Axel > Skate

Bedlets: Or, I Hope, the Last Time I'll Ever Blog About Bodily Functions

2011-06-16T13:09:00.017+09:00

If you can't stomach a little toilet humor, feel free to skip this entry. Apologies in advance.

A while back, I wrote about my uncomfortable hospital bed. It was so hard and small that I had to put two together, which might have worked if they weren't an inch or two apart in height. During my three years here in Japan, I've had my fair share of experiences with beds.

Japanese people have traditionally slept on thin bedrolls called futons, which are much different than the futons I saw back home. Japanese futons aren't cheap, couch-like pieces of furniture that starving college students sleep on. They're basically 1 or 2 inch-thick mats that go on the tatami floors and are covered by some kind of sheet. People typically have a blanket--either a comforter a bit wider than the futon, or a beach towel-ish blanket called a towelket (a Japanese portmanteau of "towel" and "blanket"). While many people have adopted western-style beds, the majority still use futons, due in part to a lack of space in Japanese homes. Beds take up a lot of space, and can't be stuffed into the closet during the day to open up a room.

As a solution, many Japanese people purchase sofa beds. They aren't like the old sofa beds I knew growing up, where the bed folds away into a cavity underneath the couch cushions. Instead, they are typically low to the ground (like most Japanese furniture intended for sitting) and have adjustable backs, which can change from what's close to a 90% angle to a fully reclined, flat position. While not as comfortable as a pillow-top mattress with a box spring, they are often more comfortable than just sleeping on the glorified blanket otherwise known as a futon.

Last year, when Mom and Rory came to visit, they bought a sofa bed at Hard Off, a thrift store chain with a well-stocked location close to our apartment. It was a bit of a tight fit for them, but they managed to sleep better than they would have on the futons we had provided. When they left, we tried to use it as a bed, but it was a little too narrow for our liking. If we had another one about the same height, we figured, we could put them together, lay some futons on top of them, and basically have a California king bed in our room. It worked in theory.

When we actually got the second sofa bed and got it home, we found that it was actually about three inches higher than the old one. No problem, we thought. All we had to do was put another futon or two on lower one, and they'd be just about even. Doing just that, we made it work for a while, though one side of the massive bed was always firmer than the other. Eventually we got tired of the complete lack of space in our bedroom and decided that a change was in order.

We put the firmer and taller of the two sofa beds up into sofa position, and pushed it against the paper doors (partly to hide the giant holes that our kids ripped in them), moving the other one up against the base of it. We stacked the futons on to make it level, and put our pillows on the sofa section. While that configuration was quite wide, it unfortunately wasn't long enough for me. I even tried a diagonal position, but my feet always ended up on the ground. I felt like Ned from One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish.

Who am I? My name is Ned.
I do not like my little bed.
This is no good.
This is not right.
My feet stick out of bed all night.
And when I pull them in, Oh, dear!
My head sticks out of bed up here!

We ended up sleeping vertically on the lower bed, with one of us lying up against the crevice between the two beds. It was actually quite comfortable. When Mom came out last month, however, we gave her the lower bed back and kept the other one in sofa form, electing to sleep directly on the futons. It's not so bad--we sleep pretty well most of the time.

We find it a hassle to put our futons away every day, so we leave them out. This attracts all sorts of dirt and crumbs from the kids, which gets quite annoying. Also frustrating is the fact that it's much harder to get out of a bed that's laying directly on the floor than one that you can just roll out of.

Japanese people customarily sit directly on tatami (or on a zabuton, an inch-thick square mat), which I can't stand, having grown up with plush carpet and comfortable sofas. With kids, I have to be ready to get up and help at the drop of a hat. It's difficult for me to do that when I'm laying or sitting on the ground. Being such a tall guy, it takes precisely 3.74 seconds for my brain to communicate to my heart that it actually needs some blood to function. Getting up too quickly causes me to black out; I don't actually faint, but everything goes black and I momentarily lose my inhibitions. Just ask Stef or Mom--I say some pretty silly stuff in the 5-some seconds before the blood makes it to my brain.

Stef and I both agree that it will be nice to have furniture once we get back. Couches, comfortable beds, and carpet--these are all things for which the typical ex-pat yearns. We are no exception. It's neat that, as a whole, the Japanese cherish their past. But it seems so striking that in this country where technology is king, people still sleep on the floor and have paper doors.

Then there's the issue of toilets. Ah, toilets--perhaps the most stark reminder of Japan's dual nature. On one side, you've got squatters. Holes in the ground. Holes in the ground above which you must squat. There's no way to lessen the stomach-churning imagery that arises when you think of or say the word "squatter."

We've got an old apartment, so we're stuck with a squatter. It's actually a step up from the ground, and there's a good 3 feet between the step and the far wall, so we were able to use a plastic seat and convert it to a western-style toilet. It's not quite as comfortable as a standard toilet in America, but it's better than a hole in the ground.

Our friend Paul, who lives in the same building, is not so lucky. He's got the same configuration, minus about 2 feet of space. He's only got about a foot, so it's quite inconvenient for him to use. The following, I believe, was meant to be included in One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish:

Who am I? My name is Paul.
I do not like my little stall.
This is no good.
This is not right,
It's really hard to pee at night.
And when I sit, it's knees-on-wall.
I do not like my stall at all.

Most business establishments these days have a western style toilet or two to go along with the squatters, but there are still plenty of places that have yet to upgrade. Typically, if there's no western style toilet, you can just hold it until you get somewhere else. On a train, however, there's nowhere else to go. I was once faced with the misfortune of having to use a squatter on a train. It's what I believe Sam I Am was referring to when he asked:

A train! A train!
A train! A train!
Could you, would you on a train?

No. You couldn't. You wouldn't. On a train. If there's one thing worse than having to use a squatter, it's having to use a squatter on a train. Or genocide. That's also worse. Or shredding the roof of your mouth on dozens of tiny, whole dried fish that you're forced to eat in front of the children. Okay, so there are a lot of things that are worse than using a squatter. But still, pray that you never have to use a squatter on a train.

On the complete opposite end of the spectrum, you've got RoboToilet (the official name is Washlet, another portmanteau). While I was staying with Mia at the hospital, I became intimately acquainted with a toilet which, if we're not careful, could likely end up enslaving the world. When I walked in the bathroom, the toilet would sense my presence and open the top lid, ready to do business. With the simple press of a button on a separate, radio-controlled panel, I could tell it that I wasn't ready for any complicated transactions and just needed it to open all the way. When the transaction was complete, it would automatically flush, and then close after a few minutes, lest it accidentally close business in the middle of a transaction.

Some of RoboToilet's other features include water sprays with adjustable trajectories and pressure levels, as well a heated seat. It's really strange to see such an advanced toilet in one place, and then in the same hospital, have a hole in the ground. No matter how many times I use the latter, it doesn't grow on me.

That's not to say that RoboToilet is perfect. RoboToilet is so environmentally conscious that the limited space inside can cause friction in our relationship. Sometimes, at night, I'm so tired that my marksmanship takes a serious hit. As a courtesy to Stef and other people living with me, I choose to sit. With RoboToilet's auto-flush feature, the lack of "depth" toward the front of the bowl leads to some serious breaches of trust. On more than one occasion, RoboToilet decided to finish the transaction early, causing an unexpected flow of frigid water to parts best left unmentioned.

Another inconvenient part of Japanese bathrooms is the need to switch shoes. People here are always switching shoes--when you walk into a home or school, you take off your shoes and put on slippers or other shoes that you only use indoors. When you go to the bathroom, however, you have to change out of the indoor shoes and into some bathroom slippers, which are always way too small for my feet. Sometimes, when the kids are cleaning the bathrooms during their designated cleaning time, they hose down the slippers as well, making for a happy little surprise when you slip your nice, dry socks into them.

Alas, school bathrooms are pretty much the worst part about working at a school. I love kids. I can deal with rowdiness. Most everything about working at schools in Japan has become enjoyable. But bathrooms remain the most difficult challenge for me. Why? It starts with the doors.

Elementary school bathrooms rarely have doors. Anyone can and will watch you go to the bathroom. There are no half-walls to buffer each urinal, and the urinals are in plain view from the doorway, which is in the main hallway. Coworkers and students, both male and female, can see you using the urinal.

To make things worse, the bathrooms for both boys and girls sometimes have the same entrance. You switch into slippers, and then go straight into the urinals right in front of you, or go around the corner to the girls' bathroom if you're female. Either way, you've got to put the slippers on in front of a row of peeing boys. That's got to be uncomfortable for the girls.

Because they're built not just for kids, but Japanese kids, they're extremely short. So short, in fact, that the top of the flusher handle, which is connected to a pipe about 5 inches above the top of the urinal, is lower than my waist. Since I'm so tall, the only way to "hide myself" from the world is to bend my knees and hunch over. Not even this keeps kids from wanting to watch me go.

Today, I was being mobbed by a crowd of excited first graders, when I realized that I had to go to the bathroom. When some of the kids seemed ready to follow me in, I elected to use the squatter stall, even if it wasn't necessary. It was not the first time I've done that--I value my privacy.

At one of my schools, we have a couple kids with learning disabilities, including one boy with Down Syndrome. One time, while I discretely used the bathroom, this sweet boy, with absolutely no ill intentions, walked right up to me and started watching me. I asked him to let me be alone for a minute, to which he responded by sticking his face up near the small space between me and the porcelain. I was so shocked by this that I stopped what I was doing, picked him up and moved him out of the bathroom, and sharply told him to return to his class.

Another time, at the same school, a different kid from the special education class (which is directly adjacent to the bathroom) came and started chatting with me while I was trying to use the bathroom.

"Hey! It's Jesse-Sensei!"

"Yep. That's me."

"Whoa, you're tall!"

"Yep. Mind if I have a moment here?"

"So, anything come out yet?"

"Not yet. And it probably won't if you're watching me. Would you please leave me be for a moment?"

Japan's openness about using the bathroom has been eye-opening. Women have no problem discussing their level of regularity--it's a common topic of conversation. I can't count how many children's books I've seen that focus on using the toilet. Everyone Poops, perhaps the most famous children's book on the subject, was originally written in Japanese. They openly talk to kids about what they need to do to ensure that the plumbing works properly.

That's not necessarily such a bad thing--it's just so different than everything I've ever known. The only time I ever feel comfortable talking about the subject is when I'm discussing my baby's diapers or children who have wet the bed. Incidentally, as I took a short break from writing this last paragraph to change my son's diaper, he peed all over me and my bed for the first time ever. Maybe the Japanese know what they're doing. Perhaps one day, the Japanese will invent the bedlet. I know my kids would use one.

Mia's Surgery Date

2011-06-10T13:10:00.008+09:00

Mia's surgery was scheduled for the morning of April 21st. Stef got a ride to the hospital from Kris that morning, then came to Mia's room to hang out before the surgery. The doctors came soon after she got there, then ushered us to a room which acted like a hub between the surgery rooms and the main hall. We took a picture with Mia, then sent her off with the surgical team, telling her that we'd see her in a while. She showed no signs of being upset, though she surely had no idea what was going to happen, except that the doctors were going to "fix her heart".

We made our way back to Mia's room, where a pregnant Stef decided to pass the time resting. With Mia out of sight and in the doctors' hands, there was no way that I would get any rest, regardless of how tired I was from not sleeping at all the night before. Wanting to find some way to pass the time, I opened my computer and called family on Skype. It was nice to distract myself with uplifting conversation with people I love.

Even when you're able to distract yourself, you can never fully get an in-progress surgery out of your mind. I tried to stay positive, but even then, I still envisioned each gut-wrenching step of the process. About 45 minutes to an hour into the procedure, I thought, "Right now, she is probably fully prepped for the start of the procedure." I prayed that everything would go smoothly in each particular step of the surgery. That the surgeons' hands would be precise. That the heart bypass machine would work properly. That she wouldn't bleed too much and need a transfusion. 5 hours of doing that can seem like an eternity.

Before the surgery, Mia and I repeatedly watched a couple movies--Mary Poppins, and My Neighbor Totoro. Both movies focus on the innocence of children and their relationship with their father. In Totoro, two young girls who live with their dad while their mom is hospitalized run around and explore their new surroundings in rural Japan, letting their imaginations run wild. Before the surgery, Mia and Kelsey would run around and play together, much like Satsuki and Mei from Totoro, albeit a bit younger. Totoro became a big part of my life while in the hospital with Mia, as she would ask to watch it multiple times each day.

"What do you want to do?" I'd ask.
"I wanna watch... I wanna wanna watch.. Totoro!" she'd reply, likely looking for some sense of familiarity while stuck in such a strange setting.

It was either that or, "I wanna wanna watch... Mary Poppins!"
"Oh, you want to watch Mary Poppins again?"
"Yeah! Mary Poppins!"

I probably watched Mary Poppins thirty times while Mia was in the hospital, and I never got tired of it. The timeless music, performances, and themes of childhood, parenthood, compassion, and responsibility resonate with me. I can relate to the banker father who needs to be more loving and compassionate with his children. Causing me to reflect on the times when I've been less patient or understanding with my kids than I should be, watching Mary Poppins gave me ample time to consider how I can be a better dad.

Both movies provided me with plenty of chances to stave off thoughts of how I would deal with the loss of a child. While waiting for her surgery to end, I couldn't help but hope and pray for a time when Mia and I could do simple things together, like watch a movie. I will never be able to watch either movie, or hear a single song from them without being reminded of the profound love I feel toward my children. I hope they do and always will know that I love them.

The doctor contacted us about an hour and a half before I had expected. Mia's surgery had finished without any complications, and she was recovering in the ICU. He invited us to take a look at her. They said she'd likely spend a couple days in the ICU before being transferred back to the PHCU room where she had been before the operation.

In the ICU, Mia was sedated on a hospital bed with various tubes going into her chest, throat, and inner thigh. They left the breathing machine on for the first while so that she could ease back into using her lungs. The doctor showed us the incision on her chest, which he had intentionally made smaller than usual, and was quite a bit smaller than I had anticipated. She hadn't lost much blood during the operation, and so they hadn't needed to perform a blood transfusion (and wouldn't need to, provided that she didn't develop dangerous levels of anemia).

Stef and I asked permission to take a picture of her, then left so that they could keep administering her post-surgery treatment.

The day before Mia's surgery, I had made arrangements to stay at a special housing place for family members of patients. We expected her to be in the ICU for two nights, the second of which I would spend at the family housing place. Making arrangements was actually quite the ordeal. They sent a representative to the PHCU before the surgery to meet with me and verify with the hospital staff that my child was actually hospitalized. After filling out multiple forms (seriously, how involved does it have to be?), the housing rep explained that I'd need to contact them again during business hours the day I was going to stay. They wanted to show me exactly how to get to the building, and weren't content with drawing a map.

The next day, I had an appointment at the insurance center in Imabari, so Stef and I planned to go back home after the surgery. The hospital staff had given me information about supplemental aid from the city for children who have surgery or disabilities, and I had to go back to fill out paperwork. My appointment was set for 1 in the afternoon, so it was doubtful that I'd be back in time to meet up with the housing people. Given that I would need a place to sleep the next night, I was pretty stressed about making it back in time.

On the way out to the train station, Dr. Fumiaki Shikata, one of the members of the surgical team, accompanied us. He wanted to point us in the direction of the family housing complex, but actually ended up taking me directly to it. I called the housing rep and explained that I knew exactly where it was, and asked them to leave the key at the front desk of the PHCU.

In the end, it was all moot. The next morning, the doctor called to tell me that Mia was recovering quickly and was ready to be transferred back to the PHCU after just one night in the ICU. Also, I don't know how necessary it was to get that aid, since Mia's hospital bills are fully covered until age 6 by our Japanese health insurance. Even though I may have wasted a few hundred yen and some time, it was certainly nice to sleep in my own bed that night.

I needed the rest for what was about to come.

Leading Up to Surgery

2011-05-24T14:55:00.002+09:00

We checked in on April 18th, had some tests on that day and the 19th, and met with the surgeons on the 19th. April 21st was the scheduled surgery date, and they needed to monitor Mia for a few days before hand and go through all of the insurance paperwork. The 20th was supposed to be a relaxing day, but it was quite possibly the most stressful day of my entire life.

The night of the 19th was a long one. The day before, Mia had some tests scheduled for the afternoon, so the doctors made her skip her nap so that she would be asleep when they wanted to do the tests. They gave her medicine at 4 in the afternoon, but it was taking some time to kick in. Had they been willing to wait a few more minutes, she would have fallen asleep; they instead gave her a second dose of the sleeping medicine, and she was out at 4:30. She slept for 5 hours, waking up at 9:30 and not sleeping until after midnight, meaning that no matter how tired I was, I couldn't sleep until after then. I ended up getting about three hours of sleep that night.

In order to keep tabs on Mia's vitals, they hooked her up to a bunch of different devices, including a heart monitor, an oxygen sensor, and an IV drip. She was very calm throughout everything, and didn't even cry when they took blood. The nurses were all very impressed with her toughness. The hardest part about having her hooked up to all the tubes was that she still had a ton of energy and wanted to run faster than I could move the equipment.

The PHCU had a play area with a padded floor and some books for kids to read, with a mural of fish on the wall. Mia would run over to the fish and tell me which fish was Mia's fish, which was Kelsey's fish, which was Daddy's fish, and which was Mommy's fish. Something about the fish must have reminded her of us, because she was very consistent about whose fish was which. The hallway leading from the main hospital wing to the PHCU was lined with colorful decals of human feet, which Mia liked to call "duck feet", in reference to "I Wish That I Had Duck Feet", a book we own which was written by Dr. Seuss under the pen name of Theo LeSieg and illustrated by someone else. Up until the surgery date, we could go on walks anywhere in the hospital--after the surgery, we'd have to stay in the PHCU and couldn't go past the "duck feet".

When I wasn't taking Mia around for different tests or going on walks, I was hanging around the room with Mia looking to rest. This was next to impossible, as nurses and doctors kept popping their heads in the room to explain some other disclosure or give me more Japanese paperwork to fill out. Doctors even brought medical students by to see the American patient. I'm sure that it's common for the students to visit patients, but it seemed a bit odd when, on the day before the surgery, more than 25 people (not including me or Mia) all crammed into our small room to see Mia. When you haven't slept for a few days and you're expecting a day of relaxation, it's a bit unnerving to have to deal with a constant stream of people you weren't expecting to have to see.

The talk with the chief surgeon was frightening. He is a very nice man and was very eager to make me feel comfortable, but it's hard to be totally at peace when you are hearing about the dangers of open heart surgery. No matter how hard you try to push the thought of tragedy out of your mind--regardless of the greater-than-98% success rate of the surgery--it's impossible as a parent not to worry that your child might fall into the "less than two percent" of ASD surgery patients who don't make it. When the doctor explains how the heart-lung machine works, and that it will be necessary for them to physically stop your child's heart, there's nothing that can you can do to completely eliminate worry and stress.

Sparing no details, he explained the procedure from start to finish. The procedure itself would take three or four hours from start to finish, with about an hour of preparation time sandwiched around the surgery. First, they would make an incision in her chest, and then cut the sternum underneath to reach the heart. After hooking her up to the heart-lung machine and making an incision in the heart, they would search for the hole, stitch it shut, and then close her up again. He explained the risks of each stage of the surgery and mentioned that about 80% of those who receive ASD surgery require a blood transfusion, which in and of itself carried all sorts of risks.

Of course, they needed me to give my consent for everything, and I was quick to provide it. Anything that they needed to do to help Mia, I thought, was fair game. The nurses and doctors kept asking me if Stef was going to be there on the surgery date, and I kept answering that she would as long as she didn't go into labor. The last thing I wanted was for the stress of everything to cause Stef to go into premature labor again, so I did everything I could to shoulder all the stress. I even avoided telling Stef that they would have to stop Mia's heart for the procedure. In retrospect, it was silly to think that she wouldn't already know, given her medical background. The thought of Stef not being able to be with me during Mia's surgery and me not being with Stef for the birth was just too much, so I did all I could to remain positive.

The night before the surgery, Mia started a fast so that there wouldn't be any excess waste in her body, which can interfere with surgery. She wasn't very hungry for dinner that night, but I painstakingly fed her every last bite, knowing that she might not get to eat for a while.

When your daughter is going to have major surgery, it's impossible to look at even simple events in the same way. You don't know if it's going to be the last time you feed her dinner, read her a book, tickle her, sing a song to her, or go on a walk. Every moment becomes one to cherish--you just want to hold on to her and never let go. But there comes a time when you have to put her fate in the hands of the surgical staff and hope. And pray.

The night before the surgery, during our nightly family Skype call, Stef seemed a bit upset. She was having contraction-like pain and was afraid that the baby might come early. While talking to Stef, I kept a level head and suggested that she head in to her doctor to make sure that it wasn't labor contractions. After all, it's better to get sent home for a false alarm than not go when you need to and have nobody to take you. We called the clinic, and they said that, based on her symptoms, it was likely that they would admit her to the clinic to have the baby. We were crushed. I remained positive on the phone, hoping to calm Stef's nerves--but once I got off the phone, I was a wreck.

I needed someone there with me. I needed Stef there. All I could do was plead on my hands and knees that Stef's doctor would send her back home. I walked to the nurse station and fought back tears as I told them that Stef might not be able to come for Mia's surgery. Though I was terrified, I didn't want to call her and seem anxious about the whole situation, as that wouldn't exude the confidence that I was trying to project. So I waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, I got a call from Stef--she was coming home!

Excited, I informed the nurses of the development and went back to my room to get on my knees and offer thanks that Stef was OK. As I sobbed with gratitude, letting my emotions spill out, a nurse came into the room to ask me something. I sprung to my feet and hit the pause button on my prayer, and finished it after the nurse left the room. She asked if I was OK before she left, and I explained that I was just thanking God that everything was OK.

I prayed a lot that night, as well as the next day--Mia's surgery date.

The Hospital Room

2011-05-24T11:29:00.004+09:00

The night before leaving for the hospital, I packed a large suitcase full of clothes, books, toys and personal electronics. I figured I'd have a decent amount of time for language study while Mia recovered in her hospital room. I tried to get all of the paperwork ready, but couldn't find Mia's insurance card, which I had last seen at Mia's previous hospital appointment weeks earlier. Hours of combing through every nook and cranny of our apartment proved futile, so I called the hospital help line and made sure that we'd be able to check in without our insurance card.

The next morning, Kris, our Canadian friend and neighbor, drove me and Mia out to the hospital. We took a mountain road which I had never taken before, and got to the hospital in good time. Kris held Mia as I checked in and tried to explain to the receptionist that I had lost the insurance card. As grateful as I was for Kris' help, I admit that it felt a little strange to feel everyone's eyes on us, likely thinking that we were a couple. Once everything was sorted out, they directed us to the 3rd wing of the second floor of the hospital, the Pediatric High Care Unit.

In Japan, any child's non-ICU hospital stay requires a parent or guardian to stay with the child at all times. There's no full care like there is back home. While I'm sure that helps keep costs low, it sure is nerve-wracking to feel like your own child's well-being while in the hospital is in your hands--especially when you're not sleeping or stressed out for other reasons (which I'll get to later). When I got to the PHCU, I talked to the nurse at the front desk, who offered to show us to our room.

Kris had told me that each of her children got private rooms when they had procedures done at that hospital and stayed in the PHCU. When the nurse ushered us into a room with four sliding curtains to section off "rooms", I started sweating. It got worse when one of the three other patients staying in the room, a little girl under two years of age, started screaming. I looked at the space available in the curtained-off section and my nervousness turned to despair.

There was no way that a bed large enough to fit me would fit into that space. Even if there were a way, there would be no way that I could sleep for two to three weeks with nothing more than a curtain to separate us from potentially three crying children. More importantly, there was no way that Mia would feel comfortable in such a setting.

"This will not work. There is no way. No way," I repeated to myself and Kris as I desperately searched for a solution to the plan. I went to the PHCU desk and asked the head nurse if there were any private rooms available. I was willing to pay if it came down to it. I referred to the hospital information guide that I had received at the front desk, which contained info about private rooms starting at 3000 yen per night. "Sorry, there aren't any of those left," replied the nurse. Not willing to let things be unless they absolutely had to, I mustered the best "worried" face I could and mentioned that I thought that it "might be a bit difficult" to make that room work. The nurse walked away and, after a few minutes, came back with a solution--a private room that was completely empty, but was being used for some other purpose. To top it off, it didn't cost me any extra.

Why they weren't using that room wasn't exactly clear--it's possible that they keep all the patients in the same room to make it easier for them to keep watch. Regardless, I was grateful that they were willing to accomodate me, even if it was clear that I was seen as a bit of a nuisance. After I moved all of our stuff into the private room and said goodbye to Kris, I went down to the basement floor of the hospital to get my bed.

When you stay with a patient, you have to rent all your bedding from the hospital. They won't let you bring any sort of bedroll or blankets, and they clearly make money off of the whole process. Knowing this beforehand, I decided to bring a blanket and pillow anyway, because I knew that I'd have a hard time sleeping on the bags full of rocks that they call pillows. I told the lady down at the bedding rental desk that I didn't need anything but the bed, and they gave me a six foot-long plywood foldout mat with sliver-thin vinyl facing masquerading as a cushion.

There's a problem with six foot-long plywood foldout mats with sliver-thin vinyl facing--and not just that they're as hard as a rock and less broad than my shoulders. They're six feet long. And I'm longer. Much longer. I set it up in the room and tested it to see if I'd be able to sleep on it, and immediately knew that I was in for a rough three weeks. I sheepishly asked the nurse if there was any other solution, and mentioned that I was willing to pay for anything suitable. They brought me another folding bed like the one I had, and told me that they wouldn't charge me for it. I placed them side-by-side and saw that one was about an inch taller than the other. I couldn't lay in the middle of them because of the ridge, so laying diagonally across both beds was the only option, and even that didn't seem to be very comfortable.

I brought my laptop with me hoping that I'd be able to get an internet connection. The hospital offers an free wired connection from 6 AM until 9 PM, outside of which hours you get a message telling you that you need to come back later. When I hooked my computer up, I couldn't even get the welcome screen to pop up. The room truly had not been set up for patient use, so the internet was not yet functional. They sent a networking expert down to get the room set up for future internet use. We spent about an hour trying to get the connection up and running, but couldn't seem to get the network to issue an IP address in that room.

That afternoon, Mia had some tests, including a blood test, a heart ultrasound (echocardiogram), and a chest X-ray. I had to leave to take care of that, but told them that they could work on it without me there if they so desired. When we got back from the tests, the computer was connected to the hospital network's welcome screen, ready for me to enter in a username and password. I was ecstatic to have an internet connection, but sure that I wouldn't be able to Skype, since I figured that it the hospital blocked the ports necessary to use it. To my surprise, even Skype worked.

I feel really fortunate to live in this day and age, where I can talk to and even see people that are far away as though they're right next to me. It was a life saver to be able to see Kelsey and Stef, and have them video chat with Mia. As long as it wasn't after 9 PM or before 6 AM. There must have been someone manually flipping an internet switch every morning and night, because I got the "outside of usage hours" message all the way until about 6:45 AM every day, and it didn't actually get disconnected until some time around 9:45 at night. It would have been nice to have the connection all the time, because I typically couldn't get much done while Mia was awake. When I had the most free time for study or blogging, the internet was unavailable. Still, I'm glad that I had it during the day, as it helped to keep me occupied for the first couple of weeks.

That first night was not a good night. All out of medicine for my rhino-sinusitis (Latin for "inflammation of the rhinoceros horn stuck in your face") and unable to take my mind off of Mia's surgery and the craggy "bed", I did not sleep at all until about 5 AM, when I became so exhausted from the previous day's events that I could have slept on a bed of nails, broken glass and hot lava. Surprisingly, Mia slept through the night in her unfamiliar surroundings. I was expecting a bit more resistance from her in her ~~prison cell~~ hospital bed. The nurses came in at 7:30 to get us up for the day. We had more tests (including a CT scan) on the docket, as well as a meeting with the chief surgeon to explain the procedure and all its possible risks and outcomes.

During that meeting, he asked me if there were any worries or concerns I had. I admitted that I was worried about whether or not I'd be able to sleep well, since the bed was a bit small and I was out of medicine, but shrugged my shoulders and said that I'd keep on keepin' on. He asked for my height and then asked the nurse to help me find something more comfortable. They pulled an electric examination table out of one of the exam room and asked if that would be sufficient. It was just long enough, quite a bit wider, and actually had a cushion. I was thrilled--it was much better than what I had before.

I felt a little guilty about asking for stuff when the other patients' parents made do with what they were offered. I apologized profusely for inconveniencing the staff, but deep down, I was glad that I went to the trouble of asking for help. It's often true that the squeaky wheel gets the grease.

Mia Admitted to the Hospital

2011-04-24T13:54:00.007+09:00

On April 13, I got an e-mail from Mia's doctor at the university hospital in Matsuyama. We had been waiting to hear about her heart surgery, and began to worry that we might have to get it done after the move back to America. I had sent an extremely polite Japanese e-mail to the doctor about five weeks earlier, but didn't hear back. Tired of waiting, I contacted Mia's doctor at the local hospital and asked him for his opinion. He promised to contact the other doctor and have him contact me. A couple days later, I got this response: "How does next week sound?"

Just five days later, on April 18th, we admitted Mia to the hospital for heart surgery.

The few days leading up to her hospital stay were jam-packed with stress. First, I had to notify the board of education and each of my schools that I wouldn't be coming in to work for the next few weeks. Having previously verified that I had a month's worth of paid time off saved up, I was surprised when my request was met with a bit of resistance. One person even asked me why I didn't just have my wife stay with Mia. My wife. My 34 weeks' pregnant, non-Japanese speaking wife. Not likely.

We figured we'd know about the surgery at least a month in advance, since we would need multiple visits in order to store enough of Mia's own blood in case she needed it during or after surgery. The doctors, however, felt that having blood drawn in and of itself was taxing for a toddler, so they opted to just bypass that step and use someone else's blood in the event of a transfusion.

(Edit: May 24) Bear with me as I jump around over the next few entries. I'll try to keep everything in chronological order, but I'm going off of sparse notes that I kept while in the hospital.

Case Study

2011-04-04T19:05:00.003+09:00

In Japan, elementary school kids often have to the same backpack as all their classmates, but they get to bring their own pencil case. I've never owned a pencil case in my life, and actually had never even considered that such a thing existed. But exist they do, and some are pretty neat. Up above is a collage of the various pencil cases in one of my class. Click on the picture for a larger version.

Changing the Past

2011-03-13T18:21:00.002+09:00

So, Mom mentioned that she enjoys reading my blog, but it's sad that I have such a big gap in 2010. In an effort to help fill some of that gap, I'm posting some things that I wrote elsewhere during the last year or so. Some are a bit short, but I feel they add a bit to the overall narrative of my blog and Japan situation. I've posted them retroactive to the dates when I actually wrote them. Some of them fall between posts that I actually made here on this site.

Anyway, here they are, in chronological order.

As a side note, I've actually lost a lot more weight. I'm currently at about 197. In less than a year, I've lost 35 pounds.

Mia's ASD Procedure

2011-03-13T16:20:00.006+09:00

A few weeks ago, we took Mia in to see her doctor here in Imabari. She hadn't been to the doctor for a while, but we wanted to them to take a look at her heart to see how it was doing. A chest x-ray showed an enlarged heart, taking up over 60% of the width of the chest cavity. Optimally it should be less than 50%.

Mia was born with atrial septal defect, a hole in her heart that allows blood to flow between the left and right atria. We've had to keep watch on the hole to make sure it doesn't get too big. Since the beginning, we've known that she'd likely need some kind of heart procedure before starting grade school. There are two procedures that can close the hole in the septum, and the size and location of the hole dictate which of the two procedures will be done. The first one, available to children of almost any size, is a traditional form of open heart surgery, where an incision is made and the hole is patched. The second, less risky procedure, involves running a catheter up to the heart with an expanding umbrella-like device that plugs the hole.

We stayed a third year because the doctors told us that she should be able to get the procedure done once she reached 22 pounds, which is about what she weighs right now. When we took Mia in a few months ago, they casually mentioned that she could possibly get the procedure once she hit 33 pounds. Needless to say, we were upset, since there's no way she'll be 33 pounds by the time we leave. However, they said that the hole didn't seem to be getting any bigger, so we were somewhat relieved, holding on to the hope that the hole might close on its own without any intervention.

Having not visited the hospital for a good while, we were a bit surprised when we saw the size of her heart. The doctor, fearing that the hole might have widened, suggested that we set up an appointment for Ehime University Hospital, where they did her heart exams in the past. When we went in for her appointment, we found that the hole has gotten bigger. The doctors think that it would be best for her to get the surgery in the next year or two, and unfortunately don't think it will be possible for her to get the catheter procedure.

The procedure itself takes a few hours, but they figure she'll need about 5 days of preparatory hospitalization before the surgery, and a 2-3 weeks' stay after the procedure. There's a 0.5% mortality rate in Japan for ASD surgery--we feel confident that Mia will be OK. We definitely want to get it done before we move back home, since the procedure itself would be free in Japan, given Mia's age. I still haven't lined up a job for when I return, so it's unclear how long it'll take for us to be insured and able to cover such an operation. But now that we've given them the green light on the surgery, we're faced with a few problems (other than the obvious ones associated with risks and recovery).

The first is that we still don't know when they'll be able to carry out the procedure. About a month ago, when we had the appointment, they mentioned that there might be openings for surgery in April or May, and that they'd let us know. I've e-mailed, but they haven't been able to give me any sort of detailed response--just the run around. It's doubtful that something as important as approving a heart surgery would be processed very quickly in Japan. If it takes two or three seals of approval every time I get my $10 ferry tickets, I'd imagine that it takes the approval of various doctors at several different levels of authority.

Additionally, Mia will need to visit the hospital twice to have blood taken for use in the operation--the first visit being four weeks before the procedure, and the second two weeks later. They'll also have to insert a catheter to find out if they need to take any other precautions during the surgery. The later we find out, the later the procedure will actually take place. My contract ends on July 28th or so, which is about when we'd like to head back to the 'States. We'd need her to get the procedure done with enough time to get her post-surgery checkups and medication done here in Japan.

The second issue is that Stef is currently due to give birth on June 2nd--less than three months from now. We'd prefer to not have Mia hospitalized while Stef is giving birth. This also means that I'd likely need to be the one to stay with Mia in the hospital in Matsuyama. I'm not looking forward to the idea of being away from Stef while she's close to giving birth. My mom is coming out here around mid May and stay for a few weeks. We're hoping she'll be able to help out a bit with the baby while she's here.

I wasn't sure if I'd have enough vacation time available to take a couple weeks off to be in the hospital with Mia, and my supervisor told me that they wouldn't give me any special paid leave for my daughter's procedure or the birth of my child. According to my contract, it's possible for them to give me paid leave whenever they feel it's appropriate--like they did on the island when Mia was born. However, there's just too much bureaucracy, as well as a general uneasiness for all dealings relating to foreign employees out here. Even though my supervisor would like to help, his supervisors won't let him. I don't blame them--our contract has a lot of clauses that they themselves might not have in theirs, so it probably doesn't seem fair to give special treatment to the foreigners.

In the end, it all might be moot, since I was told by my helpful and supportive supervisor that I'll actually have my PTO clock reset in April, replenishing my balance of 20 days' worth, in addition to the 10 or 12 unused days that I'll be carrying over. When it's all said and done, I'll have enough PTO left that I could take a whole month off if I so needed. That was a pleasant surprise, though I'll be careful not to abuse the privilege of having so much PTO. The last thing I want to do is make life inconvenient for my coworkers just so that I can be comfortable. That said, I'll use what I need to use.

These last few months are going to be pretty busy. We're certainly not taking Mia's condition or the surgery lightly. But we feel good about her getting the procedure here, as long as we can work out the schedule.

Mia herself seems so happy, and she's developing so quickly. She shows an amazing capacity for music and language--she's been singing her ABCs for months, and she's able to string strikingly complex sentences together. She and Kelsey like to make up songs, improvising melodies and creating their own lyrics to narrate what's going on around them--something that I did while was growing up (and still do). Naturally, Mia's also quite a handful, being in the "terrible twos" stage and all. We feel very blessed to have such cute little girls in our family, and look forward to watching both of them grow up together.

Earthquake and Tsunami in Japan

2011-03-12T13:15:00.006+09:00

With all of the commotion in Japan, some of my loyal reader (singular) might want an update on our situation. First off, we're safe at home in Imabari, which wasn't really affected by the quake or the tsunami. Now that that's out of the way, here's how I saw it unfold.

At about 2:20 yesterday, I finished teaching my final class of the day and went back to the staff room to study kanji characters. While I was plugging away, a call came in telling us that there had just been a massive earthquake in northern Japan, and that we should turn on the news for more information. I was so wrapped up in my study that I didn't really notice what was going on. I had heard about an earthquake in Japan sometime in the last week, so I figured the images that were being shown on TV was archive footage.

My desk is across the room from the TV, so I couldn't hear all the details, but I could see from headlines and subtitles that it was actually more recent. The few teachers that were with me in the staff room surmised that the magnitude was probably somewhere in the 6.0-7.0 range on the Richter scale. I pricked up my ears--knowing that such an earthquake could potentially be very serious--and opened my web browser to get more information. At this point, they were reporting a magnitude of 7.9.

To put such force in perspective, the Kobe quake of 1995 which claimed over 6000 lives and caused over $100 billion in damage was measured between 6.8 and 7.2. The Richter scale has a logarithmic base of 10, meaning that for every 1 point increase, the amplitude of the seismic waves is actually ten times greater. The amplitude of a 7.9 quake is 10 times higher than that of a 6.9 quake.

Yesterday's quake has actually been measured at 8.9, meaning that its amplitude was actually 100 times that of a 6.9 quake. The direct damage from earthquake was somewhat mitigated by the fact that the epicenter of the quake was 80-some miles off the coast of Japan, whereas the Kobe quake was about 12 miles from Kobe. While the earthquake damage doesn't look to be as bad as that of the Kobe quake, we still don't understand the extent of the damage caused by the resulting tsunami, which has frankly been the most terrifying part of the whole ordeal (I say this having not experienced the earthquake firsthand).

Back in the staff room, we started to get a picture of the sheer force released by the earthquake. NHK's live feed showed the scene in Iwate prefecture, where cars slowly drifted alongside boats. Warnings of a tsunami over thirty feet high started popping up for various prefectures, and the tension in our office started to build up. The number of people glued to the TV grew as each teacher came back from class, until about thirty people crowded the front area of the staff room.

Worry and concerned curiosity quickly turned to horror as the live feed switched to a helicopter shot of Sendai, where a monstrous wave of debris swept cars, trucks, and houses away, each becoming a new part of an increasingly dangerous wall of unstoppable destruction. Stifled shouts of "Oh, no!" and "This is horrible!" bounced around the staff room as cars and trucks attempting to outrun the reckless wave vanished in an instant. The drivers didn't stand a chance. I can't shake the image of a man standing on the high point of a raised road, on the back of a flat-bed semi truck, pacing back and forth as the tsunami approaches. It seemed to slightly change course at the last minute, possibly sparing the man's life. The TV station cut to a different camera before we could see what happened.

As I watched the peaceful farmland of Sendai disappear as it was engulfed by the tsunami, I couldn't help but notice how similar it looked to the fields and homes of Imabari, by which I ride my bike on my daily commute to work. Some teachers wondered aloud if the waves en route to Imabari were big enough to reach us at the school. Tsunami warnings were issued for pretty much the whole country, though Ehime prefecture didn't seem to be as high on the list as other places. Still, even a 2 meter wave could wreak all sorts of havoc out here. One of the teachers mentioned that the tsunami might hit us here a little after 5 PM. It was 4:15.

My thoughts turned to my family. What would we do if the waves did reach us? I had to go.

The front exit, through which I usually leave each day after saying goodbye, was so congested with people watching the TV that I slipped out the back exit without saying a word, not wanting to draw attention to myself. I raced home as fast as I could, with strong winds opposing me all the way home on my 30 minute commute. I told myself that everything would be fine, but resolved to get home and prepare my family. As I approached my apartment I realized that there had been ample time for warning, yet there were no signs that anything was amiss. Did all these people driving around have any idea what was going on, or did that mean that we were safe?

When I got home at 4:45, I got on the computer at once to check the reports and see if we had to make any plans. The Japanese web sites said that Ehime could expect the tsunami to hit at around 6:20, though it wouldn't even be a meter high by that point. I breathed a little easier, but couldn't pull myself away from the news. Who knows if an aftershock might trigger something else that affects us more directly?

What would I do in that case? I've had a bit of time today to think about how I can prepare for such an emergency. I need to make those preparations while the image of this disaster is still fresh in my mind. We basically have our TV unplugged here, so we don't get the news. If we did need to evacuate, who would tell us? We don't have smart phones or any other way to stay updated when we're out and about. I'd imagine that the majority of the people whose lives have been taken in this disaster either didn't know about the coming tsunami, didn't have enough time to prepare, or didn't take the tsunami warnings seriously enough.

We're lucky to have not been affected much by this. These people, swallowed by a tsunami in the blink of an eye, had their own lives. They each had their own quirks and talents, their own friends and family, their own goals and dreams. And now they're gone, leaving a hole in the hearts and lives of the people who are left scrambling for any information as to their whereabouts.

As soon as I was pretty confident that we'd be safe, I posted messages to Facebook in anticipation of the flood of calls or e-mails we might receive. It really does mean a lot to me that our friends and family thought of us when they heard about the disaster. I'm happy to report that we're fine. But many people still haven't heard from their family members in Japan. We appreciate the thoughts and prayers from everybody, but please don't forget to include those truly affected by this catastrophe. I'm sure they can use any monetary donations we all can muster. I hope and pray that that man who stood on the back of that truck made it out OK--for the sake of him and all those who love him.

I Think I'll Never Turn Japanese

2011-03-09T17:50:00.007+09:00

I consider my time here in Japan a big success. I'm learning more and more about the Japanese language and culture every day, and I've come to a level that I can confidently call "fluent in Japanese". My grammar is strong, and as long as the topic isn't Japanese politics or a complex technical one like "Grooves on a Metal Substrate", I'm quite capable. But every once in a while, I have a moment were I realize that there's so much more to a communication than just speaking the language.

Recently, I spent a couple class periods at one of my schools helping a couple kids prepare for a debate about the necessity of cell phones for junior high school students. I spent a good chunk of time with one of the kids coaching him on pronunciation and trying to get him to understand possible objections to his points. When it came time to hold the debate, he got really nervous and couldn't remember what he was supposed to say. I tried to give him hints, but he wasn't even willing to mimic my words. Frustrated with the knowledge that he really could say what he wanted to say, but was too afraid to make a mistake, I grimaced visibly. I encouraged him to use what we had prepared, and told him not to worry, since there were only 4 people present--him, another student, and two English teachers. He tensed up and shook nervously, unable to produce a single sound. Then the dam broke.

I sat, stunned, as he clenched his fist and repeatedly bashed himself in the side of the head. The other teacher eventually asked him to stop, which he did, and then calmly continued with the debate as if nothing had happened.

It's certainly not my fault that the kid punched himself. I don't know what examples or other influences this kid has in his life, or what kind of personal issues he deals with. I do know, however, that less pressure on the kid to perform and better control of my facial expressions could have possibly prevented the outburst. Japanese kids often seem to expect perfection of themselves, to the degree that they won't speak if they're not 100% positive that they're right. But in classes with fewer than 5 students, the same kids are forced to answer, whether or not they're confident. That must cause a mighty mental struggle for some of them. English class often compounds the problem by demanding that the students instantaneously adapt western behavior even though a different kind of behavior has been drilled into them from a young age. Perhaps if I had been a bit more sensitive to all these factors, things might have gone differently.

Before I came to Japan, I dreamed about going out and working with the missionaries out here. I figured it would help my Japanese and give me opportunities to serve. Unfortunately, it just never worked out. At first, when there were elders here, I lived on the island, too far away to really do anything. When I finally moved to the mainland, the elders were transferred out and they brought sisters in instead. After few months ago, the elders came back--but I've been too busy to get anything done. Yesterday, I finally had a chance to go out with the missionaries and do some work.

It's interesting working with young missionaries after having served a mission of your own--you feel a sense of inferiority, since they have the responsibility to serve and are much more dedicated to missionary work, and are likely much more sensitive to spiritual things. However, they haven't yet learned all the tricks that you learned back when you wandered around in a shirt and tie. They haven't learned how to be bold and confident, and certainly don't have all the life experiences that you get post-mission.

One of the missionaries is a 20 year-old from Utah who's having a hard time learning the language. The other is a 24 year-old from Japan. While both are very friendly, they both seemed a bit timid (I'd imagine that it was a combination of timidness and Japanese politeness). I came away feeling like they needed to trust their message more--if they believe it to be true, they should be willing to be bold in teaching it. My church Japanese isn't nearly as strong as I'd like, but I definitely have the confidence to say what I feel to people. Perhaps that came from serving a mission in a place where most people share similar beliefs. Maybe my way was too bold for some Japanese people. I'd guess that there needs to be some kind of balance between good ol' Japanese politeness and western boldness.

My experience knocking doors yesterday was a bit different than it was for me in Guatemala. Here, people are a lot quicker to shut the door in your face without needing a reason for doing so. A lot of people said they were too busy or not interested. Some people just said they were sorry and shut the door. Most people didn't even open the door, as they have these little intercom boxes with cameras on them that let them filter out any salespeople or Mormons. One old lady just said, "Chigaimasu," which literally means that something is "different" or "incorrect", but can be interpreted in many ways. I imagine that she was basically saying "Nah, I don't want to deal with you guys," but it came across as, "Sorry, you've got the wrong house." After she shut the door on us, I jokingly asked the missionaries what was incorrect--it certainly wasn't our message. The Utah missionary kindly reminded me that I have to be careful of what I say, as the walls are pretty thin out here. Apparently, he once got chewed out by an old man for making the same exact comment after getting rejected with "chigaimasu". It's considered very rude to question your elders out here, especially when they can hear you.

I admit, I was a bit embarrassed. I'm well aware that living with Americans out here doesn't always allow me to know what's culturally taboo. That's one of the reasons why I always hoped to spend a little time with the missionaries. A Japanese coworker will almost never be bold enough to tell you that what you've been doing for months actually annoys the living heck out of them. An American missionary, however, will likely have been corrected by his companions, and will thus offer a wealth of knowledge of Japanese etiquette.

On the subject of Japanese coworkers and embarrassment--the other day, a teacher approached me to collect money for school lunch (kyushoku). She mentioned that I couldn't make any changes in the month of March, and that I needed to pay beforehand. Typically, I pay after the month has ended, since I don't know what kind of schedule changes I might have. For example, I might have to go to Tokyo for a meeting, or take a sick kid to the hospital. I mentioned that I have never had any problems paying after-the-fact before, and asked if something had changed. Paying for kyushoku in advance is not a huge deal, but I wanted to know if it was a one-time thing, or if I'd never be able to make changes to my lunch schedule ever again. When I asked the teacher for an explanation, she started talking to me in broken English. When I told her that it was OK to speak Japanese to me, her face went red, and she replied that it wasn't her job to deal with such questions, and that I'd have to take it up with the vice principal. She mentioned that it said in a letter somewhere that I wouldn't be able to make any changes, but I didn't get to actually read the letter to see what it said.

We walked over to the vice principal, and the teacher started by saying, in Japanese, "It appears that he can't comprehend what I'm trying to tell him." I explained that I was merely trying to understand if it was just March, or every month in the future, that I couldn't make changes. The vice principal explained that it was just March, and I went back to my desk, semi-satisfied with the explanation. While pondering how something so simple could get so uncomfortable for everyone so quickly, I realized that the reason they couldn't make changes was likely that March is the end of the school year, and balances need to be settled before job transfers, which happen April 1st.

Such an explanation, while so simple, is not something that a typical Japanese worker would ask for. When someone comes to collect, you pay without asking questions. Even if they were to make changes to the schedule, they would likely pay, regardless of whether or not they missed any meals. It's just the way they do things here. It's embarrassing when you don't know something that seems crystal clear to everyone else.

While I've actually become quite good at acting like a Japanese at work, I'm sure that there are many things that I'll never learn. It's easy to get discouraged about not becoming entirely Japanese; I will likely never get to a point where I do nothing that offends anyone. In the end, however, is that really such a bad thing? I will always identify with my mother culture more than any other--any time I analyze Japanese or other world cultures, it's through the lens of an American--and I don't think that's anything to be ashamed of. Most Japanese people will be viewing me through their own Japanese lens.

The more Japanese I act, the more people expect from me. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing--people just tend not to realize that I don't always know the Japanese way to do something, since I haven't given them cause to believe that in the past. While I know that I'll never quite be able to forget that I'm an outsider out here, I do admit that my coworkers have been wonderful about making me feel respected. In my mind, respect for each other, regardless of cultural differences, is a much more attainable and desirable goal than full assimilation into another culture.

Decisions, Decisions

2011-03-09T17:05:00.002+09:00

Recently, I went out to Tokyo for a conference for JET program participants returning to their home countries. While I was there, I looked into a lot of the job opportunities, and came away feeling very confident about the prospect of getting a job when I get home. After all, I've got skills that can go a long way--I'm trilingual, I've got almost ten years of proven sales experience, and I'm driven to excel in whatever it is that I do.

There were a lot of workshops about different career fields, but they happened to be scheduled so that I couldn't attend all of the ones that I wanted. There were always three workshops going on in each block, and the three that I had elected to attend all happened to be offered at the same exact time. The one I actually attended was supposed to be about finance, accounting, and banking, but ended up being mostly about becoming an accountant in the UK. It wasn't the most helpful of seminars for me, regardless of how nice the presenter was.

The conference was actually held in Yokohama at the Pacifico Hotel, a mega hotel popular for business conferences. I stayed with my a friend who lives in Tokyo in the Shinjuku area, which added about an hour and a half for travel each way, but supplied me with some company for the three nights that I stayed. We had hoped to hang out a bit, but he was so swamped with work and I kept getting home so late that we didn't to hang out until the hours of night when I probably should have been sleeping. The last night, I stayed up until almost 4AM dismantling and reassembling his laptop to fix its cooling issues. All three nights, I stayed up well past my typical bedtime of 10:30 or 11.

Travel is very expensive in Japan, and while I may have only saved a net total of forty or fifty bucks by staying with a friend and walking an hour every day, I made it a point to conserve my money in other areas such as food. I ate at McDonald's for most meals, ordering mainly from the 100 yen menu. I did splurge a bit one day and got the 400 yen Miami Burger, which was a hamburger topped with tortilla chips and what I assume was supposed to be some kind of chili (but tasted eerily similar to Indian keema curry). I'm pretty sure that no such burger has ever been consumed in or near Miami.

A lot of married guys yearn for the freedom they enjoyed in their bachelor days. Every once in a while, I find myself wishing that I just had a little more free time alone, since I'd be able to get so much more done without kids crawling on me. What I find when I actually get that free time is that I don't know what to do with it. When Stef and the girls were back in the States, I didn't actually spend all my time studying. I actually spent about the same amount of time as before, but replaced family time with loaf-time. No matter how good I am at being productive while at work, I'm never nearly as productive at home or alone.

In Tokyo, I didn't feel free at all--I actually felt like the absence of my family limited my ability to have fun. Once you've experienced family life, it's hard to go back. The tempting freedom of bachelorhood is nothing more than a mirage--how soon we forget that as bachelors we longed for the companionship we now take for granted.

Returning from the conference with renewed vigor and hope for the future, I flooded Stef with optimistic talk about future plans. Like I said, I'm confident in my marketability. So it comes as somewhat of a surprise to me that just a couple days ago I had a very strong impression that I need to go back to school to become a Japanese teacher. Given my overall sentiment about the job search, I find it odd that so soon after feeling so confident about finding a job, I would not only feel a need to go grad school, but actually feel good about the idea.

So now I'm looking at masters programs in second language teaching at various schools, including my alma mater, BYU. I feel really good about continuing my Japanese education, and Stef feels good about it as well. She's been very supportive through all my career twists and turns. This time, however, it just feels right. Since I missed the application deadlines for the program, I'm going to need to apply for a job anyway. And you never know--I may find a career that I feel gives me enough opportunities to use my language skills and keep learning. I'm going to actively pursue grad school and a good job, in hopes that grad school won't be necessary. Who knows--perhaps I can find a company that will help pay for my graduate studies so that I can advance my career with them.

There's a lot to think about--but it's nice to have such supportive family, regardless of the path I choose.

Sick Again

2011-03-09T17:02:00.002+09:00

Last July, I came down with a cough that ended up lingering for over a month. I was back in Japan by myself for a few weeks, having just visited family in the US. With my wife and kids still in America, I was going out of my mind. I was having trouble breathing, making me anxious and depriving me of a lot of sleep. I went to various hospitals and saw many doctors, who each seemed to have a different opinion about my state. In short, I had no idea what was wrong with me.

At one of the hospitals, a doctor suggested that I might have asthma. My symptoms were consistent with those of asthma, but I had never heard of adult onset asthma before, so I was a bit baffled. I saw another doctor, who repeated the first doctor's opinion that I had asthma. For the last few months, I've been taking a few different asthma medications. The inhaler itself never really seemed to have much of an effect, but the allergy pill and anti-anxiety med curbed some of the side effects and allowed me to sleep, so I continued going to the doctor, consigned to my future as an asthmatic.

Even though the breathing and anxiety problems were somewhat controlled, I've been sick a lot over the past few months--a lot more so than usual. I've always chalked it up to working around hundreds of kids, who all carry their own special germs to spread.

About three of four weeks ago, I came down with a cough almost exactly like the one I had last July. It has lingered since, leading to a lot more sick days than I'd like. Ready to finally put this beast to rest, I went to a doctor again a couple days ago to see if there was anything we could do about my condition. I'm pretty confident that it was a good choice.

Doctor Fujiwara at Imabari DaiIchi hospital recommended that I get a CT scan from my brow down to my chest to see what was going on. They had me lie on my back on a moving table (like any other CT scan) with my arms high above my head while they scanned my insides. It took a considerable amount of willpower to keep completely still. It's strange how you feel every itch when you're not allowed to scratch them. To keep myself distracted, I imagined shooting through a vacuum tube in one of those space-age personal transport pods you see in science fiction shows.

When the results came in, it showed that one side of my head was plugged up. The sinuses on one side of my face are completely blocked, which supposedly causes all of the problems I've been experiencing over the last 8 months or so. My bronchial tubes are inflamed as a result, and the doctor also mentioned something about empyema. So, I've got bronchitis as a result of chronic sinusitis and empyema. Sinusitis is actually pretty common, but it can get so bad that it greatly affects the rest of the body. The treatment plan will last at least a month, and likely up to 90 days.

While that was all somewhat surprising, the bombshell came at the end of my checkup. Dr. Fujiwara says I don't have asthma. All of the asthma-like symptoms that I'm experiencing can all supposedly be explained by my sinus problems. As much as I'd like to take this diagnosis and run with it, the differing opinions about my condition leave a non-trivial amount of doubt. One thing that makes me want to believe the current diagnosis is that I actually got a CT scan with this doctor, whereas the others took inconclusive chest x-rays and theorized that I probably have asthma. I saw the CT photos with my own eyes, so I know for sure that I do have sinus problems. CT scans don't seem to be used for asthma detection, though, so I don't know how he could know that I don't have asthma.

At this point, I'm going to just go through with the sinus treatment and believe that I don't have asthma. I'm hoping that doing so will take care of all the asthma-like symptoms and get me to my previous healthy state.

FREE KETCHUP!

2011-03-05T15:39:00.003+09:00

I originally posted this on a sports blog named after the fact that the Oakland A's don't offer free sauerkraut at the Coliseum. I figured I might as well post it here, too.

There are some false ideas about service here in Japan. Granted, flying JAL is probably going to be a bit more pleasant than flying USAirways, but the stereotype that Japanese customer service is better than American customer service does not always hold--and restaurants are at best a mixed bag. At McDonald's today (it's edible in Japan), I asked for a packet of ketchup and was told that ketchup is only for people who order fries. I replied that I always ask for ketchup and have never had a problem, to which I got an uncomfortable stare, since most Japanese people don't respond after getting "no" for an answer. I motioned to another employee, who deferred to the manager, who gave me the single packet of ketchup I had requested.

I've been denied a refill on water once before at a big city location, and I've been told after requesting water after already having ordered that I would need to purchase something else. But never before had I been denied a packet of ketchup at McDonald's.

I'd also like to address the idea that I can somehow only have ketchup if I order fries (which I don't usually do). When you order fries in Japan, they don't give or offer ketchup. You have to specifically ask for it. I have not once seen a Japanese person eat fries with ketchup. Besides, ketchup is not just for fries--some people prefer a little more ketchup on their burger, or to add it to something that doesn't normally come with it.

Full disclosure--I actually am not a big fan of ketchup. I actually order it so that my daughter will eat her chicken (they have breaded, fried pieces of chicken on the 100 yen menu here--much cheaper than the 300 yen McNuggets, and better). That's how she wants to do it, so that's how I order it.

I'm a pretty level headed guy (in America--I'm the Incredible Hulk from a Japanese perspective). I don't like to complain when my order isn't perfect, and I generally just prefer to leave people alone when they don't do things exactly how I ask. I'm not driving through the drive through again or going inside to talk to a manager if they don't give me extra pickles or if they accidentally give me a chocolate shake instead of a strawberry one--if they overcharge me or don't give me something I paid for, that's another story.

Anyway, in the friendliest voice I could muster, I said, "It's hard to imagine not being given ketchup at McDonald's," causing the embarrassed employee to apologize. Later, I saw her going through the store policy documents with the managers, hopefully learning that ketchup is not such a precious commodity that it must be preserved with an iron fist. I'm sure there are a lot of aspects of the service industry in Japan which I'll miss (not having to tip, for example), but the faux politeness and bureaucratic unwillingness to adapt or make exceptions are not things I'll be clamoring for when I'm back on American soil.

The idea that the customer is always right is surely a western one. While I don't necessarily always agree with it, it's nice to know that many American business do take it into consideration. They realize that it's better to take a minimal loss than to lose a customer. Also, they give free refills on drinks. Hooray for America!

Joe & Gavin--If You Stay I'll Mow Your Lawn

2011-03-05T15:26:00.004+09:00

My parents divorced when i was about 6 years old, and my mom won custody, except for every other weekend, which really is not enough time to spend with your father. I was jealous when my dad took my older brother to a Kings game, and kept pestering my dad to take me to a game some time.

I was eight years old when my dad got me tickets to my first Kings game for Christmas. The game took place two days later, on December 27, 1988. From the moment we arrived at the Arco Arena parking lot, it was magical—I stepped out of the car to see the first falling snow I had ever seen in Sacramento. I remember being impressed by size and skill of the Blazers’ Kevin Duckworth, and watching head coach Jerry Reynolds fall and lie face down on the ground—even getting a technical foul—before getting carted away on a stretcher. The Kings ended up winning that game on a buzzer beater by Harold Pressley. It was a fantastic way to initiate my true Kings fandom—I think I even got a free Jr. Western Bacon cheeseburger or something because the Kings won.

From that moment on, I started listening to all the games on the radio. Soon after, the Kings acquired Wayman Tisdale, who quickly became the player I would imagine myself as while playing basketball in my back yard (later, that player would be Mitch Richmond). I became obsessed with reading every newspaper article about the Kings, checking every box score, and gobbling up any information that I could. I loved those Kings, even if we were too poor to go to more than one game every three years or so. I was still just as much a fan as anybody.

I stuck with the Kings through all the tough seasons, and, together with my dad, cheered on the Lionel Simmonses, Briant Grants (future Karl Malone!), Sarunas Marciulionises, the Mahmoud Abdul-Raufs, and the Bobby Hurleys. Even if they didn’t win a lot of games for a few years, it was in no way a one-way relationship. The Kings gave me just as much as I gave them.

When the Kings won in the playoffs at Utah, I drove 40 minutes or so the airport to cheer for them as their plane arrived. I spent a few hundred dollars for two nosebleed seats in the game where Stockton killed us. The Arco Thunder is, to this day, the loudest thing I’ve ever heard.

I moved to Guatemala for my church mission between 2001 and 2003. During this time, I wasn’t allowed to watch TV. It killed me to see in sports page clippings sent from home that after all the years of struggling, the Kings were dominant—and I couldn’t see it. When I got back, they were still pretty good. They were never quite as good as they were while I was in sports exile, but it was still enough to keep me hooked. I watched, listened to, and attended every game I could.

After I got married, my wife converted to Kingsfandom. She taught me to keep my emotions in check by actually being more crazy about bad calls than I was. One time, after the Kings were screwed in consecutive home games on blown goaltending calls in the final seconds, I got so angry that I threw my shoe at the front door, leaving a big dent in the metal. My wife and I screamed at the TV so loud that I’m sure the refs could hear. Our neighbors certainly did—they visited my wife’s place of employment the next day to make sure that she hadn’t been beaten by her husband.

The press and Sacramento City officials have basically conceded that the Kings are leaving for Southern Cal. I have so many more memories of my time following the Sacramento Kings. Some big, some minor. I’m going to miss things like being able to talk to just about any random person on the street, and them somehow knowing the score of the game. Sacramento was always passionate about the Kings. Maybe that’s changed since I moved away for college and subsequent life abroad. But now that I’m going back, one of the most charming parts of Sacramento will be gone. Luckily, I’ve got a good enough relationship with my dad and other family that I don’t really need the Kings anymore.

I’ll be grateful forever for the memories I have of this team. But I’ll always wonder what could have been. I won’t be able to take my daughters or my first son, due in a couple months, to a Kings game. My wife will never get to hear the Arco Thunder. Life will, of course, go on. Until the A’s get contracted.

But it Comes in So Many Colors!

2011-01-20T17:12:00.001+09:00

I was recently reading about the upcoming release of the Nintendo 3DS, a handheld gaming system with glasses-free stereoscopic 3D. The article I read took a potshot at Nintendo for offering an “Aqua Blue” model in addition to the standard black version.

When I first bought a cell phone in Japan, I noticed an ad for another phone emphasizing the 30+ colors in which it was available. When I mentioned this to someone, they responded that they wanted to buy that specific phone because they didn’t like the color of their current phone. I’ve heard and read various comments by people saying that they bought a new gaming system or phone because they preferred the color of the newly purchased device. Nintendo makes a killing in Japan off of people who buy a new DS each time they release a newly colored model.

The factors that affect my own decision to purchase a device are as follows (in order):

1. Functionality 

1a. Actual features (including storage space, available applications, etc.) 

1b. Ease of Use 

2. Cost 

3. Cosmetics 

3a. Durability of build

 3b. Sleekness of design (compactness)

 … 

3p. Color

I appreciate the ability to choose the color of a device, especially if I’m going to be spending hundreds of dollars on it. However, were the company to only provide one specific color, I wouldn’t bat an eye. Perhaps if I cared about having a room where all the devices were the exact same color, I might think twice about buying “the wrong color”. But when it comes to a portable gaming, music, or communications device, can you really go wrong with black? Would the lack of a flashy color keep you from buying any specific device? Does that really matter to you?

What do you think? Would you buy something that had fewer helpful features or a higher price solely because you liked the color?

Get That Corn Outta My Face!

2010-12-20T17:20:00.000+09:00

This just happened:

Me, in the staff room, having received some candy corn from a friend a few days earlier: Remember how we talked about candy corn the other day? Well, I got some and thought maybe you’d like to try it.

Fellow teacher with whom I had the previous discussion about not being able to help people for fear of discrimination against the poor: Put that away, a student may see it! (walks away from me quickly)

I’m not only baffled, but I’m extremely upset that I even entertained the idea of being nice to a fellow teacher.

...

Now that I’ve cooled a bit and had some good conversation with friendly Japanese people, I’ll back off a little, since I surely do enjoy living here most of the time. But I still disagree with said teacher’s response to me, which is becoming a pattern (she’s also the one who told me it’s bad to say “die” in class). It’s the fifth or sixth time she’s scolded me, and she’s a 24 year-old first-year teacher. None of the other teachers have ever responded to me like she has.

As a side note, the other day, I avoided another embarrassing situation. I was making a sheet to explain the rules for adding ’s’ to the end of third-person singular verbs, one of which was “to box”. I couldn’t remember if “to box” in Japanese required a specific article, so I looked it up on an online dictionary. Box (like a cardboard one) in Japanese is sometimes “bokkusu”, so when I saw the kkusu at the end of the definition, I hastily copied and pasted it to my chart.

I continued to work on my sheet, when I realized, “Hey, wait–they literally say ‘bokushingu o suru’, which means ‘do boxing’.” I checked back at my chart and realized that I had pasted the meaning from some slang translation of “to box”, “sekkusu suru” (“do sex”).

Crisis narrowly averted.

2 Years Later

2010-12-08T15:23:00.001+09:00

A Post For My Rich Readers

2010-12-03T17:28:00.001+09:00

So, I spent the last few days in a conference about effective team teaching with a few hundred people, including one of my Japanese coworkers and her mother, who moderated for my group and gave me a ride to the conference. My coworker’s seventh graders are struggling to remember the vast majority of the course content, and their grades are about as low as one could imagine.

On the ride home, we had an interesting conversation. Having some experience with programming and web design, I offered to build a web site which the students could use to study outside of class, hopefully helping them to improve their test scores, making life easier for the teacher in the process without any effort on her part.

She wasn’t sure if it would be OK for me to do that. I clarified that I didn’t plan on using any class time for my project, and that it would consist solely of me giving the kids a web address which they could access in their free time, outside of school. Entirely optional. Nobody’s forced to do anything–those who want it would have another resource outside of paper handouts that their teacher gives them based on an outdated textbook.

She said that she was afraid that students would somehow write in rude comments that others could see, to which I replied that it would be read-only, consisting of flash cards, audio and video. There would be no message board or any way for students to input messages.

Dead silence.

The three of us had previously chatted about differences in Japanese and western (specifically American) methods of communication, including how foreigners struggle to understand what Japanese people are really thinking (since what they actually say is often vastly different, and the listener is left to read between the lines). I tried, as best I could, to understand where they were coming from, but it was really tough. I was willing to use my own free time to provide a solution for the struggling children, one which cost the school no time or money, and which was completely optional. I told them that, from my western perspective, it was really hard for me to understand why anybody would ever oppose something that was so apparently harmless yet possibly beneficial.

Her mother chimed in. Students in our town, she said, are not all rich. Many of them do not have a computer. Not all of those who do have computers have internet access at home. By offering a learning resource that is accessed online, she said, we would be giving preferential treatment to those who had money, further widening the gap between them and the students whose families had little money.

I was blown away. First off, anybody can access the internet for free at libraries and local community centers. Furthermore, what is more important–the feelings of a few students or the students’ progress? At worst, nobody learns anything from the web site and everybody’s grades are the same as they were before. Realistically, some of the students would improve at least a little bit due to focused, technology-based learning resources, while those who don’t access it get the same poor grades. Are feelings so important that we can’t even say, “Hey–check out this website in your free time,” after class is over?

Baffled, I did my best to describe my feelings on the matter, wondering how on earth these kids would ever learn if more effective teaching methods were being passed over because they didn’t want to offend the poor kids. I phrased things as tactfully as I could, but received no response for the next few minutes.

Having just come from a seminar in which workshops were dedicated to dealing with breakdowns in communication due to culture differences between Japanese and foreign teachers (which I felt was a bit pointless as I got along just fine with my coworkers), I couldn’t help but feel the irony of my situation.

I changed the subject soon after, but not before my coworker told me that there was almost no technology involved in teaching the children at that school. There are no computers, no projectors, no televisions, and no other electronic devices in the classroom, outside of a CD player. Nothing but a dusty old chalkboard and some desks. Each class used to have a TV, but my school opted to remove them after some people in Tokyo got killed by falling TVs in the last big Japanese earthquake. Learning consists of worksheets and workbooks, with no interactive multimedia to speak of. This is not by design, as the Ministry of Education understands the place for technology in the classroom and, as such, sent every school at least one 60-inch smart board TV/computer–which was subsequently locked in a room to collect dust. Strangely, each staff room also received a huge flat screen TV which has only ever been used to watch baseball.

This is my last year teaching in Japan. We’ve decided to move back to the US at the end of July. There are many things that I will miss about Japan–the people, the food, the architecture, the clean and beautiful surroundings, the language–but I will not miss Japanese bureaucracy and the insistence upon sometimes outdated traditions. I won’t miss the lack of clothes dryers because people like hanging their clothes. I won’t miss having to wash dishes by hand. I’ll certainly not miss the awkward silence caused by my inability to read others’ minds because they’re unwilling to communicate what they actually feel.

In other words, I’m excited to be going back to America. I know we Americans are a bit rough around the edges, but I like that about us.

Please Shoot Me if I Ever Use "Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow" as a Blog Post Title

2010-11-17T13:48:00.002+09:00

Until I cut my curly hair recently, all the kids would ask me if I had permed it (since it’s unfathomable for a Japanese that such hair could be natural). The question actually bothered me, since I’m not the type of person to get my hair professionally treated. It turns out that the kids not only aren’t able to fathom hair that isn’t straight and black, but also aren’t allowed to have anything else. If your hair is wavy, curly, or not-black (or extremely dark brown) by nature, you have to receive a permission slip from a doctor showing that it’s natural.

I’ve heard stories of a Japanese girl in the area who was so embarrassed of her naturally wavy brown hair that she routinely died it black and got a straight perm so that she wouldn’t have to get a note from the doctor explaining that it was OK for her to be different.

So, now that my hair’s all gone, the kids have decided to ask me “why” my eyes are blue. How the heck do you answer that question?

The Guy's a Frikking Genius

2010-10-11T17:35:00.000+09:00

Yesterday, our stalwart laptop stopped booting. No images–nothing. Just a series of beeps when we tried to start it up. Turns out the beeps mean that the graphics card is bad–which, on a laptop, means that the whole freaking motherboard needs to be replaced.

So, after researching motherboards and the cost for parts (I’m confident enough to switch it myself), I decided that I’d rather buy a new computer. I was searching around about my computer model and found that the graphics “card” in it was defective, but that I’m too late to get in on the class action.

In my search, I found videos of people fixing the problem themselves with heat guns, so I went to the local hardware store to look for a heat gun. I asked a store clerk if they had any “hiito gan” and she gave me a blank stare. I explained what it was used for, and she told me that the must not have any, likely assuming that I had no idea what I was talking about. So, as she was presenting me glue guns and soldering irons, I saw a heat gun–with the exact words “hiito gan” in katakana right on the box–but it was 8000 yen. No thank you–a new motherboard wouldn’t cost much more than that.

Up above the heat gun was a little blow torch about twice the size of a cigarette lighter for about ten bucks. I bought it, dismantled my computer, and used a blow torch to “reflow” the GPU, whatever the heck that means.

I cleaned everything up, pieced it all back together, and somehow, I have a working laptop again. Don’t ask me how long this fix will last–it could be a day, 3 months, 5 years. But dern am I proud of myself for fixing a busted laptop with nothing more than a ten dollar torch.

Disneyland!

2010-09-14T17:59:00.002+09:00

We got up the next morning and got ready, then went upstairs to check out our complimentary breakfast. It was a buffet with yogurt, juice, milk, fruit, hard boiled eggs, freshly baked breads, croissants and danishes. They also had salad, which Japanese people really like to eat in the morning. Having filled up our tanks with a good, hearty breakfast, we stepped outside into the overcast but extremely pleasant weather, and hopped on a bus to Disneyland. Because of the typhoon the day before, the temperature was a good ten-to-fifteen degrees lower for us.

Fifty's was a ten minute bus ride from Disneyland, costing us a paltry 300 yen each. Kelsey, who had been talking about Disneyland every day for the previous two weeks, was excited to see Mickey Mouse, and Minnie Mouse, and Donald Duck, and Chip & Dale, and Cinderella, and ... Yeah, I'll spare you the whole list.

Stef's research showed that this was the best time of the year to go, since kids were back in school. When we got to the park, there were thousands upon thousands of people lined up, waiting to either buy tickets or enter the park. Disney apparently realized that holding a promotion during this dead time would be a boon for ticket sales. At least I hope that was the case, as I'd hate to see what the park looks like during the Summer break.

With Halloween approaching, Disney redecorated the whole park with Halloween decorations. The non-human Disney character statues around the park all had jack-o-lanterns for heads, and they even changed the Haunted Mansion ride by installing millions of dollars worth of Nightmare Before Christmas animatronic robots.

Because of the Halloween theme, thousands of people came dressed in Disney character costumes. Japan is peculiar in that dressing up as cartoon characters is not out of the ordinary for twenty-somethings. It was tough at first to tell who was hired cast and who was visiting the park for Halloween. Eventually, we realized that paid cast is actually white. Even Princess Jasmine was a blonde girl with a fake tan and a black wig.

About 90% of the people there were in their early twenties, and I'd say that the vast majority of the people there were couples. There were very few elementary or junior high school aged children, if any. The Japanese take their schooling very seriously. The ratio of adults to kids was really quite shocking to me.

Because of the disparity between kids and adults, I was surprised to find that there were lines--often hour-long waits--just to take a picture with the characters. Grown adults waited to take pictures when they could have been going on rides. The waiting times for Mickey and Minnie were definitely the worst. I'm pretty sure that people here see the whole "take-a-picture-with-Mickey" thing as an essential tradition, much like viewing the cherry blossoms every year, or eating gooey multi-colored rice balls on a stick while looking in the moon during September (or is it October?). What else would explain lines of twenty to seventy year-old ladies waiting over an hour to take a picture with Mickey Mouse? Characters had to run between locations, aided by bodyguard-like park employees that did their apologizing for them.

Figuring that DisneySea, which we planned to visit the following day, would have characters in costume, we avoided waiting in line for pictures at Disneyland. We were there for the rides and the play areas. Stef spent some time a few days earlier researching which rides each of the girls could go on. She used her notes to mark up a park map and we set out to enjoy the park.

Our first stop was Toontown, where Kelsey and Mia got to run around and look at some of the characters' houses. They also had a few rides, including a Chip & Dale themed roller coaster called Gadget's Go Coaster, which was Kelsey's first ever ride at Disneyland. She was a little apprehensive at first, but after going on the first ride, she didn't want to stop. We worked our way around the park in the morning, going on the rides with short wait times.

The Peter Pan ride had a bit of a line (25 minutes), but I figured it would be worth it for Kelsey. As we approached the front of the line, the line stopped moving. They informed us that the ride was closed for "system adjustments", and to make it up, they gave us four fast passes (one for each of us) good for any ride in the whole park. Our crafty use of these passes made it the smoothest day we possibly could have had.

When you insert your ticket into a fast pass machine, it spits out a fast pass, which lets you use the fast pass line, which basically puts you near the front of the queue with only a few minutes to wait. You can only get one pass every two or three hours, and you have to come back to the ride after a couple hours to be able to use the fast pass line.

Because of the fast passes that I was given, I only had to get two regular fast passes the whole day. Here's how we did it. When you have to watch a kid that's too young (or too scared) to ride something while someone else in your party goes on the ride, you can get a babysitter ticket. This ticket is even better than a fast pass, because you enter through the exit and are escorted to the very front of the line, with no wait at all.

Stef used a single fast pass to get on Splash Mountain with Kelsey, and I had an employee write me a babysitter ticket while I was waiting for Stef. When she came back, I jumped straight to the front of the line and went on the ride alone while she watched the kids (Kelsey didn't want to go on Splash Mountain again). Amazed at the awesomeness of this plan, we did it for Space Mountain and the Haunted Mansion. I thought that Stef didn't want to go on the Haunted Mansion, so I didn't request a babysitter ticket. I waited in a normal line for the spinning rocket pods in Tomorrowland while Stef used our last special fast pass to take Mia on the Haunted Mansion ride. It was basically the perfect set up.

The food at the park was great--churros, real pizza, American-size hamburgers; they had pretty much everything we wanted. While we were eating dinner, a Russian family with kids sitting near us drew Kelsey's attention. She ran around with the two young Russian kids while I finished my burger. I went back to find a bathroom, and when I got back, Stef told me that the Russian boy had just dropped his pants and peed against the Tomorrowland cafe wall outside. The mom did nothing to stop him. Hilarious.

At night, Stef decided we should watch the light parade. I'm not a big fan of parades, but I was tired and figured that the girls would probably love it, so I acquiesced. I'm really glad I went. Kelsey loved every float that went by, and kept shouting the names of the characters and waving at them. I'd have a ton of fun if I went to Disneyland by myself, but being able to enjoy it with my kids was really something special.

Kelsey loved the rides, even if some of them were a little dark and scary. While Japanese kids were crying, she was begging for more rides. Mia was either happy or asleep all day. We went home very tired that night, but with the great weather, great food, awesome kids, and short waiting times, it was pretty much a perfect day at Disneyland.

Making our Way to Tokyo

2010-09-14T17:45:00.003+09:00

The night before we left for Tokyo, Stef went to play volleyball. When she came back, she could hardly move--she had somehow tweaked her back. Having been through my fair share of back problems, I knew exactly how difficult it must have been, and began to worry that it might ruin her trip. She took some Advil and went to bed, hoping that it'd feel better the next morning.

She woke up stiff and sore. Our plan had been to ride bikes to the train station to save money, toting our kids and as little luggage as possible. That was no longer an option, so we took a taxi to the station and hopped on our train to Matsuyama. The early morning trains get packed with people commuting to work, so there weren't any clusters of seats where we could all sit together. We found two seats, but we like to have two rows of two, since we can flip the front seats around and have four seats all facing each other. A man was kind enough to offer his seat to us, which I gladly accepted. We turned out seats around and rode comfortably to Matsuyama en route to the airport.

We got to the airport about 90 minutes before we had to, so there was some time to burn. Stef took the girls for a walk while I took care of the bags. Kelsey sat in the box that they use to gauge whether or not your carry-on item will fit in the overhead compartment, and Stef took a picture. Mia likes to copy Kelsey, so when we met up and went to the security checkpoint, she climbed into the carry-on-checker box up there.

The Matsuyama airport has a really good bakery/café upstairs, so we stopped and grabbed a bunch of pastries to tide us over until lunch.

The Japan Airlines flight we took had rows of two seats on the outer edges, with rows of three seats down the middle. When choosing seats on the JAL website, I picked the two left-side seats of the middle row, and the far right seat of the adjacent two-seat row. I figured that I could keep the girls with me while Stef sat across the aisle.

That never happened. There were a bunch of empty seats on the plane, so the flight attendants told us to sit together in a row. I initially insisted that our seating arrangement was fine, but they wouldn't take no for an answer. Once we were comfortably in our seats, another lady who worked for JAL came in to confirm that nobody was sitting in the seat that we had just been given. Apparently, the person who was planning to ride in the third seat of the middle row wasn't going to be able to make the flight. We sat and watched as the flight attendants awkwardly battled with the lady in charge of confirming the seating. Some people take their jobs way too seriously. I'm no scientist, but I'm pretty sure that a simple change in seating isn't going to cause an implosion or anything.

Our plane was delayed by about ten minutes due to a possible typhoon in Tokyo. When we landed, the horizontal rain was battering everything, and the strong, shifting winds rippled the surface of the steadily accumulating puddles outside.

Our train trip from the airport to Maihama was supposed to only take about an hour, but we ended up spending about two. At the train station in front of the airport, I bought a ticket that supposedly led directly to Kasairinkaikouen station, the station nearest our hotel. The Google Maps directions that I had printed and brought with me said that we had to transfer twice, but the train tickets I bought were a couple hundred yen less expensive than the ones on my directions and seemed more direct, so I thought I might have printed out a less-than-optimal route.

When we were approaching the station where I thought we had to transfer, I asked some people around me if that was the correct station. There's often not a lot of time to transfer on trains in Japan. The doors open for about 30 seconds while people file out and hurry in, then the whistle blows, the doors slam shut, and the train speeds off toward its next stop. The first girl I asked shrugged her shoulders and didn't utter a single word in response, while the men across the aisle were much more willing to help.

One of them told me that I had to wait until our train reached its final destination, then transfer to a line that supposedly would take me right to our stop. Just as the doors closed and the train pulled away from what I thought was the correct station, the man corrected himself, having consulted the internet on his phone. We were supposed to get off where I thought we did.

We got off at the next stop and switched to a train going back the other way, and got off at the correct stop. Luckily, up to this point, all the stations had roofs above us to keep us mostly dry in the typhoon. We went to switch to the Rinkai line, which led to Maihama, but we couldn't figure out how to go through without giving up our tickets, which would have forced us to buy new tickets. Unfortunately for us, there was nobody to help us at the turnstile--no workers were on duty.

Seeing us fumbling and bumbling around, a kind man walked over to an intercom and paged a station attendant, who instead of coming, paged me on a closer intercom. I explained that I had purchased a ticket all the way to my destination, but wasn't expecting to have to relinquish my ticket at a turnstile. He told me that in order to hit the Rinkai line, we had to leave the station, go outside, and cross the street. Keeping our ticket was not an option. He sent someone to help us, who gave us a refund for the difference between our ticket and the one that would've taken us to that station.

You see, there was a way to make it all the way on one single ticket, but it would've involved using a different line owned by Japan Railroads. We had taken the monorail. Trains are confusing in Japan--there are JR trains, non-JR trains, the monorail, city trains, local trains, special express trains, the metro, and the subway. And all seem to go through similar stations and connect to each other. I've lived in Japan for two years, and I still have no idea how the train system works. Just when I think I've got the hang of it, I'm being paged by faceless attendants and getting refunds for buying the wrong tickets.

We walked through the wicket and towards the exit, only to realize that there was no elevator--only a ludicrously long flight of stairs going down to the ground level--and that there was no roof to cover us once we got outside. Stef's back was hurting, so she couldn't carry much down. I carried Mia (in her stroller) halfway down the stairs, resting her and my 2000 pound backpack on a big step. Stef had Kelsey walk down the stairs while I made multiple trips up and down the stairs for all our luggage. Stef took down as much as her back would let her.

Finally at the bottom of the stairs, our next challenge awaited: repack the bags so that the kids, the laptop, and the clothes will stay dry with just three umbrellas and two strollers. Kelsey walked alongside us, holding her own umbrella, while I carried the heavy backpack on my back, another backpack (with the laptop and other stuff) backwards on my chest, and a stroller full of luggage (or Mia--I can't really remember which of us took the stroller of stuff and which took the stroller full of Mia). Stef pushed another stroller. She and I each had an umbrella to try to cover all the stuff as we had to cross two streets with strollers, walking kids, and luggage, all in a typhoon.

While our clothes were pretty wet, we managed to keep the luggage mostly dry. We lugged all our stuff to the platform and caught a train for Kasairinkaikouen station. It's entirely possible that we got on the wrong train there, too. It happened a few times over the course of the trip, but never really cost us more than 15-20 minutes. We eventually got to our station, and we toted our stuff out the exit into a raging typhoon.

We readied the umbrellas and made a mad dash for the covered bus stop, which was halfway between the station exit and the taxi line, which is where we were headed. The wind jerked Kelsey's umbrella out of her hand and blew it across the parking lot. After briefly comforting Kelsey, I dropped all my stuff on the bus stop bench and made a run for the umbrella. The twenty-or-so seconds that it took to retrieve the umbrella were enough to soak most of my clothes.

By this time, I was getting pretty irritable, so while Stef was trying to plan the best way for us to stay dry while we darted for the taxi, I said, "Screw it," grabbed my stuff, and ran willy-nilly into the typhoon. A shouted for the taxi driver to open his trunk, threw my wet baggage in, then went back to help get everything else to the taxi. Perhaps we could have done it a bit smarter, but the "covers" of those bus stops are pretty useless when the rain is coming at you sideways.

The taxi driver took us to our hotel without any shenanigans, and it winded up costing no more than the minimum 710 yen fare. We entered the hotel, drenched and drained from the travel, and ready to relax a bit. Check-in time at the hotel started at 3PM, which just so happened to be when we arrived. We checked in, pulled Kelsey and Mia away from the kids' books that the hotel puts out in the fifties diner-style lobby, rejoiced at the sight of Dr. Pepper in the hotel vending machine, and checked out our room. We had a big bed for the two of us, and a twin bed that we pushed perpendicularly up against our own for the girls to share.

Stef and the girls changed clothes, but I took mine and blew them damp with a blow dryer. I figured I wasn't done getting wet for the day.

We hadn't planned on going to Disneyland that day, so the typhoon, the missing of train stops, and the aimless wandering were more annoying than demoralizing. With the rain being so strong, however, we worried that Thursday and Friday, the days we were planning on visiting the Disney parks, would be ruined as well.

The rain started to let up just before 5PM, so we grabbed two umbrellas and headed across the street to Royal Host, a chain restaurant which I had never seen before. I set my umbrella in the umbrella bin by the front door (which many stores and restaurants require, so as to not drip all over the floor inside). I told Stef, who had entered with her umbrella in hand, to put it in the umbrella bin, since "that's how they do things in Japan." For a brief moment, I felt proud that I was adapting to the Japanese way without really having to think about it.

We sat down and ate a surprisingly tasty meal. As we ate, I noticed that the rain had picked up again outside. We paid for meal and went to the exit to grab our umbrellas. Mine was gone--someone had stolen it. Honestly--what kind of person steals somebody else's umbrella in the middle of a typhoon? I understand that you don't want to get wet, but if there's one time that you should feel the most regret for stealing someone's umbrella, it's during a typhoon. Oh well, he can keep it. He'll need it in HELL!!! Wait.. that doesn't.. uh..

People often say that Japan is basically a crime-free country. While I agree that I usually feel safe at night, and don't worry about getting murdered, the Japanese are not perfect. People will steal a bike if they need to get somewhere. They'll steal an umbrella if they don't want to get wet. And, they'll do plenty of other faceless crimes that don't necessarily cause bodily injury, but are sufficiently irritating for the victim. I've known people to have their bikes stolen, only to find them returned to the same parking lot later.

Anyway, I went to report the theft to the restaurant managed, who first shrugged her shoulders, but eventually offered me her own umbrella. In no way did I want to force someone else to go without one, and I didn't actually expect them to do anything about it. I just wanted them to know where we were staying in case the culprit decided to return it. At the end of what was a very awkward conversation, I shrugged my shoulders and apologized as Stef decided to take the girls with the remaining one umbrella (which, incidentally, would have been two remaining umbrellas if I just followed Stef and didn't do things the way everybody else does them in Japan).

So, I had to brave the rain without an umbrella. All the way across the street. I'm pretty sure I didn't get any wetter walking through the rain (which had let up a lot) than I did sitting next to spill-prone Kelsey at the restaurant. It ended up being mostly a non-issue, except that I now have to buy another umbrella. That night, we didn't really go out (other than Stef making a quick conbini run for ice cream). We stayed inside the hotel, sipping Dr. Pepper and watching TV shows on the laptop--a nice, relaxing end to a turbulent day.

Planning a Trip to Tokyo Disneyland

2010-09-14T17:40:00.002+09:00

Ever since we came to Japan, we've fantasized about visiting Tokyo Disneyland. We don't do a lot of traveling out here, partly because Japanese hotels insists on charging by the head instead of the room. With two kids (who are often considered adults in the eyes of the greedy innkeepers), travel costs spiral out of control pretty quickly. In order to save a bit of money, Stef and I decided we'd save our Disneyland trip for the weeks before we leave Japan for good.

However, when Stef did the research and crunched the numbers, she found that the busiest (and, consequently, the most expensive) time of the year at Disneyland is actually from July to August, when kids are out of school--and when I would be going home. The first part of September, according to Stef's online research, was actually the least busy time of the year; kids are back in school, so the attendance drops drastically. It's basically the same in America. So, we decided that we might as well check and see how much it would cost to plan a trip out to Tokyo in early September.

We found a good time to go, which just so happened to be the first possible day that we could book cheap airline tickets. Since I don't have a credit card in Japan, I had to run around like a headless chicken to get the reservations made (and make sure that I was getting the best possible price), and then make a mad dash to the convenience store (they call it a "conbini" in Japan) before midnight to make a payment on a confusing computer kiosk, all because that night just happened to be the last possible night that I could book the flight for the time frame we had set (you have to book at least 30 days in advance).

To make matters more stressful, I had to make sure right then that I could get decent hotel reservations for the same time frame, since it would be pretty pointless to pay out the nose for a place to stay for the sole purpose of saving money on a plane ticket. Hotels in Tokyo are not cheap. Any place near the park is absurdly overpriced. In my frantic rush to find a place for less than $650 (or at least the equivalent if the dollar were 1:100 yen like it used to be) for three nights, I even fooled myself into thinking that I might be overlooking great package deals from the resort hotels.

I saw the price per night at one of the official Disney hotels, and was surprised to see that they charged by the room rather than per person. Still, the $500 per night charge seemed outrageous. Then, I saw that there were rooms at another official Disney hotel for only $150 per night, and they charged by the room, too! When I got to the checkout page that asked for my payment, I realized that I had made a critical mistake--I didn't see the extra zero at the end of the total.

That's right--it wasn't $150 per night, but $1500 dollars. And the other, already outrageously overpriced room was actually $5000 a night. Five. Thousand. Dollars. This was not some luxurious penthouse suite, but a normal room at the official resort hotel. Who the heck has that kind of money?

I called Sayuri and asked if she could help me find a deal, and she gave me the name of the area in which I should be searching. I eventually discovered the website of a little place called Family Resort Fifty's for Maihama, which seemed close to the park, and only cost about $120 a night with breakfast included. I got the booking ready, and just as I was about to click the button to make the reservation, I remembered hearing that sometimes you can get better deals for hotels through other companies. I did a search for Fifty's on a few of the Japanese travel sites, and was pleased to find that I could get the same exact room for $89 each night. I booked the room at Fifty's for three nights for a total of $267--much less than the $600-$700 that all the other places were asking.

Having booked the room, I then ran to the conbini about an hour before the midnight deadline to pay for the plane tickets. We were going to Disneyland in a month!

I Passed the JLPT (N2)!

2010-09-06T17:46:00.000+09:00

Yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.

I am so going to Disneyland* to celebrate. In three days.

*Tokyo

Going to Get the Fam (Part--Ah, Screw It)

2010-08-13T14:55:00.006+09:00

Having arrived at the port, I waited in line to get off the ferry, when over the PA, a voice announced, "The somethingsomething exit is for people with cars. The rest should wait in the other line." I wasn't sure which line was which--so I just followed a bunch of people that left the line in which I was standing to go to another exit. I'm sure there were signs indicating which line was for car-less passengers like myself, but I was too tired and anxious to see my family to care.

Taking the escalator down to the main exit floor, I walked out a door into a parking lot, realizing that I had taken the wrong exit. I walked across to the side where the pedestrian exit was, and was instantly first in line to get off the boat. I almost felt guilty for skipping to the front of the line--for a split second. Leaving the boat, I set off for the train to Nanba station, where I'd be taking care of some banking.

My first goal was to search for Shinsei Bank, where I do my foreign wire transactions. There are no Shinsei Bank branches in all of Ehime, and the closest one requires a $100 round-trip train ticket just so that I can send money home. We had been waiting for a trip to Osaka to send some savings to our American account, and this trip fit the bill.

Wandering the desolate streets of Osaka at 7AM on a weekday is a surreal experience; there's not a whole lot to do in a city (and country) that opens at 10AM. I resolved to find the bank--which was sure to open a few hours later--and then go get some breakfast.

Each subway and train station has multiple exits, and it's often hard to know exactly where you are, especially when you're only armed with a printed google map that only provides landmark names and an address. Even more frustrating is the fact that streets in Japan go under, over, and through intersections, and don't necessarily head north-to-south or east-to-west. Having lived in Utah, where each city has street numbers based on how far away from the city center, I find the Japanese streets a bit more difficult to navigate. In Provo, for example, you know that the mountains are always on the east. Knowing that, if the mountains are on your right, you're facing north. If you're at 300 E 200 N and need to get to 450 E 400 N, you know that you need to go two blocks to the north and 1.5 blocks to the east. It's a simple system that I'm sure many towns and cities use.

Here's the google maps page for a section of South Provo, where I used to live:

This is the google maps page for the Osaka neighborhood that I haplessly tried to navigate:

I could tell by the position of the sun in the sky where north was, I just had no idea where I was on my unmarked map. All I knew was that there was a McDonald's right by an AM/PM convenience store, and that a street curved around somewhere near there. I showed the address to a AM/PM store attendant, and he timidly pointed me in the direction of another AM/PM (it turns out that there are about 8 AM/PMs within 2 city blocks), which might have someone on hand who would know better.

Unable to find the convenience store, I ducked my head into the chintzy Hotel Cordon Bleu, hoping that the hotel staff might have some knowledge of the surrounding area. There was no front desk to speak of (or if there was, it was curtained off), so I got some information from a cleaning lady, who pointed me in the direction of a McDonald's.

When I found the McDonald's, I saw an AM/PM right up the street, so I finally located my place on the map. I followed the curved road until I saw Shinsei Bank. The bank was connected to a Starbucks, sharing an exit. On the facade, a sign displayed the bank's operating hours--I had about an hour-and-a-half until the 9AM opening time.

I walked back to the McDonald's, hungry and in need of my cough/asthma medication, and itching to burn some time. Upon entering the store, I passed a large black man, who I think was African American (based on his attire). I tried to flash a smile (after which I planned to nod my head so as to say, "'Sup", but he kept his head down and avoided eye contact. I can't say I blame him. If he is an English-speaker, he's probably almost as sick of talking to English-speakers as I am. Sometimes you just want people to leave you alone. Back home in America, people don't come up to you and talk to you just because you might speak English. It gets tiring to have to always stand out and play the part of foreigner--even with people that share the role.

One of the best things about McDonald's in Japan (yes, there are actually good things about McDonald's here) is that some of the locations serve American breakfast sandwiches like the Sausage McMuffin with Egg. I ordered one of those and a cup of water, and sat down to pass some time and take my meds. When I got to my seat, I noticed that my water cup was basically a dixie cup filled to the brim with ice, with about a half an ounce of liquid water in the cup. I ate my sandwich, swallowed my pills with the little bit of water, and took my water thimble to the counter to ask for a refill so I could sit down and have something to drink while I pre-blogged on paper to pass the time.

The kid running the register responded that while there was no excuse for their rudeness--it was, in fact, impossible for me to get a refill on water. Aside from the absurd logic of impossibility (just say you won't refill my water, all right?), the unwillingness to provide such a basic service triggered the Irate Customer Switch in my brain, which I believe (based on extensive scientific research) is located within Broca's Area.

From Wikipedia:

Lelong was another patient of Paul Pierre Broca. He also exhibited reduced productive speech. He could only say five words, 'yes,' 'no,' 'three,' 'always,' and 'lelo' (a mispronunciation of his own name). At autopsy, a lesion was also found in the same region of lateral frontal lobe as in Leborgne. These two cases led Paul Pierre Broca to believe that speech was localized to this particular area.

My Irate Customer Switch functions somewhat differently than it does in other people. Others may get angry and demand to speak to a manager. I, on the other hand, lose the ability to speak in coherent sentences. All I could muster was a flustered, "Seriously?" in Japanese.

Disgusted, I shook my head and separated my trash into the burnable and non-burnable trash cans, jettisoning the ice in my cup into the special liquid disposal bin. In retrospect, I should have put my ice in the burnables. Try burning wet garbage, suckers!

But I was more patient than that. At first. I mean, I didn't swear or anything. Seriously, though--how much does an ounce of water cost? A penny? If you round up? Never in my life have I been denied a refill on water--not at any restaurant, ever. I've been to cheap fast food places that charge ten cents for the cup, but I always get unlimited water.

On my way out the door, I stopped to ask a managerial-looking employee why his store didn't offer refills on water. He replied squeamishly that it was a store-by-store decision. I responded that I had never been to a store that didn't refill my water. His response: if they offered refills on water, people wouldn't buy a soda.

What I wanted to say:

"What about people that don't want soda? Or can't drink soda? It's in your best interest as a business to build loyalty by putting your customers first, especially with something as simple and inexpensive as water, which nearly every restaurant on the planet offers for free. By trying to force me to buy a soda, you've lost any future business from me. Not only will I not buy a drink, I will hereafter fulfill my periodic cravings for sausage, eggs, and english muffins through some other, less miserly establishment. Your insatiable desire to squeeze every last yen out of my wallet will actually deprive you of the filthy lucre which you so treasure."

What I actually said:

"Well... in all other McDonald's restaurants, it's free. You know, the customer... I mean... What the customer wants... It would be good for business... Ah, screw it. I'm never comin' here again."

What is it about being frustrated that makes me unable to speak properly? And it's not just the language barrier.

Here's an English scenario that might have actually happened to me on my recent trip to America:

Having arrived at a store at 8:55, knowing they close at 9, I pull on the door, but it won't open.

Shop clerk: Sorry dude, we close at 9.
Me: But the clock right behind you says it's 8:55. Look.
Shop clerk: The registers are closed. Sorry dude.
Me: But that... The registers... It's not like... Ah, screw it. I'm never comin' here again.

It's not like I'm fuming--so angry that veins bulge out of my neck and forehead. I think I have some kind of anti-super power where I absorb the stupidity of a situation and it temporarily invades Broca's Area in my brain. No complete sentences. Just clipped words and bits of ideas that might make sense to me, but likely come across as garbled nonsense. Just thinking about such ridiculousness hurts my brain.

Post. bank. later. family. see.

And Yet Another New Holiday!

2010-08-11T17:55:00.001+09:00

Happy Take-Your-Daughter-to-the-Hospital-for-Immunizations-So-You-Can-Hit-Your-Head-Really-Hard-on-the-Corner-of-a-Hanging-Metal-TV-Stand-and-Knock-Yourself-to-the-Ground-and-Draw-Blood-and-Leave-a-Mound-on-Your-Noggin Day, everyone!

Happy Take-Your-Daughter-to-Work-So-She-Can-Pee-Her-Pants-and-You-Get-to-Go-Home-Early Day!

2010-08-10T17:53:00.000+09:00

So, yeah. That happened today.

Orange Ferry -- Going to Get the Fam (Part 1)

2010-08-06T13:40:00.002+09:00

After over three weeks of being away from my family, I made the trek to Osaka to pick them up. I rode the Orange Ferry, a small cruise ship that travels from Toyo port (about a half-our from our apartment in Imabari) to southern Osaka.

At about 10PM, I grabbed my ticket, boarded the boat, and rode the escalator(!!) up to the main floor, which looked like the inside of a hotel. They had two lounge rooms, including one for smokers, with chairs and tables set up in pairs facing a giant wide screen TV. There was a full scale restaurant, as well as a coffee shop and snack kiosk. Each floor had hallways filled with rooms on both sides, just like a hotel.

The rooms range from wide open rooms where the floor is split up into thirty spots for futons, to luxurious private rooms with big beds. I originally chose to sleep in the room with thirty other people, until I realized that I could upgrade to an 8 person bunk bed-style room for only ten dollars more. When I got to my room, someone was in my bed. Each bed has curtains that shut to both block out the light from outside and keep in any light from the overhead reading light in each nook. I knocked on the bed wall and asked if perhaps he wasn't mistaken, and he responded that he hadn't really made sure. Looking at his ticket, he realized that he had entered the wrong room. His stuff was strewn all over, so I offered to just switch rooms with him.

I put my backpack on the bed and took my shoes off, seeing slippers at the foot of each bed. In Japan, people never wear shoes inside their own house, so any walking around inside (though not on tatami) is done while wearing slippers. It's the same in any public place where shoes aren't allowed. Everybody wore their complimentary slippers. Everybody. I slipped my feet in, the back 5 inches of each foot hanging off the back end, and waddled my way to the kiosk to get a drink.

I popped my head into the men's shower area, which unsurprisingly featured a whole lot of Japanese male nudity, without any sort of barrier to keep passersby from catching a glimpse while the door was open. Not in the mood to hang out with a bunch of naked boys, I went back to my room to try to sleep.

The boat departed at about 10:30, but I didn't even realize we had left the port until it was after 11:30. I slid the curtain shut, took my evening meds, and fell asleep right away.

At 5AM, I woke up, having drunk a bit too much water the night before. I tried to go back to bad after a quick trip to the restroom, but right as I started to doze off, the wake-up chime and announcement sounded:

"Thanks for riding the Orange Ferry. We'll be docking in about 45 minutes. Feel free to buy our repulsive, outrageously overpriced breakfast buffet, or just wait until we get to Osaka so you can search aimlessly for a McDonald's that will leave you with lots of blogging material. Have a pleasant day."

I slept pretty well on the Orange Ferry. I'd definitely be willing to do it again, though next time I think I'll go straight to my cubicle bed and fall asleep before the boat even leaves the port.

Dude. I'm Sick of Hospitals.

2010-08-03T17:59:00.000+09:00

I’ve been to multiple hospitals over the past week (four or so), and today I found out that the underlying cause of all my problems might actually be asthma, which I’ve never been diagnosed with but always wondered if I had. When I have my anxiety attacks, it’s usually time for bed, and luckily, it’s day time in America. So I can call or Skype my family and take my mind off everything.

I have a friend out here who has invited me over to learn his hobby (of which I’ve made plenty of fun in my day)–Magic: The Gathering. I’ve actually had a good time socializing and learning something that does plenty to distract me and exercise my brain.

I’m excited to feel better. I’ve never really had to take medications (other than stuff to kill parasites and dengue fever during my time in Guatemala), so it’s a bit weird. And I admit, it felt weird to visit the “crazy person hospital”. There was probably a more appropriate place for me to visit than what seemed to be the place where Hugo Reyes lived in LOST.

Napa and San Francisco Bay Area Construction

2010-07-31T22:33:00.006+09:00

Rich Alkema Construction is a residential and commercial construction company based in Napa, California, covering the San Francisco bay area.

Visit their website at www.richalkemaconstruction.com.

Come Back Already, Stef

2010-07-30T18:03:00.000+09:00

So, yeah. Panic attacks are very, very real. And they’re very unpleasant.

It’s nice to know that you aren’t having a heart attack, though. Gives you some control over the situation.

Thank goodness for friends–especially ones who have already experienced your trials.

Craaaaazy Weight Loss

2010-07-29T18:05:00.001+09:00

So, three months ago I weighed 232 pounds. Now I weigh 214.

18 pounds in three months.

I went to see the doctor about a persistent cough (4+ weeks), and chest x-rays showed no problems. Afterward, the doctor alternated between the words “sutoresu” and “arerugi” (stress and allergy), repeating them in a slow, booming voice seemingly meant for someone with severe brain damage and/or hearing loss.

She didn’t offer any other words until I showed clear discomfort with the way she was speaking to me. I had already established in many previous visits (as well as the current one) that I speak and understand Japanese. I think I’m done with that hospital.

The Seaweed is Always Greener

2010-07-20T22:03:00.002+09:00

Trying to have a positive outlook about Stef and the girls staying in America three weeks after I would return, I constantly talked about all the things I'd be able to accomplish with so much free time. I'd finally have time to study Japanese as much as I want. I'd actually get to play some video games, compose some music, hang out with Japanese friends and improve my slang, and probably lose some weight in the absence of Stef's wonderful cooking.

Five days into my solitary life in Japan, it's nowhere near as wonderful as I'd hoped. There's so much time, but so little to do. If I were a junior high school student, my Saturday of nothing-but-PlayStation and not even leaving the house would be a dream. Having tasted the sweet companionship of marriage and fatherhood, my free time feels more like detention.

Surely, I'm losing weight. I can't be bothered to cook or eat--it's just too much of a hassle when everything you eat tastes like cardboard. My already waning appetite withers to the point that I'm forcing myself to swallow an overripe banana for lunch at 2:45 PM, just so I don't go into a starvation-induced coma. I don't even dare attempt to compose music on my computer, given my minimal brain function. When I tried to make a full dinner of salad, spaghetti, and garlic bread, I had to settle for the latter two upon finding the greens I had bought just two days earlier covered in mold.

Oh, but there are no dirty dishes to act as the bane of your existence, you might say. Okay, so you might have a point there. But I'd much rather have a never-ending sink of filthy dishes from meals with my family.

What about all that talk about hanging out with Japanese friends? Hasn't happened yet--and I suppose that it might help if I actually had friends who were Japanese. I've still got two weeks to make something happen. Perhaps I'll play basketball on Thursday (it's currently Tuesday night and as I type, my friends are actually playing basketball). Thursdays are always easier than Tuesdays, since the Tuesday practices take place at Sakurai junior high school, a 30-minute bike ride. The 10-minute cruise from Minami junior high on Thursdays is much easier after three-man-weaving and crab-walking my life force into oblivion.

Perhaps one of the biggest causes of my current malaise is the fact that I just returned from America, where I can read everything, understand everything, and buy just about anything. I still have a valid drivers license in California, and being able to drive anywhere whenever I wanted was much more convenient than bicycle-only Japan.

I had a blast in California with Ryan, Stef, and all the Alkemas and Stouts. Ryan, Stef, Rich, Brittney and Bryce, Ashley, Andy, Sa and Zack, Matt and Anna, and Nate all accompanied me to an Oakland A's game. We sat in the third deck directly behind home plate, which despite being so far from the players actually provided a rather satisfying view of the game. Included in each ticket was 6 dollars' worth of food vouchers for the third-deck concession stand, which was essentially enough for a hot dog and half of a drink. I stuffed myself with a pulled pork sandwich, a drink, and an enormous paper tray of nachos, smothered with that deliciously nasty, artery-clogging processed nacho cheese.

The game itself was ultimately little more than a tease, given that the A's would give up a run or two in the top-half of an inning, then tie it up in the bottom-half, only to fall to the Angels in ten innings, never having led the game. The next game--which was the game I most wanted to attend--the A's won 15-2.

Regardless of the outcome of our game, we had a lot of fun. Few things in life are more enjoyable to me than acting like a fool at a sporting event with all my friends and family. Stef will attest to this.

I love America. I love grass. I love sprinklers. I love front yards, back yards, driveways, garages, couches, and carpet. Ah, carpet. Stef and I joked about making carpet and grass angels. Such a love for plush carpet and grass may seem strange, but try living in a country with next to no grass (sports are often played on dirt and astroturf in Japan) and tatami flooring, and you'll soon see what you're missing. Mia fell face-first off the couch in Napa, and she bounced off the carpet and walked away without shedding a single tear. No such thing would ever happen on tatami.

I love being able to go the grocery store and find so many dozens of aisles full of things that don't taste like fish. Hey--I love fish; sushi is wonderful. But I sometimes wonder how necessary it is to make all of your non-fish food taste like fish. Some of that stuff--seaweed (nori), in particular--has grown on me. Heck, Kelsey absolutely devours the stuff, along with pickled ginger and salmon roe. But the food in America is glorious. Pizza--scratch that--good pizza. Mexican food. In-N-Out. Snacks that don't taste like fish. There's so much food to love.

Mia seems to be thriving in America. She's so much more trusting, more bubbly, less needy. It's exciting to think about when the kids will both have more English-speaking friends to play with. Kelsey's doing pretty well too, but she's got a bit of adjusting to do. She's not used to having kids to play with--especially not kids who speak the same language. There are a lot of things to look forward to when we eventually return.

Don't get me wrong--there are still a lot of things that I love about Japan. It's just a lot harder to appreciate them when you're living alone. Once Stef and the girls are back out here, I'll get back into a routine, and I'll be just as content as ever. We've got just one more year here, after which we will gladly move back to America to continue the next chapter of life.

Before going back to the States to visit, I really had no desire to do so. While I love seeing family, I just wanted to do my time in Japan and return when it was all over. I've felt a lot of anxiety about finding a job after Japan, and have generally feared going back to such economic uncertainty.

My visit laid most of those fears to rest. I'm sure I'll still stress about finding a job, but I am much less afraid of going back. There's just so much to love. I'm sure we'll miss a lot about Japan when we eventually leave--the food, the people, the language (okay, so that one's just me), etc.--but I know we'll find ways to occasionally fulfill those needs. I'm sure we can find seaweed in America.

Hope and a Side of Fries

2010-05-26T15:02:00.002+09:00

I went to a burger shop today which had a window ad for a new burger "loaded with your hopes and dreams." With a serious expression, I pointed to the overhead menu and asked the girl at the register if the burgers truly contained my dreams and hopes. The register girl froze, unable to muster an answer, and the fortyish year-old lady managing the store behind her nervously cocked her head to the side and confirmed that my dreams and hopes were, indeed, included with the purchase of said hamburger.

I flashed a smile and both women laughed uncomfortably. After finishing my burger, I told the girl on my way out the door that my hopes and dreams were much tastier than I ever could have imagined. “Hai” was her only response.

In other weird Japan news, a group of seventh grade girls pulled me aside after class today to tell me how nice I smell.

Why Eigo Noto Sucks: or Why ALTs Feel Worthless

2010-03-03T21:57:00.004+09:00

So, I’m consigned to the fact that my students aren’t going to learn English. I’m lucky if I see them more than once a month, which wouldn’t be a problem if they were getting adequate instruction on days I’m not there. I’m starting to question the effectiveness of teaching once a month to elementary school kids (ha!).

Like I said in my previous post today, Eigo Noto could be a very helpful resource for schools, since most of them aren’t going to be able to have a full-time ALT. Unfortunately, the lessons are so inefficiently organized that it’s almost a waste of time and resources. On top of that, a slew of questionable production decisions make it so that what they do learn is often tainted.

There are no grammar explanations*, and the teachers certainly don’t understand the grammar. But then they’re expected to perform with correct grammar in front of the whole class. For example, in the ninth and final section of the fifth grade book, the kids learn a couple phrases that are important to know at restaurants: “What would you like?” and “I’d like ~”. The problem is that there were already three to four weeks of lessons for the same material earlier in the year, except we taught them that waiter will ask, “What do you want?”, to which you respond, “I want ~”. Which, of course, they have long-since forgotten (not a huge loss, since you usually wouldn’t say those specific words at a restaurant—think “I’ll have ~” or “I’d like ~”). So, we have two lessons in the same text book that take up four weeks each, devoted to the same exact thing, just with slightly different wording.

*In the interest of full disclosure, I originally typed “There’s no grammar explanations”, which both I and Microsoft Word’s grammar checker know to be grammatically incorrect. I hung my head in shame before going back to my angry rant about bad grammar.

Since we also focused a few lessons on "What do you like?", the kids generally just revert back to that, since there's no contrast of current and previous vocab or grammar points.

There’s no sound in Japanese that matches the wo of would**, so Japanese people say, “oohdoh,” instead. The homeroom teachers have spoken English incorrectly their whole lives, so they don’t know that there’s anything to correct. The kids also don’t know that the ‘d in I’d is a shortened version of would, so instead, they’re forced to just parrot the two phrases. To make matters worse, most ALTs can’t speak Japanese well enough to give a detailed explanation of a grammar principle, so it never gets taught.

*It’s the same with woman, which is generally pronounced ooh-mahn in Japan, which could be a cool man-horse hybrid (horse = uma in Japanese)

I take time out of the lesson to correct overall pronunciation, and to draw diagrams that help people understand how to produce sounds correctly or remember a grammar concept. If necessary, I’ll give an explanation in Japanese. I’d like to think that it helps, since they always seem to come around—but I’m sure they forget it the moment I walk out the door. After all, they won’t see me for another month.

Like I said, the teachers were often taught incorrectly, so the ignorance spreads like wildfire. Here’s an actual exchange in which my friend Crescenda took part:

Crescenda: How do you say 猫(cat) in English?
Student: uh…kyaht-tah?
Homeroom teacher: No, it’s kyaht-to!
[Crescenda commits hara-kiri]

The other day, one of the teachers reprimanded a student for referring to the fictional teacher in the lesson as Yamamoto-sensei. Sensei in English is teacher, so of course, we say Yamamoto-teacher in English, right? WRONG. I’m okay with them calling me Jesshe-sensei (they can’t say see—it comes out like she). I am not okay with them calling me Jesse-teacher. That’s just ridiculous.

Some teachers understand that we don’t call teachers teacher—that we use Mr. Yamamoto instead of Yamamoto-teacher. But then they extend the Mr. to all males, as an extension of the –san honorific suffix. I’m Mr. Jesse, Babe Ruth becomes Mr. Babe Ruth, Michael Jackson becomes Mr(s). Michael Jackson, some kid name Junpei in class becomes Mr. Junpei, Daniel-san from The Karate Kid becomes Mr. Daniel, Mister Rogers becomes Mr. Mister Rogers, and so on.

Like I said, there are no grammar explanations in Eigo Noto. Indefinite articles (a in a car and an in an apple) and definite articles (the car, this cat, that skid mark, etc) are very hard for Japanese learners of English. There’s basically no equivalent in Japanese. There’s also usually no plural marker***, like s in cats. So, when a Japanese kid says, “I like dog”, it makes perfect sense to him, but elicits a giggle from the ALT, who is usually sure that the kid doesn’t actually eat dog.

***Sure, there’s –tachi and –ra, but they’re not always used and definitely not as essential.

On top of all of that, the words that the kids are “learning” are words that are already used in Japan and have been katakana-ized into the Japanese language. For example, these are common, everyday words in Japan:

• Hamburger = Hahmbahgah
• Hot dog = Hotto doggu
• Salad = Sarada
• Orange juice = Orenji juusu
• Fried Chicken = Furai chikin

In other words, the kids spent eight weeks of the year “studying” words that they already knew.

Anyway, here’s our restaurant demonstration for the kids:

Me: Hello.
Homeroom Teacher: Hello. Watt oodoh you rike?
Me: I’d like a hamburger, a hot dog, and salad.
HRT: OK. Hahmbahgah, hotto doggu, ando sarada. He-yah you ah.
Me: Thank you.
HRT: You-ah weh-ru-kahm.

Power to these HRTs, who are being forced to teach a language they secretly (or not so secretly) hate. They keep on keepin’ on, even though the Ministry of Education is out to get them. They get their pay cut while every school employs an ALT and buys $10,000 touch screen TVs for their English class, yet they keep on teachin'.

My goal is not so much to make fun of the HRT’s pronunciation as much as to point out that it’s important that they get an actual native speaker in the room that can help coach the kids on pronunciation. The kids are usually really quick to pick up proper pronunciation, while the adults are so set in their incorrect ways that they’ll likely never change (though they could if they wanted to).

So, it follows that any recordings of spoken English that are going to be used to teach kids correct pronunciation should be spoken by native speakers, right? This is where Eigo Noto really drops the ball.

It's obvious that whoever's announcing the food is not a native English speaker. With the nasalization and over-stressed Rs, I'd guess that he's probably Japanese. It's a pretty standard mistake for a Japanese person that's trying to sound American. All the comedians on TV talk that way, so the kids do it, too. They all end up sounding like bad caricatures of Wario.

I'm sure that the voice "artist" speaks English well. Just not like a native. And kids need to hear a native, or else they'll go around saying FRY chicken, yogart, and homburrgurr, sending the whole world in a downward spiral toward its eventual cataclysmic doom.

You want to teach kids that there are different accents in South Africa, Australia, America, and England? Getting a South African, Australian, American, or English person to record some dialogue would seem helpful, right? Here’s what we actually get:

Yes, that’s right. Richard Brant’n and Chongi are the same person. He’s from Korea AND Australlia. And he likes boisboll, among other sporrrts. Seriously. How hard would it be to get an actual Australian to do an Australian accent?

And I get the whole "there are different accents" angle. But an American faking an Australian accent is bad. These are things I shouldn't have to bear:

• An American faking a Korean-English accent
• An American faking a French-English accent
• An American faking an Italian-English accent

Why is it necessary for kids to learn how other countries incorrectly pronounce English? Do I study Japanese by listening to how Chinese people speak it?****

****No.

Eigo noto's got a lot a good in it, but they need to fix this stuff if they want it to be effective. They can start with new voice actors:

So let me get this straight--I'm supposed to know how a Frenchman, a Japanese man, a Korean, and a dog speak English? Oh, and I'm pretty sure that Chongert is also the dog.

Eigo Noto and the Role of ALTs

2010-03-03T12:52:00.004+09:00

A lot of people come to Japan expecting their assistant language teacher position to require a lot of work and responsibility, only to find themselves sitting in the staff room for hours each day. On the other hand, a ton of ALTs have no teaching aspirations and get frustrated when their schools have the gall to expect them to do anything. I'm somewhere between the two examples, in that I came to Japan expecting a lot of work, but am actually okay with it when they don't give me anything to do. After all, my main goal in coming to Japan is to learn Japanese, and the fewer classes I have to teach, the more time I can dedicate to studying.

A popular saying among JET Program participants is "every situation is different." I've witnessed its truth. When I was on Uoshima, I taught between zero and three lessons per day, though one class was probably the daily average. Most weeks, I'd teach about 8 lessons, three or four of which were prepared by my teaching partner. The remaining classes required my own lesson planning and teaching. Given that there was only one person per class, I wasn't able to recycle much of my lesson material. While it was nice to have complete freedom in the lesson planning stage, it consumed a lot of my time and caused a lot of stress.

Here in Imabari, I teach at five different schools, three of which have class sizes between 25 and 40. At four of my five schools (including both of my junior high schools), lessons are generally prepared by the English teachers, and I just show up and participate in the lesson.

The Ministry of Education has developed Eigo Noto (English Notebook), a two-volume set of English textbooks that kids all over Japan are expected to study during fifth and sixth grade. The books come with an audio CD an interactive CD-rom companion that can be played on a laptop hooked to a projector as a teaching help. It also comes with a teacher's manual that has lesson plans written in Japanese, so that the Japanese homeroom teachers that are forced to teach English with an ALT won't have to stress about preparing a lesson. They merely need to refer to the guide, which breaks everything down into lessons.

Of course, it doesn't always work that way. There are plenty of occasions at the elementary school where Eigo Noto lessons supposedly prepared by the teacher are new to both me and the teacher with whom I'm team-teaching. During those awkward times, I do my best to take control of the lesson and relieve some of the pressure on the other teacher. Even though things aren't perfect, they usually work out just fine in the end, even if there's a little discomfort. Just having a lesson plan to follow, even if it's lackluster, is still a good start.

Two of my three elementary schools use Eigo Noto, and one of them is expected to, but consistently leaves me hanging. At that school, it's basically all up to me, and that puts a lot of wear on my body. I usually have to teach four large classes each time I go (which is less than many other ALTs, so I guess I can't complain). The problem with that school is that the teachers don't know how to use Eigo Noto. When I teach fifth and sixth grade there, the teachers are expected to have prepared a lesson beforehand, yet they generally come to me and ask if I've prepared anything. I'm perfectly happy with preparing lessons—I just need to know in advance. The preferred method, however, would be for them to be involved with the lesson planning from Eigo Noto, so that we could both have an idea of what the heck is going on in our lessons.

Anyway, all this is just a long way of saying that Eigo Noto, which I have previously poked fun at, is useful. It's a very convenient way to help Japanese teachers who can't speak much English to prepare English lessons for use with an ALT.

Given the dearth of qualified English teachers in Japan, the Ministry of Education has to settle for the next best thing: a standardized text and ALTs. Given the high cost of hiring and transporting ALTs, they're forced to split us up between a bunch of schools. Not all ALTs, mind you, teach at a lot of schools, but most do. Because of differing ALT usage, it makes sense that the Ministry of Education wants Japanese home room teachers to have enough materials to teach without an ALT, while still making the lessons ALT and native speaker-friendly. I fully support this model, since there's likely no better solution.

Now that I've given this disclaimer, I'd like to talk about some of the shortcomings of Eigo Noto. If you want to teach kids effectively, it's important that you correct mistakes in the text and other teaching materials. I'll break it down as a separate post, so that people who don't care about why I'm criticizing the book don't have to read this post to get to the good stuff.

I Think I'm Turning Japanese

2010-02-02T15:55:00.001+09:00

Out here, kids go to school from 7 until 4, and then often go to a “juku” cram school to study for school entrance exams. Today, I asked one of my schools about possibly leaving a few minutes early once or twice a month so that I could go to a special cram school for Japanese study. The juku classes fall on Tuesdays and Fridays, and I only teach at that school about four or five times a month. I figured that since I’m always studying Japanese at school between 3 and 4 PM, it’d be nice if I could use some of the down time to study with an actual teacher. Besides, it’s not like they even know I’m there between 3 and 4--I never, ever teach after 3.

So, I mentioned to the principal that some other ALTs in town have gotten permission to leave school a little early for juku classes, hoping that he’d see the light and let me go. I was afraid to ask, since this school has always been extremely strict about me being there, even if nobody talks to me or I have no classes scheduled. The principal told me that he couldn’t answer me right then, but that he’d get back to me. A few minutes ago, he pulled me into his office with another teacher to bear the bad news that, unfortunately, it would be too much of an inconvenience to let me go a little bit early once a month.

I said that I understood and that I didn’t want to inconvenience the school in any way. I apologized for making them take the time to figure things out and thanked them for their kind understanding. I acted like a good Japanese employee should act and walked away, defeated.

In the end, I’m not upset that they aren’t letting me go. It’s their right to make me stay as long as my contract requires. A part of me wants to be upset and rant about how pointless something is or about how much I’ve been wronged, but I really don’t have the energy. Sometimes it’s easier to just accept defeat. How very Japanese of me.

That said, the American in me still wants to speak out against the drawn-out process. It would have been much easier for everyone if they just said no from the beginning, rather than making it seem like such an ordeal. While I understand well the whole “duty to your employer” angle, I still wish we could have skipped the formalities and just talked to each other without all the social distance and subservient bowing. Perhaps I’m not turning Japanese after all.

Happy New Y..end of January!

2010-01-29T17:25:00.002+09:00

A month without blog updates? Perish the thought!

But seriously--I can't believe I haven't blogged in 2010. It's time to change that, even if it's a lackluster effort.

I don't feel so bad about not updating my blog. It's not that I've grown apathetic--I've just become so obsessed with studying Japanese that all my non-teaching time at work (between 2 and 4 hours per day) is devoted to grammar and kanji study.

First, let me announced that we've decided to stay for a third year. Since Mia's going to need a heart procedure in the next year or so, we wanted to make sure that we were covered by insurance. It's hard to believe that we've re-contracted, especially considering how a couple months ago there was an almost zero-percent chance we'd stay. Stef has had some experiences out here that have made life a bit easier on her. That's not to say that it's easy to be away from family, but it's definitely more palatable. I'll let her tell everybody about those experiences in her blog. I'm extremely excited to stay, and have redoubled my efforts with the language in hopes of really solidifying my skills.

Stef was speaking with a lady who said that she doubted if I'd be able to achieve fluency in Japanese in 3 years. She hasn't really heard me speak, so I can't blame her for saying that. And truthfully, while I would say that I already do "speak Japanese", I haven't yet achieved what I would call fluency. But I see no reason why I won't be totally fluent after another 18 months in Japan. I'll surely have passed level 2 of the JLPT, if not level 1.

Many people consider themselves fluent in Japanese if they can hold natural conversations. But they may not be able to carry on a functional conversation in polite Japanese. I can already speak polite Japanese and am well on my way to speaking decent slang. Also, I want to be able to read 2000+ kanji without straining. Many conversationally fluent people are lost if they have to read something written in kanji. I'm more than halfway to my goal of 2000 kanji, and find my reading comprehension improving exponentially.

My dreams are flooded with Japanese. I wake up in the middle of each night and have grammar coursing through my brain. I repeat the phrases and grammar over and over in hopes that I'll remember to write them down or study them in depth the next day. I usually remember.

I recently visited a website that talks about turning every aspect of your life into some Japanese experience. People who frequent this site and buy into the theory spend hours each day watching anime and reading Japanese comics. I don't have time for this, especially since I have a family to tend to. Furthermore, I really don't care about anime or comics. Instead, I spend hours a day at school trying to have conversations with my coworkers, eavesdropping on all their conversations with others.

I try to read every symbol I see, and I'm constantly engaging my brain, asking myself how I'd say something in Japanese. Stef will often catch me muttering, only to realize that I'm speaking to myself in Japanese. On my bike rides to and from work, I drill difficult grammar structures and words that are hard to say. It's scary enough that a gigantic foreigner is riding around on a girl's bike with a basket. The fact that I'm talking in circles to myself makes me that much more frightening.

I've also been teaching the young men at church. The lessons are stressful to prepare, but extremely rewarding. I find myself consulting my dictionary less and less as I read through the teacher's manual. Compared to when I first started teaching, my Japanese is leaps and bounds ahead.

Dad's coming out to visit us for a few weeks. I'm very excited. We're thinking of visiting Osaka and Kyoto, along with some places that are closer to Imabari. He's coming in the beginning of March and staying until the beginning of April. I'm excited to have him come.

Then, in May, Mom and Rory are coming to stay with us for a couple weeks. We don't have many plans yet, other than fishing out by Uoshima with Azuma-san. We still need to see if that's a possibility. If not, I'm sure we could find some way to set up a fishing trip.

As a side note, I'm thinking of changing the name of my blog, and buying a domain name to go along with it. The reasoning behind this is that everybody already knows that Axel is better than Skate, and so nobody will ever go to a site that apparently doesn't contain any new information. I'll keep you posted.

Christmas in Japan

2009-12-24T14:02:00.010+09:00

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.

Kelsey Didn't Want to Go to Han-pock Fabrics

2009-12-14T13:30:00.004+09:00

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.

Samaria is not a place in Japan

2009-12-04T14:27:00.004+09:00

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.

Things that New Mac Owners Should Have and or Know

2009-11-28T13:02:00.003+09:00

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":

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.

Grandpa Seegmiller

2009-11-06T15:34:00.002+09:00

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 a ~~closet~~ 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.

Things People Have Actually Said Recently

2009-10-29T15:26:00.005+09:00

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".

Ryan and Erin Come to Japan

2009-10-29T15:07:00.002+09:00

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.

Why the JLPT is Hard

2009-10-28T17:00:00.004+09:00

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:

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 "John", so they're written in katakana. The pinkish words are hiragana, and mainly serve grammatical purposes. The black characters are kanji. The sentence reads: John 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 bothto 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.

Health Checks in Japan

2009-10-27T18:54:00.009+09:00

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.

JLPT Application

2009-09-04T14:05:00.001+09:00

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.

Class is Over--Back to Work

2009-08-29T08:17:00.002+09:00

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。

MS, Basketball, and Japan

2009-08-26T09:46:00.003+09:00

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。

Weekends are great

2009-08-22T21:57:00.003+09:00

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!

Nu riqi'l a t'uqok al xajäb

2009-08-22T13:52:00.012+09:00

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.

Mia's home! 2: Electric Boogaloo

2009-08-16T17:45:00.004+09:00

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.

Shimanami Yacht Club Welcome Party

2009-07-21T13:44:00.004+09:00

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:

Things You Probably Wouldn't See in the 'States

2009-07-20T19:34:00.009+09:00

Beware of Scary Noodle People:

Super Magical Video Game:

I don't know why this cracks me up so much. Actually, I do. In video games, the Japanese often like to take a common monosyllabic English noun and make it the main character's first name. The last name is usually a polysyllabic, two-morpheme offering. Thus, Stick Breitling, Squall Leonhart, Flint Ricman.

Beetles for sale by the video games:

Now Mommy can enjoy baby's head cold, too!

Yeah, this is a guy. And he's about 45.

Shirts with stuff that they think is English:

God Bress:

Video fish:

My new patient application from my hospital visit:

(Chuckle)

Decisions, decisions:

Toilets have a sink on the top so that you can reuse the water you use to wash your hands:

Japanese toilet control panel:

I want to float on the top of a water spout, but sadly, that function's reserved for armless, footless women or men with road cycling helmets:

Poster at the fire department:

Magazine at the fire department:

Oh, the Shame

2009-07-17T12:46:00.001+09:00

I just came from an assembly at one of my junior high schools in Japan. It's the last day of the semester before a 45 day summer break for the kids, so they held an assembly to give awards, sit, stand, bow, sit, stand, bow, and sit.

We watched a fifteen minute video presentation about bike safety that was the epitome of a bad Japanese drama. You know--exaggerated movements, overdramatic pauses, awesomely bad music in the background. The first part had accidents staged by a stunt crew. As a guy on a bike approaches a car, the driver-side door swings open, and the guy on the bike not only has time to look at the door and shout in a comical tone, but also ditch the bike while flipping over the door onto the ground.

Stunningly--nobody at the assembly laughs. Cheesy staged accident after cheesy staged accident, I suppress belly laughter as the 462 kids and their 30 or so teachers sit silently serious on the gym floor, lined up in perfect rows like a rice field. Back in America, the whole congregation would be rolling with laughter.

Perhaps more disconcerting is the last segment of the video, in which a young woman living with her mother goes out on her bike at night without turning on the safety light. When a little boy runs out in front of her, she swerves to miss him and crashes into an old lady passing on a bike. When a stern Japanese policeman scolds her and says that she was at fault for the accident, the young woman makes the excuse that the little boy ran in front of her. It doesn't matter, says the cop, because she didn't have her light on. What, lady? It's your fault? How embarrassing! Never mind the fact that you almost killed a granny.

Back at home, she sits at the table, eating, when her mom gets a phone call notifying her of the accident. Oh, the shame of having your parents know that you were in an accident!

In Japan, if you get in an accident, you're expected to visit the other person in the hospital with flowers and give a formal apology. It's probably not a bad idea, but it's much different than in America, where insurance companies take over and you often never see or hear from the person you almost killed.

Anyway, the woman goes with her mom and some flowers to the hospital to visit the old lady, but the lady's husband snaps at her, saying that the granny doesn't want to see her. The young woman hangs her head in shame and the camera pans out, showing the woman and her mom in a dark, empty hospital. The screen fades to black.

What really blew my mind was that the video focused more on the shame that this young woman felt than the fact that she almost killed someone. I mean, really--what's worse: having your feelings hurt because you did something stupid and have to pay the social and financial consequences, or actually physically hurting someone? Here in Japan, shame is quite a big deal. And that's a shame.

Ambition

2009-07-09T12:39:00.002+09:00

The other day, I woke up a different person. Or, the same person, but a better same person.

Lately, Stef and I have been watching a TV show called How I Met Your Mother. The show's about a group of friends in their late 20's and early 30's, and their career and social exploits in Manhattan. One of the characters, Marshall, is just like me. He's tall, he's monogamous, he loves Star Wars, he's very passionate about silly things--he's basically me. With each new episode that we watch, we learn of another aspect in which Marshall and I are exactly alike. Other than the fact that he's a lawyer who passed the bar exam, we're basically the same person.

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a lawyer. My mother and uncles are attorneys, and my cousins soon will be. Even though I had little to no direction before my mission, and even though I studied both music and computer science, I still hoped to one day become a lawyer. After my mission, my direction changed. I knew that I loved learning languages. It's something I'm good at, and there's something extremely rewarding about cracking the codes that other cultures use to communicate. I got my BA in Linguistics at BYU, and moved out to Japan to study Japanese.

In the 11 months that I've been here, I've stressed about future plans, unsure whether a four-year degree in a non-techical field plus fluency in two other languages would be enough to land me a good job upon returning to the 'States. Stef has stood by my side, trying to be patient while I continue on without a concrete idea of what awaits us in a year or two.

Watching Marshall on How I Met Your Mother has awakened a desire to have a plan. When I woke up the other day, I started thinking about law school. I know I'd be capable of completing law school and passing the bar. I have the mental capacity and I can have the drive if it's what I really desire. As I researched the bar exam, I suddenly felt regret for not having studied calculous. My degree didn't require any math classes, so I didn't take any. Out of the blue, I had a strong desire to learn calculous. I want to learn it so that I can understand how the wind blows, how the planets orbit, and how the world around me works.

I want to learn more languages. I want to learn programming languages like C++, Perl, and various server-side scripting languages. I want to get in shape. I want to practice piano and write music. There's so much that I want to do that it's overwhelming. I'm not comfortable with the idea of returning home to the U.S. and working retail for the rest of my life. I decided that I need to go back to school.

I'm not yet sure exactly what I want to study. I love teaching, and I love the idea of having time and opportunities to research and learn for the rest of my life. As of now, my plan is to try to get into the linguistics Master's program at BYU, with the eventual goal of getting a doctorate in something so that I can teach at the university or community college level. This gives me a goal to work toward--something that will push me and force me to grow.

Ever since I graduated, I told myself that I didn't want to go back to school. I hated having to juggle a full-time job with school and a family, while many of the kids I was competing with academically had none of those cares. I doubt my ability to get into a Master's program with a 3.28 GPA. My biggest fear, however, has been the idea of going into debt for school. My bank job paid for my undergraduate tuition, so I left college debt-free. I hate the idea of going into debt for something that may not end up being my career. I might not work as a linguist.

Fear, however, can't be the reason I don't pursue more education. If I have a concrete plan to become a professor, there's no reason why I can't achieve it. I know that the job market is crummy right now. But I'm confident in my ability to learn and grow and make myself into an ideal candidate for teaching positions. I don't care if it's a cliche; I'm capable of anything I want to accomplish.

The problem that remains is my ambition. Part of me still wonders about law school. Part of me wonders if I should try for an MBA. I was a very valuable employee at the bank, and I think I might do well in the business world. But would that allow me to continue my education for the rest of my life?

In How I Met Your Mother, Marshall's largest dilemma is the fact that his dream job is to be an attorney fighting for the conservation of wildlife, but has to settle as a lawyer for Goliath National Bank, where his friend works. It offers a much higher salary and allows him to pay off his debt.

Yeah, I admit it's a little silly that my ambition is springing from my love of a character in a TV sitcom. Silly or not, it's nice to have some goals to work toward--even if I still don't know exactly what I'm going to do. Hopefully, that knowledge will come later.

Visiting the Doctor in Japan

2009-07-09T11:35:00.001+09:00

Tuesday morning, I got up, got ready, and biked over to the ferry bound for Okamura, where my island schools are. I was feeling fine until I got to the island. I wasn't sure if it was due to the boat ride, but I suddenly felt queasy. I taught two junior high school classes and started eating lunch, when the teachers in the staff room noticed that I wasn't looking too hot. I didn't have much of an appetite, though it didn't help that lunch was a bunch of small fried fish, with pickled vegetables and fish-filled rice on the side.

They let me leave on the 1PM ferry without teaching my afternoon classes at the elementary school. When I got home, I rested in hopes that I just had motion sickness from the boat. It didn't go away.

Later that night, Stef started to feel sick to her stomach. I had a headache and was feeling nauseous, but Stef actually got it worse. I don't know why, but for some reason, I never throw up. Stef is a different story. She usually disappears into the bathroom and comes out feeling a lot better. I rarely have to deal with the unpleasantness of throwing up, but then I have to endure an upset stomach for a longer period.

When I woke up the next day, I felt even worse. The headache was just as strong and my stomach felt worse, so I called in sick. In Japan, you have to see a doctor when you miss any work, or else you lose vacation time. In fairness, most employers in America will make you use your vacation time or go without pay for the days that you miss. However, paid sick leave is written into my contract here, and I was genuinely sick. Since I chose not to use my vacation time, I had to see a doctor. It seemed like a good idea, since we had been traveling in Osaka, where there have been a few cases of the swine flu. Might as well make sure that my I'm not dying.

I biked over to a hospital about two minutes from our apartment, and told them that I needed to see a doctor. They gave me the standard new patient forms, and I sat down to fill them out. They were in kanji, the complex characters borrowed from Chinese that you must have specifically studied in order to understand. There was a little hiragana (Japanese phonetic alphabet) here and there, but overall, the form was daunting. As I studied the sheet, I realized that I recognized over half of the characters. Even if I didn't know how to pronounce all of them, I understood the primitive meaning of most. I filled the sheet out and turned it in, asking for help with the readings of just two of the characters.

It was a small victory for me. It's quite intimidating to face a wall of kanji standing in the way of you and something you need. In the beginning of my stay here in Japan, I might have asked for someone to translate. I don't even know if anybody could have translated. It's nice to know that it didn't even matter.

I sat and stared at the fish tank, waiting for my name to be called. A closer look at the tank revealed that it wasn't a fish tank at all, but a TV screen in a glass casing filled with water. I'd imagine that video fish are a lot easier to care for than real fish. They called everybody in the standard Japanese way, last name first. I was curious to see how they'd call me.

“Jesse-sama! Kochira, douzo (Mister Jesse, right this way)!”

Just my first name. I wonder if they thought it was my last name.

I followed the lady through some doors and she guided me into the room where the doctor was waiting. When Kelsey had pink eye and we took her to a doctor, the nurses manhandled her. They pushed her down and held her against her will. It was quite upsetting. She would have cooperated had they let us hold her. When I went to see the doctor, the nurses did the same thing to me. I walked in and explained what I was feeling to the doctor. Our whole conversation was in Japanese.

“Please lift up your shirt,” said the doctor.
“Please lift up your shirt,” repeated the nurse in a high-pitched, nasal tone.

I went to lift up my shirt, and the nurse lifted it for me and held it up.

“Please take a deep breath,” the doctor requested, stethoscope ready.
“Please take a deep breath,” parroted the nurse.

“Now, exhale,” said the doctor.
“Now, exhale,” the nurse mimicked.

“Take another deep breath.”
“Take another deep breath.”

“And… exhale.”
“Exhale.”

“Okay, now pull your shirt back down.”
“Pull your shirt back down.”

I went to pull my shirt down, but the nurse did it for me.

I told the doctor that I had been having headaches almost every morning for the last month or two, and he told me to lie down on the table. The nurse, of course, also asked me to lie down on the table. When I did, I slipped and bumped the wall, since I was much too big. I made a joke about how I'm too big and the nurse cut me off and again asked me to lie down. The doctor felt my abdomen and then asked me a question that I don't remember. I told him that I wanted to make sure that I didn't have the swine flu. He said “OK,” and asked me to follow the nurse, who asked me to follow her.

I was in the doctor's room for, at most, ninety seconds. At the nurses' station, they stabbed me in the brain through my nostrils with a long cotton swab, which they then tested for influenza while I waited in a separate waiting area. Thirty minutes later, the nurse called me back in to see the doctor, who spent thirty seconds explaining that I didn't have influenza, but that I most likely had a stomach virus. I again waited in the lobby for them to call my name. About five minutes later, they called me up to the front desk and handed me three different types of medicine, asked for my money, and showed me the door.

The nicest thing I can say about my visit to the doctor is that it was quick. They basically have an assembly line system that doesn't leave you feeling like you have any sort of relationship with your doctor. He's just there to find out what kind of medicine they're going to sell you. I didn't really get to discuss my concerns or describe my nausea. You're in, you're out, and you're lucky if you ever find out what's ailing you.

The nurse is there to make sure that you don't spend even a millisecond too long in the hospital. If they're really so concerned with making everything fast, they should stop repeating everything the doctor says. And I can lift my own shirt, thank you very much. If she could have inhaled and exhaled for me, she would have. At the same time, it makes the manhandling of Kelsey seem much less personal. They don't care if you're a toddler or a grown man. They're going to do everything for you.

I still don't know what was wrong with me. I was sick the following two days as well, and part of Saturday. I'm better now, and it's nice to know that I didn't have the swine flu. Well, it's time to get ready for school lunch. I hear we're having video fish.

Our Trip to Osaka

2009-07-08T15:14:00.008+09:00

Warning: long

When you have a baby abroad, you have to get a report of birth abroad from the consulate or embassy in the birth country. In addition to the birth report, you need to apply for a passport and social security number. The baby and both parents all need to be present in order to do this.

Mia was born so tiny and underdeveloped that we had to wait almost four months for her to be healthy enough to leave the hospital. Since she's now strong and healthy, we got to go to Osaka to do all her paperwork. I took a couple days off and we turned it into our first mini-vacation in Japan.

We had planned on taking the Orange Ferry, a huge vessel that leaves the Toyo (a city close to Imabari) port in the evening and arrives in Osaka the next morning. The Orange Ferry offers public quarters, where a bunch of people cram into a room and sleep on the ground next to each other with a little blanket and a buckwheat pillow. Little kids often have trouble sleeping in unfamiliar places, so we decided to look at other modes of transportation, just for the heck of it. We were going to pay about 12000 yen (about $120) per adult (kids under 3 are free) for round trip ferry tickets, but when we saw the prices of the express train, we realized that there was really no reason for us not to take the train. The train takes about three hours and cost only 8000 yen ($80 or so) more (total) than the communal boat. Sure, they offer private rooms on the boat, but they're more expensive than the train. We got to sleep at home--where the girls could actually get some rest--and only travel for a few hours.

We charged the laptop and put some Disney movies on the hard drive to keep Kelsey occupied. After a two-hour ride on an express train from Imabari to Okayama, we transferred to a bullet train bound for Osaka. I thought the express trains were fast; the bullet train blows away everything not flying thousands of feet in the air. The seats were big and cozy, and there was more than enough legroom for even me.

The first day, we took care of the paperwork at the consulate, and then went to find our hotel. We stayed at an old business hotel, which offered a Japanese-style tatami room with three Japanese futons, an AC unit, a fridge, and a TV. We had our own bathroom, but no bath. The first floor of the hotel had a Japanese-style communal bath with the first few hours of the evening reserved for men and the last few hours for women. We used the hotel as a hub and took the subway to various parts of town during our trip. The hotel was close enough to the subway station that we could go back for Kelsey's nap each day. If we were picky, we could have found reasons to complain. For the price (2000 yen per person, per night), it was great.

In the afternoon of the first day, we decided to look for a Mexican restaurant that we had read about online at an outdoor mall called Dotonbori. I should have remembered my own story about the mythical restaurant. We walked around for about three and a half hours, with half of that time spent just trying to find Dotonbori. I asked for directions at the hotel, and the front desk attendant gave us a map of Osaka and highlighted Dotonbori.

We got off at the correct stop, and then got lost. This particular stop was connected to a huge underground shopping plaza. The directions we had received required that we go up to the surface level right when we got to our stop, but there were so many shops with things to look at that we wandered farther and farther away from the exit we needed to take. When we got up to the ground level, we tried to locate ourselves on the map so we could head to Dotonbori. Unfortunately, it was basically impossible to figure out where we were. Figuring we'd eventually recognize something from the map, we just started walking toward the place where we thought Dotonbori might be. After a good chunk of time walking and talking, we decided to ask somebody for directions. According to an old octopus-ball salesman with a karate-style headband, we had walked a considerable distance past Dotonbori. We needed to walk back in the direction from which we came and turn left.

We turned around and walked back the other way for a while, but still couldn't find Dotonbori. We turned left where we thought the old man had told us to, but it became clear that we weren't going to find it without asking another person for directions. I went inside the first building I saw and asked an office lady if she could point us in the right direction. She stepped outside and pointed to where we needed to go, then gushed over how cute Kelsey and Mia were. We thanked her and set out for Dotonbori, which we could finally see in the distance. We needed to keep going and then turn right, not left.

We walked over to the right place and started looking around for the Mexican restaurant, which was supposedly called Hermanos. None of the people we stopped to ask knew where this restaurant was. I was determined not to have another all-you-can-eat yakiniku experience. We were going to find this place. Up and down the street we walked, scanning the five and six story buildings' signs. It was starting to get late, we were starving, and I was starting to lose my mind.

I found an internet café and searched for the restaurant. I got an address, the name of the neighboring hotel, and a phone number, which I decided not to call. We asked the locals where the hotel was, or if they could point us in the direction of the hotel, and finally, we got a lead. Someone knew where the hotel was, but wasn't sure if there was a Mexican restaurant anywhere near. We darted (as well as a family with a kid in a stroller can dart) to the hotel, and then examined the surrounding buildings. Nothing.

Undeterred, I entered the hotel and asked the desk clerk if he knew where the Mexican restaurant was. Next came the verbal punch to the stomach—Hermanos had been gone for a while. Let's review what I wrote about the mythical "perfect restaurant":

1. The Holy Grail of Restaurants, no matter where you are, doesn't exist. Don't be stubborn. You will not find it.
2. Don't ask for directions in Japan. It doesn't matter how little Japanese people actually know about something: they'll go totally out of their way to help you, even if it actually ends up being more of a hindrance than a help.
3. Dang it, even in my nostalgic, partially-confabulated peak season, I was still a jerk.
4. You can never go wrong with okonomiyaki.

Number 1? Check. Except this time, I actually got confirmation that it doesn't exist. How could I have forgotten this lesson?

Number 2? Check. Though it was mostly our fault for not taking the first exit at the station, we were led astray by all but two of the seven or eight people we asked.

Number 3? Still a jerk. When we got confirmation that the place didn't exist, I ~~murdered a koala~~ started to lose my patience. I told Stef that I was willing to eat anything that wasn't okonomiyaki, since we always get that. We almost entered two or three restaurants, but Stef couldn't commit, and I just about lost it. I just wanted food. Now. Or, then, at least. Which brings us to:

Number 4: Yeah, we caved in and went to an okonomiyaki shop. As hunger vanquished my life force, I lost the will to fight the status quo and gave in to the delicious cliché that is the fried savory pancake. We ordered okonomiyaki, nigiyaki (like okonomiyaki, but with a bunch of green onions), and omusoba. The omusoba, an omelette filled with yakisoba (noodles cooked in a savory sauce), was the best thing we ate on the whole trip. Never forget rule number 4.

Sure, I hate that I didn't follow my own rules regarding the Holy Grail of Restaurants. But on the plus side, it only confirmed my previous theory. And it taught me rule number 5: always make sure the restaurant you're searching for exists (by phone, etc.), and get directions.

I learned another rule the next day, when we went to Americatown. You know how big cities have Chinatowns, Japantowns, Koreatowns and Little Italys (Italies?) in America? Here in Osaka, it's Americatown, or Amerika-mura. If you're not into drinking or buying overpriced clothing imported from America, there's not much to do in Ame-mura (the shortened Japanese version). Well, that's not entirely true. It's a great place to people watch. Some of the craziest, most outrageous clothing and hairstyles that we saw in Osaka were in Ame-mura.

Earlier that morning, we went to Kaiyukan, a huge aquarium in Osaka. The aquarium route begins after riding a huge escalator up five stories or so, and slowly winds down toward the bottom, the sloped spiral path surrounded on both sides by fish-filled tanks. At the top, there are penguins, sea lions and dolphins. At an above-water sea lion exhibit, Kelsey prostrated herself on the ground and looked through the five or six inches of glass that were under the water line, hoping to see what the sea lions were doing under the surface. As you descend to the ground level, you can actually see the same sea lions swimming around. At the same time, the fish you see come from deeper and deeper waters, becoming gradually more exotic as you work your way down. Children, however, gradually lose interest in the fish and, in the end, just want to run and yell.

Blue = Awesomeness of Fish
Red = Child's Interest

We saw some manta rays (one as large as a small automobile), a couple of whale sharks, sea turtles, sun fish, arapaimas, giant crabs, jellyfish, eels, and countless other kinds of fish. It would have been nice if we could have really enjoyed the fish, but it was still fun to watch Kelsey squeal in delight as she ran to the glass to watch the dolphins zip around their tanks.

Toward the beginning of the aquarium, I saw one of the JETs from Imabari and said hi. I was surprised to see someone that I had met (albeit briefly) so far from Imabari, so I gave a big smile and said, "Hey, how's it going?" She clearly didn't remember me, so she averted her eyes as she passed and mumbled, "Good." I told Stef that she didn't seem friendly when I had met her before, and so she obviously didn't care enough to socialize. We ran into her later, and Stef, being the awesome woman that she is, decided to strike up a conversation instead of being bitter about the snub. She hadn't recognized me at all, but when we started talking, she was really friendly. I can see why she reacted the way she did, since I probably came across as The Creepy, Crazy, Overly-Friendly Guy Who Bugs You in Aquariums. You know, that guy. Anyway, she's been in Japan for five years and is going home in a couple weeks. Her sister is visiting in Japan before she heads back home.

Later that day, back in Ame-mura, Stef and I had been checking out some shops and scoping out potential restaurants for dinner. We saw a couple that appeared to serve things that we probably couldn't find in Imabari, and decided to eat at one of them after exploring the rest of Ame-mura. As we walked past a burger joint, we saw the Imabari JET with her sister, sitting and talking. We went over and sat down to chat a bit. We told her about our fruitless search for the Mexican restaurant, and how, other than the baby paperwork, all we really wanted to do in Osaka was eat Mexican food. We had been talking for a couple minutes, when suddenly I realized that Kelsey was grunting. Stef took her inside and helped her use the potty while I talked to the JET about a possible lead on a Mexican restaurant in the neighborhood. She drew us a crude map, explained how to get there. I knew that it was unlikely that we'd ever find it, so I thanked her and started thinking about where we were really going to eat.

Stef came out with Kelsey after a while, and we talked with the girls for a few more minutes. I told Stef about the restaurant, and she agreed to look for it for a few minutes—under the condition that if we didn't find it soon, we'd eat at one of the other places that we had already found. As we were wandering around, looking for the restaurant, a man named Rigby stopped and asked us if we needed help finding anything. I told him about the taco shop, and he told me that he not only knew where it was, but that he knew the owners and knew that it wouldn't be open for another 90 minutes or so. He gave us the owners' phone number and told us where to go. We had no trouble finding it.

We went to the lobby of a hotel to relax and pass the time while Stef fed Mia and Kelsey snacked on some pretzels. After a while, Kelsey got a little too restless, and we decided to go down and work our way back to the restaurant. We got there in time to meet one of the restaurant owners in the process of opening shop. We went up and sat down in what turned out to be a bar. Luckily, we got there before everybody showed up to drink. The bar served tacos, quesadillas, fajitas, and all sorts of other meals. The dimly lit bar was adorned with sombreros, ponchos, and other typical Mexican decorations, with salsa music booming in the background.

The owners didn't speak Spanish, but they sure knew how to cook Mexican food. We got some shredded chicken tacos, a shredded chicken quesadilla, some gourmet-style nachos, and a plate of eggs and chorizo with corn tortillas. We were forced to order one drink per adult (a sort of cover charge for the bar), so I got mango juice and Stef got some Jamaica drink. In all, the food cost over 5000 yen, but was worth every ~~penny~~ yen...ny (sorry). It was the perfect dinner for the perfect day with the fam. So, rule number 6, which I learned that day, is as follows: if you have followed rule number 1, and are okay with the idea of eating somewhere else (countering rule number 3, honoring the spirit of rule number 4), then you can implement rule number 5, provided that the person that you ask is not Japanese (rule number 2).

While it seems complicated, rule number 6 is quite simple: don't get your hopes up, make sure the place really exists, get directions from an English speaker, have a backup plan, and stay in a good mood, and you may just stumble across the Holy Grail of Restaurants.

We capped the night off with some ice cream, which we ate on the subway ride back to our hotel.

The third day, our only plans were to go to Costco and return to the hotel. We accomplished both goals. Costco was fantastic. After renewing my membership, we walked up and down the aisles, carefully making note of everything they were selling. We got two cases of Dad's Root Beer, some corn bread mix, a gigantic sack of tortilla chips, and a few other things. What we really wanted, though, was the food from the food court. Costco dogs. Pickle relish. Churros. Heaven.

Costco was packed—much more than any Costco I've ever seen in America. Stef saw some people complaining about the size of the shopping carts, which were the same size as the carts at Costco in America. They had no idea what to do with such a beast. In Japan, shopping carts are just a regular shopping basket that you put on a frame with wheels. One Costco shopping cart equals ten or twelve of the other shopping carts. This does not make it easy to navigate the store. Imagine the busiest subway station in Tokyo, with shoulder-to-shoulder foot traffic clogging the grounds. Now give each of those people their own hippopotamus-sized shopping cart and watch as nobody gets anywhere. At one point, my stomach dropped as I watched a family, only ten feet away, swoop in to grab the beef jerky samples, with me trapped in a sea of shopping carts. All I could do was ~~slash their tires~~ shake my fist and curse them. In my mind.

That evening, after a nice nap, we had no plans. We walked around a cool electronics district, where I bought some headphones. Well, one side of it was cool. The other side was littered with porn shops. The night before, I took Mia out for a walk, and explored a nearby restaurant district. I turned a corner and looked up, only to realize that I had stepped into the red light district. Humongous murals of naked women covered the facades of the buildings. I took my baby and promptly headed in the other direction. I can't believe the stuff that they show in public here. I guess there are places like that in most countries. I'm glad that they don't allow that in the U.S.

Back in the restaurant district, we looked for a place to eat. Employees from the myriad restaurants begged us to patronize their restaurants. When you walk through a restaurant district, you can, at any given time, have four or five different people shouting the praises of their restaurant at you. And it's not just the invasion of personal space that's annoying. Their voices are high-pitched, nasal bleats specifically designed to cripple your defenses. It's a verbal battle royale for your business.

"Please eat here, oh beloved guest! Please enjoy our delectable cornucopia of cuisine. It's really good, I promise!"

"No! Please, please, please come eat here! You'll love it! It's a veritable smorgasbord of cornucopias!"

"I won't cut myself with a samurai sword if you find it in your heart to give us the honor of enjoying your presence in our humble establishment!"

Stef and I really wanted to eat at one restaurant, but the street screamer was so annoying that we almost walked away just to spite him. I turned around to consult with Stef, and we vocalized that we were going to eat there because the food looked good, and not let the Gilbert Gottfried of Japanese restaurant employees stand in our way. I turned and walked away from the restaurant, signaling that we were heading in another direction. At the last second, I spun around and ducked inside the doors, after which the guy followed us in and shouted to the staff that they needed to prepare a table for four. It's okay. Let him think he convinced us. We were there for the food.

I saw something that looked like tacos, and I ordered it. They were curry-flavored tacos, and they weren't half bad. Stef, craving the omusoba that we ordered the first night, got some yakisoba. Kelsey had ginger for dinner (and some noodles). She eats pickled ginger plain. We have no idea how she does it, since it's such a strong flavor, and neither of us like it very much. That night, we watched Kelsey use chopsticks, successfully, for the first time. Her form needs some work, but it was still mighty impressive.

The next morning, we went to church at the Abeno Ward in Osaka. Finding the church proved to be quite the task. A few unanswered phone calls to missionaries and one useless taxi driver later, we found ourselves in the neighborhood of the church, with no idea which side of the city block it stood on. We found the church, but we had missed the Sacrament. The Abeno Ward was like a full-sized family ward in America. It was great to see so many people at church, including three sets of missionaries. Kelsey got a dolly from the nursery leader, who was excited to have someone to watch. Unfortunately, we had to leave. One family, the Kochis, gave us a ride to the station after Sacrament Meeting, saving us an hour or so in travel time. We took the trains and were home by about 4PM. Kelsey and Mia were great.

It was great to spend a few days in Osaka. We figured out how we like to do trips—it's best to plan about two things each day, and leave the rest of the time open for whatever else you want to do. You can relax or explore, and not feel like you have to run around to get a lot done. Riding the subway, while a bit expensive, is very convenient, and reminded me of our time in Matsuyama, where we rode the city trains all the time. We were also reminded how awesome it can be to be in a place with people and restaurants. Imabari's great, but there are so many more things to do in Osaka. It's nice to live in a laid-back place like Imabari, but it's important to experience city life every once in a while.

Kelsey Reads a Book to Daddy

2009-07-07T19:02:00.006+09:00

EMEPGENCY. LANGUAGE VIOLATION

2009-06-11T17:19:00.004+09:00

Yesterday, in my infinite wisdom (I looked outside and saw that it was raining), I wore a jacket to work to avoid the misery of being drenched in rainwater from head to toe. When I got to school after the 30-minute bike ride, the rain had only soaked me from waist to toe. From head to waist, I was drenched in sweat. So I wasn't just soaked all over—I also smelled like a seventh grade locker room after P.E. all day. Now, on to what I really want to talk about.

The Japanese language borrows heavily from western languages. Many words can be expressed not only in Japanese, but in pseudo-westernese. Part time job can be referred to as either its Japanese-ized English equivalent, paato taimu, or its German equivalent, arubaito. There's mostly likely a Japanese term for it as well, but I'm too lazy to look it up, and the western terms are more common. Other commonly used English words include basuketto booru (basketball), biiru (beer), pen (pen), and juusu (juice).

Here's a quick guide for Japanese vowel pronunciation to help you understand my romanizations:

Japanese vowels are basically just like Spanish ones.
a = ah, as in the Bostonian “go pahk the cah”
e = eh, as in “eh, you go pahk it yaself”
i = ee, as in “beets beets, sugar beets, beets sugar beets beets beets”
o = oh, as in “oh noh you (Trevor) dohn't”
u = oo, as in “Scooby Doo went scuba dooving”*

*It's actually a little more complicated than that—closer to a French u sound. But that's not really important right now.

Japanese consonants, while close in pronunciation to Spanish consonants, are similar enough to English consonants that we can use English to describe them. Each vowel (a, e, i, o, u) or combination of consonant-plus-vowel (ta, ka, pi, bu, etc) counts as one rhythmic beat, or syllable. Two consecutive vowels are each enunciated, instead of being blended into one syllable like we would in English with the ou in mouth. In paato, the vowel is held out for two syllables instead of just one. So, paato taimu is a six-syllable phrase (pa-a-to ta-i-mu) in Japanese, instead of the two syllable part time that we have in English.

The sixth graders are learning to read words made from roman characters--what we simply know as the alphabet. The teachers are all pretty good at reading English letters, even if they don't always pronounce them correctly. There are many reasons why they should learn how to read the alphabet. Internet addresses, for example, are generally written with roman characters, so it's important that they learn how to read them even if they don't plan on learning English. If they go anywhere outside their country (except probably China), they will most likely have to be able to read roman characters in order to properly understand and navigate their surroundings.

This is a reality the Japanese government understands, so they teach kids the alphabet in grade school. Their whole country is flooded with roman letters, so there are plenty of opportunities for practice. Because of the ubiquitousness of letters, they typically know how to pronounce them with crude Japanese pronunciation. In teaching correct pronunciation of English letters and written words, the problem lies in making them un-learn everything they've acquired while living in a place where most people don't know how to pronounce things correctly.

Today, the sixth graders brought papers with English words that they had seen around them, whether at home, on their clothes, or out in public. They hid the words, uncovering one letter at a time while offering three hints so that the other kids could guess the word. There were two problems with this game. First, most of the English words they chose weren't English at all, but brand names written in roman letters. Second, the kids were asked to give hints in a language using grammar and vocabulary that they hadn't yet learned. It's one thing to ask a Japanese kid to get in front of the whole class to speak a language with which they don't feel confident. It's another thing entirely to expect them to do it with words they haven't yet learned. That said, the kids did really well, in spite of the difficulties.

Some of their words were curious, while others were downright hilarious.

First, the acceptable ones:

Baby Mickey and Friends, Sesame Street, Converse: sure, they're proper names of products, but they generally have some lexical meaning outside of their brand name-ness.

Second, the non-English:

Nintendo, Panasonic, Sony, Toshiba: Japanese brand names of Japanese electronics.
Marlboro, Nescafé, Nike, Adidas: American brands that have no meaning outside of being proper names.
Burcmüller, Zaturn: I have no idea what the first is, but it's most likely a German surname. The second is apparently the name of a roller coaster at the Japanese theme park, Spaceworld.

Next, the misspelled English:

Gorden Retriever, The World of Goldn Eggs, Emepgency: While it's entirely possible that some of these were merely misspelled by the kids who copied them down, it's highly likely that the source material was wrong. Japanese companies don't usually have copy editors to check their English spelling or grammar.

Last, my favorite:

Cannabis World: I kid you not. It wasn't as if the girl who wrote this one had seen it at a store—she actually owned a little kiddie pencil case bearing those words, complete with Jamaican colors, peace signs, and marijuana leaves. She had no idea what it was. How do you explain what marijuana is to kids that are better off not knowing? How in the heck am I supposed to help her come up with three hints for that? I just gave her a new word instead.

The homeroom teacher's example word for the game was the English “word” DVD. The v sound doesn't exist in Japanese, so to distinguish v from b, they say bwii (sounds like bwee) instead of vii. Dii bwii dii. I followed the incorrect pronunciation with the correct one. Here's how the dialogue went:

Teacher: Dii bwii dii!
Class: Dii bwii dii!
Me: D V D!
Class (correctly): D V D!
Teacher: One smore! (Should be once more) Dii bwii dii!
Class: Dii bwii dii!
Me: ...

I constantly have to fight incorrect pronunciation from the teachers. I feel really bad for them, because they didn't ask to be forced to teach English. They feel much more uncomfortable than I do. Sympathies aside, it would serve them well to try to model their pronunciation after the native-speaking assistant teacher. The kids haven't yet been fully corrupted, so they can often mimic my pronunciation. I like to draw simple diagrams of the mouth and speak in exaggerated tones so that the kids can see how to produce the sounds of English. Most of them pick it up considerably well. The teachers, on the other hand, just can't go against what they've had incorrectly ingrained in their brains for years.

One of the biggest problems I encounter is the prevalence of waseigo, which is the Japanese term for words that have been either altered or mixed from their English roots to take on different meanings or pronunciations. For example, a teacher once asked me something about some other person's charm points. I didn't know what to say. Did this person have a level-34 Charisma in the Dungeons and Dragons of life? I eventually figured out that charm point meant something like positive characteristics.

Other words are chopped off for convenience, like the convenience store, which is rendered in Japanese as konbini. Other include waapuro (word processor goes from waado purosessaa to waa-puro), pasokon (personal computer goes from paasonaru konpyuutaa to paso-kon), and dejikamu (digital camera changes from dejitaru kamera to deji-kamu). It's often difficult to know what people using waseigo are talking about, because we don't know what words they're changing.

Others make sense, but still sound strange, like beebii kaa, (baby car, meaning stroller or baby carriage).

Japanese people often refer to all sorts of companies as meekaa, meaning maker, while in English we might say brand or company. Sure, with cars, we sometimes we'll say make, or possibly even maker. But it's not common to do so for chewing gum companies, clothing, or video games.

This aspect of Japanese can be charming, but not so much when it's being taught to the children as correct English. It's not that words like maker and baby car aren't English words, or that there aren't people that would understand what you were trying to get across—the point is that the majority of people with whom you hope to one day communicate probably won't understand what you're saying. People are much easier to understand when they use the commonly accepted words.

For example, if you're searching for the Converse store (konbaasu) and decide to ask a Japanese person who doesn't know correct pronunciation, you might accidentally get led to a store that sells buses full of corn (koonbasu). Ice cream (aisu-kuriimu) is abbreviated to aisu, so if people ask if you want ice, they're really asking if you want ice cream. This is serious stuff here!

Some words change meaning altogether, like manshon, which came from the English mansion. You might get excited to hear that I live in a mansion, only to find out that it's really an old dilapidated apartment building with multiple stories.

If a word ends with a non-voiced consonant plus i or u, like su, shi, chi or tsu, the last vowel is typically weakened, and sometimes altogether omitted. So, words like shaatsu (shirt) and piinatsu (peanut) actually sound more like English shots and peanuts, respectively. There are many words, like juusu (juice), that get it right. The ending su gets weakened an ends up sounding like an s, so it sounds just like juice. But there are also many words that confuse. The English Note textbook that the kids use is full of examples, like the Donut Shop on the town map. In Japanese, donut is pronounced donatsu (like peanut, which became piinatsu). So, naturally, the non-native speaker preparing the graphics for the book writes Donuts Shop instead. My sister Emily likes an anime called Fruits Basket, which makes absolutely no sense in English. The plural fruits comes from the fact that fruit in Japanese is not just kudamono, but also the borrowed pseudo-English furuutsu (sounds like fruits). You don't need to pluralize fruit for us to know that more than one kind of fruit could fit in the basket. Even if the basket was for effeminate men, the same title of Fruit Basket would suffice.

I guess it was good that they were forced to look for letters and get more familiar with the alphabet. It's good that they're interested in English. I just wonder about the practical application of the words they learned. Who knows-—maybe someday, once the Earth has been evacuated due to “man-caused disasters,” and we're living in space, and the Japanese have taken over the new international government, we will thank the Japanese for their attention to detail. I can see it now:

EMEPGENCY. EMEPGENCY. GORDEN RETRIEVER HAS INVADED ZATURN. LET'S PLEASE LEAVE MANSIONS AND FRUITS BASKETS AND BOARD EMEPGENCY SHUTTLE BOUND FOR THE WORLD OF GOLDN EGGS.

Some videos

2009-05-30T18:21:00.000+09:00

We posted a few videos of Mia and Kelsey at Stef's Blog.

No, I Don't Know What I'm Doing

2009-05-27T11:25:00.012+09:00

Today, I met with one of my JTEs to plan the lesson for a 9th grade class that I teach once or twice per month. First, she explained the rules of today's warm-up activity, with which I was familiar. With the students all standing, the JTE and I take turns asking questions, gradually increasing the difficulty with each question. The student who answers correctly sits down and then chooses either tate or yoko, very loosely translated to column and row, respectively. With tate, those standing in front of or behind the student have to sit down. Yoko causes the people to the left and right to sit. The object of the game is to narrow the field down to one or two people, who are then forced to ~~watch Japanese television~~ answer a question.

After discussing the rules, we came across a slight stumbling block. Here's what happened, more or less:

Me: Is there a list from which we pick the questions?
JTE: No, just ask appropriate questions.
Me: Ok, so what have they learned so far? What's an appropriate question?
JTE: Well, they're third years, so anything that they learned in the first or second year is fair game.
Me: What did they learn in the first or second year?
JTE: The same thing that all first and second year students learn.
Me: What do first and second year students learn?
JTE: [blank stare]
…
Me: Let me clarify. Before working here, I worked at a school with only one junior high student who never came to class. I almost never got to teach him.
JTE: Wait, so you're telling me that you have no previous experience teaching junior high?
Me: Pretty much, yeah.
JTE: [blank stare]
[scene]

This type of interaction is not good for my self–esteem. I swear I'm not a moron.

When we come to Japan, we ALTs get no help, no training, no lesson manuals and no teaching materials. The people who "manage" us go to great lengths to avoid having to deal with us, to the point that their "actions" are surrounded by "scare quotes".

On one hand, it's easy to see where they're coming from--and even sympathize. Most of them don't speak or understand English outside of a smattering of phrases that they most likely learned when they, as kids, were forced to take English classes. Assuming--usually correctly--that we ALTs speak no Japanese, they just want to avoid socially awkward situations in which they are obligated help us, yet have no way of truly communicating. So, rather than helping us have some idea of what's expected of us, they leave us to figure it out alone.

On the other hand, it's their job.

For someone who was thrown into the fray without any explanations or directions, I feel like I do a pretty good job. The kids generally get excited to have me there, and I've figured out ways to make learning enjoyable. I see the kids once or twice a month, have no idea what they've learned up to that point, and have no idea what kids their age are supposed to learn. It'll take some experience reading the textbooks and teaching lessons before I automatically know which questions are appropriate for each grade.

Before class, the teacher gave me a second year textbook so that I could study the grammar patterns. I went through the textbook and familiarized myself with everything, making a list of example questions along the way. Then class started, and the teacher decided to skip the tate-yoko game. Of course.

But it's okay, because in that class I got to chuckle when the kids and teacher all pronounced earthquake as arsequake.

I'm still hungry

2009-05-26T12:52:00.003+09:00

Lunch was pretty good today. It's a shame that my portions were less than half the size of those of kids less than half my size.

Experience vs. Expectation

2009-05-24T17:55:00.004+09:00

It's funny how much our actual experiences can differ from our expectations. When I got to Uoshima, I got to spend two days with Ethan, my predecessor. Between packing and paperwork, Ethan could unfortunately only offer me a couple of hours to pick his brain and establish realistic expectations for my stay on fish island.

In the time we did spend together, I got to walk around with him and meet some of the people that he was leaving behind. Even though he hadn't studied Japanese at all before coming, two years alone on the island with no English speakers really strengthened his Japanese. Given that I came to Japan to study the language, I loved the thought of being fluent after two years. I couldn't have been in a better position.

Ethan was in fantastic shape when he left. I believe he was a runner before coming to Japan, but he spent the copious free time in the afternoons and evenings running up and down the hills of the circular island road, training for a marathon. Having been out of shape since the age of six, I looked forward to simultaneously slimming down and exploring the island. I would even join the baseball club and hone those skills.

Attached to Uoshima by a stacked stone foot bridge is a little island called Kojima (Japanese for "little island"), where Ethan would go in the evening to read. I envisioned myself composing music on the cool, rough rocks with the sun slipping below the horizon. Afterward, I could hop in the sea for a nice evening swim.

Life would be nice and slow. We'd learn to be self-sufficient with a vegetable garden. Kimiko Azuma, one of two people on the island who spoke English, worked out a deal with an old lady to get us a plot of land. I wrote a few months ago:

We have a plot of land that's been set aside as our garden. It's actually already a garden, but the owner of the land is hurt and won't be able to cultivate it any longer. It's right by the new house, so that's another factor to consider. It's a pretty big plot, about 40 feet by 80 feet.

We brought all sorts of seeds and bought a book about utilizing space in the garden. We were ready to go; we just needed to wait until planting season.

Before Ethan left, he wrote farewell cards to all the people he had gotten to know on the island. When it was time to board the ferry to leave, a bunch of people gathered around to say goodbye. I wrote a little about this:

His send off was touching. Dozens of villagers met him and the docks to see him off. They all held streamers that were on a spool, giving the ends to Ethan and Sarah (his girlfriend) to hold on to as the boat drove away. They remained "connected" to him even as he rode away on the boat (or at least until the streamers broke). It was hard to watch. I hope that I have as big a connection with these people by the time I leave.

Obviously, I looked forward to the day when my heart strings would snap, and I'd be reduced to a sobbing and babbling fool. Actually, I just hoped to build the friendships that would make it so difficult to leave.

So, I obviously had some grandiose visions of life on Uoshima. But what really happened?

First off, most of my long-term expectations became moot the moment I moved to Imabari. But right from the start, my expectations were off. Coming to the island, I was excited to meet the members of my new community. Here's what I wrote:

The ferry ride was beautiful. I was a little motion sick from all the travel, but it was neat to ride on the top of the little ferry and look down at the thousands of harmless jellyfish in the sea. Ethan said that I should be expecting a big welcome when I got home, but that didn't really happen. Ethan's girlfriend and one lady were running up to the docks when we got there with a sign that said "Welcome Mr. Stout to Uoshima!" Ethan seemed miffed that they didn't have more people there...

As for the language, Uoshima forced me to study Japanese enough to communicate, and I had plenty of free time at work. The teachers on Uoshima were amiable, but they rarely spoke to me in Japanese. Even though I had made it clear that I came to Japan to study the language, they instead tried to practice their English. I didn't really grow until Mia came in the middle of the night.

Dealing with the doctors at the hospital in Japanese forced me to learn how to communicate better. I'm not fluent yet, but I also haven't even reached the 10-month mark. My vocabulary is exploding and each day I get a little better at conversing. I understand almost everything I hear (except TV comedy shows--I'm often clueless to the slang). In Imabari, all my schools have at least one person with whom I can converse. Now I have less time to study, but more opportunities to practice Japanese. I can't draw any conclusions yet, but so far I feel that being in Uoshima was necessary at first, but being in Imabari is better for my Japanese in the long run.

Fitness was also a bit of a disappointment. I dropped from 245 pounds to 220 pounds, thanks mostly to the exercise festival and not having a wife at home for two months. While I lost a good chunk of weight, I'm still not happy with my physique. I never got to play real baseball on Uoshima. The weather was much too cold for me to run around the island. So, yeah, my once-tight pants are now baggy. But I never got to explore the island, and I still need to lose a few.

I went out to the little island a couple times, but never with the intent to compose. I figured I'd always have a chance later. Nope. I only went swimming three or four times, but looked forward to next year's summer, when we'd surely go swimming as a family every few days. False. We'd never get the chance.

Though life actually was slow like I'd hoped, we never got the chance to cultivate the garden. We're glad that we didn't, since we would've had to leave it all behind. Here in Imabari, Stef has some planters full of fruits and vegetables that are in various states of health. The first strawberries are almost ready. The cucumbers (or is it the eggplant?) are dead. Stef's having fun, and it's much less work to maintain planters than a whole forty-by-eighty foot garden. While it's not quite what we expected, things are good on the garden front.

I don't believe I've blogged about my teary departure from Uoshima. That's because it never happened.

I spent most of the last day filling out forms at the town hall office. They told me that the boat would leave at about 9:50, and so I should load my stuff onto the boat at 9:30 or so. At 9:10, they told me that I had to load my luggage. I threw my stuff on the boat, and the other teachers, who had been saying good bye to the townsfolk for the previous fifteen minutes, all got on. They handed us each a ribbon or two and the crowd of people held on to the other end of the ribbons. The boat was off at 9:12. I didn't even get to say a personal good bye to the people I got to know. Typically, ALTs on Uoshima get their own send off. But since I was leaving with other teachers, I was just one of many who were leaving. There was no time for tears.

The boat pulled away, tightening my ribbon until it snapped, severing my ties with the island. I guess it doesn't really matter that I never got to say good bye, because I never got to know anyone on the island (outside of the doctor, the band members, and Azuma-san). Imabari is a great place to live, but I'll always look back with fondness at my time on Uoshima. The saddest part about leaving fish island is losing the memories of experiences I never got to have.

Next Time Won’t You Not Desecrate the Classics

2009-05-01T17:09:00.003+09:00

Why can’t people just leave the classics alone? Today in class, we sang the alphabet song. You know, “Ah, vous dirai-je, maman”, the one that shares the same melody as “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”, “Baa, Baa, Black Sheep”, and probably dozens of other children’s songs. We all know it as something pretty close to the following:

A-B-C-D-E-F-Gee (rest)
H-I-J-K-LMNOPee (rest)
Q-R-esS (eh sound) (rest)
T-U-Vee (rest)
W-eX (eh sound) (rest)
Y and Zee. (rest)

Now I know my ABCs. (rest)
Next time, won’t you sing/play with me? (end)

The Canadian version is the same, except for the ending:

…
Y and Zed (rest)

Now I know my As to Zeds-- (rest)
Let’s all go and wet our beds. (wet bed)

Crazy Canucks aside, we can all pretty much agree on the structure of the song. Well, apparently not all of us. Whoever put this horrific Eigo Nooto (English Notebook) program together 1) doesn’t speak English natively and 2) decided that it was too hard for the kids in Japan to learn how to say “LMNOPee.” So, here’s the new version of the song:

A-B-C-D-E-F-Gee (rest)
H-I-J-K-L-M-eN (rest)
O-P-Q-R-S-T-yU (rest)
V-W and X-Y-Zee (rest)

Happy, happy. I’m ha-PPY. (rest)
I can sing my ABC. (shoot self)

Since there’s almost no communication between team-teachers about lessons, I was ill-prepared for this travesty come class time. The teacher hit “play” on the CD player and asked me to direct the singing. I loathingly shook my head when the vocalist strayed from the normal, accepted, canonized version of the ABC song. It's one thing to change a word or two, but another to change the entire structure of a song.

But let’s look at the real problem behind this version of the song: it sucks. No attempt whatsoever was made to preserve the meter of the original. The final sounds of stanzas are nowhere close to being related. And the virtual/hermaphrodite/wrenched stress/weakened/anisobaric rhyme of ha-PPY would have been bad enough if it wasn’t paired with the ungrammatical, highly Japanese-sounding “I can sing my ABC.”

I made a point of enunciating the nonexistent “s” each of the twelve times I was forced to sing this disgraceful rubbish, but I don’t know if they noticed. The lyrics are written (just as sung) in the textbooks. When a teacher asked me for clarification on the pronunciation of this horrible song, I did my best to explain that this was not the normal version.

What will happen when these Japanese kids sing their “ABC” out in the English-speaking real world? Oh, the ignominy! The shame! The Ministry of Education is sending these poor children on a collision course with awkward embarrassment. I know it’s a difficult task, but I will voluntarily bear the massive burden of cleansing their English. Hey, somebody’s got to do it.

The Time We Went Out for All-You-Can-Eat Yakiniku

2009-04-30T15:24:00.007+09:00

So, today I bid adieu to greatness as I usher in the era of my physical decline.

Bill James, a baseball statistics guru, found that most baseball players experienced peak performance between the ages of 26 and 28, after which time they began a slippery-slope-style decline.

Rather than dwell on the bleakness of my future, I choose to live out my unfulfilled sports glory through my children, and reminisce of the past. Today, it is in this spirit of nostalgia that I write about an experience that I had when my mom came to visit us in Japan while Mia was in the hospital in Matsuyama.

One day in late January or early February, Mom and I dropped by the Ehime Prefectural Information Center (EPIC) in Matsuyama to renew the agreement on my rental bike. While we were there, a very helpful woman named Noriko Omori gave us some advice on places to visit, as well as some simple maps of surrounding Matsuyama. Stef and I wanted to treat Mom to a nice dinner, so we inquired about all-you-can-eat yakiniku restaurants, and she pointed to the unfamiliar side of the map and explained that there was a good one right by the movie theater on the far edge of town. She suggested that we first peruse the fine fabrics of the textile museum, after which we could enjoy the tantalizing taste of thinly shaved meat, meticulously marinated in a savory sauce and grilled right before our eyes at our table--perhaps after a soothing soak in the luxurious hot spring.

"Who talks like that?" I asked.
"Someone who's employed by the chamber of commerce," Mom quipped.

We decided we’d at least give the meat place a shot.

At night, when it was already slightly past our usual dinner time, we jaunted over to the train station to catch a city train to the unfamiliar neighborhood with the meat joint. We forgot to bring the stroller with us, and Kelsey stopped cooperating before we even got to the train station. On the train, the only way to keep her from shrieking was to hold her up so that she could hang like an Olympian on the hand rings until we got to our stop. I listened intently for the name of the stop that I thought we were supposed to take, and got off when I thought I recognized it.

It was about a five or ten minute walk from the station to the complex with the movie theater. Kelsey didn’t want to be held, but she wouldn’t hold our hands while she walked. She still hasn’t figured out that holding her own hand is not a solution. I walked alongside her like a sheepdog, making sure she didn’t stray into the street. Eventually it got to be too difficult, and I just picked her up and plopped her on my shoulders--much to her dismay. We walked around the back of a restaurant and through a parking lot toward the movie theater, keeping our eyes peeled for anything that looked like a meat place. One restaurant appeared to serve meat in some capacity, but most of the myriad restaurants in the complex offered some other specialty dish.

Omori-san hadn’t given us a name, since she didn’t know what the place was called. All we had to go on was the Japanese word for “all-you-can-eat”, or “tabehoudai”. I popped my head into a pachinko parlor to ask one of the peppy attendants if they knew where the restaurant was, and her pleasant demeanor turned serious. She called one of the other attendants over on her radio headset and they intently discussed the location of our mysterious restaurant. The girl wasn’t positive, but the guy she consulted was sure that we should head across the parking lot over to the place that had appeared to serve some kind of meat. We thanked the attendants and gave it a shot.

The restaurant appeared to be pretty classy, or, in other words, expensive. The menu outside the front door displayed a feast of a meal for the equivalent of about 30 or 40 dollars. Omori-san had pegged the tabehoudai price at about 12-15 dollars a person, and I probably could have eaten the 40-dollar feast by myself. I went in and asked the guy at the front desk if they offered tabehoudai, and he sadly replied that they didn’t. I asked if, by chance, he knew of one in the neighborhood. I was set on Mom getting to try yakiniku and on me getting my money’s worth.

The man, obviously impressed with my flawless Japanese, fired off the directions to the meat place. Just around some building, some nonsense words past the doohickey, a stoplight or two up the street, a left (or was it a right?), then kitty-corner (or past it--they sound the same) from a place. It was right there. I convinced myself that I understood his directions and set out with my increasingly impatient and hungry family in search for the mythical restaurant. I followed (what I understood of) his directions to the best of my ability, until we got to where I thought he had intended to send us. We realized that there was no way we would find it and decided to ask a third person for directions.

It was now nearly two hours after our normal dinner time, and we were all starving. I was walking the thin line between hunger and murder, and Kelsey was beyond unbearable. My final stop in the search for the meat shack was a restaurant-slash-coffee shop. Leaving the girls outside, I went in and asked the waitress if she knew of any yakiniku tabehoudai places in the neighborhood, and she said that she did, but that it was a bit of a walk. She hurried over to her boss, took off her apron and beckoned me to follow her. I expected her to just point us in the direction of the restaurant, but she was taking us there. An employee of a restaurant leaving her job to show us how to get to another restaurant. Would that ever happen anywhere else? Would the TGIFridays people walk you to the nearest Outback? Somehow, I doubt it.

We followed her back in the direction that we came from. We crossed the street, went around a few small buildings, walked through a parking lot, and jogged around one big building, until the restaurant was in sight. There it was, across the parking lot: the Holy Grail of Restaurants. The Big Cheese. The Hallowed House of Bounteous Beef. The same exact restaurant that sent me toward the coffee shop.

We thanked the lady for her help, and I burst into an uncontrollable fit of rage and tears. Or not. But at this point, I was ready to wither and crumble into nonexistence. Kelsey needed to eat. I needed to eat. We all needed to eat. We resigned ourselves to an okonomiyaki shop, which was a bit disappointing considering that the three or four places in which we had theretofore eaten were okonomiyaki shops. But it no longer mattered what we ate. I had failed in my quest to find the meat place.

We sat down at the restaurant and ordered our food, and they quickly brought out the ingredients for our okonomiyaki. Kelsey got a toy boat full of finger foods and noodles. When nobody came back to help cook our food, we realized that it was up to us to prepare it. While we had seen others make it, it was our first chance to cook okonomiyaki. And to burn okonomiyaki.

Burnt or not, it was extremely delicious. As miserable as we all were before we got there, we now felt pretty good about our dinner that night. We even indulged with some soft serve ice cream.

Exhausted, we carried Kelsey back to the train and went home for the night.

I have a whole life of physical decline ahead of me. It's time to focus on the areas that won't decline until I'm at least 30. Like wisdom. I discovered quite a few pearls that night:

The Holy Grail of Restaurants, no matter where you are, doesn’t exist. Don’t be stubborn. You will not find it.

Don't ask for directions in Japan. It doesn’t matter how little Japanese people actually know about something: they’ll go totally out of their way to help you, even if it actually ends up being more of a hindrance than a help.

Dang it, even in my nostalgic, partially-confabulated peak season, I was still a jerk.

You can never go wrong with okonomiyaki.

Grandparents Want More Pics

2009-04-29T18:11:00.001+09:00

Pictures From My Phone

2009-04-29T13:48:00.002+09:00

I finally got a memory card for my phone, so now I can upload my impromptu pics from the last few months.