Ailey: English instructor, soccer player, student of Japanese, runner, Spanish teacher?

I just agreed (against my better judgement) to teach the Beginner-Level Spanish class at my town's International Association. Have I gone completely mad?

Oh, a soft-boiled egg? Please restrain me from devouring it right now!

I swear, if I have to watch one more middle-aged Japanese man hoovering food noisily from his bowl, I think I'll go insane. Every night, the TV has back-to-back cooking shows and each one features something new and exciting: Sushi! Yakisoba! Hamburger! Curry and rice!

Oh, wait.

They're not new and exciting; they're what Japanese people eat every day. And yet, when the food is set down in front of them, they react as though they've been given a plate of deep fried gold smothered in diamonds to eat. “Ooooooooooooooooooooooooh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oiiiiiiiishiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!!!” Then the cameraman zooms in on one of the diners cutting a soft-boiled egg open with his fork, the yoke spills out, the diner hoovers (slurping sounds included) it into his mouth, and then proclaims: Oishii! Everyone gasps and inquires, “Oishii?” To which he responds, “Oishii!” Then there is a still shot of said soft-boiled egg poised on said diner's fork and the announcer describes what we, the viewers, are seeing.

Am I alone in thinking that this is lame? It’s JUST a soft-boiled egg! I can make it at home! In fact, I can make soft-boiled eggs, hard-boiled eggs, poached eggs, scrambled eggs, and fried eggs with no problems whatsoever and I definitely don't slurp while I'm eating them. For one of the most advanced countries in the world, the Japanese certainly have some of the stupidest television and, if I lived somewhere with any kind of social scene, I wouldn't be bothered to watch it in the first place. If, on my return to Seattle, I act amazed over the stunning feat that is a soft-boiled egg, please reject me from your company. It will be the least I deserve for acting like a twenty-four-year old with a lobotomy.

What's your best guess?

Some excellent Engrish was spotted today. Can you guess what it's an advertisement for?

MANDOM

Everyone loves a lover. Everyone loves Mandom. Man oh man, that's Mandom.


In case it wasn't blaringly obvious, that's an ad for men's hair gel. Man oh man, that's Mandom.

St. Patrick's Day Adventures

“Happy St. Paddy's!” Liz shrieked as Travy and I walked in the door. We'd been driving for three hours and were weary, but Liz was wearing a bright green wig made of tinsel and shoved a beer into each of our hands. “Where in the hell is your green?!” she demanded, again in a shriek. I looked down at my brown and pink shirt. Alas, I'd left my green at home.

“I have something for JUST this situation!” Liz ran into her bedroom and reappeared with a green plastic bowler hat. It looked like something I'd wear while dancing in the follies and singing, “Hello my lady, hello my darling . . .” but in an Irish accent. I gamely shoved it on my head. Celebrating Saint Patrick's Day in Japan is all about flexibility.

The night began with discussions on the Japanese language, world travel, and the state of international affairs (we're really quite deep and intellectual) but quickly – very quickly – degenerated into games of ‘Would you Rather’ and ‘Vegetable.’ Rob mimicked a sprout by punching his arm forward, Travy was an angry eggplant (or aubergine), I was a sack of potatoes, and Liz was, of course, a leek. But she said it more like this: LLEEEEEEEEEEEKkkkkkkkkkkkkk!!! Again, in a shriek.

It was great fun and an excellent way to take my mind off St. Paddy's Day one year ago, which is when I started dating my boyfriend, Ritchie. Celebrating your one-year anniversary is difficult when one half of the couple is in Seattle and the other is in BFE Japan. Instead of a romantic dinner, I ate Liz's drunkenly prepared carbonara. In lieu of champagne, I drank cheap Japanese beer. Instead of watching a movie together on a comfortable couch, I curled up next to Travy on the floor of Liz's apartment. Very romantic, indeed.

But we had fun with our make-shift holiday. It's also quite possibly the only anniversary I'll spend wearing a green plastic bowler hat and sharing a futon with one of my girlfriends. Travy is definitely not as good of a cuddler as Ritchie.

How would YOU describe a semicolon?

This morning, one of my students called me over to her desk and showed me a scribble on a page of her notebook.

“Miss Ailey, what called this?” she asked.

“Oh!” I said. “That's a semicolon!”

She looked at me questioningly, which I took as an unvoiced plea for explanation. But how does one explain a semicolon? More importantly, how does one explain a semicolon to someone who's only been studying English for twelve months? I was perplexed. I was flabbergasted. I was embarrassed by the fact that I probably couldn't explain a semicolon to a natural English speaker – and I majored in Creative Writing.

In the few seconds between the student's questioning look and my shaky explanation, I did some deep thinking about the nature of the semicolon. I thought about how creative it was for someone to combine a colon with a comma. I pondered the graceful curve of the semicolon's lower half and how it seemed to beckon the reader on – don't stop here, the best is yet to come! – while warning them to slow down, something new will be revealed on the other side of this punctuation mark. Do you really dare to venture on?

I pointed at a sentence in the student's textbook, “See this? This is a comma. And this? This is a period. A semicolon is somewhere between a comma and a period.” Then I drew a mini graph that looked like this:

, (comma) ---------------- ; (semicolon) --------------------- . (period)

Does it matter that I completely left out the existence of the colon? I don't think the student will notice. But my question is this: How would YOU explain the semicolon?

And why don't I have a better explanation for what it is?

I'm going to grad school!

I found out the good news today - I've been accepted to the University of Washington graduate school! This is very exciting and, hopefully, will be a good start to a . . . gasp . . . career. I'm really excited to be back in school. As nerdy as this sounds, I really like studying and learning and being in a mentally stimulating environment. For those who are curious, I'm going to get concurrent Masters degrees in Public Affairs (with a focus on International Development) and International Studies. I also hope to keep up with my languages by taking Spanish, Japanese, and possibly Arabic or French throughout my time at the UW. So, wish me luck!

And please send money.

School Lunch, Part III

This is 'natto,' quite possibly the most foul concotion known to man. To quote Wikipedia, natto "is a traditional Japanese food made from fermented soybeans, popular especially at breakfast. For some, Nattō can be an acquired taste due to its powerful smell, strong flavor, and sticky consistency." Wikipedia says 'powerful smell,' but it's clearly trying to avoid offense; the odor of natto is far beyond powerful. It smells like dirty socks left in a puddle of vomit and then dried under a very hot sun. The taste isn't too far off, either. But even grosser than that is the 'stickiness,' as Wikipedia calls it. A bowl of natto actually looks like one thousand slugs melted into it - when you take a bite, a string of slime connects the beans in your mouth with the beans in the bowl. Care to try some?

This thing called cooking.

I was raised by an indifferent cook. My Mom, wonderful soul that she is, has professed to hate cooking and, under her tutelage, I learned to make tacos, spaghetti, breakfast-for-dinner, and (in case of special occasions) beef burgundy. It's not a very diverse menu and, here in Japan, it's often difficult to find ingredients for tacos or beef burgundy. I also don't have an oven. But something has come over me! I don't know if it's the constantly repeating menu at my school or the dead fish glaring at me out of the sides of their heads when I go to the supermarket, but I've been overcome by a fever to cook anything and everything that I can. Who knew I had it in me? I've made curries and cacciatore, alfredo and mussels. There's no limit to what I can make! Wait, I take that back. I can't make anything that involves an oven. But anything that involes a stovetop is within my range! I can't wait to show off to my parents and Ritchie.

'A Weekend Away' or 'A Much Needed Break'

This past weekend in Kyoto turned out to be just what I needed to pull myself out of my low. I've come to realize that the majority of my frustrations stem from work - when I'm sitting at my desk with nothing to do, it's so easy to think about what I COULD be doing. That said, I've reached a new peak of self-motivation to try and avoid this.

But back to the topic at hand! It was refreshing to walk around the big city and, of course, to hang out with Taka, Hillary, and Taka's family. The main event of the weekend was the Plum Blossom festival. Taka's father had purchased tickets for us in advance, so we took the tram downtown and got in line.

After waiting in line for about half an hour, we were finally seated in an open-air tent. It was time for a tea ceremony that was, crazily enough, served by real-life geisha! Geisha are so mysterious in the western world as to be something of an enigma, but they're a fairly standard feature in hyper-traditional Kyoto. That said, tourists (Japanese and foreign) crowded the tent to take pictures and videotape the geisha at work. They wore beautiful kimono and had white-painted faces. Being served by such a gorgeous personage, I felt slovenly and gross. I stumbled through my 'thanks,' executed a sloppy bow and glanced over to make sure that my foreign friends felt the same – they did.

After finishing our 'macha' with the three required slurps, my friends and I left the tent and the geisha to wander the temple and museum. I bought some Buddhist prayer-charms for my friends back at home and took what seemed like hundreds of pictures. However, my attempts at artistic photos are very, very sad; maybe I should take a photography class when I get back to Seattle so that my experiences aren't wasted on poor digital photos.

I've seen better days.

The past two weeks have been strangely difficult for me. I find that I'm more frustrated at work than usual, I'm more sensitive to my cranky coworker's suspected slights, and I'm less patient with cultural differences and language barriers than I have been in the past. For example, while writing the interview test for the 1st grade students today, I decided to run some questions by my co-English teacher. She glanced at my proposed questions and said, "They won't know how to answer these questions. You need to change them."

"But I've taken them directly from the book!" I protested. "We've covered them in class. They should know the answers."

"No, you need to change them. And this . . . (insert an actual snicker here) . . . this is not even a good question."

I imagined tearing the paper in half and throwing it on the floor, stomping on it, spitting on it, then storming out to go find and eat the biggest cheeseburger known to man. I wanted to stand up for myself and tell this coworker, finally, that I'm not an idiot, that I've noticed her criticisms and growing resentment of me, and that I don't respect her for it.

But I didn't do any of the above. I acted like an adult would in a similar work situation, anywhere in the world. I took her comments in stride and I changed the questions, but I gritted my teeth while doing it and said bad words in Spanish.

This may not seem like a big deal, but it's these situations, every single day, that begin to exhaust me. This same coworker speaks to me condescendingly in class (in front of the students!), she asks for my ideas, only to automatically shoot them down, and she actually told me to NOT talk to the students during class. I'm at a total loss.

I think my frustration at work has begun to show itself in my daily life. I'm more critical of myself when I can't understand what someone is saying to me. I'm far less patient with the Japanese way of avoiding the subject. And I'm much more eager to move on to something new.

I think I need to take a step back and refocus on the positive aspects of my life here. I need to remember how much I value my students, how happy it makes me to see the elementary kids jump up and down when I come to class, how much Japanese I've learned in the past seven months, how important my friends here have become, and how much I've learned about myself. I'm going to Kyoto this weekend and will stay with Taka's family, which is always a welcome respite. We're going to practice Zen meditation, sightsee, and attend a Plum Blossom festival. Hopefully, this will rekindle my interest in Japanese culture and my excitement about being here.

And hopefully this will outweigh the current downfalls. Hopefully.

A new name in world news.

Finally, the day that you've all been waiting for has arrived; the first edition of the Minato English Newspaper is hot off the presses and being distributed around the school! In this month's paper, our fine journalists have addressed the meaning of the kanji for 'sing,' Daisuke's new contract with the Boston Red Sox, lucky sweets to eat before taking entrance exams, and, perhaps most importantly, school lunch. As the editor-in-chief of this fine publication, I am happy to say that the first edition was received with excitement. So much excitement, in fact, that students decided to share their copies with garbage cans and recyle bins all over the town! This is definitely a noteworthy day.

Here is an example of our superior reporting:

'School Lunch

by Hirai Yuki

I like school lunch, because it is very delicious. For example, curry and rice, karage, milk and yakisoba. But sometimes student leave some food from their lunch. This is very bad.

Everyone, let's eat all the food at school lunch.'

Thank you for your fine contribution, Hirai-san. You are plunging forward in a promising journalistic career.

The Milky Kiss

This is quite possibly the best post-skiing drink I've ever had. Thanks to the Black Diamond Lodge in Niseko, Hokkaido, for putting this exquisite concoction together. And thanks again for sharing the recipe. I can't wait to make one!

Recipe for the Milky Kiss (maybe best hot drink ever)
1/2 shot Baileys
1/2 shot Kaluha
A bit of sugar and cocoa
Steamed milk
Topped with cinnamon and cocoa

Drink after a long day of powder skiing, preferably in a warm lodge while it's snowing outside. It's a recipe for complete and total contentedness.

I don't know if you've heard . . .

But I'm a pretty big deal!

Gaijin Traps

At Tokyo Orientation, we were warned about something called 'Gaijin Traps.' These are large, uncovered ditches on the side of the road, presumably used for drainage. They're called Gaijin Traps because unsuspecting gaijin (foreigners) fall into them while walking and, sometimes, while driving. Until today, I have managed to avoid an embarassing and painful encounter with the Gaijin Trap. Inwardly, I laughed at those who fell prey to their yawning jaws. I mean, seriously, you'd have to be blind not to see those things!

But, remember, she who laughs the loudest laughs the least (or something like that). In any case, as I was walking home tonight, I stepped sideways off the road in order to avoid an oncoming car. I thought there was grass bordering the lane; an easy enough mistake. I quickly worked out that something wasn't right as my body poised in mid-air, prepared to dance the tango with gravity.

Luckily, the Gaijin Trap wasn't that deep and I only scraped the skin off my knee and the palm of my hand. Not-so-luckily, the oncoming car saw the entire encounter, so I jumped out of the pit and pretended to laugh hysterically. Oh my God! Isn't falling into a dark pit on the side of the road funny?! Hahahahha! The car paused for a moment, saw my maniacal laughter, and drove on. I limped the rest of the way home, though my pride was a little more raw than my skinned knee.

One thing a major in English did not teach me.

Apparently, four years of university were wasted on me, as it turns out that I can't spell simple words like 'rip.' I must have missed the day that we covered spelling. I was also absent for spell-checking and editing. Wrip. Wwwrrrrriiiiiiip. It kind of rolls of the tongue, actually.

Red Rover, Red Rover . . . I'm going to wrip your still-beating heart out of your chest.

This past Saturday, we celebrated winter with the Yukigassen - a highly organized and competitive snowball fight that closely resembles Capture the Flag. Unfortunately for the Yukigassen, our area is sadly lacking in yuki (snow). It's not much of a gassen without it, but we soldiered on and did the next best thing; played at Yukigassen in the school gym wearing helmets and pelting each other with bean-bags.

Our men's team was the first up. There were gasps of awe from around the gym as they strode onto the court. All seven were over six feet tall and dwarfed the opposing Japanese team who had two women that would be lucky to see five feet. But the Japanese team wasn't afraid! They were quick and wiry, sliding behind the barriers and revealing throwing arms that were honed in hours of after school club activities. One by one, our men fell and they limped off the court nursing their bean-bag wounds. This was not looking good for the women.

Luke looking very bummed after getting out.

"I hope we play that team!" Travy said, pointing across the gym at a group of middle-aged women wearing matching sweatshirts.

"Oh, no you don't," Tanya replied. "Those are the defending champions. They practice for two months before the tournament and play in Hokkaido every year."

"Right. Nevermind," said Travy and we watched in silence as the team jogged onto the court and stripped off their sweatshirts to reveal matching jerseys and elbow pads. It was a bloodbath for their opponent. Tension was running high among our group.

Finally, it was time for us to take the court. I nervously buckled my helmet and adjusted the chin strap, shaking out my tense limbs as we lined up on the center line. The referees checked our shoes for spikes (spikes?!). We said, "Onegaishimasu." We shook hands with our opponents. And then it was time for the game to begin.

On the whistle, we sprinted off the starting line with our bean-bags in hands. I ran straight for the barrier that marked the center line; the perfect position to pick off my prey. The only problem was that my throwing arm seemed to be a little rusty. Whenever I'd wind up and release, the bean-bag would end up about three feet ahead of where I was standing. Oops! But then, I aimed at their machine-gunner who had been destroying our defensive line with fast and accurate bean-bags. My bag hit her in the side of the helmet with a satisfying 'smack'. "Out-O!" the judge yelled. Success!

From the defensive line, Carly yelled the numbers of the opposing team and, in unison, we would direct all of our ammunition on that girl. We were running low on bean-bags and accuracy was the key. "Red Rover, Red Rover, send Number 2 right over!" Carly screamed from behind a barrier.

"Red Rover, Red Rover . . . I'm going to wrip your still-beating heart out of your chest!" I was overcome with bloodlust and a desire to hold the opposing team's flag in my shaking hands. It was time for our top secret attack plan - Operation Kamakazi.

I darted from behind the barrier and ran at a diagonal angle across the floor. I was on the other team's turf now and they turned all of their attention on me. The scene is burned on my brain in slow-motion; I dodged bean-bags and screaming girls, ran around a barrier (the flag was in my sight!), and was almost free and clear. I was almost touching the flag. It was almost mine! I could hear the guy's from the sidelines yelling encouragement, but all I could think about was slapping the other team across their faces - with their own flag. Only two steps remained and no one was in my path. One (only one step remaining). Two (I was there). As my fingers were closing around the flag shaft, I felt a ping in the small of my back. I looked over my shoulder and there it was. The bean bag.

"Out-O!" the referee yelled and I dejectedly jogged off the field, my competitiveness throbbing like an opens sore on my chest.

Our team, looking fierce.

Skiing Again!

We decided to risk the possible lack of snow this past Saturday and go skiing. And thank God we did! When we arrived, the sun was shining, it was warm, and the snow was corn-y. Also, because of the poor conditions, most people seemed to be avoiding the slopes and we almost never had to wait in a lift line. Halfway through the day, it began to snow, so all of the runs were covered in a fine powder. It was so, so much fun and such a great way to spend the weekend. After skiing, we drove to Kinosaki Onsen for a long, hot soak in one of the hot springs there. Then, it was back to my house for tacos (purchased in England, of all places), hot-buttered-run and freshly baked apple pie (the latter two courtesy of Jennie, my own personal hero). Somehow, we found room for four people to sleep in my tiny apartment and we didn't get up until 1 PM the following afternoon. What an excellent weekend!

The weather is beautiful! The skiing sucks!

Lately, the weather feels more like mid-March than late January. The air has that fresh, spring smell, the birds are chirping, the sun is shining, and it most definitely is NOT snowing. Anywhere. The ski conditions are so dire, in fact, that our school ski trip has been canceled for the first time ever. Though I volunteered to be a chaperone and ski instructor, I'm secretly relieved that it's off. I don't want to pay $250 for the joy of watching a hundred teenagers ski and throw snowballs at each other. That said, I still want to enjoy skiing on my own time and, sadly, the warm weather means that it's not possible. I'm beginning to feel opressed by the not-too-warm, not-too-cold weather because there's very little that I can do outside. I still go running, but my town is laid-out along a narrow valley, so my running routes consist of either (a) running up the road and back or (b) running down the road and back. So, since winter seems to have skipped Japan this year, all I can do is wait until spring. Hurry up and get here already!

School Lunch, Part II

Another memorable school lunch. This is a small, dried fish, coated in something sweet (honey?) and sprinkled with sesami seeds. Delicious!

Skiing at Hatchi-Kita

I went skiing with friends at Hatchi-Kita yesterday. It hasn't snowed very much here this winter and dirt and rock were showing through in several places (the PNW has been stealing all the snow!). They had a snow machine going at full blast to make up for it, but it wasn't doing a very good job at covering the bare patches. Much to his chagrine, Luke got some deep scratches on the bottom of his snowboard. I was using rental skis, so I didn't care very much, but the thought of falling on those rocks sent shivers to the bottom of my fluorescent green rental boots.

There may not have been a lot of snow, but the view was still pretty nice. We had to take the lift down to the other side of the mountain because the run leading to it was closed.

Despite the crappy conditions, I had a really good time. Look at how big my smile is in this picture!

Next weekend is the Tajima ski trip. I might try snowboarding for a day - it's been a while since I've gone and, with all of the black runs closed, I might as well go for something new. I hope it snows, I hope it snows, I hope it snows!