Like clockwork

There is a beer vending machine ten minutes from my front door. For this very reason, I don't usually keep beer in my refrigerator. Instead, when I'm in the mood, I walk down the road, put my change in the slot, and select my beer of choice. Sometimes I open it there and sip while I'm walking home. Sometimes I walk to the beach (if the weather is nice) and drink it there.

Lately, though, something has been happening that has rained on my beer parade. The benefit of living in a very small town is that everyone knows you. The downfall of living in a very small town is that everyone knows you. Like clockwork these days, whenever I'm reaching down to grab my beer, someone I know appears over my shoulder. The most common question I get asked is an innocent, "What are you doing?" But it's not that innocent! I'm convinced that said person has seen me put my money into the vending machine, select my beer, and they know that I'm trying to not-so-discreetly keep it behind my back.

Inevitably, the can is spotted and said person will say, "Hey, what are you drinking?!" This is a thinly veiled attempt to hide the REAL question, which is, "That's not a beer . . . IS it?" At which point I meekly show the offending beverage and say something along the lines of, "Yeah. I'm drinking a beer. I thought it was a soda (when all else fails, plead ignorance)." If I'm feeling truly ashamed, I might add something like, "It's for my Dad." This is a good excuse because everyone knows that Dads are the official drinkers of beer.

But I'm tired of the lies! I am tired of masking my love of beer. Though it's true that Dads are the official drinkers of beer (and makers of breakfast - these are universal truths), it's not true that they are the only ones who find beer delicious. I've decided to face the situation head-on. From now on, I will walk the streets drinking beer openly and proudly. Let my neighbors think that it is a crazy foreigner habit - I don't care! I just want to enjoy my beer and not feel guilty every time I bask in the inviting glow of a vending machine.

What did you do at work today?

As per usual, I got to work at around 8 AM and prepped for my classes. Fresh coffee was brewing in the teacher's room and everyone was joking around and cheerful. The sun was shining outside and kids popped in and out with questions and random anecdotes that only young children and adoring adults find interesting.

And so began another day teaching at elementary school. Out of everything that I've experienced in Japan, teaching the younger students has been the highlight. Why? First of all, because they're still too young to worry about being 'cool' and instead bring a refreshing sense of excitement to learning. Second of all, they don't seem to care that my Japanese is . . . shall we say . . . lacking. Even if I don't understand what they're talking about, they continue to run their mouths at 100 miles/hour. If their monologue ends in 'ka,' I respond with a 'hai' and they seem satisfied. If only all communication was that easy! Finally and perhaps most importantly, the kids really seem to dig me. Maybe that sounds egotistical, but the truth is, how can you NOT like what you're doing when ten kids jump up and down screaming your name after you walk through the door?

So, in case you were wondering, at work today I sang some songs, practiced counting from 1 to 20, played games, and went to the beach to pick wakame - a form of edible seaweed. When I got home this afternoon, my pants were soaked with sea water, my face was sunburnt, and I was exhausted, but who can argue with such a day?

What did you do at work today? I can only hope that you had as much fun as I did.

The Six Week Festival o' Fun

It's Monday morning, I'm back at school, and I'm very tired. The past month and a half has been a tornado (un-PC in light of recent events in the mid-West?) of travels and events and good times. From now on, I will refer to this period as the Festival o' Fun. So far, it has been one of the best times I've had in Japan. This is thanks to the visits of friends and family who are determined to use me as an excuse to see a little more of the world. Ha! Luckily for me, I was able to convince them to visit me in my town which sits somewhere between elsewhere and nowhere. Hilarity ensued. I’m wondering if I should even begin to detail what I’ve been doing these past weeks, or just let it go with a simple, “Good times were had.” But that is a cop-out and, as a Creative Writing major (thanks, Mom and Dad!), I feel the weight of responsibility – writing is a heavy burden.

Three (not-so-brief) synopses of my recent adventures with friends and family are below. Pictures will follow soon!

Losing our Way (finding her way?)

If there were to be a contest of who had the largest cojones (even though girls don't actually have cojones), I think that Denise would be the winner. Even though she'd never been outside North America, much less traveled to a foreign country on her own, Denise booked her trip to Japan and didn't seem to care that I wouldn't be able to meet her in Tokyo. I bit my nails and stressed when I didn't hear from her on the first day. Or the second day. Or the third day. But then an e-mail arrived! Somehow, she'd made her way to Kyoto, found her hostel, booked a tour of the city, and made new foreign friends, but she was feeling a bit tired, so was it okay if she came to see me a day early? I was so relieved! I'd had visions of her having a nervous breakdown in Tokyo Station and sleeping in the cold glow of a beer vending machine.

On the first weekend of Denise's trip with me, my friend Laurence was feeling a bit lonely down south and decided to drive up. We went hiking and then had a night on the town (it's not a very big town, but we seemed to have a very big night). The next day, we bid farewell to a sluggish Loz and began our drive to Kyoto. The drive through the countryside was beautiful, but getting into the city was a nightmare. I was foolish enough to think that I'd just be able to drive into Kyoto and find Taka's temple. I was wrong. We finally arrived at 10 PM, the temple gate had long been closed, and so had to take the super-ninja route through the complex. Have you ever driven through a temple complex? Imagine driving along a balance beam – the width of the road is pretty equivalent. The next day, Denise and I contemplated a rock garden, imagined ancient warriors squatting over ruined pit toilets, and saw about 500 red gates. We then collected the car and drove back home on the wrong road, turning a 2.5 hour trip into 5 hours.

The next weekend, which thanks to Golden Week began on Thursday, we woke early to make the six-hour trip to Tokyo. First a drive, then a bus, then a train, then a shinkansen, then another train, and finally we were at our hotel. What can be said of Tokyo? It’s the biggest city in the world and therefore has everything to offer – any kind of food that you could want, shopping, people from all over the world, and lots and lots of flashing neon. I love Tokyo. It's expensive and huge and crowded, but the streets are strangely clean (don't Japanese people litter?) and most people are far friendlier than they would be in an American city. Also, it has excellent public transportation. Why is Seattle so far behind in that regard? Step it up a notch! Japan has bullet trains, express trains, local trains, express buses, local buses, ferry boats, monorails, and trolley cars. If you can't get to your destination one way, you can get there another.

In Tokyo, Denise and I shopped in Harajuku while gaping at girls dressed as Little Bo Peep – bonnet and all – wandered the Imperial Gardens as a token cultural activity, and drank beer on the street. That's another thing I love about Japan – there are no public drinking laws! By the end of the weekend, I was exhausted from a lack of sleep, too much spending, and too much beer. I was also ready to go somewhere where I wouldn't have to constantly fight my way through a crowd, so I said goodbye to Denise and began the long and lonely trip back home. This marked the end of my Festival o’ Fun. Denise made her way to the airport to catch a flight to Okinawa. I suspect that they made her check her cojones – they are too large to carry on.

'Nate and Marissa' or 'Shinagawa isn't a word?'

My brother, Nate, and his wife, Marissa, came to stay with me for a long weekend in April. Despite the relatively short length of their trip, we were able to go hiking, attend a barbeque, eat soba and sea salt flavored ice cream, and take a road trip to Himeji Castle. Aside from the near-constant political and ethical debate insisted on by my brother, the most amusing aspect of their trip to Japan was the confusion that it caused to the local Japanese. Marissa is Chinese-American and, therefore, much more Japanese-looking than I (obviously). Whenever we went to a restaurant or were in a situation that required speaking Japanese, the person we were conversing with would automatically direct their questions and responses to Marissa. Marissa would then shrug and look at me to translate. This resulted in the usually-collected Japanese becoming flustered and awkward. A blonde woman? Speaking in Japanese? Impossible! I was also amused by Nate's propensity to develop his own language when stumped by Japanese: Shinagawa! When you can't remember the correct word, just create your own.

*Writers note: 'Shinagawa' IS a word, but it's a place name and definitely not the thing that Nate meant to say.

Reuben Rye and The Dune

Reuben stayed at my house for the majority of his three week trip to Japan. Apart from some side-trips to Tokyo, Hiroshima, and Kyoto, we were together the entire time – and we never fought! I'm convinced that this is because I've reached a higher level of Nirvana, but it could also be that Reuben is a laid-back kind of guy. My adventures with Reuben had two marked differences to most adventures I've had here so far. First of all, the man has a large red beard that both scares and startles Japanese children. Second, eating fish causes him to break-out in a mysterious red rash, which ruled out eating any sushi, sashimi, ramen, or udon. This means that our adventurer's cuisine consisted of KFC, McDonald's, and knock-off Italian food. Feeling strengthened by my new diet of vitamin-rich western food, I was eager to see the exciting things that my area has to offer; for example, a very large sand dune. This is no ordinary sand dune – it is The Dune. Some local entrepreneur even had the brilliant idea of offering camel rides, because what goes better with a sand dune in Japan then a camel? Unfortunately, it was too early in the season for exotic pack animals and we contented ourselves with running up and down the dune and taking pictures of the sunset. It was all very romantic, in a platonic sort of way. But now Reuben is back in Seattle and my couch is missing its favorite surfer. At least I can eat fish again.

It's time for something new.

In other words, it's time for something a little more upbeat. I apologize for the downer post, but living in a foreign country is a series of serious ups and downs; if I didn't reflect them in my blog, I wouldn't be true to the experience. But onwards and upwards!

I said goodbye to my dear friend Reuben on Monday night and drove home to nurse my lonely, aching heart. Soledad, o soledad! However, I'm left with some great memories, not least of which was our most excellent trip to Himeji! I'm told that going to the Hanami in Himeji is a must-do in Japan, so I'm glad that I was able to experience it. In essence, it's a big, drunken picnic in the shadow of the castle and under the cherry blossoms. The day was slightly overcast and drizzly, but well worth it.

Looking at the pictures, you might notice an abundance of cherry trees and foreigners. We might have been the largest group of westerners that the Japanese had ever seen together. In fact, I'd

say that Japanese tourists took a pretty equal share of pictures of the castle and pictures of us.

Those are some mighty fine cherry blossoms!

And those are some might fine looking foreigners!

Updates from Japan

Actually, there really aren't many updates. I mean, what can I say? I'm moving back home in 3.5 months and, in the meantime, I'll do what I always do. I'll come to school every day and stare out the window. I'll think about studying Japanese, but pass it by for something more engaging. I'll go running, I'll watch rented episodes of Prison Break, I'll hang out with my friends, and I'll buy beer out of vending machines. Because that's what life is all about. It might be obvious that I'm feeling a bit weary of the situation right now, but no worries! It's Friday, and that means that I have an entire weekend to boost my mood.

If Oprah can do it, then so can I.

Inspired by my friends Liz and Rob who are running the Nagano Marathon next weekend, I've decided to dust off my running shoes, banish the icecream and beer, and start training for a marathon. To cement my commitment, I even booked my place! Okay, okay, I've signed up for a marathon before and not run it, but I'm older now! You know, more mature and determined and stuff. Barring injury, illness, or death (my own), I WILL complete this race. If you're interested, check out www.bellinghambaymarathon.com. It's a new race, so I'll be one of the first (hundred or so) people to do it. Cool! Oh, and wish me luck.

So you want to work in Japan?

This interesting (and telling) excerpt was taken from the book Behind the Japanese Bow, by Boye Lafayette De Mente:


Except for new recruits schooled in technical skills, managers do not look for the most intelligent, most ambitious, or the most energetic employee candidates. In fact young people who fit these categories may not fit into the typical company system in Japan. Many managers look first for young people who do not have strongly held opinions or ambitions and can be molded into what the managers regard as company soldiers - people who will adhere strictly to the military-like hierarchy of the Japanese company, obey rules without question, and devote their lives to working diligently and rising slowly in the ranks.

Female employees are usually excluded from the male bastion of management in Japanese companies, and are generally not required to undergo 'boot-camp' training. Their training usually ends with how to sit, how to stand before superiors, how to respond with the proper speech, how to bow, and how to serve tea. Not surprisingly, Japanese women bow more often than Japanese men.


Unfortunately, my college degree didn't include training on how to bow, how to speak to my superiors, or how to serve tea. I also, sadly, have many strongly held opinions and ambitions. I don't have much desire to be a company soldier and adhere to a military-like hierarchy. It seems that I'm destined for corporate failure in Japan, which maybe isn't such a bad thing - I'm coming home in four months, anyway.

For all of you women who spent over $30,000 on higher education and devoted four years of your life to the study of tea service and subservience, Japan is the place for you! Or you could get a job at Starbucks (the tips are a benefit).

Kyoto, Nara, Osaka . . . oh my!

In two days, Reuben, Travy, and I have managed to hit three of the top tourist destinations in Japan. Reuben is visiting from Seattle and Travy had yet to see The Largest Bronze Buddha in the World, Housed in the Largest Wooden Building in the World, so we decided to make it a weekend of destinations. On Friday night, we took the train to Kyoto, where we drank sake with Taka and Hillary before bedding down on thick, comfortable futons. The following morning, we set out for Nara, which is about forty-five minutes from Kyoto. In Nara, we managed to see The Largest Bronze Buddha in the World, Housed in the Largest Wooden Building in the World, wander the scenic gardens, gape at the ancient pagodas, admire the view from a temple perched over the city, and feed the (not so) tame deer. We ate some meat-on-a-stick to tide us over, then hopped a train to Osaka. After spending an hour underground trying to navigate our way out of the death-cave that is Osaka Station, we finally managed to breath fresh air and check-in to our hotel. We gave ourselves an hour to rest, then headed out in search of Indian food, which we savored for as long as possible. Actual spices! In the food! It was unbelievable . . . The next day, we woke up early and took the train across the city to Osaka Castle (a 1931 re-build, complete with a glass elevator), then another train to the Osaka Aquarium to see the whale shark and watch the otters float around on their backs, then to the Suntory Museum, to cultivate ourselves by viewing the Dali exhibit there. We managed to make our way back to Osaka station, where Reuben and I enjoyed HUGE bowls of ramen, then spent another thirty minutes in search of the exit to the death-cave. Today, I am exhausted and sore, but I can die happy knowing that I've seen The Largest Bronze Buddha in the World, Housed in the Largest Wooden Building in the World (twice!).

Books are great!

I just finished a great book and I'm so pleased. I'm so pleased and so affected by this great book that I'm going to begin using words like 'pernicious' and 'occult' and 'diverting.' I am of a higher intellect, thanks to literature! I have 'improved my mind by extensive reading'! However, I am embittered knowing that, had I read this book prior to taking the GREs, I probably could have improved my score on the Verbal section.

Coincidentally, I rented the movie (definitely not as good as the BBC version) based on said book this weekend. While watching, my friends amused themselves by asking about 'Sir Hughes' family fortune' and whether or not 'Mr. Hughes' had taken me to 'the family estate in Derbyshire' yet. I assured them that 'Mr. Hughes has an excellent family estate in Luton-shire' and that 'it boasts all the amenities essential to gentle living.' They were satisfied.

But back to the book! Really diverting (ahem) books are difficult to put down and you never want them to end. They are also, sadly, few and far between. But because I don't understand the TV and there's no social scene in my town, I've had enough spare time over the last eight months to read some very, very good books. That said, few come close to the one I just finished. Sigh. It makes me happy just thinking about it.

I must remember to ask Sir Hughes about that estate . . .

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.