It's Christmas Eve here in Japan, and I'm sitting at school, having taught all my classes for the day. If I didn't specifically request to have tomorrow off, I'd be working on Christmas as well. Christmas in Japan is much different than Christmas in America, and I'll tell you how.
All right. Close your eyes for a moment and imagine a traditional American Christmas--a time when couples go out on a romantic date, then stay the night at a fancy hotel. To maintain the true spirit of Christmas, department stores and shopping malls play traditional Christmas songs like Mariah Carey's All I Want for Christmas is You and Last Christmas by Wham!
For Christmas dinner, perhaps you've ordered the traditional plate of fried chicken, possibly weeks in advance, from a place like Kentucky Fried Chicken. As the breadwinner of the family, you stop by the store on the way home from work and pick up the Christmas cake, which everybody in the country is eating. Perhaps you even have a Christmas Party lined up, where people will all make Christmas cakes and you'll judge them on taste and design. On the table, along with the cakes and fried chicken, is a plate of sandwiches on white bread with the crusts cut off.
The kids have all left their stockings on their pillow in their bedroom so that Santa, who comes all the way from his home in Finland, will be able to access them easily. Santa will give you your one and only present, and if you're lucky, it'll be something other than a scarf. But you don't really care, since you're going to be getting loads of presents for New Year's Day. Isn't Christmas in America great?
The past two weeks, I've been giving three or four short presentations a day about Christmas in America. I've been just as surprised as the kids have to discover the differences between the traditional American Christmas and the way the Japanese celebrate it, which is obviously what I've described above.
Not even touching on obvious omissions like the Nativity, it really is a different holiday here--much more like Valentine's Day. Everybody knows that Christmas is a western holiday, so all the students and teachers are shocked to hear that their Christmas traditions haven't actually come from America (granted, some of the "traditions" I readily mock may actually be tradition in Europe, but I don't really know--and it's a lot easier to just point and laugh).
Kids here are blown away when I tell them how many presents we traditionally get in America. They're even more shocked when I tell them that we don't exchange presents on New Years. "Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehh?" is the universal response. Christmas in America is very similar to New Year's Day in Japan.
Perhaps my favorite part of Christmas festivities this year happened on my island school, Sekizen Junior High. My teacher wanted to sing a popular traditional Christmas song from America, so she chose Wham!'s Last Christmas. Not Jingle Bells, White Christmas, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, or Silent Night. George Michael (the singer/songwriter). From England. Singing about how heartbroken he is on Christmas this year, because he gave his heart to someone who he knew so well that she (or he, I guess) didn't even recognize him only a year later.
I think Christmas would be a bit more depressing here if it actually reminded me of what I was missing at home. Sure, I'm sad that I don't get to spend Christmas with our families (though we did get to see Stef's parents just a couple weeks ago, and we opened up presents with them). But I've got Stef, the girls, and the sweet voice of George Michael to soothe my soul.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Kelsey Didn't Want to Go to Han-pock Fabrics
When I was a kid—maybe 3 or 4 years old—I went missing. My mom had been getting ready to go to the fabric store—Hancock Fabrics—and I didn't want to go. So I disappeared. She looked everywhere in the house, and when she couldn't find me, called the police. Right before the police showed up, she had the feeling that she should look under her bed. There wasn't much space there—definitely less than a foot of clearance—but there I was, fast asleep. When I woke up, I explained why I had crawled under the bed in the first place—I didn't want to go to "Han-pock Fabrics".
A few months ago, the news networks got swept up into the Balloon Boy fiasco, where a kid supposedly crawled into a weather balloon before it was "mistakenly released" into the sky to the horror of many. I remember thinking that he was probably fine, since the whole "he might have climbed into the balloon by accident" angle seemed a lot less plausible than the "he's probably hiding somewhere" one. As a parent, however, the possibility that this child was in danger resonated with me, as it probably did with many parents around the world. It's probably why we felt cheated when the whole thing turned out to be a hoax, and he was found hiding in his attic, likely at the behest of his fame-seeking scumbag parents.
Yesterday, Kelsey went missing at church while I was in class. The lady who was in charge of nursery had taken her eye off Kelsey for a moment, and that was all the time Kelsey needed to slip out the back door and start wandering the neighborhood. When I came out of my class, I saw a lady go out the back door, calling Kelsey's name. I hurried to catch up and find out what had happened, when I saw that a few other people had gone after her. They had just found her laying defiantly on a wooden pallet outside a business two buildings behind the church building when I showed up. I picked her up and carried her back to church. As we walked back, she said that she wanted to go to the playground. My heart was pumping at the brief thought that Kelsey had been lost, but the nursery teacher apologized for not watching her closely, and all was well. Or so I thought.
The guy who normally picks us up for church, Aki-san, didn't show up that day, so we had to come by taxi (after first leaving on bikes and realizing it was too cold for the girls). When church was out, nobody offered us a ride, so I started asking people how I should describe the church building, in order to correctly guide the taxi company to us. In the past, every time I'd described the location of the church building to taxi drivers, they'd get a bit confused (since nobody knows where the Mormon church is). I'd always had to tell them which streets to take and where to turn, so I anticipated a bit of difficulty when I called the taxi company.
I went outside to phone the taxi, away from the noise of the church halls. I explained that the church building was right by the Toyota dealership (the only one in town by a specific name), but the guy on the phone made no attempt to understand what I was saying. This is common in Japan. If you don't speak with a perfect accent, many people make no attempt to figure out what you are trying to tell them. Given that there's often an extremely specific way to ask certain questions, if you don't ask for things in the prescribed way, you often won't get anywhere—even if you pronounce everything correctly. They just give up and wait for you to come back with perfect Japanese, or at least written (in Japanese) instructions of what you want. Stef found this out the hard way when she went to pick her parents up at the train station by herself (luckily, I had given her parents a copy of the address in Japanese in case they needed it).
So, I explained that the church was the very next building, next to the car dealership, but the guy on the line got hung up on the fact that he didn't know which side of the building I was talking about. I got so frustrated with his inability to overlook such an unimportant detail (I mean, really? They can't just figure it out when they get to the car dealership?) that I told him that I no longer needed a taxi and hung up the phone. At this point, I was extremely frazzled. I just wanted to go home.
I walked back into the church to ask someone to either give us a ride or call the taxi company for me, when Stef came rushing towards me, asking me where Kelsey had gone. She was watching Mia, and thought that I was watching Kelsey. I checked in all the rooms at the church, but couldn't find her. I, along with ten other people, rushed outside and started looking in different directions throughout the neighborhood, calling out Kelsey's name. I was overwhelmed with the thought of losing Kelsey, so my calls for her got frantic. Walking with me was a mentally disabled man from church who meant well but kept parroting everything I said in his Japanese-English accent, causing my stress level to go through the roof.
At this point, I began to fear the worst. I continued to shout Kelsey's name as I wandered through the streets, checking the 5 foot-deep drainage canals that surrounded the roads in hopes that I wouldn't find her. Even though Japan is a safe place, there's no place on Earth where every single person can be trusted. The thought of someone taking her terrified me. All I could do is pray that she was all right.
I made my way back to the chapel to see if anybody had seen her, and one of the ladies waved and gave me a thumbs-up sign. Kelsey had gone into the sacrament room hid herself inside the pulpit. I couldn't be upset at her—she's just a kid, and she didn't understand the consequences of hiding. Nevertheless, it took me a good hour or so to get my emotions under control, and I was quite short with everybody as they asked if I was able to call the taxi. I vented my frustration about the taxi debacle and walked away from everybody, not really wanting any human contact. I won't even try to justify my behavior at that point. I know I was wrong.
I'm glad Kelsey was all right. I've resolved to pay closer attention to her at church and in public. We often let her wander around some stores as long as she's within sight, since she's so active and it's basically impossible to match her energy. Kelsey's a good girl; she gets a bit difficult when she's tired or hungry, but who doesn't? She's a sweet girl that likes to play, help, love, and be loved. She's also not even three years old, so we can't expect her to behave like an adult. She just wants to go outside—to go on walks with Mommy or Daddy. It doesn't matter where—the park, the cats around the corner, Han-pock fabrics—she just wants to get out. And there's nothing wrong with that.
A few months ago, the news networks got swept up into the Balloon Boy fiasco, where a kid supposedly crawled into a weather balloon before it was "mistakenly released" into the sky to the horror of many. I remember thinking that he was probably fine, since the whole "he might have climbed into the balloon by accident" angle seemed a lot less plausible than the "he's probably hiding somewhere" one. As a parent, however, the possibility that this child was in danger resonated with me, as it probably did with many parents around the world. It's probably why we felt cheated when the whole thing turned out to be a hoax, and he was found hiding in his attic, likely at the behest of his fame-seeking scumbag parents.
Yesterday, Kelsey went missing at church while I was in class. The lady who was in charge of nursery had taken her eye off Kelsey for a moment, and that was all the time Kelsey needed to slip out the back door and start wandering the neighborhood. When I came out of my class, I saw a lady go out the back door, calling Kelsey's name. I hurried to catch up and find out what had happened, when I saw that a few other people had gone after her. They had just found her laying defiantly on a wooden pallet outside a business two buildings behind the church building when I showed up. I picked her up and carried her back to church. As we walked back, she said that she wanted to go to the playground. My heart was pumping at the brief thought that Kelsey had been lost, but the nursery teacher apologized for not watching her closely, and all was well. Or so I thought.
The guy who normally picks us up for church, Aki-san, didn't show up that day, so we had to come by taxi (after first leaving on bikes and realizing it was too cold for the girls). When church was out, nobody offered us a ride, so I started asking people how I should describe the church building, in order to correctly guide the taxi company to us. In the past, every time I'd described the location of the church building to taxi drivers, they'd get a bit confused (since nobody knows where the Mormon church is). I'd always had to tell them which streets to take and where to turn, so I anticipated a bit of difficulty when I called the taxi company.
I went outside to phone the taxi, away from the noise of the church halls. I explained that the church building was right by the Toyota dealership (the only one in town by a specific name), but the guy on the phone made no attempt to understand what I was saying. This is common in Japan. If you don't speak with a perfect accent, many people make no attempt to figure out what you are trying to tell them. Given that there's often an extremely specific way to ask certain questions, if you don't ask for things in the prescribed way, you often won't get anywhere—even if you pronounce everything correctly. They just give up and wait for you to come back with perfect Japanese, or at least written (in Japanese) instructions of what you want. Stef found this out the hard way when she went to pick her parents up at the train station by herself (luckily, I had given her parents a copy of the address in Japanese in case they needed it).
So, I explained that the church was the very next building, next to the car dealership, but the guy on the line got hung up on the fact that he didn't know which side of the building I was talking about. I got so frustrated with his inability to overlook such an unimportant detail (I mean, really? They can't just figure it out when they get to the car dealership?) that I told him that I no longer needed a taxi and hung up the phone. At this point, I was extremely frazzled. I just wanted to go home.
I walked back into the church to ask someone to either give us a ride or call the taxi company for me, when Stef came rushing towards me, asking me where Kelsey had gone. She was watching Mia, and thought that I was watching Kelsey. I checked in all the rooms at the church, but couldn't find her. I, along with ten other people, rushed outside and started looking in different directions throughout the neighborhood, calling out Kelsey's name. I was overwhelmed with the thought of losing Kelsey, so my calls for her got frantic. Walking with me was a mentally disabled man from church who meant well but kept parroting everything I said in his Japanese-English accent, causing my stress level to go through the roof.
At this point, I began to fear the worst. I continued to shout Kelsey's name as I wandered through the streets, checking the 5 foot-deep drainage canals that surrounded the roads in hopes that I wouldn't find her. Even though Japan is a safe place, there's no place on Earth where every single person can be trusted. The thought of someone taking her terrified me. All I could do is pray that she was all right.
I made my way back to the chapel to see if anybody had seen her, and one of the ladies waved and gave me a thumbs-up sign. Kelsey had gone into the sacrament room hid herself inside the pulpit. I couldn't be upset at her—she's just a kid, and she didn't understand the consequences of hiding. Nevertheless, it took me a good hour or so to get my emotions under control, and I was quite short with everybody as they asked if I was able to call the taxi. I vented my frustration about the taxi debacle and walked away from everybody, not really wanting any human contact. I won't even try to justify my behavior at that point. I know I was wrong.
I'm glad Kelsey was all right. I've resolved to pay closer attention to her at church and in public. We often let her wander around some stores as long as she's within sight, since she's so active and it's basically impossible to match her energy. Kelsey's a good girl; she gets a bit difficult when she's tired or hungry, but who doesn't? She's a sweet girl that likes to play, help, love, and be loved. She's also not even three years old, so we can't expect her to behave like an adult. She just wants to go outside—to go on walks with Mommy or Daddy. It doesn't matter where—the park, the cats around the corner, Han-pock fabrics—she just wants to get out. And there's nothing wrong with that.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Samaria is not a place in Japan
Today, as I made my early bike commute to work, I crossed a busy road illegally about 150 feet before the street where I was planning to turn. I looked ahead at the crosswalk to check the traffic light, and I saw and old lady with a knit cap standing with her bike, waiting to cross the street. I waited for an opening, and then crossed illegally. As I approached the intersection, the light changed and the lady mounted her bike to cross. I shook my head, since I could have crossed legally without waiting. I looked away from her and watched the road ahead of me, when I heard a horrible crashing sound. I whipped my head over to look, and saw the lady falling to the asphalt, having been hit by a black Prius that was making a right turn (like a left, since they drive on the opposite side here).
I ditched my bike and ran into the middle of the street where she was laying. The knit cap had been knocked off of her, due to the force of the accident, as had been her right shoe. I picked her up and carried her off the street, setting her down as gently as I could on the sidewalk. The driver of the car that hit her left his car in the middle of the street, straddling the two lanes, and ran over to check on her.
She was conscious but a bit loopy, repeating that she was on her way to a hospital just a block up the street. The man was really shaken up, apologizing profusely and mentioning over and over that he hadn’t seen her in the crosswalk. All she could say in response was, “I had a green light to cross, right?” They both had a green, but turn arrows are rare, so drivers have to yield to pedestrians. My heart reaches out to the man almost as much as the lady.
I asked the man to call 119 (yeah, they do everything backwards here), but his phone was dead, so he couldn’t. He asked if I could do it for him, and then took off on foot to the nearby hospital, in hopes that they had some kind of emergency services. I asked another lady (who had just come over to help) to make the call, since I’m not the best at giving directions in Japan. I was a bit surprised that it took someone else so long to come over to help. It’s a pretty busy intersection, and cars were crossing in all directions—yet nobody stopped their car to help. I guess they figured that I had things under control. It’s so strange that people could witness something so shocking, and then just go about their day as if nothing happened.
While the other lady made the emergency phone call, I pulled the bike and some of the victim’s strewn belongings off the road, and then checked on her. She was complaining about pain in her head and clutching her right leg, which was likely broken. A few minutes later, an employee from the hospital approached us and mentioned that they didn’t have emergency services at their hospital. By that time, we had already contacted an ambulance, which was on its way.
When the ambulance arrived, the paramedics got out and put the lady on a stretcher, then asked me some questions about the accident. As they were getting the stretcher ready to load onto the ambulance, the Prius driver returned from the hospital and apologized again to the lady. The paramedics instructed us to stay there and wait for the police to come.
As the ambulance pulled away, the Prius driver frantically asked me if I had heard anything about her condition from the paramedics. I told him that her head and leg hurt, but that she was probably going to be okay.
The police showed up and asked me for a statement, after wondering aloud if it was okay to speak Japanese to me. I’m normally very comfortable with my Japanese, but this was new territory for me. I didn’t know all the terms used in an accident, so I spoke in very plain language. I don’t have a lot of experience with accidents, but I could at least explain what I saw.
I realized that by moving the patient and the bike, I messed with evidence. But I didn’t care, since it was more important to me to maintain safety. The bike bell was a good twenty feet away from where the accident occurred. Having not touched that, I pointed it out to the police, who drew a circle around it in chalk. They asked more questions about the traffic signals, my point of view, and where the lady, the bike, and the car all came to a stop. I did my best to describe what I had seen. They took down my contact information and let me know that I’ll probably receive a call later.
After that, I called my school to tell them that I’d be late to work (I was already about 45 minutes late by this point). While riding my bike, I jumped at almost every car that passed close to me. I keep thinking about all the little decisions I make during the day, and how much one little thing can change everything. Honestly, if I hadn’t crossed the road illegally, I could have been in the crosswalk with the lady. It could have been me—or both of us—in that crash.
The lady likely has at least a broken leg and a concussion. I’m sure she’ll survive, but as a 63 year-old woman, she’ll probably never fully recover from her injuries. I just hope that she’s okay, and that the driver will be able to forgive himself.
I ditched my bike and ran into the middle of the street where she was laying. The knit cap had been knocked off of her, due to the force of the accident, as had been her right shoe. I picked her up and carried her off the street, setting her down as gently as I could on the sidewalk. The driver of the car that hit her left his car in the middle of the street, straddling the two lanes, and ran over to check on her.
She was conscious but a bit loopy, repeating that she was on her way to a hospital just a block up the street. The man was really shaken up, apologizing profusely and mentioning over and over that he hadn’t seen her in the crosswalk. All she could say in response was, “I had a green light to cross, right?” They both had a green, but turn arrows are rare, so drivers have to yield to pedestrians. My heart reaches out to the man almost as much as the lady.
I asked the man to call 119 (yeah, they do everything backwards here), but his phone was dead, so he couldn’t. He asked if I could do it for him, and then took off on foot to the nearby hospital, in hopes that they had some kind of emergency services. I asked another lady (who had just come over to help) to make the call, since I’m not the best at giving directions in Japan. I was a bit surprised that it took someone else so long to come over to help. It’s a pretty busy intersection, and cars were crossing in all directions—yet nobody stopped their car to help. I guess they figured that I had things under control. It’s so strange that people could witness something so shocking, and then just go about their day as if nothing happened.
While the other lady made the emergency phone call, I pulled the bike and some of the victim’s strewn belongings off the road, and then checked on her. She was complaining about pain in her head and clutching her right leg, which was likely broken. A few minutes later, an employee from the hospital approached us and mentioned that they didn’t have emergency services at their hospital. By that time, we had already contacted an ambulance, which was on its way.
When the ambulance arrived, the paramedics got out and put the lady on a stretcher, then asked me some questions about the accident. As they were getting the stretcher ready to load onto the ambulance, the Prius driver returned from the hospital and apologized again to the lady. The paramedics instructed us to stay there and wait for the police to come.
As the ambulance pulled away, the Prius driver frantically asked me if I had heard anything about her condition from the paramedics. I told him that her head and leg hurt, but that she was probably going to be okay.
The police showed up and asked me for a statement, after wondering aloud if it was okay to speak Japanese to me. I’m normally very comfortable with my Japanese, but this was new territory for me. I didn’t know all the terms used in an accident, so I spoke in very plain language. I don’t have a lot of experience with accidents, but I could at least explain what I saw.
I realized that by moving the patient and the bike, I messed with evidence. But I didn’t care, since it was more important to me to maintain safety. The bike bell was a good twenty feet away from where the accident occurred. Having not touched that, I pointed it out to the police, who drew a circle around it in chalk. They asked more questions about the traffic signals, my point of view, and where the lady, the bike, and the car all came to a stop. I did my best to describe what I had seen. They took down my contact information and let me know that I’ll probably receive a call later.
After that, I called my school to tell them that I’d be late to work (I was already about 45 minutes late by this point). While riding my bike, I jumped at almost every car that passed close to me. I keep thinking about all the little decisions I make during the day, and how much one little thing can change everything. Honestly, if I hadn’t crossed the road illegally, I could have been in the crosswalk with the lady. It could have been me—or both of us—in that crash.
The lady likely has at least a broken leg and a concussion. I’m sure she’ll survive, but as a 63 year-old woman, she’ll probably never fully recover from her injuries. I just hope that she’s okay, and that the driver will be able to forgive himself.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Things that New Mac Owners Should Have and or Know
Ryan and Erin just got a MacBook, so I've decided to give them a little guide on things I recommend.
There is a really handy search bar in the top-right corner of the screen. Just click on the magnifying glass and a little text box will open up and wait for your input. From this search bar, you can launch programs, search e-mails that you've downloaded in the Mail application, look up words in the dictionary
For example, if you want to launch Skype, just type "Skype" (or even just "Sk") into the box and hit enter.
If you want to look up a word, like "ridiculous", just type it in the box. You'll see a Definition option, which you can choose by hitting enter or selecting with your mouse.
Once that dictionary's up, you'll see a definition of the word, along with derivatives and the etymology of the word, if available. If you look at the top of the window, you'll see other options, including Thesaurus, Apple, and Wikipedia. The Wikipedia option allows you to load that word's Wikipedia page right in the same window, provided you're connected to the internet.
The Apple option is helpful if you need to look up Apple computer terms and features that you might be unfamiliar with, like "alias":
Yeah, so "shortcuts" are called "aliases" on Macs. So if you're wondering how to create a shortcut for something, look for the Make alias option when you right-click.
Your computer might have only one mouse button. How can you right-click? There are two ways with the new Macbooks. One is to hold the control key and click, and the other is to place two fingers on the trackpad and click the button. There are all sorts of cool tricks that you can do with the trackpad.
There are tons of cool free Podcasts that you can watch via iTunes. This link is to a bunch of cool video tips about all the features of your Mac. I recommend watching them all sometime.
Never pay a cent for Microsoft Word, especially since Neo Office (or any other OpenOffice-type program) does the same thing for free. One thing you might want to do after you install NeoOffice is change the saving preferences. From the NeoOffice menu (shortcut: command+comma) choose Preferences, and then click on the arrow next to Load/Save. Click on General and look at the bottom of the window, where it says Default file format. The first drop-down menu contains the different type of files, with Text document being the equivalent of a Microsoft Word file, Spreadsheet an Excel file, and so on. If you want to save in Microsoft Word format (for better compatibility with computers that aren't using NeoOffice), choose Microsoft Word 97/2000/XP from the Always save as menu. You can do the same for the other document types if you want to save in the standard Microsoft Office formats.
iPhoto interfaces with Facebook, so you can tag and upload pictures directly from the iPhoto application.
VLC is the best media player you'll ever find, and it's totally free. You can use it to play DVDs, as well as just about any kind of video file you could find online.
On Macs, when you install a program, you run a "Disk Image", which is kind of like a virtual CD. The easiest way to install most programs is to just drag the program icon from the Disk Image window to your Applications folder. Once the program's installed, you can eject the Disk Image by single clicking on it and then pressing command+E, or alternately clicking on the eject button in the finder window (the window you use to browse files on the desktop).
If you ever want to take snapshots with your built-in webcam, just load PhotoBooth.
Other cool programs and features that come with it that you should learn how to use: Spaces, the Dashboard (hit F12), iCal.
There is a really handy search bar in the top-right corner of the screen. Just click on the magnifying glass and a little text box will open up and wait for your input. From this search bar, you can launch programs, search e-mails that you've downloaded in the Mail application, look up words in the dictionary
For example, if you want to launch Skype, just type "Skype" (or even just "Sk") into the box and hit enter.
If you want to look up a word, like "ridiculous", just type it in the box. You'll see a Definition option, which you can choose by hitting enter or selecting with your mouse.
Once that dictionary's up, you'll see a definition of the word, along with derivatives and the etymology of the word, if available. If you look at the top of the window, you'll see other options, including Thesaurus, Apple, and Wikipedia. The Wikipedia option allows you to load that word's Wikipedia page right in the same window, provided you're connected to the internet.
The Apple option is helpful if you need to look up Apple computer terms and features that you might be unfamiliar with, like "alias":
alias
On Macintosh computers, a small file with no content of its own that points to a document, folder, application, or device, usually in a different location. When you double-click the alias, the source item opens or starts up.
Yeah, so "shortcuts" are called "aliases" on Macs. So if you're wondering how to create a shortcut for something, look for the Make alias option when you right-click.
Your computer might have only one mouse button. How can you right-click? There are two ways with the new Macbooks. One is to hold the control key and click, and the other is to place two fingers on the trackpad and click the button. There are all sorts of cool tricks that you can do with the trackpad.
There are tons of cool free Podcasts that you can watch via iTunes. This link is to a bunch of cool video tips about all the features of your Mac. I recommend watching them all sometime.
Never pay a cent for Microsoft Word, especially since Neo Office (or any other OpenOffice-type program) does the same thing for free. One thing you might want to do after you install NeoOffice is change the saving preferences. From the NeoOffice menu (shortcut: command+comma) choose Preferences, and then click on the arrow next to Load/Save. Click on General and look at the bottom of the window, where it says Default file format. The first drop-down menu contains the different type of files, with Text document being the equivalent of a Microsoft Word file, Spreadsheet an Excel file, and so on. If you want to save in Microsoft Word format (for better compatibility with computers that aren't using NeoOffice), choose Microsoft Word 97/2000/XP from the Always save as menu. You can do the same for the other document types if you want to save in the standard Microsoft Office formats.
iPhoto interfaces with Facebook, so you can tag and upload pictures directly from the iPhoto application.
VLC is the best media player you'll ever find, and it's totally free. You can use it to play DVDs, as well as just about any kind of video file you could find online.
On Macs, when you install a program, you run a "Disk Image", which is kind of like a virtual CD. The easiest way to install most programs is to just drag the program icon from the Disk Image window to your Applications folder. Once the program's installed, you can eject the Disk Image by single clicking on it and then pressing command+E, or alternately clicking on the eject button in the finder window (the window you use to browse files on the desktop).
If you ever want to take snapshots with your built-in webcam, just load PhotoBooth.
Other cool programs and features that come with it that you should learn how to use: Spaces, the Dashboard (hit F12), iCal.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Grandpa Seegmiller
When I was a young teen, I went "hunting" with Grandpa Seegmiller, my mom's father, up at Big Rock Candy Mountain in Utah. I didn't have a hunting license, so I stayed back while he actually went out to hunt. We camped by a stream, shooting handguns and .22 caliber rifles at targets on trees. We built a fire inside a washing machine basin, which was great for keeping the fire contained but still putting out a ton of heat. It was an idea that he or one of his friends had, and he talked about mass-producing them. Grandpa sang about the Lemonade Springs and Big Rock Candy Mountain. I'll never forget Grandpa's rendition of Burl Ives' song, and I'll never forget that trip.
Monday was my monthly office day, meaning that I went in to the city office building and only had to stay for three hours. Usually, all the ALTs employed by the Imabari City Board of Education sit together in acloset small room, studying or chatting from 9 AM until noon. Sometimes the BOE guys need to use the room for a meeting, and so we have to go to the top floor (13th) of the main city office building. I generally prefer going there, since it's a lot less claustrophobic. This Monday was one of those days.
I occasionally bring my laptop with me to work to study, which is usually effective, since there is no internet connection at either of the two work spots. This week, Paul informed me that if you sit in a certain area of the 13th floor, there's an unsecured wireless network. I gave it a shot, and he was right. The connection wasn't strong enough to watch the World Series, but it was just fine for normal browsing.
Right before it was time to go home, I decided to check out Emily's blog, since I hadn't really read it for quite some time. When it loaded, I was shocked to see a post about how my Grandpa was in the hospital and might not make it through the day. I frantically checked the timestamp to see when she had posted. It was from earlier that day. The clock struck twelve and it was time to go home.
I didn't even know that my grandpa was sick. I was a bit upset that nobody had called to tell me. I pedaled my bicycle home and went to call Mom, only to find that the power source to our Vonage phone had somehow been unplugged. They couldn't have called me if they wanted to. I plugged the phone in, only to realize that the battery on the cordless receiver had died due to being unplugged. Luckily, we had an old corded phone lying around that I plugged in and used to call Mom.
Our conversation was brief. She said she had flown to see Grandpa at the hospital in Las Vegas, and that he was pretty lucid, and would like to hear from me. She mentioned that his aneurysms (which I didn't even know about) were bleeding and that he didn't have much longer, but that he was singing songs and telling stories to help ease the minds of all the visitors.
I got the number and called Grandpa. His step-son Jonathan answered the phone, telling me that the nurses had just given him some medication and that he would be asleep for another hour or so. I tried to distract myself by paying bills and doing the grocery shopping with Stef, but I was too anxious about getting to talk to Grandpa that I couldn't put it out of my mind.
When we got back home, I called Grandpa, and Jonathan again answered. He said that Grandpa was there and wanted to talk to me. Grandpa picked up the phone, and I asked him how he was feeling. He said, "I feel like I'm about to check out of this world," and the line went dead. I frantically redialed, hoping that those weren't his last words. After getting his voice mail a few times, I finally got back in touch with him. He told me that the Vonage line had acted up and started screaming like an alien at him, so he hung up the phone.
He asked me how my family was doing, and after giving him a quick summary of our happenings, I asked him a question that I knew would get him to talk. "I know you've been to Hong Kong and China, but did you say that you also came to Japan?"
He told me all about the time that he came to Japan, and how wonderful the experience was. He said that the bigwig CEO of the company he was doing business with, who drove a big American Cadillac--can you imagine that in the narrow streets out here?--took him out to dinner at a hibachi-style grill with another colleague. He ordered steak for everyone, and the cook came out with a huge slab of meat.
Unsure how he was going to eat so much meat, he breathed a sigh of relief when the cook cut the slab into three pieces. After a delicious and entertaining--"You know how those places are, throwing the knives around and everything," said Grandpa--meal, he glanced down at the bill, which was being picked up by the CEO. $100 a steak.
The CEO then asked if it was all right if they stayed in a Japanese-style inn instead of a typical "Americanized" hotel. Always seeking adventure, Grandpa gave the thumbs-up. When he got to the hotel, the hotel attendant showed him his bed--how it was "all rolled up in the closet", and how it just went straight on the floor.
His business partner later invited him to take a bath. It was a big communal hot tub with showers surrounding it. You had to sit on a little stool and wash off really well before dipping into the water that was so hot, you weren't sure if your skin would melt off or not.
After the bath, the CEO suggested he get a massage. Grandpa had traveled around Asia before, and knew that "massage basically meant a trip to the nearest whorehouse." He politely declined the offer, prompting his associate to explain that massages in Japan weren't like Hong Kong massages. They were real massages. "A 55 or 60 year-old woman then came out and proceeded to beat the crap out of me," explained Grandpa. "But, I'll tell you what. My back didn't hurt at all afterward."
The next morning, when the CEO asked what he wanted for breakfast, he requested "whatever people normally eat in Japan." He was treated to a "feast" of rice and these super-salty little fish that looked like bullheads that he used to catch as a kid.
It didn't matter to me that many of the things he told me were normal parts of Japanese life that I've experienced countless times--it was just great to hear Grandpa talk so fondly of his experiences. He was always a master storyteller. At one point during the story, he asked if he'd already told me this before. He hadn't, but even if he had, I would've wanted to listen anyway.
The talk got a bit more serious as he mentioned that he felt so fortunate to know how and when he was going to die. It gave him the opportunity to say goodbye to all the people he loved. He gushed about how much everybody meant to him, and how blessed he felt to talk to all his kids, including everyone from my family. He got a kick out of talking to Matt, who he said he didn't often get a chance to talk to.
He told me that he loved me and was proud of me for the choices I've made--for going on a mission, marrying a great woman, and learning all the languages. He said he'd always remember me saying that it was a family tradition for him to cook bacon and pancakes when he stayed at our house.
He was proud of my family and the adventures I've had, and again encouraged me to write a book. He himself was writing a book about all his different careers and experiences. For those who don't know, he was heavily involved in the invention and production of compact discs, and was involved in many different cutting edge business ventures.
He didn't think he'd last more than a day. If he did hang on, he said, he'd get a computer in the hospital room and type as much as he could, since he had only written up to 1960 or so, and that's when things started to get good.
He again said that he loved me and that it was great to get to talk to me again. When we said goodbye, we both knew that it would be the last time.
Monday night, after I had fallen asleep, I awoke to the sound of our phone ringing. Stef was more alert than I was and went and answered. When she came back, she said that Grandpa had passed away and that Mom wanted to talk. When uncle West went to visit him, he perked up a bit, after which he went into a violent sounding sleep from which he never woke. Mom and I talked for a few minutes, laughing about some of the stories that Grandpa told me.
I could tell that getting to talk to Grandpa before he left was helping my mom and her siblings cope. I know it did for me. When my dad's parents died, it all came so suddenly, and I never had a chance to say goodbye. I felt extremely blessed that the day he went happened to be my half day. I'm grateful that I stumbled upon Emily's blog post which clued me in to his condition. I feel so blessed to have gotten the chance to say goodbye to Grandpa Seegmiller.
He got to go out mostly on his own terms. Apparently he had known about his aneurysms for a while. He was on his way back from a hunting trip in Idaho with Clark when things started to get bad. His wife didn't want him to go on the trip at all because she was afraid that it would kill him. He responded that he didn't want to die at home. He got to go horseback riding one last time and watch Clark bring back a buck. It was the perfect way to go.
Grandpa was a trailblazing cowboy in a time of mechanized industry. His body is set to be buried at the same cemetery where my father's parents are enterred. His body may soon lie there, but his spirit is now blazing trails in that Big Rock Candy Mountain in the sky. I love you and miss you, Grandpa.
Monday was my monthly office day, meaning that I went in to the city office building and only had to stay for three hours. Usually, all the ALTs employed by the Imabari City Board of Education sit together in a
I occasionally bring my laptop with me to work to study, which is usually effective, since there is no internet connection at either of the two work spots. This week, Paul informed me that if you sit in a certain area of the 13th floor, there's an unsecured wireless network. I gave it a shot, and he was right. The connection wasn't strong enough to watch the World Series, but it was just fine for normal browsing.
Right before it was time to go home, I decided to check out Emily's blog, since I hadn't really read it for quite some time. When it loaded, I was shocked to see a post about how my Grandpa was in the hospital and might not make it through the day. I frantically checked the timestamp to see when she had posted. It was from earlier that day. The clock struck twelve and it was time to go home.
I didn't even know that my grandpa was sick. I was a bit upset that nobody had called to tell me. I pedaled my bicycle home and went to call Mom, only to find that the power source to our Vonage phone had somehow been unplugged. They couldn't have called me if they wanted to. I plugged the phone in, only to realize that the battery on the cordless receiver had died due to being unplugged. Luckily, we had an old corded phone lying around that I plugged in and used to call Mom.
Our conversation was brief. She said she had flown to see Grandpa at the hospital in Las Vegas, and that he was pretty lucid, and would like to hear from me. She mentioned that his aneurysms (which I didn't even know about) were bleeding and that he didn't have much longer, but that he was singing songs and telling stories to help ease the minds of all the visitors.
I got the number and called Grandpa. His step-son Jonathan answered the phone, telling me that the nurses had just given him some medication and that he would be asleep for another hour or so. I tried to distract myself by paying bills and doing the grocery shopping with Stef, but I was too anxious about getting to talk to Grandpa that I couldn't put it out of my mind.
When we got back home, I called Grandpa, and Jonathan again answered. He said that Grandpa was there and wanted to talk to me. Grandpa picked up the phone, and I asked him how he was feeling. He said, "I feel like I'm about to check out of this world," and the line went dead. I frantically redialed, hoping that those weren't his last words. After getting his voice mail a few times, I finally got back in touch with him. He told me that the Vonage line had acted up and started screaming like an alien at him, so he hung up the phone.
He asked me how my family was doing, and after giving him a quick summary of our happenings, I asked him a question that I knew would get him to talk. "I know you've been to Hong Kong and China, but did you say that you also came to Japan?"
He told me all about the time that he came to Japan, and how wonderful the experience was. He said that the bigwig CEO of the company he was doing business with, who drove a big American Cadillac--can you imagine that in the narrow streets out here?--took him out to dinner at a hibachi-style grill with another colleague. He ordered steak for everyone, and the cook came out with a huge slab of meat.
Unsure how he was going to eat so much meat, he breathed a sigh of relief when the cook cut the slab into three pieces. After a delicious and entertaining--"You know how those places are, throwing the knives around and everything," said Grandpa--meal, he glanced down at the bill, which was being picked up by the CEO. $100 a steak.
The CEO then asked if it was all right if they stayed in a Japanese-style inn instead of a typical "Americanized" hotel. Always seeking adventure, Grandpa gave the thumbs-up. When he got to the hotel, the hotel attendant showed him his bed--how it was "all rolled up in the closet", and how it just went straight on the floor.
His business partner later invited him to take a bath. It was a big communal hot tub with showers surrounding it. You had to sit on a little stool and wash off really well before dipping into the water that was so hot, you weren't sure if your skin would melt off or not.
After the bath, the CEO suggested he get a massage. Grandpa had traveled around Asia before, and knew that "massage basically meant a trip to the nearest whorehouse." He politely declined the offer, prompting his associate to explain that massages in Japan weren't like Hong Kong massages. They were real massages. "A 55 or 60 year-old woman then came out and proceeded to beat the crap out of me," explained Grandpa. "But, I'll tell you what. My back didn't hurt at all afterward."
The next morning, when the CEO asked what he wanted for breakfast, he requested "whatever people normally eat in Japan." He was treated to a "feast" of rice and these super-salty little fish that looked like bullheads that he used to catch as a kid.
It didn't matter to me that many of the things he told me were normal parts of Japanese life that I've experienced countless times--it was just great to hear Grandpa talk so fondly of his experiences. He was always a master storyteller. At one point during the story, he asked if he'd already told me this before. He hadn't, but even if he had, I would've wanted to listen anyway.
The talk got a bit more serious as he mentioned that he felt so fortunate to know how and when he was going to die. It gave him the opportunity to say goodbye to all the people he loved. He gushed about how much everybody meant to him, and how blessed he felt to talk to all his kids, including everyone from my family. He got a kick out of talking to Matt, who he said he didn't often get a chance to talk to.
He told me that he loved me and was proud of me for the choices I've made--for going on a mission, marrying a great woman, and learning all the languages. He said he'd always remember me saying that it was a family tradition for him to cook bacon and pancakes when he stayed at our house.
He was proud of my family and the adventures I've had, and again encouraged me to write a book. He himself was writing a book about all his different careers and experiences. For those who don't know, he was heavily involved in the invention and production of compact discs, and was involved in many different cutting edge business ventures.
He didn't think he'd last more than a day. If he did hang on, he said, he'd get a computer in the hospital room and type as much as he could, since he had only written up to 1960 or so, and that's when things started to get good.
He again said that he loved me and that it was great to get to talk to me again. When we said goodbye, we both knew that it would be the last time.
Monday night, after I had fallen asleep, I awoke to the sound of our phone ringing. Stef was more alert than I was and went and answered. When she came back, she said that Grandpa had passed away and that Mom wanted to talk. When uncle West went to visit him, he perked up a bit, after which he went into a violent sounding sleep from which he never woke. Mom and I talked for a few minutes, laughing about some of the stories that Grandpa told me.
I could tell that getting to talk to Grandpa before he left was helping my mom and her siblings cope. I know it did for me. When my dad's parents died, it all came so suddenly, and I never had a chance to say goodbye. I felt extremely blessed that the day he went happened to be my half day. I'm grateful that I stumbled upon Emily's blog post which clued me in to his condition. I feel so blessed to have gotten the chance to say goodbye to Grandpa Seegmiller.
He got to go out mostly on his own terms. Apparently he had known about his aneurysms for a while. He was on his way back from a hunting trip in Idaho with Clark when things started to get bad. His wife didn't want him to go on the trip at all because she was afraid that it would kill him. He responded that he didn't want to die at home. He got to go horseback riding one last time and watch Clark bring back a buck. It was the perfect way to go.
Grandpa was a trailblazing cowboy in a time of mechanized industry. His body is set to be buried at the same cemetery where my father's parents are enterred. His body may soon lie there, but his spirit is now blazing trails in that Big Rock Candy Mountain in the sky. I love you and miss you, Grandpa.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Things People Have Actually Said Recently
These are things that people I know have said recently:
Kelsey (having heard this in one of her movies):I have my own life now, Dad!
If she's already saying this stuff when she's 2, I don't even want to know what the teens have in store.
Kelsey: Look! I have a spider on my hand!
She did.
One of the English teachers, explaining to students why candy corn (corn is pronounced ko-n, like the word "cone", in Japanese) is called what it is: See, it's shaped just like a cone, so that's why it's called "candy cone".
I tried to explain that it's actually "corn", but she couldn't perceive the difference between what I said ("corn"), and what she thinks it's called ("cone").
Another teacher, while walking with me to class: This lesson isn't the best lesson ever, but it's good because it allows the retarded people in class to participate.
There aren't any disabled people in the class. Perhaps she meant "underachievers".
Kelsey (having heard this in one of her movies):I have my own life now, Dad!
If she's already saying this stuff when she's 2, I don't even want to know what the teens have in store.
Kelsey: Look! I have a spider on my hand!
She did.
One of the English teachers, explaining to students why candy corn (corn is pronounced ko-n, like the word "cone", in Japanese) is called what it is: See, it's shaped just like a cone, so that's why it's called "candy cone".
I tried to explain that it's actually "corn", but she couldn't perceive the difference between what I said ("corn"), and what she thinks it's called ("cone").
Another teacher, while walking with me to class: This lesson isn't the best lesson ever, but it's good because it allows the retarded people in class to participate.
There aren't any disabled people in the class. Perhaps she meant "underachievers".
Ryan and Erin Come to Japan
Ryan and Erin recently came to Japan for a week and a half. It's time for me to give an update on how all that went.
We all went to pick them up at Kansai International Airport in Osaka on September 29th. While we were waiting for them to come out with their luggage, a lady that looked Mediterranean walked by. I commented that I thought she might be from Italy. She walked by us and said something in English, and I asked her where she was from. From Lebanon, she married a man from Japan and came to live here. They communicate in English. We had a rather long conversation about how Christian values are eroding around the world, and she urged me to teach them in my lessons (that'd result in an instant firing, according to my contract).
Ryan had had knee surgery a few weeks before coming, and so we waited for him to crutch out with Erin, or possibly come out in a wheelchair. When they finally came out the doors, it was Erin that was riding in a wheelchair. She had a really rough flight, being motion sick for a good part of the trip. Ryan, who had been dreading the flight since he got sick on the flight back from Hawaii a few years ago, didn't get sick at all.
We took the luggage over to the delivery counter and shipped a couple bags so that we only had to carry one around with us. Then we got on a train bound for the part of town where our hotel was located, and went back there to rest for the night. Ryan and Erin had been awake for quite some time, so Stef suggested they go back and go to bed.
We were all hungry, so we first went to get some food at a little restaurant in Osaka. It wasn't the best food I've ever had, and it truthfully wasn't that much different from what we could have gotten at a convenience store. But it didn't matter, since it was so cool to be hanging out with Ryan and Erin again. Ryan and I wanted time to talk, so we went back to the hotel and soaked in the communal bath.
I knew that no matter what time they went to bed, they'd be waking up early in the morning. So I was fine with them going to sleep a bit early. I think they woke up at around 2AM and couldn't go back to sleep after that. At around 6:30 in the morning, we all went to a nearby convenience store to get some food for breakfast. We came back to the hotel and ate it in the hall. We were so excited to talk and hang out that we forgot that it was 7AM and that we might wake people up. A lady from Eastern Europe with pink hair and nothing but a long shirt to cover her unsightly body came out and gave us the death stare. When we realized that we had woken her up, we apologized for being loud, to which she replied, "Yeah, you were like, 'Blah, blah blah,'" in a thick, Russian-sounding accent. Yeah, it was pretty much awesome. We realized that we were loud and obnoxious, but getting to hear her comment was worth waking her up.
We had wanted to go to the Osaka castle that morning, but with so much traveling planned for the next few days, we decided to forgo the castle altogether and hop on a train to Hiroshima while it was still early. When we got to the Hiroshima train station, we bought some yummy little bean-filled hot griddle cakes and hopped on a tram to the A-bomb dome.
The dome consists of the skeletal remnants of the city office building that stood after the atomic bomb decimated the city. It was very sobering to think of the death and destruction that was caused by blast. They've kept the structure standing as a testament to the destruction, in hopes that it will deter any future use of such weapons elsewhere in the world.
After that, we walked to an okonomiyaki shop to eat lunch. They liked it, but I sensed that Ryan liked it more than Erin did. He washed his food down with an alcohol free beer, which was absolutely disgusting.
We then walked over to the Peace Memorial Park, an exhibit with all sorts of photographs, from bomb victims to the aftermath at ground zero. I was worried about things that Kelsey might see that could upset her, so I kept her close as we walked through the museum. I didn't want her to see graphic images of melted flesh, so I picked her up and whisked her past the disturbing sections. Young minds are so tender, and I would hate to see her react to that stuff.
One time, while at an electronics store, we let her watch the huge TVs while I helped another ALT get set up for internet service. Stef looked over and saw Kelsey sobbing, having just watched a grotesque cartoon preview where they showed a vampire devouring another person. Kelsey was inconsolable for a while. She wouldn't let Stef calm her down. I know you can't protect your children from everything forever, but I still think it's important as a parent to help kids retain their innocence.
After seeing the bomb exhibits in Hiroshima, we went back to the station and boarded a train bound for Mihara, where we planned to get on a boat en route to our next destination. We had to hurry, because we weren't sure if we'd make it in time to Ikina, where we planned to stay the night. In Mihara, we walked up to a taxi and asked the driver to take us to the harbor. He told us that it wasn't too far away, and that we should walk, not paying attention to the fact that we had two children, luggage, and a cripple on crutches. He shrugged his shoulders and drove us a whole three blocks to the harbor. We had just enough time to purchase tickets and make it onto the boat headed for Habu.
Ryan and I hung out in the very back of the boat with Kelsey while Erin and Stef chatted during the half-hour boat ride. We got to Habu with enough time to run to the ramen shop where we had hoped to eat. It was closed. We walked around the corner to a Chinese restaurant, where we had just enough time to shovel down some food before making a run for our next boat. I asked the lady at the Habu port if there was still a boat that headed to the south-most port on Ikina, and she said no, and that we'd have to go to the other port if we wanted to get to Ikina at all. She seemed very put off that I was even bothering to ask her a question. We hopped on the Ikina ferry and went across the straight--a two minute ride. When we got there, I saw the boat that we had wanted to take pull up to the port that we had just left. I was livid. The lady who had rudely disregarded me as a customer had given me bad information. That boat sped off to the port in front of Laura's house.
Ryan was on crutches, so there was no way we could make the walk to Laura's house. Without kids, it would take an adult walking at a brisk pace about 20 minutes to get there. With the kids and the crutches, it was just not doable. We called Laura and informed her of our misfortune, and she made a few phone calls. Her flower arranging teacher came to pick us up. While waiting for them to come, Kelsey, Stef, and Erin walked over to the source of some loud banging. Some kids were practicing with taiko drums for their Fall Festival. They let Kelsey play around with the drums.
We went back to Laura's house and hung out with her for a while, chatting in her living room. I set up her wireless internet for her so that Ryan and Erin could Skype with their daughter, Sadie. We all took turns bathing and then went to bed.
Laura made some corn bread for us the next morning, and we ate it with huckleberry jam. We got up in the morning and took a boat to Yuge to wait for the boat headed to Uoshima. We had some time to kill, so we grabbed some snacks at the convenience store on Yuge and sat around talking. It was raining, so we couldn't do much but wait for our boat. We tried to play a word game, but Ryan and Erin had differing opinions on how we should play, so Erin went inside the waiting room at the port and played with Stef. Ryan and I played our own version of the game until Kelsey decided that she'd had enough sitting. She got angry and started saying "No!" to everything we said to her, so we turned it into our own little word game.
Us: Place like home?
Kelsey: NO place like home!
Us: Bell prize?
Kelsey: NO bell prize!
Us: Where man?
Kelsey: NO where man!
Us: Torious?
Kelsey: NO torius!
...
This went on for a while, until she was saying things that sounded suspiciously similar to things she probably shouldn't say.
So much for helping my children retain their innocence.
The Uoshima boat finally came, and we got on and headed out to Fish Island. Ryan and I went up top and enjoyed the air, positioning ourselves by an overhang so that the rain didn't hit us. When we got to the island, the Azumas were waiting for us with a sign that read, "Mr. Stout Family, Welcome to Uoshima!" The sign was intended for Ryan and Erin, but the Azumas didn't know that Ryan was Stef's brother, not my own.
We walked up to the Azumas' old Japanese home, on the side of a hill towards the top part of town. They had prepared a delicious feast for us made up of all sorts of wonderful sashimi and breaded fish. The italian-style octopus sashimi was surprisingly awesome.
That afternoon, we just hung out at the Azuma home while Mr. Azuma taught us how to play Hanafuda, a Japanese card game. He also showed us how to play Go, the game with white and black stones that's said to be a lot more complicated strategically than even Chess. That may have been the highlight of the whole trip. A former teacher, Mr. Azuma was very methodical in showing us how to play. He gave us opportunities to show our understanding. It was clear that he's a good teacher.
That night, we went up to the shrine for a karaoke festival, as well as the start of the Fall Festival in Uoshima. We watched my old band, Uoshima'X, as they played a couple new songs with their new singer, Amado. He's the new ALT on Uoshima. There were a few traditional Japanese dances, as well as the taiko drum-accompanied chants by the robed Shinto priests of Uoshima. I'm glad that Ryan and Erin got to see all that.
I was really tired that night, and a bit grumpy. People kept speaking to me in broken English, not knowing that I speak Japanese. I think they just assumed that I never learned, since I didn't really go out of my way to speak to them when I lived there. At one point, Amado, just trying to help (and likely unaware of my speaking abilities), acted as a translator, which really upset me. I didn't need a translator. They could've just spoken to me in Japanese, and I could've replied in perfectly natural Japanese. The fact that Amado has time to hang out with the band members and learn the Japanese songs made things worse. Having a family really changes everything. I just never had time for any of that stuff. I was a bit bitter that I didn't get to experience a lot of the things that I could have.
Of course, I wouldn't trade what I have for anything. I'm much happier than I would be if I were single. But I still wish I could somehow have some of the same opportunities without having to sacrifice time with the family. There's just not enough time in the day for everything, and I'm going to choose my family every time.
The next morning, Erin and Stef went up to watch the carrying of the portable mikoshi shrine, while Ryan and I chatted down by the docks. We walked up to our old house and waited for the portable shrine to come around. When they got there, we had some melon soda and some fried food on a stick. Someone randomly asked Erin to sing for everybody, and others started egging her on. Ryan and I suggested she sing the Itsy Bitsy Spider with hand motions, but she was too nervous. So we sang it together. When they asked for an encore, we sang Popcorn Popping on the Apricot Tree, complete with all the gestures. It was both surreal and awesome at the same time.
When we left the island later that day, the Azumas saw us off and stood at the dock waving until the boat was out of sight. I'm really glad that they got to see Uoshima. I really miss that place. Don't get me wrong--I love living in Imabari. I mean, there's a store in Imabari. But I still miss the people, the beauty, and the quiet of Uoshima.
For the rest of the trip, we relaxed. It was a bit difficult for Ryan to get around, since we couldn't use bikes. So we spent most of our time in the neighborhood near our home. And that was just fine by me. We went to a nearby park that has lots of koi and turtles, as well as some awesome roller-slides. They got to try tonkotsu ramen, a really tasty pig-based soup that's really popular, and also go to a kaiten-zushi, the conveyor belt-style sushi restaurant. We also dropped in to Hard Off, a recycle shop that sells all sorts off cool second-hand gadgets and gizmos. Ryan and Erin bought about 20 thingamabobs to take back to the 'States. I'm going to really miss Hard Off when we're back in America.
Hanging out with Ryan and Erin, eating noodles, riding trains, playing Peggle, gettin' nude with a dude--their visit is, so far, the highlight of our Japan experience (when it comes to things that are fun and not, say, terrifying). Finally, here are some pictures for all to enjoy.
We all went to pick them up at Kansai International Airport in Osaka on September 29th. While we were waiting for them to come out with their luggage, a lady that looked Mediterranean walked by. I commented that I thought she might be from Italy. She walked by us and said something in English, and I asked her where she was from. From Lebanon, she married a man from Japan and came to live here. They communicate in English. We had a rather long conversation about how Christian values are eroding around the world, and she urged me to teach them in my lessons (that'd result in an instant firing, according to my contract).
Ryan had had knee surgery a few weeks before coming, and so we waited for him to crutch out with Erin, or possibly come out in a wheelchair. When they finally came out the doors, it was Erin that was riding in a wheelchair. She had a really rough flight, being motion sick for a good part of the trip. Ryan, who had been dreading the flight since he got sick on the flight back from Hawaii a few years ago, didn't get sick at all.
We took the luggage over to the delivery counter and shipped a couple bags so that we only had to carry one around with us. Then we got on a train bound for the part of town where our hotel was located, and went back there to rest for the night. Ryan and Erin had been awake for quite some time, so Stef suggested they go back and go to bed.
We were all hungry, so we first went to get some food at a little restaurant in Osaka. It wasn't the best food I've ever had, and it truthfully wasn't that much different from what we could have gotten at a convenience store. But it didn't matter, since it was so cool to be hanging out with Ryan and Erin again. Ryan and I wanted time to talk, so we went back to the hotel and soaked in the communal bath.
I knew that no matter what time they went to bed, they'd be waking up early in the morning. So I was fine with them going to sleep a bit early. I think they woke up at around 2AM and couldn't go back to sleep after that. At around 6:30 in the morning, we all went to a nearby convenience store to get some food for breakfast. We came back to the hotel and ate it in the hall. We were so excited to talk and hang out that we forgot that it was 7AM and that we might wake people up. A lady from Eastern Europe with pink hair and nothing but a long shirt to cover her unsightly body came out and gave us the death stare. When we realized that we had woken her up, we apologized for being loud, to which she replied, "Yeah, you were like, 'Blah, blah blah,'" in a thick, Russian-sounding accent. Yeah, it was pretty much awesome. We realized that we were loud and obnoxious, but getting to hear her comment was worth waking her up.
We had wanted to go to the Osaka castle that morning, but with so much traveling planned for the next few days, we decided to forgo the castle altogether and hop on a train to Hiroshima while it was still early. When we got to the Hiroshima train station, we bought some yummy little bean-filled hot griddle cakes and hopped on a tram to the A-bomb dome.
The dome consists of the skeletal remnants of the city office building that stood after the atomic bomb decimated the city. It was very sobering to think of the death and destruction that was caused by blast. They've kept the structure standing as a testament to the destruction, in hopes that it will deter any future use of such weapons elsewhere in the world.
After that, we walked to an okonomiyaki shop to eat lunch. They liked it, but I sensed that Ryan liked it more than Erin did. He washed his food down with an alcohol free beer, which was absolutely disgusting.
We then walked over to the Peace Memorial Park, an exhibit with all sorts of photographs, from bomb victims to the aftermath at ground zero. I was worried about things that Kelsey might see that could upset her, so I kept her close as we walked through the museum. I didn't want her to see graphic images of melted flesh, so I picked her up and whisked her past the disturbing sections. Young minds are so tender, and I would hate to see her react to that stuff.
One time, while at an electronics store, we let her watch the huge TVs while I helped another ALT get set up for internet service. Stef looked over and saw Kelsey sobbing, having just watched a grotesque cartoon preview where they showed a vampire devouring another person. Kelsey was inconsolable for a while. She wouldn't let Stef calm her down. I know you can't protect your children from everything forever, but I still think it's important as a parent to help kids retain their innocence.
After seeing the bomb exhibits in Hiroshima, we went back to the station and boarded a train bound for Mihara, where we planned to get on a boat en route to our next destination. We had to hurry, because we weren't sure if we'd make it in time to Ikina, where we planned to stay the night. In Mihara, we walked up to a taxi and asked the driver to take us to the harbor. He told us that it wasn't too far away, and that we should walk, not paying attention to the fact that we had two children, luggage, and a cripple on crutches. He shrugged his shoulders and drove us a whole three blocks to the harbor. We had just enough time to purchase tickets and make it onto the boat headed for Habu.
Ryan and I hung out in the very back of the boat with Kelsey while Erin and Stef chatted during the half-hour boat ride. We got to Habu with enough time to run to the ramen shop where we had hoped to eat. It was closed. We walked around the corner to a Chinese restaurant, where we had just enough time to shovel down some food before making a run for our next boat. I asked the lady at the Habu port if there was still a boat that headed to the south-most port on Ikina, and she said no, and that we'd have to go to the other port if we wanted to get to Ikina at all. She seemed very put off that I was even bothering to ask her a question. We hopped on the Ikina ferry and went across the straight--a two minute ride. When we got there, I saw the boat that we had wanted to take pull up to the port that we had just left. I was livid. The lady who had rudely disregarded me as a customer had given me bad information. That boat sped off to the port in front of Laura's house.
Ryan was on crutches, so there was no way we could make the walk to Laura's house. Without kids, it would take an adult walking at a brisk pace about 20 minutes to get there. With the kids and the crutches, it was just not doable. We called Laura and informed her of our misfortune, and she made a few phone calls. Her flower arranging teacher came to pick us up. While waiting for them to come, Kelsey, Stef, and Erin walked over to the source of some loud banging. Some kids were practicing with taiko drums for their Fall Festival. They let Kelsey play around with the drums.
We went back to Laura's house and hung out with her for a while, chatting in her living room. I set up her wireless internet for her so that Ryan and Erin could Skype with their daughter, Sadie. We all took turns bathing and then went to bed.
Laura made some corn bread for us the next morning, and we ate it with huckleberry jam. We got up in the morning and took a boat to Yuge to wait for the boat headed to Uoshima. We had some time to kill, so we grabbed some snacks at the convenience store on Yuge and sat around talking. It was raining, so we couldn't do much but wait for our boat. We tried to play a word game, but Ryan and Erin had differing opinions on how we should play, so Erin went inside the waiting room at the port and played with Stef. Ryan and I played our own version of the game until Kelsey decided that she'd had enough sitting. She got angry and started saying "No!" to everything we said to her, so we turned it into our own little word game.
Us: Place like home?
Kelsey: NO place like home!
Us: Bell prize?
Kelsey: NO bell prize!
Us: Where man?
Kelsey: NO where man!
Us: Torious?
Kelsey: NO torius!
...
This went on for a while, until she was saying things that sounded suspiciously similar to things she probably shouldn't say.
So much for helping my children retain their innocence.
The Uoshima boat finally came, and we got on and headed out to Fish Island. Ryan and I went up top and enjoyed the air, positioning ourselves by an overhang so that the rain didn't hit us. When we got to the island, the Azumas were waiting for us with a sign that read, "Mr. Stout Family, Welcome to Uoshima!" The sign was intended for Ryan and Erin, but the Azumas didn't know that Ryan was Stef's brother, not my own.
We walked up to the Azumas' old Japanese home, on the side of a hill towards the top part of town. They had prepared a delicious feast for us made up of all sorts of wonderful sashimi and breaded fish. The italian-style octopus sashimi was surprisingly awesome.
That afternoon, we just hung out at the Azuma home while Mr. Azuma taught us how to play Hanafuda, a Japanese card game. He also showed us how to play Go, the game with white and black stones that's said to be a lot more complicated strategically than even Chess. That may have been the highlight of the whole trip. A former teacher, Mr. Azuma was very methodical in showing us how to play. He gave us opportunities to show our understanding. It was clear that he's a good teacher.
That night, we went up to the shrine for a karaoke festival, as well as the start of the Fall Festival in Uoshima. We watched my old band, Uoshima'X, as they played a couple new songs with their new singer, Amado. He's the new ALT on Uoshima. There were a few traditional Japanese dances, as well as the taiko drum-accompanied chants by the robed Shinto priests of Uoshima. I'm glad that Ryan and Erin got to see all that.
I was really tired that night, and a bit grumpy. People kept speaking to me in broken English, not knowing that I speak Japanese. I think they just assumed that I never learned, since I didn't really go out of my way to speak to them when I lived there. At one point, Amado, just trying to help (and likely unaware of my speaking abilities), acted as a translator, which really upset me. I didn't need a translator. They could've just spoken to me in Japanese, and I could've replied in perfectly natural Japanese. The fact that Amado has time to hang out with the band members and learn the Japanese songs made things worse. Having a family really changes everything. I just never had time for any of that stuff. I was a bit bitter that I didn't get to experience a lot of the things that I could have.
Of course, I wouldn't trade what I have for anything. I'm much happier than I would be if I were single. But I still wish I could somehow have some of the same opportunities without having to sacrifice time with the family. There's just not enough time in the day for everything, and I'm going to choose my family every time.
The next morning, Erin and Stef went up to watch the carrying of the portable mikoshi shrine, while Ryan and I chatted down by the docks. We walked up to our old house and waited for the portable shrine to come around. When they got there, we had some melon soda and some fried food on a stick. Someone randomly asked Erin to sing for everybody, and others started egging her on. Ryan and I suggested she sing the Itsy Bitsy Spider with hand motions, but she was too nervous. So we sang it together. When they asked for an encore, we sang Popcorn Popping on the Apricot Tree, complete with all the gestures. It was both surreal and awesome at the same time.
When we left the island later that day, the Azumas saw us off and stood at the dock waving until the boat was out of sight. I'm really glad that they got to see Uoshima. I really miss that place. Don't get me wrong--I love living in Imabari. I mean, there's a store in Imabari. But I still miss the people, the beauty, and the quiet of Uoshima.
For the rest of the trip, we relaxed. It was a bit difficult for Ryan to get around, since we couldn't use bikes. So we spent most of our time in the neighborhood near our home. And that was just fine by me. We went to a nearby park that has lots of koi and turtles, as well as some awesome roller-slides. They got to try tonkotsu ramen, a really tasty pig-based soup that's really popular, and also go to a kaiten-zushi, the conveyor belt-style sushi restaurant. We also dropped in to Hard Off, a recycle shop that sells all sorts off cool second-hand gadgets and gizmos. Ryan and Erin bought about 20 thingamabobs to take back to the 'States. I'm going to really miss Hard Off when we're back in America.
Hanging out with Ryan and Erin, eating noodles, riding trains, playing Peggle, gettin' nude with a dude--their visit is, so far, the highlight of our Japan experience (when it comes to things that are fun and not, say, terrifying). Finally, here are some pictures for all to enjoy.
Why the JLPT is Hard
I know I've been lazy about updating this blog, but I have a good excuse. At the end of September, Stef's brother Ryan and his wife Erin came to Japan to visit us. Knowing that I'd never study while they were here, I pushed extra hard in my preparation for the Japanese Language Proficiency Test, which I am going to take in a little over a month. I wouldn't even have taken the time to blog, were it not for a recent revelation I had: I'm going to absolutely bomb the JLPT.
This isn't such a bad thing. While my grammar and listening abilities are pretty strong, my reading and writing are still coming along slowly.
In order to understand my struggles in learning how to read and write, I need to explain a few things first. Japanese is made up of three different types of writing systems: kanji, hiragana, and katakana. The three systems are used together, and it's extremely common to see sentences that use all three. Kanji is the group of characters originally borrowed from Chinese, which usually represent abstract ideas like "movement" and "feeling", or more concrete things like "tree" and "wheel". When you see a complex group of chicken scratch and squiggles, you're likely looking at Kanji. The following characters are kanji:
Hiragana is a syllabary, which is like an alphabet except that it represents sounds. In English, the letter g, for example, can be pronounced a few different ways, as evidence by these words:
In Japanese, like Spanish, the letters you write are always pronounced the same. The Hiragana syllabary is made up of vowel sounds and consonant-vowel combinations (with one exception, n, which is its own syllable). The vowel sounds, pronounced very similar to those in Spanish, are a, i, u, e, and o. The other "letters" in the hiragana alphabet are made up of a consonant with those same vowels, as in ka/ki/ku/ke/ko, ma/mi/mu/me/mo, na/ni/nu/ne/no, and so on. The symbols in hiragana are much more simple than most kanji, and they're typically very curvy and loopy:
Hiragana is used for grammatical function words like the Japanese equivalents of to, from, and, and is. Many normal words (like verbs) are written partly in kanji, with the last bit in hiragana. In English, a verb like shuffle can be turned into a past tense verb by adding the letter d to the end, making shuffled. Many other tenses are possible in English, like shuffling, shuffles, and shuffler. In Japanese, the functional pieces of words are written in hiragana. Sometimes kanji characters are uncommon or extremely difficult to write, in which case they can be written out in hiragana. Understanding hiragana is essential.
Katakana is the other syllabary in Japanese, used for words borrowed from other languages and foreign names. It's basically the same as hiragana, in that it is made up of consonant-vowel groupings (ma/mi/mu/me/mo) and the vowels. Katakana characters are typically more angular than their hiragana counterparts:
Like I said before, it's common for a sentence to use all three writing systems, as in this example:
The blue characters spell the name "Mark", so they're written in katakana. The pinkish words are hiragana, and mainly serve grammatical purposes. The black characters are kanji. The sentence reads: Mark is a naughty boy.
Now, on to what I really want to say. Hiragana and Katakana are pretty easy to remember once you've learned them. The main difficulty in learning how to read Japanese is the massive amount of readings that have to be learned. For example, the character "行" means both to go and to do, among other things. The Japanese romanization can either be i or okona (among many other readings, actually), depending on which of the meanings you're using.
For example, if it appears as "行く", it's iku. "行う" is pronounced okonau. The second characters in the two sets are hiragana characters, pronounced ku and u, respectively. However, when paired with another kanji character, "行" is pronounced kou. Kou is the reading originally associated with the Chinese character. There are often multiple ways to say the same thing, with differing levels of formal-ness. Erabu, which uses the Japanese reading, means to choose, and uses only one kanji. Sentaku suru, which is a compound of two kanji characters, also means to choose or make a choice, and even uses the same kanji as erabu for its first character. The second one, however, sounds a bit more stiff, and would be used in more formal settings. In order to pass JLPT, I'll need to study thousands of words that I already know how to say in a simpler way.
See, the JLPT has four levels, the easiest being level 4. Level 1 is nearly impossible to pass if you aren't Chinese or Korean, since it requires knowledge of multiple readings of at least 2000 kanji characters. I'd need a bit more time than what I have to pass level 1. Level 2 is a beast in its own right, but you only need to know the readings of around 1000 kanji. I've been studying like mad, to the point where I remember the meanings of about 900 kanji characters. Unfortunately, most of those characters have two or more different readings, and I've only studied one of them.
In preparation for the test, I've looked at some practice tests online, as well as example sentences. I can generally read the reading comprehension paragraphs just fine, and can even answer the questions with a passing score. The listening portion shouldn't be impossible, either, since I have a pretty good ear and a solid grasp of Japanese grammar. The portion of the test that will absolutely kill me is the part where I have to identify the hiragana spellings of kanji compound words. It's basically impossible for me at this point to keep all the sounds sorted in my mind. I just need more time to study and learn the readings.
Even though I'm positive that I'm going to be completely destroyed by this test (which I've already paid for), I'm not discouraged. I took the practice tests for the Level 3 test, which itself requires a pretty deep understanding of Japanese--and they were a piece of cake. I could've signed up for the level 3 test, but that ultimately would've been a waste of money, since my goal is to reach level 2 by the time I leave. Also, I wouldn't have needed to push myself so hard to study for the test. Instead, I'll continue to prepare myself for the level 2 test, knowing I'll be better off when I take it again next year, since I got off to a good head start.
I'll continue to study hard, but now that I know I'm going to fail, I can take a few moments here and there to keep everybody informed through this blog. Next time, I'll write a bit about Ryan and Erin's visit.
This isn't such a bad thing. While my grammar and listening abilities are pretty strong, my reading and writing are still coming along slowly.
In order to understand my struggles in learning how to read and write, I need to explain a few things first. Japanese is made up of three different types of writing systems: kanji, hiragana, and katakana. The three systems are used together, and it's extremely common to see sentences that use all three. Kanji is the group of characters originally borrowed from Chinese, which usually represent abstract ideas like "movement" and "feeling", or more concrete things like "tree" and "wheel". When you see a complex group of chicken scratch and squiggles, you're likely looking at Kanji. The following characters are kanji:
Hiragana is a syllabary, which is like an alphabet except that it represents sounds. In English, the letter g, for example, can be pronounced a few different ways, as evidence by these words:
- Dog
- Gerbil
- Tough
- Drought
In Japanese, like Spanish, the letters you write are always pronounced the same. The Hiragana syllabary is made up of vowel sounds and consonant-vowel combinations (with one exception, n, which is its own syllable). The vowel sounds, pronounced very similar to those in Spanish, are a, i, u, e, and o. The other "letters" in the hiragana alphabet are made up of a consonant with those same vowels, as in ka/ki/ku/ke/ko, ma/mi/mu/me/mo, na/ni/nu/ne/no, and so on. The symbols in hiragana are much more simple than most kanji, and they're typically very curvy and loopy:
Hiragana is used for grammatical function words like the Japanese equivalents of to, from, and, and is. Many normal words (like verbs) are written partly in kanji, with the last bit in hiragana. In English, a verb like shuffle can be turned into a past tense verb by adding the letter d to the end, making shuffled. Many other tenses are possible in English, like shuffling, shuffles, and shuffler. In Japanese, the functional pieces of words are written in hiragana. Sometimes kanji characters are uncommon or extremely difficult to write, in which case they can be written out in hiragana. Understanding hiragana is essential.
Katakana is the other syllabary in Japanese, used for words borrowed from other languages and foreign names. It's basically the same as hiragana, in that it is made up of consonant-vowel groupings (ma/mi/mu/me/mo) and the vowels. Katakana characters are typically more angular than their hiragana counterparts:
Like I said before, it's common for a sentence to use all three writing systems, as in this example:
The blue characters spell the name "Mark", so they're written in katakana. The pinkish words are hiragana, and mainly serve grammatical purposes. The black characters are kanji. The sentence reads: Mark is a naughty boy.
Now, on to what I really want to say. Hiragana and Katakana are pretty easy to remember once you've learned them. The main difficulty in learning how to read Japanese is the massive amount of readings that have to be learned. For example, the character "行" means both to go and to do, among other things. The Japanese romanization can either be i or okona (among many other readings, actually), depending on which of the meanings you're using.
For example, if it appears as "行く", it's iku. "行う" is pronounced okonau. The second characters in the two sets are hiragana characters, pronounced ku and u, respectively. However, when paired with another kanji character, "行" is pronounced kou. Kou is the reading originally associated with the Chinese character. There are often multiple ways to say the same thing, with differing levels of formal-ness. Erabu, which uses the Japanese reading, means to choose, and uses only one kanji. Sentaku suru, which is a compound of two kanji characters, also means to choose or make a choice, and even uses the same kanji as erabu for its first character. The second one, however, sounds a bit more stiff, and would be used in more formal settings. In order to pass JLPT, I'll need to study thousands of words that I already know how to say in a simpler way.
See, the JLPT has four levels, the easiest being level 4. Level 1 is nearly impossible to pass if you aren't Chinese or Korean, since it requires knowledge of multiple readings of at least 2000 kanji characters. I'd need a bit more time than what I have to pass level 1. Level 2 is a beast in its own right, but you only need to know the readings of around 1000 kanji. I've been studying like mad, to the point where I remember the meanings of about 900 kanji characters. Unfortunately, most of those characters have two or more different readings, and I've only studied one of them.
In preparation for the test, I've looked at some practice tests online, as well as example sentences. I can generally read the reading comprehension paragraphs just fine, and can even answer the questions with a passing score. The listening portion shouldn't be impossible, either, since I have a pretty good ear and a solid grasp of Japanese grammar. The portion of the test that will absolutely kill me is the part where I have to identify the hiragana spellings of kanji compound words. It's basically impossible for me at this point to keep all the sounds sorted in my mind. I just need more time to study and learn the readings.
Even though I'm positive that I'm going to be completely destroyed by this test (which I've already paid for), I'm not discouraged. I took the practice tests for the Level 3 test, which itself requires a pretty deep understanding of Japanese--and they were a piece of cake. I could've signed up for the level 3 test, but that ultimately would've been a waste of money, since my goal is to reach level 2 by the time I leave. Also, I wouldn't have needed to push myself so hard to study for the test. Instead, I'll continue to prepare myself for the level 2 test, knowing I'll be better off when I take it again next year, since I got off to a good head start.
I'll continue to study hard, but now that I know I'm going to fail, I can take a few moments here and there to keep everybody informed through this blog. Next time, I'll write a bit about Ryan and Erin's visit.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Health Checks in Japan
Each year in Japan, employees have a mandatory health check. Last week, I had mine for the first time. I'd heard horror stories about people having to do strange things like stand naked in line with coworkers of the same sex or drink barium sulfate before being spun around on a Gravitron-esque x-ray machine. Aside from some crazy procedures for waste samples, I'm relieved to say that I didn't experience too much weirdness.
When my supervisor walked all of us through the initial paperwork, I was surprised to hear some invasive medical health questions that seemed irrelevant. Why do they need to know if I've ever (like, ever, once in my life, even in years past) had a hemorrhoid? How could that possibly help them to understand anything about my current physical condition?
As uncomfortable as it was for me to hear these questions from my supervisor, it must've really sucked to be him and have to explain everything. And it must really suck to be anybody who reads the rest of this blog entry.
Along with the medical history paperwork, we each received our own do-it-yourself stool and urine sample kit, complete with instructions--one page of which doubles as a stool catcher. These instructions are very specific and provide clear directions on how and where to go. Here's a scan of the aforementioned stool catcher.
The writing in the box, "この面を上にしてお使いください" basically says, "Please go on top of this side of the page." The placement of the paper depends on whether you are using a western-style toilet or a Japanese-style squatter. That little guy--we'll call him Poo-san--is actually the bull's eye of a target.
I don't know what's worse: the fact that Poo-san is blissfully standing and waving at me, or the fact that he's green. This color is not only unnatural, but it was also confusing to me when it came time to sort everything out.
Once you have some data to work with (read: poop), you can consult the following guide, entitled The Correct Way to Collect a Stool, for proper technique on obtaining an effective sample.
I'll defer to the diagram if you need to know the next few steps. You'd think it's bad enough that they make you collect your own samples at home. But they make you do it twice, including once on the day before your health check. So you have to have a sample sitting around the house for at least 24 hours. Not that we don't already have plenty of "data" in the diaper bins already.
The "sample" in section 2 is yellow and orange, which is in stark contrast to the viridescence of Poo-san. Ms. Poo, our little "correct answer" sign-holding friend in the bottom-left corner, is pink. I've heard that people who have to drink the barium sulfate solution have stools as white as the driven snow for up to three days. In a land of blue hair (you gotta have blue hair), I shouldn't be surprised at such a wide spectrum of poo hues.
How'd you like to be the person whose job it is to prepare 'how to poo' diagrams? I like to imagine a chipper Japanese woman in her forties presenting the new poo sheet design in PowerPoint to a room full of hardened, middle-aged salarymen, all nodding seriously.
I have a pretty weak stomach, which can be difficult in a land of people seemingly immune to the poop-induced gag reflex. For some reason, they embrace poop out here (well, not literally--though you never, never know). When your kids have soiled diapers in Japan, you have to physically take the poop out and wash it down the toilet before throwing the diaper out with the burnable trash. Popular Japanese video games like Blue Dragon feature characters made of poo, like the Poo Snake.
Online stores in Japan sell a wide range of poo-themed products, like these fashionable hair pins at a Yahoo! shopping store.
You may not know it, but the children's book Everyone Poops is actually a translation of a Japanese book called Minna Unchi.
My supervisor explained that the stool samples, once collected from the green Poo-san paper and labeled, are placed in a green plastic bag and again labeled. That bag goes inside a green paper envelope with my name and info printed on the outside. Upon hearing our displeasure about having to collect our own samples, our supervisor inquired incredulously, "You mean you don't have to poo on a stick every year as part of your job in America?"
For the urine sample, there's a sheet of paper with instructions on how to fold it into a cup to be used for catching the sample.
Origami is fun! Hooray for health checks! The origami cup comes with a little squeeze bottle like the ones they use for soy sauce in bento lunches. I should start a lucrative urine sample/soy sauce bottle recycling business. Once you've got the sample, you label it and put in in a yellow envelope with your pre-printed info.
Yellow goes with yellow and green (or pink/brown/white/yellow/orange, if you want to get technical) goes with green. Sounds logical, right? Well, it's not. My supervisor was wrong about the colors. When I went to get my health check, the people at the reception desk took everything out and switched it around. The urine goes in the green paper envelope, and the stool samples go inside the yellow one. It makes perfect sense. They placed my samples in a huge plastic bag with hundreds of other envelopes. There's something about a whole bunch of people walking around with their own feces that makes my stomach churn.
The rest of the check-up was your standard, wait-in-line stuff. Being my first time, I didn't really know what each procedure entailed. There weren't any signs or arrows guiding us through the building; we were supposed to already know where to go next. If I had done this multiple times already, I'm sure it would've seemed less confusing.
We all went from station to station, shifting over one chair at a time while we waited for vacancies in each test booth. They tested my vision and hearing first. Everything was fine, except for when I stared into some weird eye machine, not knowing what to expect. I asked the doctor what I was supposed to be doing inside the hooded enclosure, and he just told me to be patient since it was all going to be over soon. Out of nowhere, a bright light flashed and my eyes went crazy. I think I may have killed a man in the ensuing daze. Or maybe I just couldn't see straight for a bit. It was one of those two things.
They measured my height and weight, and then calculated my BMI score. I got a chest x-ray, had some blood drawn, had my waist measured, got my heart and lungs checked out with a stethoscope, and even got some weird electrodes stuck to my chest for some sort of heart reading.
I heard a story of one foreign teacher who was so hairy that they couldn't get the electrodes to stick. They had no idea what to do with body hair and ended up forgoing the test altogether. Luckily, my chest is more badlands than jungle--so I had nothing to worry about.
All in all, the procedures weren't so bad. It's probably good for people to have regular health checks. But I definitely could've gone without the "data" extraction procedure.
When my supervisor walked all of us through the initial paperwork, I was surprised to hear some invasive medical health questions that seemed irrelevant. Why do they need to know if I've ever (like, ever, once in my life, even in years past) had a hemorrhoid? How could that possibly help them to understand anything about my current physical condition?
As uncomfortable as it was for me to hear these questions from my supervisor, it must've really sucked to be him and have to explain everything. And it must really suck to be anybody who reads the rest of this blog entry.
Along with the medical history paperwork, we each received our own do-it-yourself stool and urine sample kit, complete with instructions--one page of which doubles as a stool catcher. These instructions are very specific and provide clear directions on how and where to go. Here's a scan of the aforementioned stool catcher.
The writing in the box, "この面を上にしてお使いください" basically says, "Please go on top of this side of the page." The placement of the paper depends on whether you are using a western-style toilet or a Japanese-style squatter. That little guy--we'll call him Poo-san--is actually the bull's eye of a target.
I don't know what's worse: the fact that Poo-san is blissfully standing and waving at me, or the fact that he's green. This color is not only unnatural, but it was also confusing to me when it came time to sort everything out.
Once you have some data to work with (read: poop), you can consult the following guide, entitled The Correct Way to Collect a Stool, for proper technique on obtaining an effective sample.
I'll defer to the diagram if you need to know the next few steps. You'd think it's bad enough that they make you collect your own samples at home. But they make you do it twice, including once on the day before your health check. So you have to have a sample sitting around the house for at least 24 hours. Not that we don't already have plenty of "data" in the diaper bins already.
The "sample" in section 2 is yellow and orange, which is in stark contrast to the viridescence of Poo-san. Ms. Poo, our little "correct answer" sign-holding friend in the bottom-left corner, is pink. I've heard that people who have to drink the barium sulfate solution have stools as white as the driven snow for up to three days. In a land of blue hair (you gotta have blue hair), I shouldn't be surprised at such a wide spectrum of poo hues.
How'd you like to be the person whose job it is to prepare 'how to poo' diagrams? I like to imagine a chipper Japanese woman in her forties presenting the new poo sheet design in PowerPoint to a room full of hardened, middle-aged salarymen, all nodding seriously.
I have a pretty weak stomach, which can be difficult in a land of people seemingly immune to the poop-induced gag reflex. For some reason, they embrace poop out here (well, not literally--though you never, never know). When your kids have soiled diapers in Japan, you have to physically take the poop out and wash it down the toilet before throwing the diaper out with the burnable trash. Popular Japanese video games like Blue Dragon feature characters made of poo, like the Poo Snake.
Online stores in Japan sell a wide range of poo-themed products, like these fashionable hair pins at a Yahoo! shopping store.
You may not know it, but the children's book Everyone Poops is actually a translation of a Japanese book called Minna Unchi.
My supervisor explained that the stool samples, once collected from the green Poo-san paper and labeled, are placed in a green plastic bag and again labeled. That bag goes inside a green paper envelope with my name and info printed on the outside. Upon hearing our displeasure about having to collect our own samples, our supervisor inquired incredulously, "You mean you don't have to poo on a stick every year as part of your job in America?"
For the urine sample, there's a sheet of paper with instructions on how to fold it into a cup to be used for catching the sample.
Origami is fun! Hooray for health checks! The origami cup comes with a little squeeze bottle like the ones they use for soy sauce in bento lunches. I should start a lucrative urine sample/soy sauce bottle recycling business. Once you've got the sample, you label it and put in in a yellow envelope with your pre-printed info.
Yellow goes with yellow and green (or pink/brown/white/yellow/orange, if you want to get technical) goes with green. Sounds logical, right? Well, it's not. My supervisor was wrong about the colors. When I went to get my health check, the people at the reception desk took everything out and switched it around. The urine goes in the green paper envelope, and the stool samples go inside the yellow one. It makes perfect sense. They placed my samples in a huge plastic bag with hundreds of other envelopes. There's something about a whole bunch of people walking around with their own feces that makes my stomach churn.
The rest of the check-up was your standard, wait-in-line stuff. Being my first time, I didn't really know what each procedure entailed. There weren't any signs or arrows guiding us through the building; we were supposed to already know where to go next. If I had done this multiple times already, I'm sure it would've seemed less confusing.
We all went from station to station, shifting over one chair at a time while we waited for vacancies in each test booth. They tested my vision and hearing first. Everything was fine, except for when I stared into some weird eye machine, not knowing what to expect. I asked the doctor what I was supposed to be doing inside the hooded enclosure, and he just told me to be patient since it was all going to be over soon. Out of nowhere, a bright light flashed and my eyes went crazy. I think I may have killed a man in the ensuing daze. Or maybe I just couldn't see straight for a bit. It was one of those two things.
They measured my height and weight, and then calculated my BMI score. I got a chest x-ray, had some blood drawn, had my waist measured, got my heart and lungs checked out with a stethoscope, and even got some weird electrodes stuck to my chest for some sort of heart reading.
I heard a story of one foreign teacher who was so hairy that they couldn't get the electrodes to stick. They had no idea what to do with body hair and ended up forgoing the test altogether. Luckily, my chest is more badlands than jungle--so I had nothing to worry about.
All in all, the procedures weren't so bad. It's probably good for people to have regular health checks. But I definitely could've gone without the "data" extraction procedure.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
JLPT Application
Today was not good for my confidence.
I'm studying for the Japanese Language Proficiency Test, which I'm hoping to take in December. In order to take the test, you have to purchase an application form that's only sold at specific bookstores, the closest of which is found in Matsuyama. After my language course, I tried to go to the book store to buy it, but they said that they didn't offer them there.
A couple days later, I called the store to confirm that they didn't offer them, and they said that they planned on getting their shipment during the first part of September. When I called back today, I couldn't even communicate with the employee on the phone.
First, I asked if they had received their shipment. The lady put me on hold, and when she came back to the line, asked me if I reserved one. I told her I hadn't done anything yet, since the store clerk I had asked in person said they weren't even offered there. I told her I wanted to apply, but I just wanted to know if they had received their shipment.
She put me on hold again. When she came back the second time, she asked for my name and phone number. When I gave them to her, she put me on hold again briefly, and then came back to tell me that she couldn't find my name. She asked if I had registered with them, to which I again replied that I had not yet done anything at all, and that I was calling right then to ask if they had the application forms so that I didn't make an expensive trip to Matsuyama for no reason. When she seemed confused at my request, I dejectedly hung up the phone.
Why I couldn't get a yes-or-no answer is beyond me. It's possible that I didn't say things as succinctly as I should have.
But, lest I let my frustration with Japanese communication consume me, I just now called another bookstore in Matsuyama that supposedly offers the applications, and found out that they expect them to arrive in two or three days. He took down my name and number and promised to call me when they came in. It was an effortless conversation, and everybody was happy.
With the second guy, I gave minimal information and let him fill in the blanks. Sometimes I forget that this is the preferred method of communication in Japan. When I give unnecessary information like "I came in the other day to ask about the applications, but they weren't in stock," people don't really know how to respond. While I think I'm showing off my ability to speak Japanese when I give wordy answers, it actually goes a lot farther to prove that I don't know how to communicate in a Japanese way.
I'm studying for the Japanese Language Proficiency Test, which I'm hoping to take in December. In order to take the test, you have to purchase an application form that's only sold at specific bookstores, the closest of which is found in Matsuyama. After my language course, I tried to go to the book store to buy it, but they said that they didn't offer them there.
A couple days later, I called the store to confirm that they didn't offer them, and they said that they planned on getting their shipment during the first part of September. When I called back today, I couldn't even communicate with the employee on the phone.
First, I asked if they had received their shipment. The lady put me on hold, and when she came back to the line, asked me if I reserved one. I told her I hadn't done anything yet, since the store clerk I had asked in person said they weren't even offered there. I told her I wanted to apply, but I just wanted to know if they had received their shipment.
She put me on hold again. When she came back the second time, she asked for my name and phone number. When I gave them to her, she put me on hold again briefly, and then came back to tell me that she couldn't find my name. She asked if I had registered with them, to which I again replied that I had not yet done anything at all, and that I was calling right then to ask if they had the application forms so that I didn't make an expensive trip to Matsuyama for no reason. When she seemed confused at my request, I dejectedly hung up the phone.
Why I couldn't get a yes-or-no answer is beyond me. It's possible that I didn't say things as succinctly as I should have.
But, lest I let my frustration with Japanese communication consume me, I just now called another bookstore in Matsuyama that supposedly offers the applications, and found out that they expect them to arrive in two or three days. He took down my name and number and promised to call me when they came in. It was an effortless conversation, and everybody was happy.
With the second guy, I gave minimal information and let him fill in the blanks. Sometimes I forget that this is the preferred method of communication in Japan. When I give unnecessary information like "I came in the other day to ask about the applications, but they weren't in stock," people don't really know how to respond. While I think I'm showing off my ability to speak Japanese when I give wordy answers, it actually goes a lot farther to prove that I don't know how to communicate in a Japanese way.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Class is Over--Back to Work
The other day, I got to play basketball again with Derry's guys and Paul. Derry wasn't able to make it, but we still had a great time. There's a tournament on the 5th of September, and I may be able to play with the guys. I just started playing with them, so we don't know each other that well yet.
These last two weeks, I got about two hours each day in which I remembered what it was like before having kids. Each day, I could hang out with a bunch of people who laughed at my jokes, and feel like I have a social life. Don't get me wrong--I love being married. I love my wife and girls with all my heart. But when it came time to say good bye to all the cool people that I met but may never see again, it really sucked. At least I've still got Paul, Derry, and the guys two nights a week. And my family is what really matters, anyway. They make me much happier than anything else.
このあいだ、またバスケットをした。今回、くたくたに疲れちゃった。デリーさんが来なかったけれどとても楽しかった。来週の土曜日にトーナメントがあるし、僕が試合に入ってもいいと思う。練習は、始めたばかりで、まだチームメートのことをあまり知らない。できれば、入りたい。
この２週間の間には、日に２〜３時間、シングルのような生活をしていた。毎日、授業へ行くといろんな友達と会って、僕は楽しんでいた。昨日、授業が終わった後は「さよなら」と言うのはつらかった。もう二度と会うことが出来なくて、がっかりしていた。何も言わずに、家に帰った。本当に、結婚生活は幸せだが、時々僕はシングルの人をうらやましく思う。もちろん僕は娘たちと家内を心から愛してるけど、家族以外の人と真の友情を育てられないと思う。まあ、まだデリーさんとポールさんがいるので、大丈夫だね。
These last two weeks, I got about two hours each day in which I remembered what it was like before having kids. Each day, I could hang out with a bunch of people who laughed at my jokes, and feel like I have a social life. Don't get me wrong--I love being married. I love my wife and girls with all my heart. But when it came time to say good bye to all the cool people that I met but may never see again, it really sucked. At least I've still got Paul, Derry, and the guys two nights a week. And my family is what really matters, anyway. They make me much happier than anything else.
このあいだ、またバスケットをした。今回、くたくたに疲れちゃった。デリーさんが来なかったけれどとても楽しかった。来週の土曜日にトーナメントがあるし、僕が試合に入ってもいいと思う。練習は、始めたばかりで、まだチームメートのことをあまり知らない。できれば、入りたい。
この２週間の間には、日に２〜３時間、シングルのような生活をしていた。毎日、授業へ行くといろんな友達と会って、僕は楽しんでいた。昨日、授業が終わった後は「さよなら」と言うのはつらかった。もう二度と会うことが出来なくて、がっかりしていた。何も言わずに、家に帰った。本当に、結婚生活は幸せだが、時々僕はシングルの人をうらやましく思う。もちろん僕は娘たちと家内を心から愛してるけど、家族以外の人と真の友情を育てられないと思う。まあ、まだデリーさんとポールさんがいるので、大丈夫だね。
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
MS, Basketball, and Japan
Monday morning, before going to Matsuyama for my Japanese course, we rode our bikes to the playground so that Kelsey could run around for a while. While she enjoying herself, I watched a bunch of seniors in full-body sun armor (long sleeve track suits and hats) play croquet. Kelsey got really excited when she found a plastic BB on the ground, so we walked around to search for more. I really enjoy having free time during the Summer; I'm sad that I have to go back to work next week.
Later that day, I took a train out to Matsuyama. While I was waiting on a bench at the train platform, I saw a man in his late thirties or early forties walking slowly toward the platform, being supported by a woman that appeared to be his wife. It was clear that he had some kind of physical illness, so I got up and let them take my spot on the bench. They smiled at me, thanking me for giving up my spot, and then the train came. I rode to Matsuyama and went to class.
On the way home, when I got to the station, I saw the couple again. We smiled at each other and I went to stand in line to wait for the train. The woman came up and stood behind me in line while the man stood off to the side, leaning against a wall. I wanted to strike up a conversation, but I wasn't sure how I should start. Just when I was about to ask the woman where they were from, she asked me, in English, "Where...come from?"
I responded in Japanese, and we then conversed all the way to Imabari. The lady was Korean, but had moved to Japan ten years ago to study at a university in Tokyo. She met the man and they got married, and they moved to Fukuyama, where they live now. We had a really nice conversation about studying Japanese, living in Japan, and visiting Las Vegas.
The man had some clearly visible needle marks lined up on both arms, but I couldn't tell what he's battling. The lady mentioned that they had come to Matsuyama for his treatment. Not trying to be too nosy, I asked if Matsuyama had the best options for treatment. I don't remember what their answer was, but they mentioned that he had multiple sclerosis, and that his condition has been getting worse lately. My heart sunk as I heard that. It must be tough for them to go through that, knowing that there's currently no cure. It gets really hot in Japan in the Summer, and heat has been shown to trigger attacks in MS patients, so they have to live outside of Japan for weeks at a time. I didn't know how to respond in a culturally-appropriate way, so I just thought aloud, "That must be difficult."
Despite the man's condition, they seemed very upbeat. I felt a strong bond with these people, as though I was supposed to run into them on the train. The lady gave me her business card and said that I should visit her pawn shop if I'm ever in Hiroshima. I think that when Ryan and Erin come out, we should drop in to the shop and see how they're doing.
When we were getting off the train, I noticed that the lady had a cross necklace on. I asked her about it, and they said that they were Christian. I mentioned that I was too, and they specified that they are protestant. I told them that I'm Mormon, and they said that they had seen the church in Fukuyama. When we parted ways at the Imabari station, and I felt good that I had left a good impression. Maybe our encounter was coincidental; I just have a strong feeling that it wasn't.
Last night, after I got back from Matsuyama, I went to play basketball with Derry, an ALT from Ireland, and Paul, a brand new ALT from Washington, D.C. Derry plays on the local club team, which competes all over Shikoku. We basically went to the team's practice session, where we ran passing and shooting drills for an hour before scrimmaging for another hour. I felt pretty good for having not played for so long. I felt bad that I missed half of my three-point attempts, until I remembered that making 50% of your shots from behind the arc is actually pretty good.
Derry's a big guy, and he's pretty tough to stop down in the post. He runs like a stallion, and so it's tough to keep up with him. But I feel like I held my own out there. The drills are a bit confusing for me, since I never played organized basketball. I think Paul had fun, though his calves were acting up on him, causing him to have to sit for the last half hour or so. My left calf started to cramp up towards the end, and my right pinky toe lost a nickel-sized piece of skin. Little injuries like that don't really affect me in the way that something like MS would, though, so I feel lucky that I am healthy enough to run.
They also each brought reversible jerseys so that they could switch them from light to dark between games. I had to borrow one, since I had no idea that I was supposed to bring one.
When we were done, we sat in a circle and stiffly evaluated the practice session, as though we were conducting a business meeting. They really take their extra-curricular activities seriously out here.
At this time, I realized that I had not adequately prepared for the night. I was completely drenched in sweat, which was never a problem after playing with Ryan (Bunker) and Jeremy in Utah. But here in Japan, they change out of their clothes and into new ones before they get into their car. They were appalled that I wasn't going to change first. The guy who gave us a ride, who goes by the name "Midnight", told me it would be best if I put on some clean shorts. He gave me a pair of his own shorts to change into.
We drove to a convenience store afterwards, where sat around while we chatted and all the guys smoked and had a drink. Paul asked one of the guys how he could run so well if he smoked. It was an honest question, but the guy promptly threw away his cigarette as though Paul had implied that he shouldn't be smoking. It was, to me, a clear instance of Japanese communication being distinct from our own.
Recently, I met a nice Aussie named Andrew Strange. He's very sensitive to cultural differences in Japan, since he's engaged to a Japanese girl. The other day, he thought he had offended me, because I didn't respond to a joke that he made. The funny thing is, I didn't hear the joke, so I had no idea what he was talking about. He seemed to adopt a very Japanese perspective, reading deep into a situation that never even occurred. I need to make it a point to say hi to him today and let him know that everything's all right.
Today, I'm headed back to Matsuyama for class. I'll be coming home a bit later than usual, since I'm going to go get some fabric for my mom after class. Hopefully I'll be able to find what she wants.
From now on, I'm going to try to write in both English and Japanese. It'll be good practice for me.
今までずっと英語で書いてたが、これから、日本語でも書きたい。今、時間はないけど、チャンスがあれば、この日記を翻訳したいと思う。
Later that day, I took a train out to Matsuyama. While I was waiting on a bench at the train platform, I saw a man in his late thirties or early forties walking slowly toward the platform, being supported by a woman that appeared to be his wife. It was clear that he had some kind of physical illness, so I got up and let them take my spot on the bench. They smiled at me, thanking me for giving up my spot, and then the train came. I rode to Matsuyama and went to class.
On the way home, when I got to the station, I saw the couple again. We smiled at each other and I went to stand in line to wait for the train. The woman came up and stood behind me in line while the man stood off to the side, leaning against a wall. I wanted to strike up a conversation, but I wasn't sure how I should start. Just when I was about to ask the woman where they were from, she asked me, in English, "Where...come from?"
I responded in Japanese, and we then conversed all the way to Imabari. The lady was Korean, but had moved to Japan ten years ago to study at a university in Tokyo. She met the man and they got married, and they moved to Fukuyama, where they live now. We had a really nice conversation about studying Japanese, living in Japan, and visiting Las Vegas.
The man had some clearly visible needle marks lined up on both arms, but I couldn't tell what he's battling. The lady mentioned that they had come to Matsuyama for his treatment. Not trying to be too nosy, I asked if Matsuyama had the best options for treatment. I don't remember what their answer was, but they mentioned that he had multiple sclerosis, and that his condition has been getting worse lately. My heart sunk as I heard that. It must be tough for them to go through that, knowing that there's currently no cure. It gets really hot in Japan in the Summer, and heat has been shown to trigger attacks in MS patients, so they have to live outside of Japan for weeks at a time. I didn't know how to respond in a culturally-appropriate way, so I just thought aloud, "That must be difficult."
Despite the man's condition, they seemed very upbeat. I felt a strong bond with these people, as though I was supposed to run into them on the train. The lady gave me her business card and said that I should visit her pawn shop if I'm ever in Hiroshima. I think that when Ryan and Erin come out, we should drop in to the shop and see how they're doing.
When we were getting off the train, I noticed that the lady had a cross necklace on. I asked her about it, and they said that they were Christian. I mentioned that I was too, and they specified that they are protestant. I told them that I'm Mormon, and they said that they had seen the church in Fukuyama. When we parted ways at the Imabari station, and I felt good that I had left a good impression. Maybe our encounter was coincidental; I just have a strong feeling that it wasn't.
Last night, after I got back from Matsuyama, I went to play basketball with Derry, an ALT from Ireland, and Paul, a brand new ALT from Washington, D.C. Derry plays on the local club team, which competes all over Shikoku. We basically went to the team's practice session, where we ran passing and shooting drills for an hour before scrimmaging for another hour. I felt pretty good for having not played for so long. I felt bad that I missed half of my three-point attempts, until I remembered that making 50% of your shots from behind the arc is actually pretty good.
Derry's a big guy, and he's pretty tough to stop down in the post. He runs like a stallion, and so it's tough to keep up with him. But I feel like I held my own out there. The drills are a bit confusing for me, since I never played organized basketball. I think Paul had fun, though his calves were acting up on him, causing him to have to sit for the last half hour or so. My left calf started to cramp up towards the end, and my right pinky toe lost a nickel-sized piece of skin. Little injuries like that don't really affect me in the way that something like MS would, though, so I feel lucky that I am healthy enough to run.
They also each brought reversible jerseys so that they could switch them from light to dark between games. I had to borrow one, since I had no idea that I was supposed to bring one.
When we were done, we sat in a circle and stiffly evaluated the practice session, as though we were conducting a business meeting. They really take their extra-curricular activities seriously out here.
At this time, I realized that I had not adequately prepared for the night. I was completely drenched in sweat, which was never a problem after playing with Ryan (Bunker) and Jeremy in Utah. But here in Japan, they change out of their clothes and into new ones before they get into their car. They were appalled that I wasn't going to change first. The guy who gave us a ride, who goes by the name "Midnight", told me it would be best if I put on some clean shorts. He gave me a pair of his own shorts to change into.
We drove to a convenience store afterwards, where sat around while we chatted and all the guys smoked and had a drink. Paul asked one of the guys how he could run so well if he smoked. It was an honest question, but the guy promptly threw away his cigarette as though Paul had implied that he shouldn't be smoking. It was, to me, a clear instance of Japanese communication being distinct from our own.
Recently, I met a nice Aussie named Andrew Strange. He's very sensitive to cultural differences in Japan, since he's engaged to a Japanese girl. The other day, he thought he had offended me, because I didn't respond to a joke that he made. The funny thing is, I didn't hear the joke, so I had no idea what he was talking about. He seemed to adopt a very Japanese perspective, reading deep into a situation that never even occurred. I need to make it a point to say hi to him today and let him know that everything's all right.
Today, I'm headed back to Matsuyama for class. I'll be coming home a bit later than usual, since I'm going to go get some fabric for my mom after class. Hopefully I'll be able to find what she wants.
From now on, I'm going to try to write in both English and Japanese. It'll be good practice for me.
今までずっと英語で書いてたが、これから、日本語でも書きたい。今、時間はないけど、チャンスがあれば、この日記を翻訳したいと思う。
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Weekends are great
This Monday, I started a two-week intensive Japanese course in Matsuyama. Each day, I take a train out there at about 11:30 and attend class from 1:30 until 3:30. I bought train tickets in sets of 6 so that I could save a bit of money (10%) on the train fare.
Since I missed the deadline to sign up, I wasn't supposed to get in to the class, but one of the people had mercy on me and sent me an application. After faxing in a written placement test, I had an oral interview over the phone. I got a call a few hours later notifying me of my placement. Of the five levels that are offered at EPIC, I'm in the top level. While I was excited to be placed in the most challenging course, I didn't really know what to expect.
The class is pretty packed. There are about 32 of us, though we English speakers are in the minority. About 10 of the students are from South Korea, while six or so come from China. Two or three people are from Germany, one lady comes from Singapore, and one girl is from Argentina. The dozen of us that remain are from English-speaking countries like the U.S., Ireland, New Zealand, and Australia. Amongst the English-speaking foreigners, I feel pretty confident about my abilities. Most of them have a lot more experience with familiar speech than I do, but that's in part due to the fact that most of them have been here at least 3 years. Some have been in Japan for six or more years.
Many of the Koreans haven't been here for even a year, yet their Japanese is impeccable. Korean syntax, from what I've been told, is much like that of Japanese. So, while we English-speakers have to think backwards, the Koreans only have to convert their Korean vocabulary into Japanese. One girl has been in Japan for five months and is basically fluent.
The Chinese have a huge advantage with writing, since Japanese borrows its symbols from Chinese. They still have to learn how to pronounce what they read, but they generally already know the meaning of kanji compounds they see. Pronunciation differs greatly between the two languages, though, so many of the Chinese students struggle to speak clearly.
One of the Chinese students is a tactless 17-year old know-it-all. He likes to show off his kanji ability, which is unimpressive to me. Of course he knows how to write the Chinese characters--he's Chinese! At the end of one class period, when our teacher asked us to write down what we all learned, he asked, "And what if I didn't learn anything?" Seriously, if this is too easy, then don't come to class.
After each of the first two days, I felt pretty confident. I understood pretty much everything that we discussed, and held my own with the speaking parts after some initial jitters. After the third day, though, I wanted to quit. I ended up at a table with the annoying Chinese kid and no English speakers. The three Chinese speakers at our table just conversed amongst themselves in Chinese, and I was left to communicate in Japanese with a Korean girl. She was pretty helpful, but there were times when I didn't quite understand what was expected.
Truthfully, the kanji characters were what threw me off. I know how to write about six hundred characters, but you need to know two to three thousand before you're really literate. I couldn't keep up with the people at my table, who didn't take time to discuss what was expected of us since they inherently knew by looking at the sheet. By the end of the day, I wondered if it was worth it for me to suffer through the remaining classes if it was just going to get harder from there.
Talking to another American, a guy from Oakland named Mike, I decided that it didn't matter how much I sucked in comparison with the Koreans or the Chinese. I resolved to sit with other English speakers, and to study the material before class. They don't want us to study the material ahead of time, because they want to test our listening comprehension. If we know what it says ahead of time, we have an unfair advantage. Hogwash, I say.
I'm taking this course so that I can learn. It seems like the teachers expect us to already know the material, which doesn't make sense. Why would we take a class if we already knew all the material? So I'm reading the material ahead of time. The more I study it, the better I'll remember.
I've learned a smattering of useful phrases and have greatly strengthened my understanding of Japanese honorific speech. The stuff next week should be even more useful. I'm glad I stuck with it, because I've done well on both of the days that followed the miserable one.
On that miserable day, I came home in a bit of a funk. Luckily, I was going to go out with Lisandro, a Dominican guy that I met at the store by our house. We had tried to set up a time to hang out, but it kept falling through. When I got home, though, I soon realized that I was going to have to cancel on him yet again. Kelsey had fallen and bitten through her upper lip, and needed to be taken to the ER. Dang it.
I'm sick of hospitals. Sister Ochi from church picked us up in her car and took us to the Central Hospital, which was the only emergency hospital that was open that night. Each day, a different hospital takes its turn as the regional emergency hospital. It's a bit confusing and inconvenient.
Luckily, she didn't need stitches. The doctors put a special adhesive bandage that was supposed to be strong enough to stay on long enough to heal. She took it off before we even left the hospital. They replaced it, but it was off before we got home. It's getting better on its own, and should be all healed within a week.
Last night, I finally got to meet up with Lisandro, who's quite a character. He was a big-time baseball prospect back in the Dominican Republic until he got injured and had career-ending surgery. He gave me some salami and a slice of lemon for added flavor, which I ate while we chatted back at his apartment. He offered me a glass of Tang-like liquid, which was offered to me in a washed styrofoam Cup-O-Noodles container. I did my best not to cringe.
He told some really funny stories, and introduced me to one of his coworkers, who's also from the D.R. They work together building car parts here in Imabari. They come for a few months at a time, return home for a month or so, and then come back again.
He seems like a pretty nice guy. It's nice to have someone with whom I can speak Spanish. He invited me out again tonight, but I had to turn him down so that I could spend time with Stef instead.
Stef and I got to go on a date for the first time in quite a while, and for only the third time since we got to Japan. Heidi, one of the new teachers, stayed in our apartment while the girls slept. Stef and I rode our bikes to a sushi boat restaurant, where sushi goes around-and-around like a conveyor belt. It was eco-night, which meant that all the plates were only 100 yen each. We both ate a ton of awesome sushi, and we didn't even pay $15 for the whole meal. We grabbed a frequent eater card, which we hope to use in the future.
After dinner, we got some ice cream and talked for a little bit. It was really nice to spend time with Stef. I'm glad that we have people who are willing to babysit now. Hopefully we'll get to go on more than two dates this year!
Since I missed the deadline to sign up, I wasn't supposed to get in to the class, but one of the people had mercy on me and sent me an application. After faxing in a written placement test, I had an oral interview over the phone. I got a call a few hours later notifying me of my placement. Of the five levels that are offered at EPIC, I'm in the top level. While I was excited to be placed in the most challenging course, I didn't really know what to expect.
The class is pretty packed. There are about 32 of us, though we English speakers are in the minority. About 10 of the students are from South Korea, while six or so come from China. Two or three people are from Germany, one lady comes from Singapore, and one girl is from Argentina. The dozen of us that remain are from English-speaking countries like the U.S., Ireland, New Zealand, and Australia. Amongst the English-speaking foreigners, I feel pretty confident about my abilities. Most of them have a lot more experience with familiar speech than I do, but that's in part due to the fact that most of them have been here at least 3 years. Some have been in Japan for six or more years.
Many of the Koreans haven't been here for even a year, yet their Japanese is impeccable. Korean syntax, from what I've been told, is much like that of Japanese. So, while we English-speakers have to think backwards, the Koreans only have to convert their Korean vocabulary into Japanese. One girl has been in Japan for five months and is basically fluent.
The Chinese have a huge advantage with writing, since Japanese borrows its symbols from Chinese. They still have to learn how to pronounce what they read, but they generally already know the meaning of kanji compounds they see. Pronunciation differs greatly between the two languages, though, so many of the Chinese students struggle to speak clearly.
One of the Chinese students is a tactless 17-year old know-it-all. He likes to show off his kanji ability, which is unimpressive to me. Of course he knows how to write the Chinese characters--he's Chinese! At the end of one class period, when our teacher asked us to write down what we all learned, he asked, "And what if I didn't learn anything?" Seriously, if this is too easy, then don't come to class.
After each of the first two days, I felt pretty confident. I understood pretty much everything that we discussed, and held my own with the speaking parts after some initial jitters. After the third day, though, I wanted to quit. I ended up at a table with the annoying Chinese kid and no English speakers. The three Chinese speakers at our table just conversed amongst themselves in Chinese, and I was left to communicate in Japanese with a Korean girl. She was pretty helpful, but there were times when I didn't quite understand what was expected.
Truthfully, the kanji characters were what threw me off. I know how to write about six hundred characters, but you need to know two to three thousand before you're really literate. I couldn't keep up with the people at my table, who didn't take time to discuss what was expected of us since they inherently knew by looking at the sheet. By the end of the day, I wondered if it was worth it for me to suffer through the remaining classes if it was just going to get harder from there.
Talking to another American, a guy from Oakland named Mike, I decided that it didn't matter how much I sucked in comparison with the Koreans or the Chinese. I resolved to sit with other English speakers, and to study the material before class. They don't want us to study the material ahead of time, because they want to test our listening comprehension. If we know what it says ahead of time, we have an unfair advantage. Hogwash, I say.
I'm taking this course so that I can learn. It seems like the teachers expect us to already know the material, which doesn't make sense. Why would we take a class if we already knew all the material? So I'm reading the material ahead of time. The more I study it, the better I'll remember.
I've learned a smattering of useful phrases and have greatly strengthened my understanding of Japanese honorific speech. The stuff next week should be even more useful. I'm glad I stuck with it, because I've done well on both of the days that followed the miserable one.
On that miserable day, I came home in a bit of a funk. Luckily, I was going to go out with Lisandro, a Dominican guy that I met at the store by our house. We had tried to set up a time to hang out, but it kept falling through. When I got home, though, I soon realized that I was going to have to cancel on him yet again. Kelsey had fallen and bitten through her upper lip, and needed to be taken to the ER. Dang it.
I'm sick of hospitals. Sister Ochi from church picked us up in her car and took us to the Central Hospital, which was the only emergency hospital that was open that night. Each day, a different hospital takes its turn as the regional emergency hospital. It's a bit confusing and inconvenient.
Luckily, she didn't need stitches. The doctors put a special adhesive bandage that was supposed to be strong enough to stay on long enough to heal. She took it off before we even left the hospital. They replaced it, but it was off before we got home. It's getting better on its own, and should be all healed within a week.
Last night, I finally got to meet up with Lisandro, who's quite a character. He was a big-time baseball prospect back in the Dominican Republic until he got injured and had career-ending surgery. He gave me some salami and a slice of lemon for added flavor, which I ate while we chatted back at his apartment. He offered me a glass of Tang-like liquid, which was offered to me in a washed styrofoam Cup-O-Noodles container. I did my best not to cringe.
He told some really funny stories, and introduced me to one of his coworkers, who's also from the D.R. They work together building car parts here in Imabari. They come for a few months at a time, return home for a month or so, and then come back again.
He seems like a pretty nice guy. It's nice to have someone with whom I can speak Spanish. He invited me out again tonight, but I had to turn him down so that I could spend time with Stef instead.
Stef and I got to go on a date for the first time in quite a while, and for only the third time since we got to Japan. Heidi, one of the new teachers, stayed in our apartment while the girls slept. Stef and I rode our bikes to a sushi boat restaurant, where sushi goes around-and-around like a conveyor belt. It was eco-night, which meant that all the plates were only 100 yen each. We both ate a ton of awesome sushi, and we didn't even pay $15 for the whole meal. We grabbed a frequent eater card, which we hope to use in the future.
After dinner, we got some ice cream and talked for a little bit. It was really nice to spend time with Stef. I'm glad that we have people who are willing to babysit now. Hopefully we'll get to go on more than two dates this year!
Friday, August 21, 2009
Nu riqi'l a t'uqok al xajäb
My food smells like shoes.
No, not really. But if I wanted to say that to someone from the Guatemalan highlands, I'd say Nu riqi'l a t'uqok al xajäb.
When I was living in Guatemala, I learned some really obscure phrases--both in Spanish and K'iche'. I always got a kick out of surprising people with random phrases or funny slang terms. Anybody can say saqarik or buenos dias (both mean good morning), but most people aren't prepared to hear a large white man say puro utz pin pin, wachalal, which is the K'iche' equivalent of friggin' sweet, bro.
Here in Japan, I've learned the basics necessary for everyday communication. But only studying the basics leaves a void in my heart that can only be filled with off-the-wall phrases like むちむちした太腿 (cottage cheese thighs).
Over the last few weeks, my vocabulary has grown immensely. Unfortunately, most of what I have learned recently is stuff that I wish I never had to learn. Things like:
The list goes on. Granted, many of those phrases are good to know--they're just not the ones I had hoped to learn. Now that Mia's home and healthy, I can go back to learning things like 僕の食べ物は、靴のような匂いがする. Or, in other words, my food smells like shoes.
No, not really. But if I wanted to say that to someone from the Guatemalan highlands, I'd say Nu riqi'l a t'uqok al xajäb.
When I was living in Guatemala, I learned some really obscure phrases--both in Spanish and K'iche'. I always got a kick out of surprising people with random phrases or funny slang terms. Anybody can say saqarik or buenos dias (both mean good morning), but most people aren't prepared to hear a large white man say puro utz pin pin, wachalal, which is the K'iche' equivalent of friggin' sweet, bro.
Here in Japan, I've learned the basics necessary for everyday communication. But only studying the basics leaves a void in my heart that can only be filled with off-the-wall phrases like むちむちした太腿 (cottage cheese thighs).
Over the last few weeks, my vocabulary has grown immensely. Unfortunately, most of what I have learned recently is stuff that I wish I never had to learn. Things like:
| 血圧 | blood pressure |
| 輸血 | blood transfusion |
| 心外膜液 | pericardial effusion |
| 利尿剤 | diuretic |
| 治療 | treatment |
| 効果のない | not effective |
The list goes on. Granted, many of those phrases are good to know--they're just not the ones I had hoped to learn. Now that Mia's home and healthy, I can go back to learning things like 僕の食べ物は、靴のような匂いがする. Or, in other words, my food smells like shoes.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Mia's home! 2: Electric Boogaloo
Mia's finally back home from the hospital.
Three weeks ago, we took Mia to her doctor for a fever that had climbed up to nearly 103 degrees and wasn't showing any signs of going away. We had already been to the doctor four times that week for Kelsey, who had broken out in hives and had a swollen upper lip. The doctor suggested we take her to the hospital. We called the branch president of our church, who picked us up and took us to the Imabari prefectural hospital.
After I filled out some forms, a doctor checked Mia and said that she most likely had some sort of bacterial infection. She recommended we admit her to the hospital for a few days so that they could treat her and keep an eye on her. They gave her an IV and prepared a room on the fourth floor. The nurse said that Stefanie would have to stay with Mia at the hospital, sharing a full-size crib.
I planned to visit Stef each day after Kelsey's afternoon nap and bring dinner for all of us to share. When I came back the second day, Mia was grumpy and her fever was persistent. I asked the doctor what he thought, and he said that even though her fever had climbed to 104 and wasn't coming down, she wasn't having any serious problems like convulsions. He still anticipated a quick recovery.
A couple hours after speaking with the doctor, Mia started to have febrile convulsions. I pressed the nurse-call button and asked them to come to the room. When nobody seemed to show up, I ran out to the nurse station to ask them to hurry. The nurse sitting at the desk told me that Mia's nurse had already left for the room. I ran back to the room, and the nurse was looking at Mia, who was sluggish and unresponsive, and still convulsing. She asked how long she had been like that, and I explained that she had just started shaking. She quickly exited the room and was soon joined by Mia's doctor and another nurse, who picked Mia up and whisked her away to another area of the hospital, leaving us behind. I consoled Kelsey as she reached out and cried, "Oh no, baby Mia!" as they disappeared with her little sister. Stef and I looked at each other, and I could tell that we were thinking the same thing.
When Mia was born sixteen weeks premature on a boat, Stef and I both felt a calming assurance that everything would be all right. When they rushed Mia away, neither of us felt that assurance. I embraced Stef and told her how much I loved her, assuring her that we'd make it through everything okay.
I'm not really sure how long Mia was gone. In the 45-120 minutes that she was with the doctors, I had enough time to consider nearly all possible outcomes. All I could do was pray that she'd be all right and that we'd have enough strength to deal with the outcome.
Mia and the doctor's entourage finally returned to the fourth floor, where we were waiting. The doctor said that they had stabilized her with some medicine for the convulsions. Her fever was still high, but she was going to be all right. They moved her into a room that was right across from the nurse station, allowing for constant supervision. Stef slept with Mia that night.
The next day, her fever dipped slightly, but came back in full force. The medicine for the bacterial infection didn't seem to be helping. When a rash broke out on her arm, the doctor realized that we might not be looking at a bacterial infection. It's almost unheard of in kids Mia's age, but it seemed like Mia was suffering from Kawasaki Disease, a condition that targets the heart. As a preemie, Mia already has a heart condition called Atrial Septal Defect, which is, to put it clearly, a hole in her heart. So, we knew from the moment the doctor mulled the Kawasaki diagnosis that we needed to be worried about her heart.
Mia's convulsion medication left her sluggish and unable to eat, so we had to feed her with a medicine dropper, 2 milliliters at a time. She had difficulty swallowing, and so a lot of the milk seemed to be going down the wrong tube. But since I had a way to feed her, I stayed at the hospital so that Stef could have a break.
Along with the fever and rash, Mia had conjunctivitis, cracked lips, and another symptom (that I can't remember), which all together pointed to a diagnosis of Kawasaki Disease. The doctor started administering treatment of antibodies (immunoglobulins), which are generally very effective in treating Kawasaki Disease.
During the first stage of immunoglobulin treatment, Mia wasn't responding very well. The nurses left it up to us to remember when to administer her oral medication. The idea of us forgetting to give her an essential drug frightened me, so I asked them to remind us.
Stef stayed with Mia the next night, and I slept at home with Kelsey. Stef felt guilty about sleeping that night, because she wasn't sure the nurses would always respond promptly to problems. At home, a package from my mom that had a crib sheet had come while I was gone. Without Stef around, a simple thing like seeing the unused crib sheet or Mia's empty jungle bouncer was too much to handle.
The next morning, I went in to the hospital to check on Mia, because Stef was worried about a patch of raised skin above Mia's right ear. She wasn't sure if it was a skin reaction or if it was coming from inside her head. Stef had noticed it when she went to check Mia's temperature, which was up around 104 degrees. Up until that point, there hadn't been much difficulty communicating with the hospital staff. However, when Stef tried to describe her concerns to the nurse, things got a little complicated. I arrived at the hospital and took over, since my Japanese is much better than the nurse's English.
Since Mia is so young, using fever control medication is too risky. The only thing they could do to control her body temperature was put a cold-pack under her neck. When Stef woke up, the cold pack had returned to room temperature. I asked if the cold-pack shouldn't be replaced, and the nurse got a bit defensive. I explained that we were worried about her fever being so high and that we wanted to do everything we could to keep Mia from burning up. After a few failed attempts to explain our worries, the nurse broke down and started crying. She was tired and had forgotten to come and check Mia's temperature and change the ice pack. She felt guilty that we couldn't trust her to watch over Mia while Stef slept. As she sat there with tears streaming down her face, Stef leaned and gave her a hug, which seemed to make her even more uncomfortable. The doctor on duty came in and the nurse calmed down. Soon after, Mia had a new nurse. Her shift might have been over, but I think that they gave her a break from us.
I had a meeting with the doctor, various nurses, and a translator, in which they described Kawasaki Disease and the treatment plan. I only needed the translator for two medical terms--the rest was clear. There were two more stages of immunoglobulin treatments--if one didn't work, they'd step it up to the next level. If the next level wasn't effective, they'd have to try the immunosuppressant Cyclosporin A, which is only administered at the Matsuyama Central Hospital, where Mia spent the first four months of her life.
The thought of having to go back to Matsuyama made me queasy. I was trying to wrap my head around all the information so that I could pass it on to Stef, who was watching Kelsey during the meeting. Just ten minutes after the meeting, while I was in the middle of explaining the plan, the doctor changed his mind. Mia had chest congestion, and the results of her ultrasound had them fearing bronchitis and pneumonia in addition to all the other problems. They said that they needed to transport her right away to the ICU in Matsuyama.
Stef and I took Kelsey to our friend Kris' house to stay for the night. Stef and I rode to Matsuyama with Akiko-san, a lady who works for the International Center in town. We got to the hospital at night and met the huge team of doctors that would be taking care of Mia. We saw a lot of the doctors and nurses who were in the NICU when Mia was there, and they all greeted us and asked how Mia was doing. I stayed the night with Stef at the hospital, and returned to Imabari the next morning to pick Kelsey up.
We were told to expect at least a week for recovery. The doctors said that Mia had stabilized from earlier but that her fever was still high. Over the next few days, her fever would briefly drop, then climb back up to the 102-104 range. I called the missionaries in Matsuyama to see if there was anywhere Kelsey and I could stay for the next few days. The Sumida family, who used to give us a ride to church when we lived in Matsuyama, let us stay there. They have young kids, so they agreed to watch Kelsey the first day while I went to see Mia. They were also kind to prepare meals for us in the morning and evening. We even got to take rice balls that they had made with us for a snack.
After two or three days in Matsuyama, it seemed as though Mia might be getting better. Her temperature was close to normal, so I planned to take Kelsey back home with me to Imabari after visiting Stef and Mia for the day. When I was getting stuff ready early that morning at the Sumida's house, I received a text message from Stef that said, "Maybe you shouldn't go back to Imabari today. Doctors afraid of cardiac failure." I asked the Sumidas if they'd be willing to watch Kelsey again while I went to the hospital. It was impossible to keep my emotions in check as I described the complications. They agreed to watch Kelsey, and I rushed to the train station.
I got there right as both trains were arriving, so I was unable to board. Had it just been my train that was there, I would have had no problem getting onto the platform. But since a train was coming the other way, the railroad gates came down and I was forced to watch the train as it pulled up, waited for people to load, and then pulled away. The gates opened up and I went up to the platform and sat down on the bench, sobbing uncontrollably as I waited for the next train to come. All the people around me avoided making any kind of eye contact with the big, blabbering foreigner.
When I got to the hospital, the doctors handed me a laundry list of all of the problems that Mia was facing. Normally, doctors will explain problems and then go over the possible treatments, phrasing everything in a tactful way so as to give you hope for your child's recovery. With the language barrier, all information given in English was supplied without any such optimism. Just a list of the problems and their ultimate outcomes if treatment is ineffective.
Mia's pericardial effusion (swelling of her heart due to fluid retention) was getting worse, and her heart rate was getting dangerously high. Her fever was back in full force, and the immunoglobulin treatment had stopped having any effect. The doctors explained that they were going to have to begin Cyclosporin treatment, which was risky.
After explaining the treatment plan to me, the doctors huddled around me and asked if there was anything I wanted to "kiku". In Japanese, the word kiku means both to hear and to ask, so I said that I'd like to "kiku" that Mia would get better the next day. The doctors frowned and apologized that it wasn't something that they could say. They patted me on the back and encouraged me to "ganbatte," which roughly translates to hang on or stay strong.
The next day, things got even more complicated. Kelsey's rash, about which we had seen the doctor multiple times, got even worse, and she had a fever of about 101.5 degrees. I had forgotten to bring her hives medication with me to Matsuyama, so her rash wasn't getting any better. She was lively and happy, but her rash, fever and previous mouth-swelling made me worry that she might have Kawasaki disease, too. It's not contagious, so it would have been a huge coincidence. Needless to say, the last thing we wanted was to have to worry about Kelsey, too.
I set an appointment for Kelsey for the next morning. It turned out to just be a bacterial infection that came from the scratching when she had hives. What a relief. We got medicine which we faithfully applied until her rash went away.
Mia's doctors started the Cyclosporin treatment. Brother Sumida came to the hospital and we gave Mia a priesthood blessing right after the new treatment. I gave Stef a blessing, and then rode back to the Sumida family's house. When we got there, I asked if Brother Sumida and his son (the Branch President) would give me a blessing as well. I struggled with not knowing if Mia would get better. All I wanted was to see her smile again. The Sumidas blessed me with faith in the healing power of the priesthood. Having received this blessing, I remembered part of my patriarchal blessing, which discusses my children and the strength of their spirits. I felt strongly that Mia would get better.
The next morning, Mia was doing a bit better. The medication was working well. Her heart had shrunk slightly with the diuretic that she was taking, but was still way too big. Over the next few days, her heart returned to mostly normal size, and her fever completely subsided. She was getting better. She no longer needed to be in the ICU, and they were going to transfer her back to the Imabari prefectural hospital.
When Stef was leaving the hospital, the nurses asked her to pay her hospital bill before leaving, which was 240. They asked if she had the money on her, and she responded incredulously that she didn't. Why would she keep 240 bucks on her in cash? She went down to the ATM with the nurses, who kept asking if she was sure that she didn't have that much on her. Frustrated with the persistent questioning, she pulled out her change purse and said, "This is all I have on me." The nurse swiped the change purse, unzipped it, and pulled out 240 yen, the equivalent of about $2.50. Our hospital bill in Matsuyama wasn't even three dollars.
Back in Imabari, Stef again stayed with Mia at the hospital. The nurse who had broken down was once again on duty, and happy to see Mia in improving condition. The doctor and his staff monitored Mia and performed echocardiograms to monitor her heart, which was steadily improving. They estimated her treatment period at two weeks, but said that it could go quicker.
That was bring-your-daughter-to-work week. I was lucky to not have a grueling work schedule during this time. Kelsey came with me and ran around on the top floor of the city office building while I talked with the other English teachers. As inconvenient this whole experience was, there was no better time for it to happen than Summer break.
After a week in Imabari, Mia was all better and ready to come home. When I asked how we could pay the bill, the nurses said that we wouldn't be receiving one. She's covered 100% under our insurance. Whew.
Not being able to speak to family through all this really stunk. The only way I could keep myself from emotionally falling apart was to stay close to Stef. Stef really missed her mom.
It's great to have Mia back at home, jumping in her bouncer. I've promised myself to be more involved with Mia and to take more pictures and video of my children. Nothing is more important than family.
Three weeks ago, we took Mia to her doctor for a fever that had climbed up to nearly 103 degrees and wasn't showing any signs of going away. We had already been to the doctor four times that week for Kelsey, who had broken out in hives and had a swollen upper lip. The doctor suggested we take her to the hospital. We called the branch president of our church, who picked us up and took us to the Imabari prefectural hospital.
After I filled out some forms, a doctor checked Mia and said that she most likely had some sort of bacterial infection. She recommended we admit her to the hospital for a few days so that they could treat her and keep an eye on her. They gave her an IV and prepared a room on the fourth floor. The nurse said that Stefanie would have to stay with Mia at the hospital, sharing a full-size crib.
I planned to visit Stef each day after Kelsey's afternoon nap and bring dinner for all of us to share. When I came back the second day, Mia was grumpy and her fever was persistent. I asked the doctor what he thought, and he said that even though her fever had climbed to 104 and wasn't coming down, she wasn't having any serious problems like convulsions. He still anticipated a quick recovery.
A couple hours after speaking with the doctor, Mia started to have febrile convulsions. I pressed the nurse-call button and asked them to come to the room. When nobody seemed to show up, I ran out to the nurse station to ask them to hurry. The nurse sitting at the desk told me that Mia's nurse had already left for the room. I ran back to the room, and the nurse was looking at Mia, who was sluggish and unresponsive, and still convulsing. She asked how long she had been like that, and I explained that she had just started shaking. She quickly exited the room and was soon joined by Mia's doctor and another nurse, who picked Mia up and whisked her away to another area of the hospital, leaving us behind. I consoled Kelsey as she reached out and cried, "Oh no, baby Mia!" as they disappeared with her little sister. Stef and I looked at each other, and I could tell that we were thinking the same thing.
When Mia was born sixteen weeks premature on a boat, Stef and I both felt a calming assurance that everything would be all right. When they rushed Mia away, neither of us felt that assurance. I embraced Stef and told her how much I loved her, assuring her that we'd make it through everything okay.
I'm not really sure how long Mia was gone. In the 45-120 minutes that she was with the doctors, I had enough time to consider nearly all possible outcomes. All I could do was pray that she'd be all right and that we'd have enough strength to deal with the outcome.
Mia and the doctor's entourage finally returned to the fourth floor, where we were waiting. The doctor said that they had stabilized her with some medicine for the convulsions. Her fever was still high, but she was going to be all right. They moved her into a room that was right across from the nurse station, allowing for constant supervision. Stef slept with Mia that night.
The next day, her fever dipped slightly, but came back in full force. The medicine for the bacterial infection didn't seem to be helping. When a rash broke out on her arm, the doctor realized that we might not be looking at a bacterial infection. It's almost unheard of in kids Mia's age, but it seemed like Mia was suffering from Kawasaki Disease, a condition that targets the heart. As a preemie, Mia already has a heart condition called Atrial Septal Defect, which is, to put it clearly, a hole in her heart. So, we knew from the moment the doctor mulled the Kawasaki diagnosis that we needed to be worried about her heart.
Mia's convulsion medication left her sluggish and unable to eat, so we had to feed her with a medicine dropper, 2 milliliters at a time. She had difficulty swallowing, and so a lot of the milk seemed to be going down the wrong tube. But since I had a way to feed her, I stayed at the hospital so that Stef could have a break.
Along with the fever and rash, Mia had conjunctivitis, cracked lips, and another symptom (that I can't remember), which all together pointed to a diagnosis of Kawasaki Disease. The doctor started administering treatment of antibodies (immunoglobulins), which are generally very effective in treating Kawasaki Disease.
During the first stage of immunoglobulin treatment, Mia wasn't responding very well. The nurses left it up to us to remember when to administer her oral medication. The idea of us forgetting to give her an essential drug frightened me, so I asked them to remind us.
Stef stayed with Mia the next night, and I slept at home with Kelsey. Stef felt guilty about sleeping that night, because she wasn't sure the nurses would always respond promptly to problems. At home, a package from my mom that had a crib sheet had come while I was gone. Without Stef around, a simple thing like seeing the unused crib sheet or Mia's empty jungle bouncer was too much to handle.
The next morning, I went in to the hospital to check on Mia, because Stef was worried about a patch of raised skin above Mia's right ear. She wasn't sure if it was a skin reaction or if it was coming from inside her head. Stef had noticed it when she went to check Mia's temperature, which was up around 104 degrees. Up until that point, there hadn't been much difficulty communicating with the hospital staff. However, when Stef tried to describe her concerns to the nurse, things got a little complicated. I arrived at the hospital and took over, since my Japanese is much better than the nurse's English.
Since Mia is so young, using fever control medication is too risky. The only thing they could do to control her body temperature was put a cold-pack under her neck. When Stef woke up, the cold pack had returned to room temperature. I asked if the cold-pack shouldn't be replaced, and the nurse got a bit defensive. I explained that we were worried about her fever being so high and that we wanted to do everything we could to keep Mia from burning up. After a few failed attempts to explain our worries, the nurse broke down and started crying. She was tired and had forgotten to come and check Mia's temperature and change the ice pack. She felt guilty that we couldn't trust her to watch over Mia while Stef slept. As she sat there with tears streaming down her face, Stef leaned and gave her a hug, which seemed to make her even more uncomfortable. The doctor on duty came in and the nurse calmed down. Soon after, Mia had a new nurse. Her shift might have been over, but I think that they gave her a break from us.
I had a meeting with the doctor, various nurses, and a translator, in which they described Kawasaki Disease and the treatment plan. I only needed the translator for two medical terms--the rest was clear. There were two more stages of immunoglobulin treatments--if one didn't work, they'd step it up to the next level. If the next level wasn't effective, they'd have to try the immunosuppressant Cyclosporin A, which is only administered at the Matsuyama Central Hospital, where Mia spent the first four months of her life.
The thought of having to go back to Matsuyama made me queasy. I was trying to wrap my head around all the information so that I could pass it on to Stef, who was watching Kelsey during the meeting. Just ten minutes after the meeting, while I was in the middle of explaining the plan, the doctor changed his mind. Mia had chest congestion, and the results of her ultrasound had them fearing bronchitis and pneumonia in addition to all the other problems. They said that they needed to transport her right away to the ICU in Matsuyama.
Stef and I took Kelsey to our friend Kris' house to stay for the night. Stef and I rode to Matsuyama with Akiko-san, a lady who works for the International Center in town. We got to the hospital at night and met the huge team of doctors that would be taking care of Mia. We saw a lot of the doctors and nurses who were in the NICU when Mia was there, and they all greeted us and asked how Mia was doing. I stayed the night with Stef at the hospital, and returned to Imabari the next morning to pick Kelsey up.
We were told to expect at least a week for recovery. The doctors said that Mia had stabilized from earlier but that her fever was still high. Over the next few days, her fever would briefly drop, then climb back up to the 102-104 range. I called the missionaries in Matsuyama to see if there was anywhere Kelsey and I could stay for the next few days. The Sumida family, who used to give us a ride to church when we lived in Matsuyama, let us stay there. They have young kids, so they agreed to watch Kelsey the first day while I went to see Mia. They were also kind to prepare meals for us in the morning and evening. We even got to take rice balls that they had made with us for a snack.
After two or three days in Matsuyama, it seemed as though Mia might be getting better. Her temperature was close to normal, so I planned to take Kelsey back home with me to Imabari after visiting Stef and Mia for the day. When I was getting stuff ready early that morning at the Sumida's house, I received a text message from Stef that said, "Maybe you shouldn't go back to Imabari today. Doctors afraid of cardiac failure." I asked the Sumidas if they'd be willing to watch Kelsey again while I went to the hospital. It was impossible to keep my emotions in check as I described the complications. They agreed to watch Kelsey, and I rushed to the train station.
I got there right as both trains were arriving, so I was unable to board. Had it just been my train that was there, I would have had no problem getting onto the platform. But since a train was coming the other way, the railroad gates came down and I was forced to watch the train as it pulled up, waited for people to load, and then pulled away. The gates opened up and I went up to the platform and sat down on the bench, sobbing uncontrollably as I waited for the next train to come. All the people around me avoided making any kind of eye contact with the big, blabbering foreigner.
When I got to the hospital, the doctors handed me a laundry list of all of the problems that Mia was facing. Normally, doctors will explain problems and then go over the possible treatments, phrasing everything in a tactful way so as to give you hope for your child's recovery. With the language barrier, all information given in English was supplied without any such optimism. Just a list of the problems and their ultimate outcomes if treatment is ineffective.
Mia's pericardial effusion (swelling of her heart due to fluid retention) was getting worse, and her heart rate was getting dangerously high. Her fever was back in full force, and the immunoglobulin treatment had stopped having any effect. The doctors explained that they were going to have to begin Cyclosporin treatment, which was risky.
After explaining the treatment plan to me, the doctors huddled around me and asked if there was anything I wanted to "kiku". In Japanese, the word kiku means both to hear and to ask, so I said that I'd like to "kiku" that Mia would get better the next day. The doctors frowned and apologized that it wasn't something that they could say. They patted me on the back and encouraged me to "ganbatte," which roughly translates to hang on or stay strong.
The next day, things got even more complicated. Kelsey's rash, about which we had seen the doctor multiple times, got even worse, and she had a fever of about 101.5 degrees. I had forgotten to bring her hives medication with me to Matsuyama, so her rash wasn't getting any better. She was lively and happy, but her rash, fever and previous mouth-swelling made me worry that she might have Kawasaki disease, too. It's not contagious, so it would have been a huge coincidence. Needless to say, the last thing we wanted was to have to worry about Kelsey, too.
I set an appointment for Kelsey for the next morning. It turned out to just be a bacterial infection that came from the scratching when she had hives. What a relief. We got medicine which we faithfully applied until her rash went away.
Mia's doctors started the Cyclosporin treatment. Brother Sumida came to the hospital and we gave Mia a priesthood blessing right after the new treatment. I gave Stef a blessing, and then rode back to the Sumida family's house. When we got there, I asked if Brother Sumida and his son (the Branch President) would give me a blessing as well. I struggled with not knowing if Mia would get better. All I wanted was to see her smile again. The Sumidas blessed me with faith in the healing power of the priesthood. Having received this blessing, I remembered part of my patriarchal blessing, which discusses my children and the strength of their spirits. I felt strongly that Mia would get better.
The next morning, Mia was doing a bit better. The medication was working well. Her heart had shrunk slightly with the diuretic that she was taking, but was still way too big. Over the next few days, her heart returned to mostly normal size, and her fever completely subsided. She was getting better. She no longer needed to be in the ICU, and they were going to transfer her back to the Imabari prefectural hospital.
When Stef was leaving the hospital, the nurses asked her to pay her hospital bill before leaving, which was 240. They asked if she had the money on her, and she responded incredulously that she didn't. Why would she keep 240 bucks on her in cash? She went down to the ATM with the nurses, who kept asking if she was sure that she didn't have that much on her. Frustrated with the persistent questioning, she pulled out her change purse and said, "This is all I have on me." The nurse swiped the change purse, unzipped it, and pulled out 240 yen, the equivalent of about $2.50. Our hospital bill in Matsuyama wasn't even three dollars.
Back in Imabari, Stef again stayed with Mia at the hospital. The nurse who had broken down was once again on duty, and happy to see Mia in improving condition. The doctor and his staff monitored Mia and performed echocardiograms to monitor her heart, which was steadily improving. They estimated her treatment period at two weeks, but said that it could go quicker.
That was bring-your-daughter-to-work week. I was lucky to not have a grueling work schedule during this time. Kelsey came with me and ran around on the top floor of the city office building while I talked with the other English teachers. As inconvenient this whole experience was, there was no better time for it to happen than Summer break.
After a week in Imabari, Mia was all better and ready to come home. When I asked how we could pay the bill, the nurses said that we wouldn't be receiving one. She's covered 100% under our insurance. Whew.
Not being able to speak to family through all this really stunk. The only way I could keep myself from emotionally falling apart was to stay close to Stef. Stef really missed her mom.
It's great to have Mia back at home, jumping in her bouncer. I've promised myself to be more involved with Mia and to take more pictures and video of my children. Nothing is more important than family.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Shimanami Yacht Club Welcome Party
On Saturday, the band had a show in Yuge.
In the morning, I rode my bike to the store and got some money for boat fare. I was in a hurry, so I left the bike at the store and took a taxi to the harbor. On the way, the taxi driver picked my brain about living with a family in Japan, learning Japanese, and Arnold Schwarzenneger.
I got to the port and waited for the 10:30 AM high-speed boat bound for Yuge island. When the boat arrived, I waited to board while the six-foot loading ramp lowered and a bunch of old grannies emerged from the boat and slowly descended behind their Walking Stecky walkers, their torsos parallel to the ground. Once the boat was empty, I walked up the ramp, sat down on the back row of the boat, pulled out my Nintendo DS, and began to review kanji characters. I looked up from the screen after what seemed like a few minutes and realized that we had already arrived at Yuge.
I got off the boat and called Kuroda-san, the band leader, since nobody was there waiting for me. He said that they were waiting around the corner, and I mentioned that I was going to go grab some lunch. He told me that they were making preparations, so it was okay if I didn't buy lunch right then. What kind of preparation? Lunch arrangements? Equipment preparations? I assumed he meant that they'd set up lunch already and that I needn't buy anything.
I walked over to the area where they were setting everything up, and they cheered when they saw me. We plugged all the stuff in and did a quick sound check, and then walked over to the fire station, where they had set aside a room for us on the second floor. They had bought 800 yen bento lunches with a little bit of everything, which we sat down to eat while chatting.
In the bento: A bite of spaghetti, a shooter marble-sized meatball, a bunch of rice, an overly salty chunk of fish, some pickled veggies, a few small pieces of fresh cucumber, some konyaku noodles, a rubbery pink-and-white tofu thing, a salty egg block, a small piece of crab, some shredded cabbage, and a single pork gyoza.
Pretty good, all in all.
Here's a quick band member profile:
Eiichi Kuroda
The leader Uoshima'X, Kuroda-san's a 45ish year-old municipal worker from nearby Yuge island who plays a mean electric guitar. When he was young, he had an accident in his spine that messes with his equilibrium and can do serious damage if he consumes any alcohol. He's my Pepsi-drinking buddy at all the band functions. He loves American and British rock-n-roll guitar from the 'sixties and 'seventies. He's been on Uoshima for at least three years, so he'll most likely have a transfer next year, which will probably dissolve the band.
Tomomi Teshima
Teshima-san is a 40 year-old lady who moved with her husband to Uoshima to fish for a living. She is the lead vocalist for most of the Japanese songs and backup vocalist on most others, and played the keyboard during the beginning for songs like Brick, Highway Star, and Smoke on the Water. She loves Ben Folds and Coldplay. She was one of three people who came to English conversation classes when I lived on the island.
Saiki Kazue
Saiki speaks a bit of English, so I call her by her first name. She was placed on Uoshima as a kindergarten teacher about eight or nine years ago. She was wooed by one of the local fishermen, and they married and started a family. When Kaisei, the oldest of their two kids, got into kindergarten, Saiki had to look for a new job. Now 34, she works as a receptionist at the island medical clinic. A month or two before I left the island, she joined the band and took over as keyboardist, but also provides lead vocals for one song and backup vocals on others.
Masa
I don't even know his full name, but Masa is our drummer. He's good at bass guitar and can play rhythm guitar as well, but we don't have any other options on the drums. He's about 30 years old, and is married and has a boy named Takumi who's just a little younger than Kelsey. During the week, he works on the New Uoshima 2, the town's high-speed ferry.
Yaa-san
I don't know his full name either. Yaa-san is our bass player, though I use the term lightly. He's a nice guy, but he struggles with keeping a beat. He often lags behind the band or rushes his parts, and he hyperventilates in front of larger crowds. He works during the week at the garbage treatment plant with his brother, who has Down Syndrome. I think that Yaa-san might have some mental disabilities as well. I'm pretty sure that he's a native of Uoshima, and I think he's 35 years old.
Reiko Abe
Abe-Sensei teaches first and second grade at the elementary school on Uoshima. At 28 years old, she's the baby of the band, and is the latest to join. She cracks me up with all the onomatopoeia that she uses. I'm not sure where she's from, but she provides backup vocals and can play the keyboard, and she looks a little like the crazy villain from Bloodsport.
After lunch, we went down and rehearsed all the songs. Highway star was very uneven. I listened to the other songs from the audience area and the guitars were slightly off-key. Vocals were shaky. Yaa-san wandered aimlessly on the bass. Despite having the feeling that we were going to tank, I wasn't nervous at all. We were going to play for the Shimanami Yacht Club welcome party, not some huge audience.
We went back to our room after rehearsing and had some ice cream. Masa's ice cream had beans in it.
Another band started rehearsing, and we went to the window to watch. The band, Guitar Pants, was very good. They're from Matsuyama, and play 'seventies Santana-style groove rock. All of the musicians are technically exceptional. I prayed that we'd get to play before them.
The show started at 6PM. A news reporter from one of the local stations was the guest emcee, and all the band members wanted to have pictures taken with her. She had all the makings of a Japanese reporter--tall (for a Japanese person) and slender, hair that must've taken hours to do, and really brown teeth. Yeah, I'm shallow.
We were the first band to play, while Guitar Pants played second. A jazz/blues guitar duo followed, and a local acoustic guitar group with bongo accompaniment and a muddy steel string sound played last.
When our turn came around, I was pretty relaxed. The other members were nervous. Yaa-san might have been crying from the pressure. There were about three or four hundred people at the show, but most of them were old, darkened sailors who knew boats and traditional Japanese music much more than they knew English or rock-n-roll. I worried most about what I was going to say before my song, which was the last of our three-song set. Teshima-san opened with Yuugure, a Japanese pop song from the 'nineties. After that, Saiki followed a long speech by singing Diamonds, by PrincessPrincess. It's a Japanese pop song that resembles some the most cliched themes from early Nintendo games. Japanese pop music is consistently about fifteen to twenty years behind American music.
After Diamonds, I walked up to the mic and shouted, in Japanese, "Good evening! I suck at Japanese. We're Uoshima'X!" Then I yelled something in English and counted off to start Highway Star. I confidently danced around the stage, putting all I had into the vocals. I thanked the crowd and we walked off the stage as they cheered. As rough as our rehearsal was, our actual performance was pretty solid. Yaa-san even played a few correct notes. People came up to me to tell me how skilled of a singer I am. Good old Japanese flattery.
I stayed to watch Guitar Pants, but had to leave at 8PM to catch a ferry with Saiki to Habu, where her husband was waiting with their car to drive back to Imabari. We took the Shamanami bridge, a really long series of suspension bridges that connect mainland Honshu to Mainland Shikoku. In the car, we talked about all sorts of subjects, from family to Filipina prostitutes on Habu. Our soundtrack was 80's American pop music that all sounded like the Pet Shop Boys. The dashboard of the car looked like something from a flight simulator.
We drove by a huge fireworks show that was going on over the water next to the bridges. Lines of Japanese cars stopped on the highway to watch.
When we approached a tunnel, I held my breath and made a wish like I used to back home. I wished that I would, for the sake of this blog, remember the name of the Yoshifumi tunnel, through which I successfully held my breath. See, wishes do come true.
They dropped me off at home, and I went in to see Stef. I had forgotten to pick up trash bags, so I walked back to the store amidst a chorus of cicadas and frogs. The bike was still there from earlier that morning.
Lastly, some pics from the show:
In the morning, I rode my bike to the store and got some money for boat fare. I was in a hurry, so I left the bike at the store and took a taxi to the harbor. On the way, the taxi driver picked my brain about living with a family in Japan, learning Japanese, and Arnold Schwarzenneger.
I got to the port and waited for the 10:30 AM high-speed boat bound for Yuge island. When the boat arrived, I waited to board while the six-foot loading ramp lowered and a bunch of old grannies emerged from the boat and slowly descended behind their Walking Stecky walkers, their torsos parallel to the ground. Once the boat was empty, I walked up the ramp, sat down on the back row of the boat, pulled out my Nintendo DS, and began to review kanji characters. I looked up from the screen after what seemed like a few minutes and realized that we had already arrived at Yuge.
I got off the boat and called Kuroda-san, the band leader, since nobody was there waiting for me. He said that they were waiting around the corner, and I mentioned that I was going to go grab some lunch. He told me that they were making preparations, so it was okay if I didn't buy lunch right then. What kind of preparation? Lunch arrangements? Equipment preparations? I assumed he meant that they'd set up lunch already and that I needn't buy anything.
I walked over to the area where they were setting everything up, and they cheered when they saw me. We plugged all the stuff in and did a quick sound check, and then walked over to the fire station, where they had set aside a room for us on the second floor. They had bought 800 yen bento lunches with a little bit of everything, which we sat down to eat while chatting.
In the bento: A bite of spaghetti, a shooter marble-sized meatball, a bunch of rice, an overly salty chunk of fish, some pickled veggies, a few small pieces of fresh cucumber, some konyaku noodles, a rubbery pink-and-white tofu thing, a salty egg block, a small piece of crab, some shredded cabbage, and a single pork gyoza.
Pretty good, all in all.
Here's a quick band member profile:
Eiichi Kuroda
The leader Uoshima'X, Kuroda-san's a 45ish year-old municipal worker from nearby Yuge island who plays a mean electric guitar. When he was young, he had an accident in his spine that messes with his equilibrium and can do serious damage if he consumes any alcohol. He's my Pepsi-drinking buddy at all the band functions. He loves American and British rock-n-roll guitar from the 'sixties and 'seventies. He's been on Uoshima for at least three years, so he'll most likely have a transfer next year, which will probably dissolve the band.
Tomomi Teshima
Teshima-san is a 40 year-old lady who moved with her husband to Uoshima to fish for a living. She is the lead vocalist for most of the Japanese songs and backup vocalist on most others, and played the keyboard during the beginning for songs like Brick, Highway Star, and Smoke on the Water. She loves Ben Folds and Coldplay. She was one of three people who came to English conversation classes when I lived on the island.
Saiki Kazue
Saiki speaks a bit of English, so I call her by her first name. She was placed on Uoshima as a kindergarten teacher about eight or nine years ago. She was wooed by one of the local fishermen, and they married and started a family. When Kaisei, the oldest of their two kids, got into kindergarten, Saiki had to look for a new job. Now 34, she works as a receptionist at the island medical clinic. A month or two before I left the island, she joined the band and took over as keyboardist, but also provides lead vocals for one song and backup vocals on others.
Masa
I don't even know his full name, but Masa is our drummer. He's good at bass guitar and can play rhythm guitar as well, but we don't have any other options on the drums. He's about 30 years old, and is married and has a boy named Takumi who's just a little younger than Kelsey. During the week, he works on the New Uoshima 2, the town's high-speed ferry.
Yaa-san
I don't know his full name either. Yaa-san is our bass player, though I use the term lightly. He's a nice guy, but he struggles with keeping a beat. He often lags behind the band or rushes his parts, and he hyperventilates in front of larger crowds. He works during the week at the garbage treatment plant with his brother, who has Down Syndrome. I think that Yaa-san might have some mental disabilities as well. I'm pretty sure that he's a native of Uoshima, and I think he's 35 years old.
Reiko Abe
Abe-Sensei teaches first and second grade at the elementary school on Uoshima. At 28 years old, she's the baby of the band, and is the latest to join. She cracks me up with all the onomatopoeia that she uses. I'm not sure where she's from, but she provides backup vocals and can play the keyboard, and she looks a little like the crazy villain from Bloodsport.
After lunch, we went down and rehearsed all the songs. Highway star was very uneven. I listened to the other songs from the audience area and the guitars were slightly off-key. Vocals were shaky. Yaa-san wandered aimlessly on the bass. Despite having the feeling that we were going to tank, I wasn't nervous at all. We were going to play for the Shimanami Yacht Club welcome party, not some huge audience.
We went back to our room after rehearsing and had some ice cream. Masa's ice cream had beans in it.
Another band started rehearsing, and we went to the window to watch. The band, Guitar Pants, was very good. They're from Matsuyama, and play 'seventies Santana-style groove rock. All of the musicians are technically exceptional. I prayed that we'd get to play before them.
The show started at 6PM. A news reporter from one of the local stations was the guest emcee, and all the band members wanted to have pictures taken with her. She had all the makings of a Japanese reporter--tall (for a Japanese person) and slender, hair that must've taken hours to do, and really brown teeth. Yeah, I'm shallow.
We were the first band to play, while Guitar Pants played second. A jazz/blues guitar duo followed, and a local acoustic guitar group with bongo accompaniment and a muddy steel string sound played last.
When our turn came around, I was pretty relaxed. The other members were nervous. Yaa-san might have been crying from the pressure. There were about three or four hundred people at the show, but most of them were old, darkened sailors who knew boats and traditional Japanese music much more than they knew English or rock-n-roll. I worried most about what I was going to say before my song, which was the last of our three-song set. Teshima-san opened with Yuugure, a Japanese pop song from the 'nineties. After that, Saiki followed a long speech by singing Diamonds, by PrincessPrincess. It's a Japanese pop song that resembles some the most cliched themes from early Nintendo games. Japanese pop music is consistently about fifteen to twenty years behind American music.
After Diamonds, I walked up to the mic and shouted, in Japanese, "Good evening! I suck at Japanese. We're Uoshima'X!" Then I yelled something in English and counted off to start Highway Star. I confidently danced around the stage, putting all I had into the vocals. I thanked the crowd and we walked off the stage as they cheered. As rough as our rehearsal was, our actual performance was pretty solid. Yaa-san even played a few correct notes. People came up to me to tell me how skilled of a singer I am. Good old Japanese flattery.
I stayed to watch Guitar Pants, but had to leave at 8PM to catch a ferry with Saiki to Habu, where her husband was waiting with their car to drive back to Imabari. We took the Shamanami bridge, a really long series of suspension bridges that connect mainland Honshu to Mainland Shikoku. In the car, we talked about all sorts of subjects, from family to Filipina prostitutes on Habu. Our soundtrack was 80's American pop music that all sounded like the Pet Shop Boys. The dashboard of the car looked like something from a flight simulator.
We drove by a huge fireworks show that was going on over the water next to the bridges. Lines of Japanese cars stopped on the highway to watch.
When we approached a tunnel, I held my breath and made a wish like I used to back home. I wished that I would, for the sake of this blog, remember the name of the Yoshifumi tunnel, through which I successfully held my breath. See, wishes do come true.
They dropped me off at home, and I went in to see Stef. I had forgotten to pick up trash bags, so I walked back to the store amidst a chorus of cicadas and frogs. The bike was still there from earlier that morning.
Lastly, some pics from the show:
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