one million won grand prize. Until then I’ll content myself with memories and photographs and knowing that I’m taking home the best thing that was ever made in Korea as a forever souvenir. \ ^_^ /

Graduation Sensation

The Japanese love ceremonies. There is a ceremony for graduation, an opening ceremony at the beginning of the school year, a ceremony for the start of each new semester, a closing ceremony for each semester and a ceremony at the beginning of each festival and event.

I went to Rural School #1’s graduation ceremony this year. Not my first choice, except I didn’t have a choice since I was scheduled there by the Board of Education. Hell I’m just happy I didn’t have to go to The Ghost School. First the students file in, a few somber songs are sung, then the principal gives a long winded speech. Not to be outdone the vice principal then gives his oration to the crowd and so on and so on and so on. After the 20^th PTA member’s speech the 6^th graders finally receive their diplomas.

The most boring offender was the third principal who rambled on monotonously for twenty minutes. I was shocked to see the principal nodding off in the middle of the speech. I look around and several people have their eyes closed and heads back. I’m told later that this is acceptable because the listener is concentrating/meditating not sleeping. That’s great, but I really don’t think the principal was concentrating too hard with this neck slumped back and I could have sworn he was snoring a little. Well the man is in his mid seventies so I give him credit for staying awake as long as he did.

Only 45 graduating 6^th graders were at the ceremony but the resourceful Japanese managed to stretch it out for 6 ½ hours. Luckily there were breaks in between for pictures and a meal before more speeches, skits, a video and plenty more pomp and ceremony.

Even I gave an impromptu speech for a few minutes. Using stock phrases of encouragement mixed with some simple English I thanked everyone and asked them to do their best next year as well.

Some people hold a stereotype about the Japanese that they don’t show their emotions. Well these people have never been to a Japanese graduation ceremony. Students, parents and teachers bawled their eyes out continuously throughout the day. At Kim’s junior high school everyone cried as well.

I was swept away by the tide of emotion as well when I was presented with flowers and thank you letters written by the students. I received the same gifts at a two other schools as well, but receiving them during the graduation ceremony was special.

99% of the letters are in Japanese and say roughly the same thing. They thank me for teaching them and assure me that they DO remember what I taught them and that it was fun. I was happily surprised to find some letters in English.


I’m glad he remembers his ABCs at least.


This boy is so thoughtful. Not only did he write me an awesome thank you letter in English he also took the time to translate the sounds in katakana Japanese script over the words. Just in case I forgot how to read English I guess.

In addition to this near perfect letter the 6^th grade girl who wrote it also asked me to marry her. I turned her and a couple other emotionally sensitive graduating twelve year olds down gently.

Not all of the love confessions I received the last week of school were from girls. My ethnicity, the age difference, the fact that I’m already married and my sexual orientation doesn’t deter these kids so I don’t know what ever will.

I also received some pictures of me in addition to the letters.


With my glasses on I do sort of look like a FABULOUS Harry Potter.


The effeminate man to the left with the white shirt and purple shoes? Yep that’s me.


This is probably the best non-manga looking portrait I could ask for.

There are also a few doodles of me with some exaggerated body parts I chose out of good taste not to add.

Now Kim and I have nearly two weeks off until the beginning of the school year. Plenty of time to sit under the cherry trees and view the pink blossoms while getting completely shit faced off sake. It’s a Japanese tradition after all right?

I Suffer From Low Expectations

In Japan people are categorized into two groups: Japanese and not Japanese. Since I am a white man with blonde hair and blue eyes who is a head taller than most people it’s obvious to everyone that I fall into the latter category. The Japanese culture and language is very unique and many Japanese people tend to think that it is impossible for foreigners to learn. Because of this I suffer from low expectations.

One word I hear a lot is “joozu” or skillful/good at. Anything remotely Japanese I do is followed up by clamors of, “Joozu! Joozu!” by astonished Japanese onlookers. People that have known me awhile aren’t surprised to see me eating mochi or talk about my weekend in Japanese, it’s the newcomers that are floored by the startling realization that a gaijin can do these exclusively Japanese activities.

The worst offenders are the ones who continue with condescending joozus over and over making me feel like an infant or well trained animal mimicking their Japanese. Now whenever these offenders use any English or have any knowledge of western culture I counter with, “Joozu! Joozu! Wow your English is so good! I can’t believe you know that! How long did you study English in America?” Embarrassed, the offenders usually stop their condescending remarks.

Japanese coworkers, students and friends alike love playing the game, ‘Can you eat…?’ I get asked, “Can you eat… tempura?” Yes. “Wahhh Joozu!” “Can you eat…sushi?” Yes. “Waaaaahhh! Hontoni? Joozuuuu!” Can you eat… natto?” Ummm no. “Ahhhhhh sodesune.” I find fermented soybeans in fungus pungent and disgusting so no, I cannot eat natto. The Japanese think every answer, yes or no, is hilarious, especially natto.

I still eat school lunch with the kids every day. When I get an older female teacher I’ve come to expect heaped on piles of joozus for every thing I do. The kids don’t think it is out of the ordinary that I can eat fish or miso soup and use chopsticks, which just makes the teachers want to point out just how goddamned joozu it is even more. These teachers have a hard wired mindset that gaijin can’t do anything Japanese.

A few weeks ago I was eating lunch in a 1^st grade class with an elderly teacher and I saw the joozu twinkle in her eye as she spied me using chopsticks. She yells at the kids to all stop eating and marvel at this miracle gaijin. Quoting her, “Gaijin can only use forks knives and spoons but never chopsticks. Everyone watch Michael-sensei use chopsticks. Isn’t it amazing how joozu he is?” The 1^st graders aping their teacher commenced with the joozus. I rebuffed by stating that there are many Chinese and Japanese restaurants in America and many Americans can use chopsticks. The elderly teacher acted like she didn’t hear me and went on proclaiming how joozu I am.

Ms. S is a nice teacher at Big Rice Field. Whenever I’m reading, writing or studying she is looking over my shoulder and asks what I’m doing. Most Japanese tend to do the over the shoulder look which in America is considered rude but in Japan it’s normal. Ms. S is particularly nosy. I was writing a thank you letter in Japanese to a teacher that invited Kim and I over his house for a night of sukiyaki and heavy drinking. Before I’m able to cover the letter up Ms. S has hunkered down over my shoulder. When I react by turning around she deftly plucks the letter from the desk and reads it.

Ms. S: *gasp* “What’s this… WHO WROTE THIS LETTER? WHO… WROTE… THIS… LET…TER!?”
Me: “Me?”
Ms. S: *squeals* “JOOZUUUUUUUUUUU!”

Of course everyone else in the room wants to know what the fuss is about and Ms. S is all to happy to share the joozu gold with others. Any denials of being joozu just means I am joozu AND modest which just makes me even more Japanese and joozu.

It’s not just teachers at The Ghost School who refuse to acknowledge that I know any Japanese, it’s the Japanese public. I do not speak fluently. I make mistakes and my accent is only decent. Often times I’ll say something in Japanese and get the dumbstruck doggy look. This is the look when a Japanese person stares at me blankly then tilts their head to one side and utters something akin to, “Aruu?” Repeating what I said or saying something else in Japanese that is very simple and I KNOW should be intelligible doesn’t help. They see my white face and hear me speaking Japanese and they cannot comprehend the two together, thus the dumbstruck doggy look. Friends and coworkers that I speak to often can understand me perfectly even with much more complicated Japanese conversations so it’s really frustrating to say something correctly and still get, “Aruu?” as a response.

Every time I ask for directions in Japanese the person responds in English even when I say Japanese is okay. 90% of the time the speaker will give up using their halting English halfway through and finish in extremely rapid Japanese.

When some Japanese people see me they get very excited to use the half dozen English words they’ve retained through their 8+ years of English education. The first few months I was in Japan I obliged everyone I met and talked to them and gave them some pointers. After awhile I got fed up with giving free English lessons. At school speaking English is my job, but in public I should be using Japanese.

My rule now is if I can speak better Japanese then they can speak English I’m only using Japanese. However, if their English is better than my Japanese then we can speak English. Three times I’ve told persistent strangers hocking for a free English lesson that I’m German and can’t speak English. Too bad I can’t use this excuse more often because I’m usually with Kim and we are speaking English. It works really well. Twice the strangers walked away embarrassed and the other time I had an interesting conversation in Japanese.

Kim has the opposite problem. Everyone thinks she speaks Japanese because she’s Asian. The look of shock and disappointment on their faces after she speaks a few words of Japanese in an American accent or uses English is hilarious to me, but annoys her. Reversely she finds the doggy dumbstruck look funny while it bugs the hell out of me.

When Kim and I are at a restaurant I’ll order our food and afterwards the waitress will stop and stare at Kim for confirmation. After a few seconds go by and Kim doesn’t say anything the waitress glances back at me then back to Kim, nodding impatiently. Kim will either nod back or if annoyed say, “What?” or “Yes?” in English. A look of realization sweeps over the waitress' face as she reads back our order to us and scurries off. If she understood me enough to get the order right why does she need a Japanese looking person’s confirmation? This happens almost every time.

Living in a foreign country one can’t just learn the language through osmosis. (That would be awesome though.) There are frustrating obstacles to learning already but when so many people refuse to acknowledge that I can speak or become doggy dumbstruck by my white face coupled with Japanese words the frustration is compounded. I’ll always be in the ‘not Japanese’ category which means I’ll always suffer from low expectations. I’m not giving up though! Every Japanese person I meet and am able to talk to even a little bit is a personal victory for me.