In September, I wrote about going to some crazy party up in the mountains at Kawasaki's house. We went back again, and this time it was even crazier.

Tim, Ivy, Hanako, Kawasaki-san, Diana and Hugh on the morning after.

Outside, it was a full snowstorm. It was so heavy that three other friends drove up an hour after we did, and they wussed out after 10 minutes. The snow was falling like a curtain... which happens to be falling, for some reason. maybe someone dropped it...
Anyway, the snow: It was soft fresh snow, the first of the season. Driving up was as beautiful as it was dangerous, as it was worth it. It was a real shame that the other three couldn't make it. Kawasaki-san really knows how to throw a party. He should, as he has about 15 every month.

This was an end of year party for some ALTs, and Kawasaki's own band. Yes, in the small mountain village of Toga, he assembled a complete band. We arrived early, and helped him move 2 large amplifiers into his 150 year old house. But first we ate. It wasn't a meal so much as a feast. And alcohol was flowing. After dinner the band got up to play, using up almost half the people there. It was an intimate audience, but these guys could seriously be playing for much larger audiences. Sure, they live in the mountains, but damn they could play. It was a drummer (on a drum that looks like a speaker), a bass player, rhythm guitar, solo guitar, a percussionist (who was awesome), and Kawasaki-san jumped in on the saxaphone. It was classic old-time rock n roll. Really good fun music played by very skilled musicians, with lots of solo's thrown in. They played for a good hour, and took a break. Some of them sat down on the couches and called me over.

"Ruben", they said, "come play a song for us". I don't know how they got the crazy idea that I played the guitar. Maybe it was one of my friends who spilt the beans. Maybe it was the fact that I brought my own guitar to the party. But after watching these old guys completely dominate their instruments, I was not keen on playing for them. The truth is, I have casually played for about 3 years now. However, I am merely a campfire player. I can mash out a few chords and sing some songs. I absolutely love it. There is nothing like playing and singing a good song in its entirety. I've even played for some larger audiences, which was pretty amazing. For those who aren't lucky enough to play an instrument, imagine listening to your favourite song on huge headphones, with your eyes closed. This feeling doesn't even come close to playing it yourself. I used to listen to this radio show every week called the "Woodsongs Old Time Radio Hour". Yeah, it tended to be a little bit white-trash sometimes, but they had great guests who were always incredible musicians. At the end, the host would always end the show by saying something like this:

"Music has been part of human culture and life for thousands of years. It has only been a profession for a tiny fraction of that. We can't all be professional musicians, and that's okay. As long as you can play your 3 chords and love doing it, that's all that matters. Play for your friends. Play for your family and your children. Pick up your guitar or other instrument and just play."

It is so beautifully put, but it is so difficult in practice. Here I was, sitting on the couch, holding a guitar while a roomful of people, most of whom were very skilled musicians, were watching me. I was put on the spot. My mind was blank. What could I possibly play that sounds good, after what we had just heard. Then suddenly, a vision appeared to me. It was Bob Marley.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4dvJArFwDo&feature=related

I first listened to Stir it Up when I was very little. One of my brother's first CDs was an early Bob Marley CD, One Love. This was before the days of highly retouched, flawless CDs. I really loved this album, and this one song stopped me every time. It was so perfect, so beautiful. I didn't even know exactly what he was saying. I used to have a cassette tape, on which I put about 6 songs that I could listen to over and over again and never tire of. Stir it Up was the very first track. I remember often biking to my friends house while listening to Stir it Up, knowing full well that this was extremely unsafe, and thinking that it wouldn't be such a bad way to go. Over the years I have loved so many other songs, but every time I hear Stir it Up again, everything in this world seems right again. When the retouched Bob Marley album came out, this song was exactly the same.

When I was still learning to play guitar, I came across the chords for it. I couldn't believe how A D Easy it was. 3 chords. And it sounded so good. It is so simple, but I made it sound really good. Now I know that it was the song that made me sound good. It is such a good song that it can withstand being played poorly.

So, I looked over to the bass player sitting next to me, and the electric guitar solo guy next to him. They were watching me intently so they could join in. And I started playing. The bass kicked in, the drummer started up and a lot of others grabbed some bongos that were lying around. The solo guitarist began filling in the gaps. I kept playing A D E. Someone noticed I was playing without a pick, and gave me one. I would have played until I had a bloody stump. We kept playing the song for 10 minutes, 15 minutes, maybe more. It was absolutely epic. I sang some verses, and other people sang them again. At one stage, the percussionist guy freestyled a verse, using only the word "snow". I have never played music with other people before, and here I was playing my absolute favourite song in the world with a bunch of very good musicians, and some of my best friends. Sure, I have sometimes played songs for other people, but nothing even close to this. It was incredible. From now on I really want to learn to play more than my three chords, but in the meantime I will play those three chords any opportunity I get, and love every moment of it.

Merry Chirstmas everyone!

I'm somewhat of a closet hip-hop fan, and so when I heard that an American rapper called Steph pockets was playing in nearby Kanazawa, I sacrificed my last proper basketball training or a night of drinking (it required driving going to Kanazaa. More than I anticipated, as it turns out).

I went with Ivy, and with her laid backness and my inability to make a decision, it turned out to be very interesting even before we arrived. See, we checked on the on-line map for directions, and it seemed simple enough. Of course, this should have been a huge warning. I believe that Japan is the most mis-directed country in the world. They have worst map-makers in the world. Most maps in Japan contain large cartoon characters, and there is no such thing as scale. Before I got to Japan, I was sent a map of Tonami. Going by that map, I thought my school was walking distance from town, and there were tulips the size of sports stadiums all over town. I have a theory that the 400 years of national isolation has a lot to do with this. Direction isn't important if you have nowhere to go. Even now, Japanese people hardly travel around the world, and if they do, they simply follow a neatly dressed girl holding a flag. Japanese people therefore have an awful sense of mis-direction.

I set out to Kanazawa before 9am, and we arrived in the general vicinity of the venue at 10. We had no idea where exactly the venue was. "Let's ask at the convenience store". What followed was a mystery treasure hunt, only without any accurate clues. The first convenience store hadn't heard of the venue, but they tried looking it up on a computer. They had no idea. I think they were just too ashamed to say they didn't know, so started punching things in on the contertop computer. When it comes to directions, even a Japanese guy is still a guy.

The next 4 convenience stores brought up the same results. One guy I asked replied "eeto", which translates roughly to "I haven't the slightest clue, but I will go out of my way to the extent of self-torture to keep you standing right there as I fail to find out the answer to whatever you just asked me". In an act of kindness, I rudely took leave.

We had a friend email this internet map to my telephone, and I asked another convenince store dude. He studied the image closely, ran out the back of the store with a map and some coins, and made me a photocopy. I actually think he used his own money. So he drew a bunch of lines on the new photocopied map, and explained it in excruciating detail. By now it was after 11PM. I thanked the guy, and we drove away again. With the help of his kindly act, we drove around the same block for another hour.We were driving in exactly the place where the arrow told us to go, and it was on the other map too. I suppose getting lost in Japan isn't only the Japanese's fault. They should blame whoever planned the cities and built the roads. Streets aren't named, they never run parallel, they suddenly stop or turn into a highway. At one stage of circular driving frustration, I said "I'm sure Hiroshima is easy to navigate". Yeah. It was futile. It was already 12PM, and we had ran out of ideas to find this place.

That's when Ivy made a huge discovery. We weren"t supposed to go to the arrow at all. That was just a "general direction" gist of an arrow. Look closely and you will see a B. That was the real destination. Japan can hardly be called a nation of cartographers.

Luckily, the event only really started at 12:30. Being sober driver, I was able to make many observations.The following is the description of all the main acts.

1. Some crazy DJ's.
I don't know if they have a performing name. There is a line in a Fugees song that goes :"Too many M.C.'s, not enough mics". This is exactly how I felt about this DJ act. Sure they were good enough, but was it really neccessary to have 6 DJs scratching in synch?

2. "Nacky".
She was incredibly pretty, and prettied up, which made up for her unfortunate performing name. She had a DJ playing sparse tunes, over which she sang very good average generic poppy Japanese RnB.

3. "Miss-art".
I can say with absolute certainty that she was wearing a hat. She obviously devoted herself to voice training as religiously as straightening her hair. What a great voice. However, for her last number, she tried singing an English song. She may as well have been humming, because Ivy and I understood as little as everyone else.

4. "The Switch-Blacks.
This was a very talented rapper, all rolled up into just 6 people. They also had a few back-up dancers, who didn"t dance, so much as making silly shapes with their hands.

5. Intermission. The screensaver on the projected at the back displayed the word "bathroom", while they played boring elevator music for a long time.

6.Shiva.
This was a very talented 6 piece hiphop band. They began their show with 25 minutes of someone trying out different ring-tones. These guys were in no rush to start playing any real music. But once they did, they were pretty good.

7. Steph Pockets.
Her DJ came out first; a huge black guy and started yelling out: "Steph Pockets in the house! Everybody say 'Steph Pockets!'"
"Steph Pockets", Ivy and I replied.
See, of the several hundred (I'm not good at estimation amounts of people), we were the only foriegners there, and the crowd was so passive. Ivy and I were like plain-clothes ALTs, trying to lead by example. This is surprising because usually Japanese music fans are said to be really good. The DJ kept at it, and eventually after much repetition, the noise level was sufficient for her to come out.

My god, I hardly even saw her, she's so short. She was great though, despite the numb crowd. After the 3rd song, she laughed to herself: "Kanazawa, you're pretty dead tonight, huh?". It was rough, but she powered on. It's a shame that her lyrics are good, because they were lost on the crowd. One line was noteworthy though: "from here to Japan".

A few members of the crowd did shout out a few words of encouragement to her. It was one of 3 things:
1. "Kawaii!". This is basically saying "you are cute!!". Not really a bad thing, but maybe strange to say to a rapper, no?
2. "I love you!" (in a heavy Japanese accent). Now, that is something you would yell out at a concert.
3. "Long hair!". Now, this was simply embarrassing to me. Yes, she has dreadlocks down to the floor (not really that long then...), but what, is this comment supposed to be a compliment, a question, or just a extremely obvious obvservation?

So she finished her last song, and the crowd of people was deathly silent. Now, this would be a good moment to ask for one last song. Bravely, Ivy called out "Encore", and then tried a few more times in katakana English.
"On-ko-re! On-ko-re".
We got a few people to join in, and Steph Pockets, who was obviously planning to sing the encore anyway, came out and did one last number. It was rough for her, but Ivy and I had to work hard too. By now it was well after 3PM, and I started on the long drive home. Unfortunately, I did not get lost, so it is not worth writing about.

Ruben out Japanland
Korea, Part II: eating.

Ruben out Japanland, Seoul 2007, Part 1: Travel

Takarazuka

My brother happens to to live in a town in Kansai called "Takarazuka". When I tell people this, they will inevitably ask me: "have you seen a play?" Takarazuka theatre is very famous within Japan. Basically, it is an extravagant style of musical where all of the actors are women. They are trained from their teens in singing, dancing, and acting like men.

Of course I haven't gone to see a play there.

Although my brother lives so close, he has never gone to see a play, and he intends it on staying that way. Still, I was prone to go and see one, even if only to be able to dismiss that annoying question with an affirmative answer.

An American also living in Toyama turned out to be a big Takarazuka theatre fan. Despite this, we became friends. You see, Takarazuka fans generally are... well , I don't know how to describe them. I've seen them before, lining up outside the theatre wearing actor-sponsored apparel in any weather, just to catch glimpses of the actors coming or leaving the theatre.

This weekend, my friend came down to Kansai for the weekend to watch three of these plays, and I was in Kansai to get drunk. I came up with the brilliant idea of combining a hangover with watching a play. I had to wake up at 7:30 so we could line up for an hour to get tickets. It was lucky we did, as we only just got seats, right at the back of the theatre. My friend came prepared, bringing a pair of binoculars. I prepared by drinking a can of coffee.

The whole theatre complex was immense. In Japan there is a romantic fascination with Europe, and especially France. This theatre was a disneyland version of a French avenue. Garish pink lamposts, sift/souvinir shops with European storefronts, and signs written in flowery French. The shops provised much entertainment with its ingenious marketing of crap. Most had displayed the heavily made up faces of the actresses. The european fascination extends to the make-up, as the Japanese actresses actually have nose-bridges.

I still don't understand this. You know, I have recieved compliments about the bridge of my nose, in a tone usually reserved when you ask someone if they've lost weight. So the faces of these heavily made up actresses is disturbing. They don't look female, but they dont look quite male either; they don't look Japanese, and you can't simply bridge a nose and expect to look caucasian. It's eeire, and almost disturbing. They sit suspended somewhere beyond definition.

In fact, the whole performance was beyond definition. The huge theatre was packed out with 95% women. There was a giant moving stage, holes in the floor where characters would appear and dissappear, stage sets that floated into place, hoardes of relentless backup dancers, and a flawless orchetra. The show began, and when the main actresses appeared they were greeted with applause. Although, it wasn't applause like I have ever seen it. It was concise applause, exectued with precision. To be polite, I tried clapping too, but by the time I started, the applause had already finished. Basically, the whole theatre was a well-practiced, seamless machine, from the actors to the spectators.

The play I watched was called "El Halcon" (The falcon, エル・アルコン). It was about Spanish and British sailors and pirates and stuff... It was bizzare trying to figure out who was who, who was good and bad, and even who was male and female. If you have ever watched a Hollywood movie in Japanese voice-over, you'll be aware that all males are voice-acted by the same guy, doing the same voice. I could not distinguish Eddie Murphy from Gene Hackman. I believe this same guy teaches the acrtresses to speak like men. And I was so far away, I couldn't often tell who was speaking.

Also, Takarazuka theatre is known for the extravagant costumes, even in period dramas. Colours and glitters and even feathers. I manage to figure out a fail-proof system for sexing the actresses:
Pants = Male character.

Things became simpler once I figured that out. The story line of deceit and treachery was well above my Japanese ability, especially when they have most of their lines in song and dance. There was a lot of fighting, but it was odd seeing women acting out swordplay (the only real aspect that seemed to be rather half-assed). I don't know, it just felt that was noteworthy... But I did follow the love story that developed. The main character, Captain Tyrian Persimmon, fell in love with Gilda Lavanne- the brave woman pirate born from noble French stock. At one point Captian Tyrian grabbed her by the shoulders and told her to undress. She tore the top of the dress open (she was still decent underneath. No Janet Jackson action here) "you fancy such a scarred body as mine?" she laughed. They said some more stuff, very intimately, and the scene ended with the two of them on the bed, appearing to be making out. I wasn't quite sure, as we were in the cheap seats, and I had no binoculars.

But this brought up a very real moral dillemma: Should I be turned on? I mean, on the one hand, it was a Captain having his way with a proper lady which we all have become immune to since Disney's Beauty and the Beast. But on the other hand it was two women. It was almost like the movie Boys Don't Cry. But the thing is, even the actresses who play male characters are flawlessly beautiful. The Takarazu theatre takes in thousands of applications every year from girls aged 15-18 and only 50 of the best dancers, singers and lookers are chosen. There is a lot of talent here. They are trained very strictly, in disciplines of dance, song, acting, and- I like to imagine- pillowfighting. And any other spare time must be spent at beauty parlours. So basically, would it be wrong to be turned on? I finally decided there wasn't any reason why not. But then the lights dimmed. These actresses have restraint.

The play finished in dramatic style. They did a great job acting out a multiple-ship battle on one stage. As soon as the applause stopped, hundreds of women ran out of the theatre. "Those crazy fans" I thought. But no, they were running to get first in line for the toilets. This was the halftime pause. It was a long performance. Amazingly, the seat infront of me was ocupied by a male. The sillhouette of his head was at such an angle that he was obviously asleep.

The 2nd half of the show was a revue, which was basically over an hour of song and dance numbers. Tango's and tap, ballet and a lot of partner dancing. As well as they were dancing the male parts, you can't expect to simply wear a tuxedo and pass as a guy. Which was cool, because I'd rather watch chicks dancing together. There was a big Can Can, and the the finale showcased the main actresses coming down the giant staircase wearing feathers that were so big they had to have come from the dinosaurs. (high-lighter-coloured dinosaurs, obviously). The final applause was sustained. This time I was able to join in. The dancers deserved this; they really worked for it.

I walked out of the theatre as if I'd just walked in on a childbirth. I was almost shell-shocked from all the song and dance and colours. There is probably nothing outside of Vegas that could prepare you for this. My friend really enjoyed it, and asked what I thought. It was too soon.

When I got home to my brothers place, and he said "How was it?", in that knowing older-brother tone.

"It was good", I replied.
I think I was more surprised than him at the reply. But it really was. I mean, sure it's eerie with the blurring of gender roles, and the over-the-top spectacle of it all was sensory overload. But no amount of feathers, glitter or fake nose-bridges can mask the fact that these performers are good. Really good. I sometimes see the actors on the trains, and they have this unnmistakeable authority about them. It's not the boys haircuts or enormous glasses that gives them away. They move with so much confidence. They stand with so much confidence. They simply exist with so much confidence. And not the kind of arrogant western confidence that we now expect starts to have.

Even someone like me, who can't go to a club-night without hurting myself or others (usually others), their talent is so obvious. For someone who played and sang a 4 -chord ukulele song at the school festival 3 weeks ago for hundreds of people, they humble me. The main character (playing the Captain) was apparently a Soprano earlier in her career. In this age of such superficial stardom, seeing these real, talented, throwback performers in a big-scale show was great. The question seems to be, would you rather your daughter have a poster in their bedroom of one of the unplace-able Takarazuka actresses, or a conventional celebrity?

They haven't created a new fan out of me, but I admit it really was a great show, and it seems to be getting better the more I think about it. And you cannot complain about ticket prices. Our seats for the play and the revue cost only slightly more than going to the cinema, and all they do there is push the play button. Would I go to another show? Probably, but I would like to know the story well, so I don't get as lost, and I would pay more to get a better seat (I still figure that'd be cheaper option than buying binoculars. But really, it was good beyond simply crossing it off the list of 'things to do before I die'. And finally I have a different answer to that annoying persistent question.

I'm often asked why I like Japan. I don't really have an answer. A lot of foreigners here love anime, or karate, or one of the other "refined arts of Japan", or they are business oriented people and see Japan as a great opportunity. I don't have any of these answers. I normally just answer "なんとなく"　（because）. It usually gets a polite giggle, and everyone forgets about it.

The thing is, as much as love Japan, I can hate it so much sometimes. The countryside, the boring job, and the general indifference of Japanese people which often comes off as arrogant, daft, or just plain stupid. There is a limit for most foreign people of how much Japan they can take at a time, and if there isn't they are probably insane. My limit seems to be set at about 6 months. In September I began going crazy at the realisation there was a whole school year before my contract ends. I needed to get out again.

This is Ruben out Japanland.


I will post something every week about my trip to Korea on this weblog address:
http://rubenoutjapanland.blogspot.com/

Getting involved!

Living in rural Japan as a JET, one needs to be proactive to be sociable. It’s rare to have a colleague of a similar age, and if there is, they will probably so concerned with trying to act professional that they will practically ignore you. So, the work environment is far from a safe bet to make friends. Of course, I have lamented about the (increasing) lack of bars in the area. Neighbours not only ignore, but they seem to actively evade any interaction. The “answer” is always touted to be co-curricular. “Join a club! Start a language exchange! Get active in the community!”, they will say with exclamation marks.

I am lucky. I have been blessed with good basketball coaches all my life, and Tonami city is known for being a basketball city. I quickly joined the city basketball team in the hope to not only play basketball, but to be social and interact with the local inhabitants of this strange land.

It never really worked out. I’ve been drinking with them 5 times; Two times after losing an important tournament, one time after winning one and one wedding after-party. I don’t want to speculate why this is. They are generally cool guys, under 30 and live nearby. It just never worked out that way.

The wedding party was only one month after I joined the team, and it was a lot of fun. I was hoping then, that this Saturday night- my Captain’s wedding party- would be even better. I’d joined a club, and this night I was hoping to “start a language exchange!” and “get active in the community!”…

I wasn’t going to take it to the level of “Wedding crashers”, but surely these parties are a great way to meet people. Friends of the bride, friends of the groom, and everyone is friends with the booze. The party was in the distant Toyama city, so half our team was car-pooling there. I waited at the convenience store. I waited long enough to ask the theoretical question of, “how long do you have to wait before you can call someone who is supposed to pick you up but hasn’t yet, and hasn’t tried to make contact?”. Luckily, I didn’t have to answer, getting picked up 25 minutes after the agreed time.

The car was an American car. The steering wheel was on the wrong side. The driver was so bad, the car was often on the wrong side too. We nearly merged into a few other cars (ironically, this would create a car with steering wheels on both sides- i.e. a Driving instructor’s car), and almost reversed into another.

The “fee” for the wedding party was 8000 yen. This is huuuge! Its about one day’s pay for me, and I would earn more than most of my team-mates. But it was for my captain. Besides, only minutes earlier, I thought I was going to die. I needed a drink.

The cheers took a lot longer than I’d hoped. Once it did, I practically breathed beer. There was probably over 80 people present, including the MC, who organised the games. First was a bingo game. It’s amazing how the same game that my elementary students love so much, is also so popular with Japanese adults. I guess it helped that thee prizes included a colour T.V. (do they even ever make black and white ones anymore?), a sweet foldable bicycle, an ipod, digital camera and a trip to Disneyland.

There was good quality food on hand too.

There were some speeches, which were probably not made any more boring that I could hardly understand them.

Then a banner was unfurled. It read: “富山県第1回ローション相撲大会” which means: "lotion sumo tournament". If this was on American television, this could actually be quite awesome. But what girl in Japan would do it? No, instead, 8 guys stripped down and changed into a pair of army-patterned, loose-fitting boxer shorts… in front of everybody. There was still no mingling, as everybody was glued onto the action on the main stage.

The guys were flashing balls, and pulling each other’s boxers down as the MC poured lotion onto the tarped floor. This was not a good start. It was a knockout tournament. There was a lot more flashing. The final round was decided when my vice captain completely removed the loose-fitting boxers of his opponent. Then, in a victory celebration, he removed his own and swung them above his head. Classy. I really needed another drink.

“I’m sorry, the tab has finished”, said the too-cute-to-get-angry-at bar tenderess. What? Surely, for 8000 yen there tab cannot be finished. I wanted to climb over the bar, not only for more beer and to get closer to the bar tenderess, but to avoid the embarrassment that was happening at this party.

Luckily, Japanese parties usually have after parties. I was hoping there that the guys would be more clothed, and the girls would be more close... by.

I watched in dismay as the guys carried the newly weds to next bar in a portable-shrine-like thing, and all the girls disappeared into a different bar. I couldn’t afford to ditch my ride home. I looked around me at the after party. There were 30 people, and only one of them was of the opposite sex (for example: female). She also happened to be the bride. I mailed a friend saying; “it is going to take a Herculean effort to pull tonight, but dammit, I’ll try”.

I used some of my A-game card tricks to get her attention. I asked her if she had a boyfriend. She said no. I’m so smooth.

Then, the boys started doing “feats of drinking”. They were chanting things as one guy tried to drink up a whole jug of beer. Naturally, their drinking prowess was far from impressive. The jug seemed to go around 8 people before it became empty. It was pathetic. In New Zealand I’m considered, frankly, a “lightweight” at drinking. A new jug started going around. 2 guys had their best try at it, and it was still well over half full. By this stage, I was fed up with the night. Out of spite, I made them give me the jug. I wanted to de-emasculate them. This has to be a low-point in my life. I calmly skulled the whole jug, as my team mates chanted “nyuuji” (New Zealand). The next person to try was encouraged by chants of “Nippon” (Japan).

It was an embarrassment, and I’m glad that that beer made me forget most of the rest of the night. But what I want everyone to remember is: Joining a club! Is not then fail-proof way to get involved!

Tonami:
The convenience of the inaka combined with the intimacy of a big city.

I complain often about having been placed in the middle of nowhere. Almost bi-weekly, friends and me lament about this place. The either unbearably hot/ stupidly snowy/ persistently rainy weather, the depressing city layout with no shops worth going to, the lack of people between ages 18 and 35, the huge distances to get to Kansai or Tokyo… the list goes on. Many people then point out that living in the countryside (the inaka) in Japan is a unique experience. The people are friendlier, not so concerned about time, a sense of community.

But this isn’t true either. In fact, there are several smaller towns around Tonami. People from those towns come to Tonami for fun. What this means is, Tonami is neither a “city”, nor is it inaka. There is no sense of community. Just a few days ago, I was walking down main-street, and there were leftover festival decorations. They had a festival without us! Nobody told us. This is not the 1st time. It is the 4th time. Plus a small festival for all the people in the city block I live in.

I haven’t even met my neighbours. Actually, I lie. When I arrived, we met one. He was trying to sell his girlfriend’s car at the same time I needed a car. He said if I bought it, he would shout me to a ramen restaurant. I never ate noodles with him. I live in an apartment building, and I suspect most people are young-ish people with very a very busy job (or two). It certainly isn’t the inaka we are told about Japan where you frequently get given vegetables to take home. (This only happened once when I went on what I thought was kind-of a date, but she brought a chaperone friend along, and we just drove around for a day. At the end of the day, she took me home to meet her mother. Well, maybe I didn’t have a chance with this girl, but I certainly had my chance with the mother. She loved me. I know this because she said, “I love you”… many times. Anyways, she gave me a selection of vegetables including onions, sweet potatoes and potatoes to take home. Jeez that was awkward. I was less sad after that that I wasn’t living in the inaka, if that was the price for vegetables).

So apart from that, I never really felt the sense of small-community that I was expecting when I arrived… until this weekend. A good friend of a bunch of us ALTs came up for the weekend. I live in the “big city” of Tonami, and frankly, I have probably the nicest apartment to host someone, so she stayed at my place. Yes, “she”… (Japanese people will express shock that people of completely different genders- for example male vs. female -can be friends. The experience of going through my photo album from home inevitably involves the Japanese person asking, “is she your girlfriend” about every girl who makes an appearance.) My favourite elementary school happened to have their school festival on the Sunday. I wanted to go along. My students there are 11 or 12, and such cheeky little shites. I love them.

My friend said she wanted to come along. I realised that this would flare up rumours enough to engulf California that I have a girlfriend. But she really wanted to go, and I’m not going to let the threat of a harmless rumour dictate my weekends. Besides, what am I going to say, no?

All my students there went crazy when they saw me with a girl, but we did point out we weren’t a couple. Not that us telling them that we aren’t a couple would make them think something as preposterous that we aren’t a couple. She was great with my students too. It was really quite funny. One student, I’m sure she has a big crush on me. She seemed really down that I was “off the market…” so cute.
I also ran into my ex-vice principal. He is working at another ALTs school now, so I had a very nice talk with him. He’s such a cool guy. I miss having him at my school. I also saw a lot of other people I know: basketball teammates, people from city hall, students from other schools and their parents. It was a fun morning.

Well, the next day, I got a message from that ALT who has my ex-VP.
“I hear you have a girlfriend!” he wrote.

So, it turns out, my cool ex-vice Principal was gossiping about me to another teacher who I haven’t even met, when my friend walked in.

So, I might not be getting vegetables on a regular basis, but at least I have the privilege to be the topic of vocal tabloids across the city. It’s time for another one of those bi-weekly lamentations.

Black Tuesday

The wall street crash of 1929 was a devastating event, which was a cause (or effect) of the great depression. It consists of Black Thursday ( October 24, 1929), the initial crash and Black Tuesday (October 29, 1929), the crash that caused general panic five days later. (thanks Wikipedia).

For anyone who is unlucky enough to know me, this might seem a strange thing for me to be writing about. I hate money. I hate earning it, I hate owing it, I hate spending it, I hate having it. The very thought of money sickens me. I realise that money does make life much simpler. It saves us from having to pay for everything in cattle, produce or daughters.

But then, those were much simpler times. I sometimes wish I were a part of that. You know, I would get paid in cows, and swap it for some vegetables, an apartment, clothes, toilet paper, some drinks at the pub. What a great system.

I wont lie, one of the perks of my job now is the pay. However, the pay has not changed since the Japanese economic bubble. Back in those days, a teaching job in Japan paid better than a New Zealand parliamentarian. The continious slide of the yen makes teaching English here a good option after university, but not a career. Still, I was confident that I could pay off my student loan in a couple of years. Earlier this year, I became a millionaire. That was a great day. That 6th digit made me so proud. It was time to start thinking about sending money back to New Zealand. Especially when the Yen became especially strong against the NZ dollar, at 75 yen to the dollar.

Naturally, I also hate banks. Money lending was a sin in the good old days, and I still think there is some merit in that. Bankers are just glorified office workers trained to empty their cash register to anyone who gives them a little threat while stealing from everyone else. Banks just make everything so unnessecarily difficult. And expensive. One overseas money transfer from Japan is about half a day's pay. So I decided that I would give my mother a dirty pile of cash when she came to Japan. She would then convert it in New Zealand and skip at least one bank.

(oh, so my mother came to Japan. That was great. Hi mother!)

This was my own Black Tuesday. between August and October the rate "recovered", and became even more grim. I lost over half a month's pay in that time. SELL SELL SELL! It was a black day indeed, as the possibility of not being able to repay my loan in this time became a possibility. I mean, everyone hates losing stuff. But you hate it much more when people steal stuff from you. Where did my money go? I'll tell you: Banks and already-rich-people.

I know a lot of you more "economically-minded people" will riddle my argument with holes, but I challenge you: why is it that I could probably bitch-slap you to death with the backs of my hands?

So basically, forget the yen, forget the dollar. Pay me in cattle and your daughters, and I will be much happier.

Biographers Wanted:

I keep a diary. I have for almost 6 years. So long, that I used to be a closet diary writer for fear of persecution from friends. I have not missed out one day in over 4 1/2 years. Some people say this might be excessive, the rest might call me a psycho. It seems to work out for me. There is always the balance of 'doing stuff' vs. 'writing about doing stuff'. Lately, it has been the latter. I'm seriously considering hiring a biographer, on a trial basis at first, naturally. It would save me so much time. This here is a list of things I did in just weekend from friday after school:

basketball practice.
going out on the town- as much as someone can go out in Tonami.
a school festival (not my school).
probably my last beach day this year. A quiet beach in the next prefecture. Swimming and stuff...
a relatively famous festival with semi-traditional dance competition.
going out on the town- as much as someone can go out in Tonami.
playing a basketball game at the opposite side of the prefecture. My 4th quater heriocs saved the game.
driving through the mountains and over frogs to a small mountain village.

It was still only Sunday night. The reason I went to this mountain village was noodles. More on that later. For the time being, we had a party to attend. Deep in the midle of nowhere, there lives a man called Kawasaki. From what I can tell, he is a full-part-time pro-bono party host. His house is a bar. It is decorated with retro posters, trinkets from around the world, delicious food, various musical instruments, and many interesting people. Two of them were semi-professional "shamisen" players. A shamisen is clumsily translated into English as a "Japanese Banjo". This is one more example why I hate translations. People, just take the time out of your lives to learn a new word! The Shamisen is a traditional Japanese stringed intrument, that, despite never being in tune, can make very beautiful music. And these two were incredibly good.

Three more guests were "Chindon", (clumsily: "Japanese street performers who don't really play on streets and usually have crossdressing tendancies"). We actually saw these guys play at the small snow festival, and I really mean it when I say that these guys were truly terrible. A lady on a sax, a guy on small electric guitar and a guy with a portable drum-kit made out of pots and pans and other noisy things. It was hilarious, especially since they were the butt of many jokes I had made since the snow festival. And now we wedre getting a private concert. But in a non-biased way, I honestly think they were very loud.

Kawasaki-san also joined in, busting out some funk on a Bass guitar, and going over to the piano for a very good Jerry Lee Lewis impersonation- assuming Jerry Lee Lewis was Japanese and deaf. I mean, he was very good, but I have never heard somebody hum that loudly. He also taught me some ukulele, and then we all picked up some drums and bongo'd. It was incredible fun. Suddenly the party was over, and we went to bed. A lot of us guests had to get up early to team up with "soba" (Japanese Spaghetti) Masters from all over Japan and make Japanese Spaghetti infront of a large audience and stern judges.

These sort of things, no matter how much free time I get, I could never write about them to do it justice...
But maybe an autobiographer could. Willing applicants will be willing to begin immediately.

The only wood to be found in a Japanese staffroom are pencils, and I never have one handy when I need it. Even so, I should have knocked on wood. With the statement on my last post "I was paying a lot of money to get a less powerful, slower, less cool car with a pathetic sound-system, but which is cheap to own and will not likely give me any more car problems". Within 8 hours of posting that, this is what happened...

I was driving to school, and then, without warning, the gas pedal had nothing behind it. I may as well have been stepping on the cup holder; I was going nowhere. The pope-mobile rolled to a stop on the side of the road, right opposite the giant tulip factory.

I had a feeling I knew what this was about. See, since I got a new car that is supposed to be efficient to drive, I naturally wanted to know just how efficient. That requires an empty tank of petrol to fill up, so for the past week, I was waiting for the 'low petrol' light to go on. It never did, and my car was now stuck on the side of the road. Never before have I hoped that something on my car was broken, as much as I did now. If you've ever seen a movie, or even part of a movie, you will probably be familiar with how a car runs out of petrol. You know, the spluttering, the coughing, a last thrust by the car to no avail as it stops in the middle of a desert.

It bugged me that my situation was nothing like those movies. My car just suddenly decided to not have any thrust, and I came to a stop opposite the tulip factory. And it was raining. Maybe my car was actually broken. The irony and coincidence of 11 months earlier did not escape me. When I bought Kelly, I began driving her on a Friday. The next Friday, the transmission screwed up. This day was also a Friday, exactly one week since I started driving. Furthermore, I was on the same road- mere seconds dive away from where Kelly stopped.

The petrol station was 1.4km walk, which wasn't so bad, and I could take some nice shortcuts though rice fields. I borrowed a can from a confused old mechanic, and bought 7 litres of petrol. (hint to others in the case of having to walk over 1km with a can of petrol: Only buy one or two litres. Trust me). It turns out I was only out of petrol. I guess there is no other way to find out that your 'low petrol' lamp is broken. It was actually the last day of "school holidays" meaning I technically had nothing to do at school anyway. Still, an hour of nothing is better than walking through rice fields in the rain and wind while rediscovering the weight of 7 kilos at the end of your arm.

Apart from that, I'm really starting to warm to my new car. It has air conditioning! The biting heat of summer has mostly gone, now it's just a licking heat. The giant drooling tongue of summer. I'm pretty used to it, but it does suck sweating while driving.. It's like wetting the bed: it's warm and comforting, and feels kindof pleasant but then you realise that you are a 22 year old man, and this cannot go on.

I also figured out I'm saving anywhere between 4 and 5 yen per kilometre I drive! Wow! Incredible. Never have I been so appealing to the opposite sex. On Monday, I saved possibly 300-500 yen. Every week, I teach an English conversation class to some guys from a high-technology medical equipment supply company. It is in Toyama City, which is about an hour by car. The lesson is so lucrative, it is well worth the drive, especially with my recent calculations. It is not technically allowed for ALTs to take other lessons, but it's a loophole that is too tempting for most. Let's just call my payment "travel reimbursement". It is very easy to plan for, and the guys are really cool. They pay me up front at the start of the month. This month, there are only 2 lessons due to public holidays.

Well, i showed up, and soon one of the guys ran inside. He was unusually excited and asked me about a festival. It is one of the top 3 festivals in Japan- I went to it last year and honestly, I did not enjoy it. There was a mass of thousands of old, hat-wearing ladies in a moshpit going up the hill, scuttling and jostling by. I felt violated and abused from the whole experience. Also, it began raining, and I was repeatedly poked in the face by umbrellas. He didn't understand or listen: he wanted to take me there tonight. It became a field trip with 3 of my high-tech medical supply company English conversation class students. One brought his "girlfriend". She seemed a lot more interested in me. She was hanging on every word I said, and laughed at anything amusing, touching me on the forearm or thigh. She was probably in her mid 30's, but obviously took good care of herself. Sure I like the attention- especially when I'm at work, but I didn't want to piss off my student- although I thought this guy was married... Maybe he meant "friend who is a girl". Still, I presumed that I was getting paid for this "lesson", so i tried to use as much English as possible.

It was much better than the year before. Being a Monday, and with the rain making a lot of people stay home, I was able to enjoy this famous festival. One of the guys kept saying, "why is this so famous?". He had a point. It was a nice quaint town- the type that is only worth going to this one weekend every year, and they have a special type of dancing- which is probably the physical manifestaion of a lullaby. Nice festival, but top 3? I explained it to him in terms of Paris Hilton: She can't sing, can't act, isn't even very pretty and yet she is famous only because she is famous. A viscious cycle that allows mediocrity to think itself as great.

The next morning I checked the contents of the envelope. 40,000 yen. This is the usual payment for 4 lessons, but this month I have only two. I was happy, but the implications are huge. Basically, I got paid US 200$ to go to a festival for an hour with an older woman who was very flirty. For one very special night, I was a medium-high class English escort. Speaking of mediocrity allowing itself to think of himself as great... Right now, I'm looking for a pencil. I'm not making this mistake again.

Life goes in cycles... or at least in cars.

We used to have a yellow labrador called Sandy. She was a sweet old lab, with the usual sappy deep brown eyes, a limitless supply of drool and undercoat, and a tail that wagged with such force it could send an elderly citizen flying across the room. She was far from a perfect dog. She came from the "zoo" in Nelson, which is so small they should probably add "petting" to it. It was mainly farm animals and birds, which you were allowed to feed rice bubbles(cereal)- available for a small charge. Naturally, Sandy was well pampered by the idiot visitors- and their idiot children- who sometimes emptied whole bags of ricebubbles for Sandy to lap up.

By the time our family decided this was enough and took her in, she was a big dog. We put her on a diet, which I don't think she was too pleased about. One time she raided a pantry and ate a few kilos of "super weight-gain protein powder". She also had arthritis, which was operated on by the vets. They accidentally had the X-ray back to front and did the wrong leg, so she had both done. However, she became visibly younger, and lived for much longer than anyone thought she would. But towards the end, it became sad to see her unable to get into the car by herself, struggle to stand up or even be unwilling to go outside.

One bright, sunny, New Zealand Saturday morning, I woke up to the sound of my mother putting the dogs in the car for a walk at the beach. I looked out the window, and I remember thinking that I hadn't seen Sandy look so lively in a long time.
She was to be put down after that walk.

Kelly, my beloved car for the last 11 months had been diagnosed as transmissionally deseased. It was terminal. Incurable. She would be fine for small trips, but anything slightly longer would have her screaming in 2nd gear for the rest of the trip. Sure, she no longer gleamed like all the other cars in Japan, and at 17 years old, is practically a Japanese vintage. But she was comfortable- I had formed the ass creases just the way I like them. She was big and strong- It's nice to know that if you are in a car crash with another Japanese car, you will win. She was an escape, a retreat, a special place. Sure she cost more to run than most cars, but that's what we do for loved ones.

But she was sick. As I drove her, for the last time, to be put down, I couldn't help but think of Sandy. I don't know whether it is dumbness, bravery or loyalty, but their final moments were their strongest in a long time. This made it harder to deal with. You know it is the right thing to do, but knowing doesnt affect feeling. What a waste. What a car. For all your imperfections, I'll miss you Kelly.

Rather than be excited to get a new (er) car, I was saddened to be downgrading. I decided that I will never truly understand the Japanese spirit until I own a box car. These things are everywhere. Tiny cars with edges so sharp, it looks like they were cut from a block of tofu. There is one model called the "Nissan Cube". These cars exist for a few reasons:

Japanese roads are the worst of any developed nation. It goes by the principle that narrow roads are best travelled through by narrow cars.
They are cheaper to run, cheaper to park and you pay much less tax.
They are cute.

No.3 is disputable, but of the box cars around, I feel that the Daihatsu Move is the least pathetic one, almost endearing in the right light. Basically, I was paying a lot of money to get a less powerful, slower, less cool car with a pathetic sound-system, but which is cheap to own and will not likely give me any more car problems. It seemed like a downgrade to me.

I felt wierd leaving, it was the longest hesitation of my life. I couldn't figure out why. As I pulled out onto the road in my new car, with the salesman bowing as furiously as a hungry chicken, it hit me. There was no handshake. This was the largest purchase of my life, and I cannot pinpoint the moment when it was made. I didn't even sign anything. Did I "buy" it when I said "i want this car", or when I gave him the money, or when he called me to come pick it up, or when stamped the form with my personal seal, and if so, I stamped numerous things on different days... I felt like I could turn the car around at any moment and save Kelly from the noose.

After that impulse passed, I became aware of the vastness of my new car. My first impression was: "it feels like a church". I wasn't meaning the handling; infact, since there is hardly a bonnet and the wheels are practically at the front, it handles like a fish. It's much smaller than Kelly, but so much more spacious. And the windows are huge, giving a panorama of the Japanese sub-urban clutter. However, the windows are 2-way, thus giving everyone else a panorama of a foriegner in a glass box. Hence, my Daihatsu Move got it's name:

"The Pope-mobile"

Last week, temperatures recorded in Toyama city exceeded 38 degrees Celsius. Humidity is also so high, that you need to chew before breathing. This is ideal, as for the last 3 weeks, I have been on holiday. Yes, my holidays so far have been me sitting at school in a barely air-conditioned staffroom planning and scheming how to get out.

I have been in Japan for one metric year now, and instead of arriving from mid-winter to mid-summer, summer has come gradually. I don't mind the temperature too much. Like an unwanted disease or flatmate, I will never learn to like it, but I have learned to live with it Billy Connoly once said that there is no such thing as "bad weather"; there is only inappropriate clothing. In the case of current Japan, any clothing is inappropriate. I don't use my home air-conditioner, and I don't have air-conditioning in my car, I just try and spend as much time as possible not wearing pants. We do what we can. Humans are resourceful beings.

So, most of my time at work has been thinking about travelling, and how to use my paid leave. I came up with an elaborate plan to go hitchhiking all the way south to Nagasaki. I planned my trip, bought the necessities, and prepared my gimmick... The all-important gimmick.





Most people know of the story of the Hiroshima girl who made 1000 origami cranes for good luck before dieing, right? I wanted to do something similar, except for the dieing part, and instead of cranes I decided to make 1000 origami Kiwis (as in the bird; an origami kiwifruit would be pretty lame. It would just be kindof...oval.), and since I've already been to Hiroshima, I'd like to go to the peace park in Nagasaki too.

This is a portion of the 1000 kiwis (still in progress).

It is a NZ twist, but the real reason is, they are much easier to make. I become so proficient at making them, with concentration I can now complete one in under 40 seconds. Even so, multiply that by 1000, and that is a lot of seconds... and concentration. So i often found time to idly make them. I folded at school. I folded while watching TV, while talking to people, during meetings, and even while driving. Anyway, with less than a week before my scheduled departure, when I was up to the 700 kiwi mark, I got a phonecall from my basketball team captain.

"We need you for a basketball tournament this weekend", he said, effectively ruining my holiday plans. My team, especially with a lot of the older guys recently having retired, they need someone to play centre. It is a big tournament, with teams from 4 different prefectures, and if I'm not there, I would feel horrible if we got embarrassed. I also relish a chance to play some organised basketball, so I couldn't say no.

I went to practice the other day. The gymnasiums are not air-conditioned. Have you ever seen underwater basketball? I predict I that this weekend over 2 basketball games I will halve in weight due to sweating.

Even though I wont be hitchhiking to Nagasaki anymore (I will still go, but at a more convenient time when it is not the hottest and busiest time of year. besides I only need to make 300 more kiwis.), I'll be taking off next week to go to the big Slope, Osaka (大阪). It seems that all roads slope towards Osaka. It's time to have myself a holiday from my desk holiday.

"Your body is your Castle"



Your body is one of the most important things you own. It has much influence of how one looks, and how one feels. The importance of your body is shown in many well-known sayings, such as:

• "There's no place like body"
• "Body sweet body"
• "Your body is where your heart is"

Last week, I had a health check-up. It was going all week, for all local government employees. I firmly believe in taking care of yourself, even at the expense of missing a morning of sitting around at school.

I showed up, and the reception staff greeted me with vaguely disguised looks of surprise. My name was quickly found, as it is one of 4 out of thousands with a name not in kanji. I was quickly handed a cup. That's nice, I thought, he's offering me a drink. It was a very hot day, even at 9:30AM. But no, he decided I couldn't understand Japanese despite our earlier conversation, and mimed that this was in fact, a urine sample cup. (Hint for charade enthusiasts: this basically consists of pointing at one's genitals as a pre-pubescent boy would do.)

The whole morning was spent in line, progressing from one station to another. At each station, the nurse would suddenly notice me looming over them, and they would hurredly, but professionally do their task. They tested my piss, took my blood, weighed me, measured me, made sure I had a pulse, took a few chest x-rays and made sure I could hear. With the Japanese insistence on using last names, and me having a complicated last name, each time, they would refer to me as 'Ban-san'.

They could call me whatever they wanted. Usually in Tonami it is difficult to spot a pretty woman. Don't judge me, but everyone prefers to look at a pretty face. Nursing in Japan is almost a glamour job for girls. If I were a betting man, I would bet that in Japan, Nurses as a whole would win in a beauty contest vs. Stewardesses. It'd be a close race, and one we would all like to see, but I would definitely back nursing.


The last stage involved sitting down in a room, moving ever so slowly towards two tents at the front. Inside, I assumed, was a nurse who gives you the rubber glove treatment. I was told the night before that at some health checkups, they check for prostate cancer and stuff. It was an excruciating wait. Finally it got to my turn, and inside- to my horror- was a murse! I had chosen the wrong tent! I don't know if he was as nervous as I was, and was unable to bring himself to tell me to drop my pants, but all he did was check that I still had a pulse, and check for something in my calves. Maybe calf-cancer is a big thing in Japan. It was nothing to warrant waiting 30 minutes for, or to go behind a special little private tent. (how dare a public servant show his calves in public!)

Feeling much healthier, I drove around a while, before coming back to my rightful place at my desk at school.

While not technically part of the 'body', the head is also an important part of our health and well-being. Without it, many everyday tasks would be much more difficult. One aspect, in particular, I had sorely neglected for the entire duration of my stay so far.

I was known to have said "My mullet now has some pizzazz" and "I'm starting to feel ridiculous". This was over 3 months ago.

I needed a haircut.

Ever since I was a small child, I have had a healthy fear of hairdressers, and anybody with scissors intending to cut my hair. My mother tells the story that when I was very young, she had to distract me while she discreetly cut my hair. Growing up, my hair was a part of my identity, never out of place, calm in the face of adversity. People thought I was a prettyboy because of my hair, but the truth is, it was the other way around. The point is, I have always been afraid of haircuts, and this developed into a phobia of haircuts.

• Spiders
• Telephone calls
• Haircuts

Luckily for me, my hair grows very slowly. And in Japan, I could have a mullet the size of a teenager and everyone would agree it looks very cool on me. So I was in a situation, where- apart from some deserving insults from ALT friends- I could avoid getting a haircut for a whole year.



But the time had come. Like the retiring sumo, I had to retire my current hairstyle. I mustered up all my courage, and drove to a hairdressers. It took me 10 minutes of sitting in the car, pumping myself up, before I could exit the car and enter the hairdressers. Man I hate those places. The doors may as wel have been locked once I got inside; hairdressers have this vampire-like hold over me. I could never leave. The reception lady made me fill in an identity card. I guess that means I am on the permanent records now.

I had to wait for over an hour, next to a guy who smoked as if the cigarettes were free. In fact, they were. Japan has great service, and beside the complimentary magazines were complimentary cigarettes and complimentary lighters. I was on edge the whole time, expecting at any minute to be called to the chair.

Finally, a girl called me over. She was charged with washing my hair, presumably to clean out all the cigarette smoke. I never like other people washing my hair. It's a task I can, and do regularly, and I have my own system. And it's so awkward trying to wash someone elses hair; I know, I used to wash my dog. It just doesn't lather the same, and trying to keep the soap and water out of eyes and ears of someone else is nearly impossible. Then- I was not expecting this- she started massaging my scalp. Well, I assume it was a massage, but I didn't feel any more relaxed. In fact, it was more like she was checking for head cancer. She was much more thorough than the the murse.

Only then, was I led to the chair. I wasn't given a blindfold.
After 15 minutes of eternity, a meek girl edged her way behind me. The executioner. How could I be afraid of her? That's when I saw her toolbelt of scissors. She gave me a book of haricuts to chose from, and I chose the least flambouyantly-homosexual-looking one. Mind you, it would still get my ass kicked in New Zealand, but that's how Japanese hairstyles are. Next to me, a guy was getting his eyebrows shaped.

After I chose the haircut, she closed the book and proceeded to ignore it completely. She began lopping off my year's work. Threads of gold that make me so special in this country. During our conversation, I managed to ask her if this was her first time cutting foreign blonde hair. She said no. That was some relief. "One time when I started cutting hair I cut an English woman's hair". That brough no relief. You have to understand that, my hair is so different to Japanese hair. Not just the way it looks, but the way it feels, and reacts to scissors and hair product. For a haircutophobic, this only added more stress.

We went silent for a while. We had run out of good small-talk. But in our silence, I noticed that she was no longer afraid or shy. She was probably a less-popular girl at school, surely shy, but someone who loves to cut hair. I thought to myself, "This is what makes her happy". Me coming on this day gave her a chance to do something she never thought she'd have the opportunity to do. She was now taking big confident stabs at my hair now, and I'm sure that if the banal hairdresser chatter quieted down, she would have been humming to herself. I was her masterpiece.

She took me over to get my hair washed again, and started plying my hair with wax. She kept saying "ルーベンかっこい！" (Ruben you're so cool), but I'm unsure if she was saying this to me or to herself. Then she showed me in the mirror. My blood went cold, and my face went flush red. To cut the story short, I know a guy who is a complete asshole and looks the part. In the mirror, I didn't see myself, but I saw this guy. I was this guy. It was awful.

I had to leave, right away. I thanked her. I paid 4000yen, and sped home to wear a hat.
It turns out, the haircut isnt so bad. The wax was what made it awful. Infact, I'm overhearing a lot of conversations saying they approve of the change. Even so, I think that looking after your body once a year is fine.

Fuku –fest 2007

FACT 1: Festivals are a great way to break the boring, everyday routines of life.
FACT 2: Japan has a lot of festivals.

I don’t know if these two statements are related, but I do know that I love festivals in Japan. At a lot of the summer festivals, people wear yukata’s, a simple easier-to-wear-and-much-cheaper version of a kimono. Guys also wear a more mono-tone version called a jinbei. While in Kyoto last weekend, my brother took me past the festival there, which is one of the three biggest in Japan. It was incredible. With all the people wearing yukatas and jinbei, this could well have been the world’s biggest Pjama party.

I firmly believe that there is nothing better than wearing a pair of Pjamas in public. This weekend, in a nearby town, there was another festival. This was my big chance. While an pretty average festival, the fact I was wearing PJs made it so much better. It was more than just being cool and comfortable, and knowing I wouldnt need to get changed for bed when the inevitable time came, but the reactions from strangers was fantastic. I even fooled one of my ALT friends into thinking I was a Japanese person.

When one thinks of small town countryside Japan, one does not think of Carnivale. Yet, this is exactly what happened. On the last day of the 3 day festival I went back for a Samba parade. I call this festival "fuku-fest". Apparently the town bought the services of a professional travelling samba troupe. Really though, they bought goods and services. We found a spot, and as the paradey music became louder, they emerged. Okay, so they weren't authentically Brazilian, but the costumes were. If you have ever watched Fashion TV during Canivale, you'll know what I mean. Women dancing like hyperactive strippers while wearing a few strategically placed strands of material accessorised subtly with glittering enormous hats and wings. The unauthentic Brazilians were, honestly, probably would not warrant much attention without wearing glitter, wings and enormous hats, but to see this go down in "conservative" Japan was really quite amazing.

Quickly though, the line was crossed. A carnivale costume on a 35 year-old is one thing, but the 2 girls following after her were no more than 11 years old. It was unbelievable. The sick feeling in my stomach confirmed this was the most awful thing I've ever seen. It might have been acceptable had they been wearing something other than a g-string. First of all, who makes a g-string in 10 year old sizes? And what kind of parent could buy and outfit their kid with it? Another kid, barely old enough to walk was almost as bad. The worst thing was, I don't know if most of the Japanese thought this was any worse than the adult dancers.

After the "professional" dancers, the local the townsfolk had their turn. There was a prize of about $US 2000 for the best local samba group. The Japanese interpretations of samba was... It was almost as wrong as before. Here's a rundown of Japanese interpretations of samba.

1. About twenty mid-20 to 40 year old men and women wearing pink tracksuits doing a Tae-bo style (or in Japan- Billy's boot Camp) kickboxing exercise video demonstration. If you are wondering where the Samba element is: they were wearing some tinsel on their right ankles.

2. A bunch of disinterested company workers, all from the same company holding batons. I felt like the boss said to them: "Twirl this gay glittery stick at the parade or you'll be fired".

3. A local elementary school class who were wearing rubbish bags and home-made animal ears.

4. The largest group of parents and their children. They had all made costumes from cardboard and PVA glue in the theme of Anpan man, a popular Japanese cartoon.

Incredibly, intsead of handing out severe punishments, the last group won:Won the "samba" parade. It was quite entertaining seeing the leader of the group, who was wearing a full costume in the likeness of the popular children's cartoon character, accept the prize money and a crate of 24 beers. They were the Fuku-fest Samba champions. In true Japanese fashion, in the tradition of cheese-less Italian pasta restaurants, this was true bastardisation of a foreign culture.

After the Brazilian drums had died down, the festival resembled the night before. An ALT friends high school student was performing. His name was Mr. Black. Okay, that wasn't his actual name, and he was Japanese. Mr. Black was his performing name, as magician. This kid is for real, he even had a friend with a printed polo shirt that read: Mr. Black, Staff. Check out his website. http://www.geocities.jp/magichan_black/magic/profile.html

Although I disapprove of magicians wearing bowties and penguin suits, I am a big fan of magic. Okay, I'm known to do some card tricks (some people only know me that way), but I am a complete rogue with no polish or finesse. I haven't studied magic, unless you include nervously shuffling cards while travelling or waiting around. This kid, according to his website, has been doing magic since he was 8, and takes actual lessons from a real magician. He is, a protégée.

Among the rain, he performed a bunch of really good card tricks in front of 30 people. Incredible technique. I was very impressed, I mean, he's only 17. We hung around talking to him after his set, and he idly showed some more tricks. Eventually, someone mentioned I do some card tricks. Suddenly, I was put on a huge spot. I mean, I just saw this kid magically change a 2 of hearts into a King of Spades which another guy had drawn a face on. Incredibly, I did not have my own cards on me, but he kindly lent me his. I showed him some mid-air cuts which I believe I invented. I mean, I've never seen anyone else do them. It was just a result of way too much free time that I thought up of it. But my friends, and him, wanted to see what I could do. I don't think I have ever been this nervous, and the kid was only 17! It was ridiculous. Reluctantly, I let him choose a card, he put it back, I shuffled... But even though I was shaking like epilepsy, I found his card. Now for the kicker, as I tried to throw his card out of the deck and catch it. I had forgotten that these were not my cards, and they were new and slippery. The whole deck flew into the air. Life was in slow motion. I tried catching it, but there was still a few cards in my hand which prevented me from clasping. This acted instead as a punch, sending 40 cards flying across the wet street and all through the stall next to Mr. Black. It was a catastrophic failure, and this deck of cards was ruined. I must've apologised 100 times before sheepishly presenting him the card he chose- one of the few I managed to catch. This was a back-handed success.

Festivals are always interesting times in Japan. In two weeks time, I will be running on a wet log at a summer water festival. Another interesting event, I'm sure and a great opportunity to embarrass myself. I'm looking forward to it.

Time to stop giving Jr. all the love.

Most people, mostly correctly, believe that Japan is a punctual country. An efficient country. A country which will stop at nothing and let nothing stop it from being on schedule. Everything is timed down to the precise minute, even in the countryside where the leaves sway to their own internal clocks. It is baffling that very few people have watches; they always check their cellphones.

A good example of the dependence on time and schedule happened the other day. I have my own special ALT schedule, which means I can show up at school a half hour later than everyone else. I usually come in just after 8:15, the very latest time that students have to be inside school. At this end of term 1, I have lost all creativity for preparing classes. On this day, I had nothing prepared, and needed to come to school early to plan. As I neared school, at 8:05, I passed a student. His expression was priceless. Of course, cellphones are prohibited for our students, so he relies on natures patterns and his instincts to tell the time. Seeing the ALT drive past him, he thought, (conveniently in English): "Oh crap, I'm so late. I'm in big trouble", and he began sprinting as fast as his heavy school bag would allow. I truly disrupted the time-space continuim that day.

The usual example of Japanese punctuality are the trains. I've had some bad luck travelling with the trains, as you may remember (massive delays caused by human error, a suicide and heavy winds), and you may have seen this item of news from the weekend:

It was 10:13AM, and I was on a Japan Railway train in Osaka. The earthquake was in Niigata, about 2 hours north of Toyama, which is 3 hours from Osaka. I wasn't completely aware of what happened, but the trains had been stopped, so I was going nowhere. The announcer announced, as they do, a reccommendation to catch a different train line. They were handing out refunds to everyone and leading them to their competetor.

Now, it strikes me as odd, but why is one train company (the governement owned one) stalled by an earthquake hundreds of kilometres away, while the competitor goes on unaffected?Moreover, JR is about twice as expensive as the privately owned train lines.

Logistically for me, I was delayed for 2 precious hours for a BBQ on lake Biwa with a bunch of friends. Such a brilliant day, until raindrops the size of rotten fruit began falling from the sky. I didn't mind too much, I was going to swim anyway. Lake Biwa is the biggest lake in Japan (and uninterestingly enough, the world's third oldest lake), and I was going to swim it. Compared to the beaches on the Japan coast, this was a pristeen, untouched part of nature.

There were apparently 2 more earthquakes, and on my reluctant return to Toyama, more JR delays. It wasn't so long to wait, but the trains had been backed up for hours. It was impossible to get a seat. But finally, I got my revenge on JR. I hadn't bought a ticket yet, and was going to buy one from the JR conducter who checks tickets and tells me to get out of reserved seats and sit infront of the doors. He never came. It was so exciting. Normally I would be miserable after such a long trip, but when the train rolled up to my station, I was jubilant.

I had saved myself US$70, and taught JR a lesson. He will get no special treatment from me.

The school fire procedure for class 3-B (rough translation):

In case of fire, calmly exit your classroom, holding a hankerchief to your face. Walk single file down the corridoor, down a flight of stairs, past 2 classrooms, turn down the main corridoor past the councellors room, a spare room, the copy room, staffroom, teacher's changing rooms, the library, the traditional Japanese-style room with straw flooring, across an overpass, and down a flight of stairs. Infact, go to the very opposite side of the school and enter the gymnasium.

If you have ever seen the Mel Gibson movie, the patriot, this safety procedure reminds me a lot of the burning church scene. Awful.

This idiotic "safetly" procedure surprises me considering how seriously they take it. The fire drill was scheduled for period 4, friday, 2 weeks in advance. When the big moment arrived, at precisely 11:45, the bells went off. Two well-uniformed fire-fighters were already present, but they were simply observing. I didn't notice them fighting any fires. But everyone else was busy running around... The vice principal picked up the telephone and called the fire station. The assistant principal put a message over the intercom. The fire-fighters watched intently...

Soon the footsteps of hankerchief-carrying schoolkids went by the staffroom. Incredidibly, none of them had forgotten their hankerchiefs. I must've been invisible, but I decided to make my way to the gymnasium just incase. In the gymnasium, the students were lined up in neat class rows and in gender and alphabetical order. An older fire-man was standing at the front importantly holding a stopwatch. The six home-room teacher took a quick headcount, and ran to the stopwatch man.

It was over. Danger was averted. It's amazing how efficient this well-planned firedrill was. For those wondering why they all have to go to the gymnasium, which is probably not fireproof instead of outside, which probably is fireproof, is because Japanese people can't wear their indoor shoes outside. I am told that in event of an actual fire, they will assmble outside. I presume they then throw their indoor shoes onto the actual fire, because they will never be used inside again. I would hate to see the actual chaos and confusion in a real fire. I am sure half the students would still try change their shoes.

The stopwatch man clicked the button, and produced a loudspeaker. Everyone relaxed. It was all over. He gave a quick speech, and presented the principal with a fancy certificate. The principal then gave a long speech. Then the other two fire-fighters had their turn. All the while, what the students didn't see, a carpet of white smoke was slowly creeping towards them from the changing room at the back of the gym.

It was all part of the show, luckily, not a reinactment of the Patriot. All the students had to walk through the changing room to experience a smoke-filled room. It was intended to show them the terror of not being able to see in the smoke. For the first time in almost 40 minutes, the kids were having fun.

I really don't know what to think of the fire drill. It was taken very seriously and was excecuted with North-Korean-like eficiency, and I applaud this. But somehow, it inspired no confidence in me. It does not make me feel safe. Rather, I do not feel the students would be safe. The only comfort I can take is in the knowledge that very few Japanese people smoke.

Making time:

We are all given 24 hours to each day.

I respectfully disagree with this saying. I know, I know, I complain a lot about being bored at school. It's true. Sometimes, I'm so bored I start bleeding simply from boredom. But once the bell rings at 4:15, and I flee school, I never have enough time to anything. It is a huge contradiction that I haven't been able to solve.

I am a man of many talents, interests and hobbies. I mean, none of them are really talented or interesting, or hobbits, but I need a certain amount of time to devote to each of them. Since I first arrived in Japan, I've been struggling to keep up, especially with my co-curricular weekend and alcohol commitments. It hasn't helped how I have picked up some new hobbies, such as balcony gardening and pet-keeping, playing darts, ukulele, and the biggest mistake of all: buying a computer. Soon, I will also start weekly Japanese lessons with a tutor- who will give me homework.

Something had to give, but there are no expendable hobbits. I couldn't possibly give my guitar or computer away, stop playing basketball twice a week, eat out every night, or neglect cleaning my apartment. And I couldn't forget the occasional weblog entry. I spent hours and hours, for weeks on end, trying to think of a way to create more time in the day. It looked hopeless.

Then, one day I came home after school. I was famished because the school lunch was sparse; it contained a bunch of dead river fishes on a plate, and some smaller ones swimming upside down in the soup. I thought long and hard about this too. I have always been raised like a war-child, eating your meal as if you don't know if there will be a next. Sure, I went through a "hiding the broccoli in the pot plant" phase, but that didn't last. So, in Japan, I always did my best to finish the crap that is sometimes served at school lunches. One week- there must have a mistake in the ordering of the ingredients, and someone added a few zeros to the amount of 'small gruesome river fish' quota- we had fish with everything. There were tiny dead fish of 80% eye-ball mixed into the rice. There were toothy fish of 70% bone, and 20% dry burnt skin sitting on a plate. Even the usually safe miso soup contained more fishes in the murky depths of the bowl.

I am not a vegetarian (anymore), but I have developed very strong feelings about eating whole animals. These river fishes are not filleted. They are simply caught, and cooked. Most people eat the heads too. That's their choice. My feeling is though, I don't particularly want to be eating everything: the eyeballs, the teeth, the eyeball fluid, the spinal fluid, the genitalia, and so on. More than that, the last meal that the small river fish ate- probably water insects- are still somewhere in its digestive system. Worst of all, you are eating what the fish was about to poop out, before life was swiftly taken from it. If you eat the whole fish, you are a shit-eater.

So, I made a decision to eat like a peacetime civilian, and started hiding the fishes in the pot plants. Some days, I can go to the convenience store for a burger instead, but other days, I am left feeling quite hungry when I came home.

On that fateful day, I came home familiarly hungry. For some reason, I decided to just start cooking. I was chopping garlic at 4:28, mixing the batter at 4:30, chopping cabbage at 4:31. By 4:45, I had made myself a pretty decent okonmiyaki. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Okonomiyaki). I ate, watched some T.V., did dishes, took a dump and brushed my teeth... all before 5:30!

I now had 7plus hours to do stuff! This is my solution. That night I did some stuff, and then I went out to dinner again at 9pm, and went drinking. Maybe that wasn't the most constructive way to spend my newly-discovered time, but the principle is sound.

Miss Dough.

My new favourite place. It's Mr. Donuts (contracted to "Misdo" in Japanese), where they have all-you-can-drink coffee, average doughnuts and terrible music. Sure the atmosphere is only slightly better than McDonalds, but it is a great place to sit, write and email people (by phone). Closing time is at 8pm, so it is ideal for my new routine to go for dessert and coffee. Yesterday, I stayed until closing time. Yes, I am hardcore. The last 3 days I have gone there, for a total of 7 hours. I am starting to wonder if there is "anything" in the doughnuts, but for the while, things are working out well.

I mean, if I can now afford 7 hours at a café, and still have time to write this piece of crap today, you know everything will be okay. Also, since all the kids are doing it these days, I've been trying to put some photos online. I know how most people prefer to just look at the pictures, so some of my newly-made free time will go towards this too. http://s189.photobucket.com/albums/z70/ruvaman/

Variety

Sometimes one moment can define a lifetime. This was such an epic moment. The moment I said "schlong" in front of hundreds of people.

It all began about five years ago. One night, a little boy was watching the television much past his bedtime. A young, easily influenced boy watching late-night television. The T.V. show was 'The Late Show with David Letterman', and the little boy was none other than myself. A segment on the show came on, (the intro by none other than Paul Shaffer and the CBS Orchestra), "Stupid Human... TRIIIIIICKSSSS AH!". I edged closer to the screen, as a geeky guy was interviewed by Letterman. He was a Canadian nuclear physicist student, and his stupid human trick was to juggle 2 balls while climbing through a tennis racquet.

Being someone who likes doing anything stupid, I watched in awe. I knew then that I wanted to be that geek.

The timing was perfect, as it was less than a few months before my school (and the Girls College, combined) talent show. Our schools were rather prestigious places, and these talent shows included some future professional musicians, dancers, singers and composers. It also included me.

I had never done anything like this before. I mean, had cut the strings out of my tennis racquet and practiced the stupid human trick, but I was not a performer. In front of a crowd of about one-thousand, and sandwiched between truly talented people, I pulled off the feat. It turns out that I was the most talked about the day after, and the most remembered act. I met people 4 years later while at University who remembered me for the act .

It was an epic moment, but I think, I have finally topped it.

Every year, the Toyama JET's put on a big Charity Show. This year it was a production of Peter Pan. I originally joined in, but soon realised that this required actual work, and time commitment. Luckily, the charity show included a "Variety Show". I had just the act to add some variety. I didn't even need to pretend that I had talent. It was all laid out before me.
The director, upon hearing I had an act involving a tennis racquet, requested I also play the ukulele. (I played a terrible version of "no Woman no cry" at the audition for Peter Pan) However, I own possibly the cheapest playable ukulele alive, which I have seen in toy stores, and my playing ability doesn't even do the toy justice. I was not going to do a serious song, so I turned my hand at song writing. This is what I came up with:

Deinternationalisation.

The idea came to me over the last 10 months of being stereotyped. I've said it many times, but I am offensively foreign. To prove my point, here is a page from my Junior High School Textbook, one of the main textbooks in the Japanese curriculum.

His name is Mr. Brown, an ALT. This is me! If someone were to draw me as a Japanese cartoon, this is what I'd look like. Seriously. I should really ask for royalties from the publisher. One of the reasons for the JET program existing, is to dispel the myth of the forigner that IS me, and show the diversity of the outside world and its inhabitants. So, my song is about how not all foreigners are tall blond blue eyed freaks who can't eat fish or natto and only eat bread. Except, that is me.

I won't give it away and write the lyrics down, but once the video is completed of the show, I will try and show it. It might even become my first single.

However, I said the word, "schlong" infront of hundreds of people. Many of whom couldn't understand why the rest of the crowd were laughing. It was so perfect. An epic moment that will not be soon forgotten in these parts.

For now, here is a video a friend took of me during the juggling part of the show. Including where I nearly dropped the ball. Watch out for it...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X5VzjdAjwzc

I have a saying that goes: "An hour's sleep is an hour wasted." If that is anything to live by, this weekend was pure magic.

It began after school on a friday. I was wrecked from the week's teaching (or in my case, not teaching much... but I was still exhausted), and I came home as soon as I could to take a nap. I very rarely nap. I wasn't destined to take one this day either. Soon after I had taken my pants off and went to bed, my doorbell sounded. It was my neighbour, who we shall call, say, "Timbo". He loudly announced it was "beer o'clock". (I technically had no beer, but "wine o'clock" doesn't have the same ring to it.)

My original plan was to go to basketball practice, and get a few drinks at a local bar before sinking into the best sleep imaginable. Perhaps, due to my sleep induced vulnerability to suggestion, "Timbo" managed to convince me to instead travel to Takaoka, the closest decent town, to go to some bars and check out a Brazillian club where girls can enter for free if they wear short skirts.

Soon, it was "gin & tonic from a litre bottle o'clock", as we caught a last train to Takaoka. This trip was the worst idea ever. The first bar was full of people, but there was conveniently a free table next to the other token group of foreigners. This phenomenom is referred to as "being put in the Gaijin Corner". It happens Japan-wide. You will always be put next to the other foreigners, despite our mutual dislike for each other.

The next stop was the Brazillian club, which was closed. Plan B was a different club, but this was completely dead. Infact, the whole city was dead. If we had of wanted to go out in a dead city, we could've stayed in Tonami. We did meet 2 guys who offered to buy us a beer, presumably because we were interesting. I can milk my foreigness for beer. Only, once we sat down, they patted their pockets and said they hadn't enough money. Then, one guy started showing signs of unstableness, and he kept touching our thighs. "Timbo" and I knew what we had to do: run. We threw our share of money at them and exited the bar sprinting away like there were police dogs chasing us. We took another walk to confirm that Takaoka city was officially closed, and hailed an expensive taxi back home.

Finally, after 3am, I drowned in my well deserved sleep.


At 7am I was rudely awakened by the alarm of "Timbo"'s cellphone which he left behind in my apartment. At 10:13, I was permanently awoken by a peppy message "lets go to the beach". So, 5 of us drove out to the deserted beaches of Toyama bay. It is not summer yet, but this May weather feels like a hot New Zealand summer to me. It was a brilliant day, despite the state of the beach. The Japanese appear to have no concept of "keeping a beach clean". I swear, 7 metres away from our spot, was a toilet brush. A toilet brush! I didn't sleep at the beach, but this was almost as relaxing. I also attained a satisfying sunburn. Yes, in my eyes, summer is here already. The water was also filled with jellyfish. I didn't mind. It's summer. We had a good swim together.

After dinner, I went to some friends' house to help them light a bonfire and get told off by their neighbours.

After that pointless ordeal, I was sober driver to go to a reggae club night in another neighbouring city. Even sober, it was a good night out, but this may be slightly skewed because of contrasting this with the previous night. I wanted to get home around 2am, the reason for this being: I had a basketball tournament to star in. I ended up being 4am.
My alarm was set for 6:30, on purpose.

This basketball tournament was part of the Toyama prefecture City Government Sports Day. Various sports were played, and as the city ALT, I was asked to play for them. The guys from City Hall are gold, so I agreed. Apart from one other young guy, all other teammates were over 30 years old, unfit smokers, and played about once per year. This all equated to me getting only one 5 minute substitution over the three games. Since the level of basketball was lower than I usually play, this wasn't so much of a problem, and it was more fun to get my teammates involved. I mean, they only play once a year. I did though, accidentally score 27 points in the 2nd game.

The final, (yes, we made it to the final) was a tough game. Everybody was completely nailed by this time, and the opponent's best player and I cancelled each other out. We ended up with a halftime score of just 15-15. This may have been the ugliest half of basketball ever witnessed. But we pulled away in the 2nd half, en leu (*french) to becoming the Toyama Champions...of the 6 city councils that entered teams...Well, at least it's something.
Sorry for the long detailed explanation of the whole weekend, but I was simply re-creating the extreme feeling of needing sleep.

Of course, it wasn't over yet. We had to celebrate becoming the Toyama Champions (of the 6 city councils that entered basketball teams). This involved a lot of beer, and sake, and I also vaguely remember drinking shochu. Usually the term "free drinks" in Japan is a euphamism, but I wasn't allowed to pay. It's a great group of guys, and I was happy to hear that since we came in the top 2, we will enter our team into a tri-prefectural tournament in August.
Remember, this was a Sunday night, and I possibly don't remember coming home, supposedly at midnight. Sleep had finally caught up to me, but with 4 periods of teaching 6 and 7 year olds in the morning, I couldn't catch up with sleep.

I think I finally proved my theory wrong.