Graduation Season.

Yes, it was that time of year again. When the flowers come out, and the students you finally care about are replaced with new ones. Last year I forgot to take proper notes of this truly fascinating event, and I wasn't about to make the same mistake again.

The kids had been practicing for a whole week, perhaps longer. All I really know is, I was sitting at my desk reading the Internet. I'm now waiting for the sequel.

The graduating students have been with me my entire time at this school. This was also like my own graduation from this school, although I would have to hang around for another 4 months of dead weight. I was understandably sad.

I prepared for the ceremony by buying a 100 yen white tie. The formal attire for men is a black suit with a white shirt and a white tie. I don't have a white suit, but I thought I had better appear to try to look the part. For 100 yen, everyone is a winner; me, the students and other teachers, and the Chinese labourer who sewed my tie. Some call me a humanitarian, but it was just how I was raised.

I did question the reasoning behind a white tie and white shirt. I guess, as long as the tie is an off-white colour to my shirt, not to mention my face. In the end, I did pull it off well.

A few of the female teachers dressed in several layers of kimono and makeup. They are tied with an "obi", an intricate waist belt tied in such a way to give the subtle impression of a large back-growth, or that they are wearing wedgied, full adult diapers. Sexy.

The other women, including all the parents were wearing black. That, plus the male teachers in their black suits and the tears… it felt like a funeral at times.

Speaking of which, where are the male parents? Or is my town inhabited by the far-east Amazonian tribe?

The gymnasium was decorated in the formal style of a circus tent. Red and white stripes all along the sides. Also, the wooden floor was completely covered with green plastic sheets, taped together, to prevent the wooden floor from getting dirty. Huh? What is that? Why? What is a "mop"? Is it some magical wand that can clean floors? Don't be ridiculous!

A bunch of old people walk in. I think they are supposed to be important because they principal leads them towards the empty seats at the front. But they could just as easily be retirement home war veterans who get the priority seats.

Standing up feels like a divisive policy. It just takes me much longer to stand all the way up, and I always miss the cue. I always look like a fool.

The graduating students walk in, their uniforms 3 years too small for them, and with a corsage on their blazer. They look so… awkward.

A girl and a boy stand up and walk neatly to the front. The bow to the front, turn right towards the war veterans and bow again. It looks like the girl is sniffing the boy's ass. Then they turn the other way towards the principal, and the boy has a go. Am I the only one who finds this funny? I look around. Apparently so. Not even one of the 13 years finds this at all amusing.

All the graduands mechanically walk and bow from their seats to the stage, get their certificate, and walk and bow their way back. The tape deck blasts out a sappy music that sounds like an instrumental version or Coolios's "see you when you get there". I lip synch to pass the boredom.

The principal makes a speech. He is wearing a penguin suit, and really looks the part. I wanted to throw him an umbrella, and he would just fly away. Although I wasn't there, I know for a fact that during the practices, the entire ceremony was acted out with all the students and teachers. Right down to giving the actual certificates, and the principal giving his speech. Hell, the entire speech was on the practice schedule, handed out to all the teachers (and probably the students).

I get bored. My mind wanders into magical realms of other places. I think I need to pee. I shouldn't have had that second cup of coffee in the morning. Oh shit, is he finishing his speech now? Don't make us stand up now, I think I have an erection. Yes, it definitely is. Luckily I was holding my program.

There is nothing like spending the most important day of your 15 year old life so far, listening to old people you don't know from the city government departments talk about how proud they are. They all require we stand up.

The other kids sing some songs. The lyrics are on the program. I think 95 percent of Japanese song lyrics are about mountains, rivers and flowers and symbolic things in nature. The other 5 percent is senseless English. Oh man, I think one of the teachers next to me farted. I wonder if it was the one in the kimono.

The students walk out to the instrumental tune of Auld lang syne, which actually has Japanese lyrics too. Although, they are about fireflies. The veterans are led out. Many glare at me, including the one who appears to have a wooden leg.

It was over. Almost. After half an hour, we all gathered outside so we could wave goodbye to the graduating students as the walk out of the school. Many shook hands with teachers and took photos of me. Only a few of those actually asked for my photo. I felt like the subject of a nature documentary.

This is graduation. I had to repeat it twice more at elementary schools. That 100 yen tie really got some mileage. But really, why was I so sad again?





Oh, that's why...

Sorry for the lack, here on Ruben in Japanland. As a wise man once said; writing about things leaves less time to do things. Meaning that I have been very busy. Of course, many people are lazy and don't write at all, and others are too lazy to do things in the first place. Actually, that wasn't a wise man who said that. It was just me. I say many things,but I prefer to write about them. So, after a really busy last month, I have a few New Years Anecdotes to share. Hopefully you can learn from them.

Bad Luck With Travelling Continues.

It was the first day of the winter holidays, and I was catching a ride with 2 friends to Nagoya. Nagoya is unforgotten metropolis in Japan. Everyone knows Tokyo, Osaka and Kyoto, but Nagoya is easily Japan's third larest urban sprall. It's just forgotten about. It's the proverbial 4th Beatle.
I was in the co-driver seat, a job I take very seriously every since I once fell asleep at the wheel. I'm probably more alert than the actual driver. I was also the DJ with my friend's new ipod shuffle. As soon as we hit the toll highways, I felt it. The car was swaying gently from side to side. Long, sweeping, theraputic curves. It was terrifying. Speed limits in Japan are never more than 50 kmph, so it is usually nice to get onto the toll-highways. Not today. My friend assured me it wasn't his un-coordination causing the swaying. That did not make me feel any safer. We took it more slowly than usual, although even going just 75, I was permanently on the imaginary brake-pedal. We had a theory it was the cheaper snow tyres that my friend put on a few weeks earlier.

The highway leaving Toyama is, like most things, incomplete. High in the mountains, it ends, and we took the mountainous roads, covered in snow. It was intense. We got back on the highways. I'm such a good actor, the image of calm. Then suddenly the car made an awful noise. I've had it happen before, and knew exactly what it was: a flat tyre. I never said it, but I was so glad to stop. Sure, it would have been nice to stop where there was a shoulder. I jumped out, and we all came together in true Japanese-style co-operation (too many hands, not enough chores), to move the car to the shoulder a few hundred metres up the road and change to the space saver. Trucks barrelled past us; some helpfully honked their horns in an effort to remind us we were on the side of the highway.

With that all done, and feeling proud about our effort, we got back in the car. I went to put on the music, and notices that the ipod wasn't quite the same. Ipods never are after being slammed in a door. This was turning into a very expensive trip for me already. So we had to get off the road to get new tyres. Apparently the other rear tyre was equally bad. We were running so late, but I was so happy, you know, to not be dead. The rest of the trip was really quite comfortable. I mean, as comfortable as driving into the city centre of one of the world's largest metropolis's can be.


Snowboarding.

I got a season rental snowboard this year, so I can be happy when it is miserable and cold for 3 months of the year. I guess I am a bit of a natural at sports, and snowboarding goes straight to my strength, which is falling over. I am good at falling over. Sometimes during the course of a basketball game, I have more time spent on the ground than on my two feet. I even wear knee-support sleeves simply because it would be so gay to wear volleyball-style kneepads. I consider it a "strength" because I never get hurt, and I get up as fast as I fall over. One play last year, I was defending a bigger player. He swung an elbow that floored me, and he went for an easy lay-up. Within that time, I got back up, and made a brilliant block. My point is, this is exactly how I snowboard. I'm fearless of falling because I always get up. I quickly regained my form from the few times I went snowboarding last year.

My Japanese sister and her friends came up for a weekend to go snowboarding in Toyama. One of them had never been before, so we were all taking it easy. At one point, I was
going very slowly, and looked backwards to check how she was doing. Suddenly I heard a bunch of screams, as I felt myself falling backwards. Something had hit the back of my legs, and I was toppling like the Goliath I am. Beneath me, I saw a tacky plastic sled, and nestled within was a bundled-up child, no more than 18 months old. I managed to fall just perfectly, leaving a space under my bent knees to give a safe pocket of air. The mother came running over, apologising on rapid fire.
Soon after, I was kneeling on the slope, just waiting for our learner friend to catch up. I was talking to another friend, watching her expression turn to fear. Before I knew it, I had a 40-50 year old man ontop of me, crashing into me with the nose of his snowboard into my thigh. He began apologising so much that it is impossible to get angry. It is the Japanese way, rather than giving a sincere apology, they will embarrass you instead. I was so glad when he rolled further down the mountain.
But really, what kind of self-respecting 50 year old takes up snowboarding? That's just an embarrassment. But, I'm very proud of this bruise. Everyone likes a good bruise. I hope to get a few more before the snow finishes.


Snow.

My school. Everything is upside down in Toyama.

The West coast of Japan has some of the highest snowfalls in the world. I went to a restaurant for three hours during the snowfall, and this was what my car looked like when I came back. I took the photo after clearing the windshield.

I love snow. Sure, it is the novelty, from growing up where snow is something that happens only on the tops of the mountains on the horizon. I just love the simplicity. It is the only natural phenomenom that changes the entire landscape. It hides everything, but highlights so many other things. I walk outside and see the details and find myself saying things like: "look, the snow even fell here!". I like being naiive sometimes. But snow actually makes Toyama look beautiful. There is something magical about it. It can't be a coincidence that Jesus chose to be born in winter.

This was my window view a few days after the snow stopped.

Germany.

Japanese like other countries. Only, they don't like to leave thier own country (Japan). The solution is to build villages of a certain country. On the 2nd day of the new year, my Japanese mother took me for a drive to a scenic mountain a few hours north of Tokyo. On this mountain, there happens to be a "doitsu mura", a German Village. I couldn't see any possible connection as to why there might be a german village built up here in the mountains. I'm sure there is a very vague reason- Japan is good at them. I have actually been to a different German village, but that was more a museum that was made out of the old P.O.W. camp for Germans on Shikoku. (They are the ones that taught the Japanese to make beer. If it weren't for them, the Japanese would have learnt brewing from America... that's a scary thought.)
Anyway, I went to this German Village with much scepticism. I walked into the square and was shocked. I've been to parts of Germany, and this was eerily close. From the cobbled circular pavement, to the statue in the centre, and the shop fronts. (it is a pity that many of the shops didn't have backs...). I was actually disappointed that it actually looked like Germany. "This can't be!", I thought. "Japan is supposed to wreck other cultures for their own use."
We went into the beer hall to have lunch. It was all stuff with wieners and stuff. Not bad. Then, the music began.

There was a slightly overweight Japanese woman with an accordion, and a young guy playing a trumpet. Both were wearing ridiculously German Alps-style clothes. The woman in something that can only be descibed as a "frock", and the guy in an Oompa-lumpa suit with leiderhosen. Their first song was an annoying tune, backed up by a loud tape playing the double-bass. I was glad once the song finished, and really glad when she traded in her accordion for a tambourine. I mean, the accordion is probably the most annoying instument ever invented. This is proved by the eternal comic image of Disney and Warner Brother characters with accordions smached over their heads. Classic. However much I was pleased with her changing weapons, this all went to hell when she started yodelling. Yes, yodelling. From a Japanese woman. I didn't even know that was possible. Japanese people have problem hearing the difference between "rice" and "lice". And yet, this woman was yodelling. She must have been an incredible student. She has a talent, and she has used for pure evil. Yodelling is officially the most annoying noise ever invented. There is a reason it comes from the alps: NO-ONE LIVES THERE!!!

It was not over yet. She went and sat behind a keyboard, and the guy produced a giant longhorn. It is one of those horns they use to communicate across the alps. It still doesn't make much sense, because it is difficult to make a proper sentence using only the letters A-G, and I can't imagine it would be much easier in German language. So he put the end of the horn on a table and played a verse. He went from table to table playing a verse each. I was thinking: "Do you mind, I'm trying to eat my wiener!". When guy put extra cutlery on everybody's table and the woman started teaching everyone how to play the spoons, mom and I knew it was time to leave.

Conclusion: Please Japan, leave other cultures in their own countries and let them die in peace.

Happy 2008 Everyone! May it bring many more stories to tell.

Ruben out Japanland

Korea Part 3: Accomodation

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!