Apology is Policy
I want to apologize for the lack of pictures posted lately. Originally, I wanted this blog to be more photo-oriented, and I swear I'll get it back on track for all you casual readers. I'm a bit limited at the moment, as I can only access the internet from my work computer, which operates entirely in Japanese. Julianna and I just recieved our "gaijin" alien registration cards, however, so we're now eligible to get broadband set up at our apartment. But it might take another week or so.
I'm here at my school now, pounding out the details for my self-introduction lesson. I gave two short speeches this morning. The first was at the teachers meeting, and I stumbled through my notes in haltering Japanese. I think it went over rather well, considering. The second speech was a brief self-introduction at this morning's all-school assembly. Naturally, I got a few laughs when I had to adjust the height of the microphone. And the students liked it when I dropped the obvious Ichiro reference in regard to Seattle.
More later...
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Dread Nought, Dear Friends, Dread Nought
With a bit of help from a big Aussie friend, my guitar quest ended with the aquisition of a new Aria Dreadnought acoustic/electric. I've never heard of the brand, but the guitar has a nice, thick, earthy acoustic sound and great action. It has a pick-up in the bridge, plus a flexible mic below the strings. The volume control, fader, and other controls are all located just inside the lip of the sound hole. Hence, there are no awkward black control boxes on the outside of an otherwise natural looking guitar. I'm definately pleased with my find. Here's to hoping it records well.
This morning I made my first trip to my visit school, where I'll be working on Thursdays and Fridays. The faculty and staff were very welcoming, especially the English teachers, who seemed like an amiable lot. The only downside is that, while the school is only ten minutes away by car, it's nearly an hour away by bus. But at least there are no transfers involved.
After taking the bus back, my supervisor and I went to the Sendai Mediatheque, a massive library/gallery/media space that was designed by a famous Japanese architect. I'll write more on the building later, but it's very modern and thoroughly impressive. I applied for a library card and discovered that yes, I can borrow DVDs for free on the 7th floor. The selection is somewhat limited, but they do have a great collection of classic films. The contemporary films they have are a rather scattershot lot, hit or miss really. For instance, I found Chinatown right next to Harrison Ford's The Witness.
Tomorrow, the English club at my school is participating in a prefecture-wide skit contest. Theirs is a funny little piece about a man who moves into a new apartment and is convinced there are bugs, secret listening devices, hidden within the walls. Much chaos then ensues, due to the landlord's confusion between bugs and bugs. Apparently, my school won the contest last year, but I get the impression this win was a bit of a fluke. I'm going to guarantee first prize for next year!
I'm a bit nervous for Thursday, when I'm supposed to deliver a short introduction address at the school assembly. Maybe I should just wing it and tell a few jokes.
With a bit of help from a big Aussie friend, my guitar quest ended with the aquisition of a new Aria Dreadnought acoustic/electric. I've never heard of the brand, but the guitar has a nice, thick, earthy acoustic sound and great action. It has a pick-up in the bridge, plus a flexible mic below the strings. The volume control, fader, and other controls are all located just inside the lip of the sound hole. Hence, there are no awkward black control boxes on the outside of an otherwise natural looking guitar. I'm definately pleased with my find. Here's to hoping it records well.
This morning I made my first trip to my visit school, where I'll be working on Thursdays and Fridays. The faculty and staff were very welcoming, especially the English teachers, who seemed like an amiable lot. The only downside is that, while the school is only ten minutes away by car, it's nearly an hour away by bus. But at least there are no transfers involved.
After taking the bus back, my supervisor and I went to the Sendai Mediatheque, a massive library/gallery/media space that was designed by a famous Japanese architect. I'll write more on the building later, but it's very modern and thoroughly impressive. I applied for a library card and discovered that yes, I can borrow DVDs for free on the 7th floor. The selection is somewhat limited, but they do have a great collection of classic films. The contemporary films they have are a rather scattershot lot, hit or miss really. For instance, I found Chinatown right next to Harrison Ford's The Witness.
Tomorrow, the English club at my school is participating in a prefecture-wide skit contest. Theirs is a funny little piece about a man who moves into a new apartment and is convinced there are bugs, secret listening devices, hidden within the walls. Much chaos then ensues, due to the landlord's confusion between bugs and bugs. Apparently, my school won the contest last year, but I get the impression this win was a bit of a fluke. I'm going to guarantee first prize for next year!
I'm a bit nervous for Thursday, when I'm supposed to deliver a short introduction address at the school assembly. Maybe I should just wing it and tell a few jokes.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Take a Number, Have a Seat
The day is winding down and in a few minutes I'm going to walk to Julianna's school so that I can help the poor gimp down the street to our apartment. Since school doesn't start until Thursday, today was basically an exercise in errand-running. With my supervisor's help, I opened an account at 77, Sendai's local bank. Funny thing, really. Japanese banks operate in a very similar manner to the Department of Licensing in the states. Meaning, you take a number and get served in about twenty minutes. Then, once you're being helped by a teller, you're asked to fill out some vague paperwork. Having accomplished this, you'll be politely asked to sit down and wait for another five minutes while said paperwork is being processed. This pattern occured today no less than three times. On the flip-side, however, Japanese ATMs are the BMWs to the junky '92 Ford Tauruses that are stateside auto-tellers. I've got a handy dandy bank book that keeps track of all my deposits and withdrawels everytime I insert it into an ATM. No messy checkbooks with ill-performed math, no ledger lines or scribbled notes. Personal checks are virtually non-existant in Japan, in fact. To boot, all of my utility bills are automatically withdrawn from my account on the day they are due. No late fees, no dashes to the post office, no walking into your apartment to find the power has been cut. Oh, and my electric bill for this month was roughly $7.
Today was payday, and to celebrate I'm going to venture downtown in search of a used acoustic/electric guitar. Wish me luck!
The day is winding down and in a few minutes I'm going to walk to Julianna's school so that I can help the poor gimp down the street to our apartment. Since school doesn't start until Thursday, today was basically an exercise in errand-running. With my supervisor's help, I opened an account at 77, Sendai's local bank. Funny thing, really. Japanese banks operate in a very similar manner to the Department of Licensing in the states. Meaning, you take a number and get served in about twenty minutes. Then, once you're being helped by a teller, you're asked to fill out some vague paperwork. Having accomplished this, you'll be politely asked to sit down and wait for another five minutes while said paperwork is being processed. This pattern occured today no less than three times. On the flip-side, however, Japanese ATMs are the BMWs to the junky '92 Ford Tauruses that are stateside auto-tellers. I've got a handy dandy bank book that keeps track of all my deposits and withdrawels everytime I insert it into an ATM. No messy checkbooks with ill-performed math, no ledger lines or scribbled notes. Personal checks are virtually non-existant in Japan, in fact. To boot, all of my utility bills are automatically withdrawn from my account on the day they are due. No late fees, no dashes to the post office, no walking into your apartment to find the power has been cut. Oh, and my electric bill for this month was roughly $7.
Today was payday, and to celebrate I'm going to venture downtown in search of a used acoustic/electric guitar. Wish me luck!
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Stillness, Subjunctives, and the Hiring of Cripples
R.H. Blythe, in his first volume on Haiku, states that "stillness is not immobility, but a perfect balance of opposed forces." Sure, in an ideal poetic world. But taken literally, Julianna's current state swiftly debunks this zen-like claim. Rendered immobile by the opposing force of gravity on a split bone, her stillness is that of constricting necessity.
Then again, being spread out on a thick futon with a ready supply of books and DVDs, not to mention the loving kindnesses of a doting spouse, sounds like a pretty perfect balance to me.
I promised Part Two of Julianna's tragic weekend, but I'm a bit tied up at the moment. I'm here at work brushing up on my language abilities, reading the sixth edition of Understanding English Grammar. Despite my tenure as an English major, and with my heartfelt apologies to Prof. Julia Young, the book appears to be unused. I say appears only because the crisp pages have been flipped, although infrequently enough to look untouched. I lugged the title here somewhat reluctantly, as it displaced the American literature anthology I wanted to bring. I have a nagging suspicion, however, that its pages will be dog-eared and painted in flourescent yellow by year's end.
Tomorrow begins a three day Miyagi ALT orientation, and we're carefully considering the logistics of getting Julianna around without further smashing her already gimp leg. Stairs, toilets, and bathing facilities present the obvious challenges. We were joking around last night when I sharply suggested all the new ALTs will be whispering "I didn't know they hired cripples!" Despite the inconvenient circumstances, she's been surprisingly resiliant and in good spirits to boot.
R.H. Blythe, in his first volume on Haiku, states that "stillness is not immobility, but a perfect balance of opposed forces." Sure, in an ideal poetic world. But taken literally, Julianna's current state swiftly debunks this zen-like claim. Rendered immobile by the opposing force of gravity on a split bone, her stillness is that of constricting necessity.
Then again, being spread out on a thick futon with a ready supply of books and DVDs, not to mention the loving kindnesses of a doting spouse, sounds like a pretty perfect balance to me.
I promised Part Two of Julianna's tragic weekend, but I'm a bit tied up at the moment. I'm here at work brushing up on my language abilities, reading the sixth edition of Understanding English Grammar. Despite my tenure as an English major, and with my heartfelt apologies to Prof. Julia Young, the book appears to be unused. I say appears only because the crisp pages have been flipped, although infrequently enough to look untouched. I lugged the title here somewhat reluctantly, as it displaced the American literature anthology I wanted to bring. I have a nagging suspicion, however, that its pages will be dog-eared and painted in flourescent yellow by year's end.
Tomorrow begins a three day Miyagi ALT orientation, and we're carefully considering the logistics of getting Julianna around without further smashing her already gimp leg. Stairs, toilets, and bathing facilities present the obvious challenges. We were joking around last night when I sharply suggested all the new ALTs will be whispering "I didn't know they hired cripples!" Despite the inconvenient circumstances, she's been surprisingly resiliant and in good spirits to boot.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Part One: Better Late Than Broken
First, by way of explanation, the circumstances leading up to the incident. It is a roughly forty minute walk from Shoei Haitsu, our modest apartment in the Aoba ward, to Sendai Station. Largely downhill, what should be a leisurely stroll is bogged to a slow crawl in the thick weight of summer humidity. It is absolutely necessary, then, to remain hydrated and avoid over-exertion. On Thursday, however, we neglected necessity and set out with no food and little water in our still-unadjusted systems. We had a Yamoto-bound train to catch, and we were late. Considering the outcome, I wish now that we had waited for the next train, sat down for a healthy meal, and drank a liter of water or two.
Instead, we made a mad rush to the station, sat down at MacDonald’s for quick double cheeseburgers, and sipped our syrupy Cokes. This oily cuisine precluded a dash through the ticket turnstile and down an escalator to our stop. When we finally boarded the train, it was crowded with home-bound salarymen and school kids. The seats were all taken by men lightly dozing in their “cool biz” summer attire and old women handling wooden canes between their knobby knees. We stood then near the entrance, across from a loud gaggle of highschoolers and beside a twenty-something silent hipster wearing Converse All-Stars and listening to his iPod shuffle. The train started with a jolt and Julianna grabbed my waist to keep from falling over. Seated near us was a middle-aged Japanese woman who pulled from a tattered canvas bag an equally tattered Japanese Bible. She opened the book to its black silk ribbon, nestled somewhere in the Old Testament. I pointed out this curious sight to Julianna, who smiled wearily between two average I'm-getting-kind-of-tired kind of yawns.
Two stops from Yamoto, Julianna mentioned she did, in fact, feel an acute exhaustion, coupled with a bout of dizziness from the ever-swaying rackety motion of the elevated train compartment. She looked stunned, flushed, as if consciousness itself, the influx of constant foreign and overwhelming information, was too much to bear. And it was. As the train sped through a back-to-back series of S-curves, Julianna collapsed into me, her eyes glazed and closing, the sudden dead weight of her body startling and unexpected. I tried my best to hold her up but her knees, like under-watered flower stalks, buckled limply beneath her. She crumpled to the thankfully clean floor and I cradled the back of her head. Some other passengers, including Tattered Bible Woman and Converse Boy, circled around us, anxious to help. Another woman quickly knelt, put her hands under Julianna's shoulders and began asking me questions in spitfire Japanese. After sucking air through my teeth and repeatedly muttering wakarimasen, I don't understand, I somehow managed to explain that we were English teachers in Sendai, going to Yamoto to visit a friend. Meanwhile, I brushed Julianna's hair from her face and pried her eyelid open with my thumb, revealing a dull orb that rolled lifelessly despite my persistent, pleading stare. I asked her in my most tender voice to please wake up, though this tenderness quickly succumbed to more urgent vocalizations. The train conductor then came out of his booth to assess the situation and asked, in hesitant English, “what stop?” Yamoto was, by this time, only five minutes away. Tattered Bible Woman tapped me on the shoulder and indicated that she had vacated several seats and that we should let Julianna rest.
After we arranged her somewhat awkwardly supine, Julianna's eyelids began a slow, promising flutter and her breath began to quicken. Like a rebooted computer, she flickered back into working order, albeit, to continue the simile, with the limited functions of“safe mode.” I touched her cheek; are you okay? How do you feel? Can you sit up? Tattered Bible Woman made the universal drinking symbol and fished around in her canvas tote. She produced a plastic bottle that contained no more than two or three gulps worth of water. Converse Boy also came forth with some Pocari Sweat, a Gatorade-type drink that boasts a bounty of refreshing electrolytes. As Julianna took a few cautious sips, the color returned to her face, though I can't say if it was due to the water or her emergent embarrassment at having fainted on a crowded train. “I'm okay, I think,” she said, wincing at some unseen pain, “but I think I did something to my ankle."
Part Two: Doctors (and Teachers) Know Best, is forthcoming.
Don't worry, she's doing okay, reclining in bed with an elevated leg, watching Oprah on DVD. But yes, if you haven't heard, her leg is broken near the ankle, the tibula, I think. I'll save the medical specifics for the next installment, but please pray for the best! Having a broken leg is no way to start a year teaching in Japan.
First, by way of explanation, the circumstances leading up to the incident. It is a roughly forty minute walk from Shoei Haitsu, our modest apartment in the Aoba ward, to Sendai Station. Largely downhill, what should be a leisurely stroll is bogged to a slow crawl in the thick weight of summer humidity. It is absolutely necessary, then, to remain hydrated and avoid over-exertion. On Thursday, however, we neglected necessity and set out with no food and little water in our still-unadjusted systems. We had a Yamoto-bound train to catch, and we were late. Considering the outcome, I wish now that we had waited for the next train, sat down for a healthy meal, and drank a liter of water or two.
Instead, we made a mad rush to the station, sat down at MacDonald’s for quick double cheeseburgers, and sipped our syrupy Cokes. This oily cuisine precluded a dash through the ticket turnstile and down an escalator to our stop. When we finally boarded the train, it was crowded with home-bound salarymen and school kids. The seats were all taken by men lightly dozing in their “cool biz” summer attire and old women handling wooden canes between their knobby knees. We stood then near the entrance, across from a loud gaggle of highschoolers and beside a twenty-something silent hipster wearing Converse All-Stars and listening to his iPod shuffle. The train started with a jolt and Julianna grabbed my waist to keep from falling over. Seated near us was a middle-aged Japanese woman who pulled from a tattered canvas bag an equally tattered Japanese Bible. She opened the book to its black silk ribbon, nestled somewhere in the Old Testament. I pointed out this curious sight to Julianna, who smiled wearily between two average I'm-getting-kind-of-tired kind of yawns.
Two stops from Yamoto, Julianna mentioned she did, in fact, feel an acute exhaustion, coupled with a bout of dizziness from the ever-swaying rackety motion of the elevated train compartment. She looked stunned, flushed, as if consciousness itself, the influx of constant foreign and overwhelming information, was too much to bear. And it was. As the train sped through a back-to-back series of S-curves, Julianna collapsed into me, her eyes glazed and closing, the sudden dead weight of her body startling and unexpected. I tried my best to hold her up but her knees, like under-watered flower stalks, buckled limply beneath her. She crumpled to the thankfully clean floor and I cradled the back of her head. Some other passengers, including Tattered Bible Woman and Converse Boy, circled around us, anxious to help. Another woman quickly knelt, put her hands under Julianna's shoulders and began asking me questions in spitfire Japanese. After sucking air through my teeth and repeatedly muttering wakarimasen, I don't understand, I somehow managed to explain that we were English teachers in Sendai, going to Yamoto to visit a friend. Meanwhile, I brushed Julianna's hair from her face and pried her eyelid open with my thumb, revealing a dull orb that rolled lifelessly despite my persistent, pleading stare. I asked her in my most tender voice to please wake up, though this tenderness quickly succumbed to more urgent vocalizations. The train conductor then came out of his booth to assess the situation and asked, in hesitant English, “what stop?” Yamoto was, by this time, only five minutes away. Tattered Bible Woman tapped me on the shoulder and indicated that she had vacated several seats and that we should let Julianna rest.
After we arranged her somewhat awkwardly supine, Julianna's eyelids began a slow, promising flutter and her breath began to quicken. Like a rebooted computer, she flickered back into working order, albeit, to continue the simile, with the limited functions of“safe mode.” I touched her cheek; are you okay? How do you feel? Can you sit up? Tattered Bible Woman made the universal drinking symbol and fished around in her canvas tote. She produced a plastic bottle that contained no more than two or three gulps worth of water. Converse Boy also came forth with some Pocari Sweat, a Gatorade-type drink that boasts a bounty of refreshing electrolytes. As Julianna took a few cautious sips, the color returned to her face, though I can't say if it was due to the water or her emergent embarrassment at having fainted on a crowded train. “I'm okay, I think,” she said, wincing at some unseen pain, “but I think I did something to my ankle."
Part Two: Doctors (and Teachers) Know Best, is forthcoming.
Don't worry, she's doing okay, reclining in bed with an elevated leg, watching Oprah on DVD. But yes, if you haven't heard, her leg is broken near the ankle, the tibula, I think. I'll save the medical specifics for the next installment, but please pray for the best! Having a broken leg is no way to start a year teaching in Japan.
Friday, August 04, 2006
The Hot Fuzzies: Konnichiwa!
I was suddenly reminded of the old man we passed while walking into the city yesterday. He had the sweetest face, with a gummy, toothless mouth and shockingly white eyebrows that arched upward in perpetual surprise. He was taking his grand-daughter, I assume, for a little jaunt around the block. She couldn't have been more than two or three. As we approached he turned her so she could see us and, with a hearty konnichiwa, began tenderly moving her arm to gesticulate a wave. We waved back, returned the hello, and were hit promptly and palpably with a case of the warm fuzzies.
I was suddenly reminded of the old man we passed while walking into the city yesterday. He had the sweetest face, with a gummy, toothless mouth and shockingly white eyebrows that arched upward in perpetual surprise. He was taking his grand-daughter, I assume, for a little jaunt around the block. She couldn't have been more than two or three. As we approached he turned her so she could see us and, with a hearty konnichiwa, began tenderly moving her arm to gesticulate a wave. We waved back, returned the hello, and were hit promptly and palpably with a case of the warm fuzzies.
Tatami Smells Like Vegetables
Last night, as Julianna and I were crossing the bridge to my school, we stopped for a moment to admire the Hirose river. A broad swatch of green, it cuts through the western end of Sendai proper, pushing back the towering government buildings and squatty tenements while buffering itself with an unexpected border of parkland and trees. The air was a dusky purple of a kind I've only seen here, nowhere else. And for the first time, not in the busy neon flashing of Shinjuku, nor in the mutated and monstrous Times Square that is Shibuya, I truly felt that I was in Japan.
We were returning from Ichibancho-Dori, one of the two intersecting shopping arcades that neatly divide central Sendai. Julianna was naturally excited, the prospect of unlimited shopping firing off girlish synapses in her otherwise sane and level head. I kid, I kid. Truth told, I found some shops I'll be sure to haunt, including a little place that sells screen-printed T-shirts from artists around the world (lot's of b-boy stuff, Jose).
There's so much else to say that I hardly no where to begin. We arrived in Sendai after a lickety-split six hour bus ride with the other Miyagi-ken JETs. We were promptly ushered into the local Board of Education to meet our supervisors and participate in a short, extremely organized ceremony in which we received certificates announcing our new position as assistant language teachers. Julianna and I then split up to visit our respective schools. At Sendai Niko SHS I met with the Kocho-Sensei (Principle), a kind man with beautiful English. In fact, most of the teachers I'll be working with have a great command of the language. I, of course, feel quite fortunate for this, as other JETs must contend with being the sole English speaker in their towns. My supervisor then took me to our apartment, which I'll post pictures of shortly. To Japanese standards our place is fairly large, with two tatami rooms, a western styled room (i.e. carpet) and a decent sized kitchen. It's a little noisy, as we're right above a main road, but it's really a great place. The location, in fact, is amazing, less than a 30 minute walk into downtown and super-close to our base schools. We've got a large COOP supermarket a few blocks down the street, adjoined by a bookstore, internet cafe, and Italian restaurant. It's quite strange, Julianna and I have eaten Italian in Japan more often than we ever eat it in the States!
Tomorrow there is a giant fireworks display that launches the annual Tannabata festival. We'll also meet up with a few other ALTs for an improvised tour of the city. I'll try to post some pictures soon.
In short, we're doing well, slowly allowing ourselves to adjust to our new surroundings. We'll keep you posted...
Last night, as Julianna and I were crossing the bridge to my school, we stopped for a moment to admire the Hirose river. A broad swatch of green, it cuts through the western end of Sendai proper, pushing back the towering government buildings and squatty tenements while buffering itself with an unexpected border of parkland and trees. The air was a dusky purple of a kind I've only seen here, nowhere else. And for the first time, not in the busy neon flashing of Shinjuku, nor in the mutated and monstrous Times Square that is Shibuya, I truly felt that I was in Japan.
We were returning from Ichibancho-Dori, one of the two intersecting shopping arcades that neatly divide central Sendai. Julianna was naturally excited, the prospect of unlimited shopping firing off girlish synapses in her otherwise sane and level head. I kid, I kid. Truth told, I found some shops I'll be sure to haunt, including a little place that sells screen-printed T-shirts from artists around the world (lot's of b-boy stuff, Jose).
There's so much else to say that I hardly no where to begin. We arrived in Sendai after a lickety-split six hour bus ride with the other Miyagi-ken JETs. We were promptly ushered into the local Board of Education to meet our supervisors and participate in a short, extremely organized ceremony in which we received certificates announcing our new position as assistant language teachers. Julianna and I then split up to visit our respective schools. At Sendai Niko SHS I met with the Kocho-Sensei (Principle), a kind man with beautiful English. In fact, most of the teachers I'll be working with have a great command of the language. I, of course, feel quite fortunate for this, as other JETs must contend with being the sole English speaker in their towns. My supervisor then took me to our apartment, which I'll post pictures of shortly. To Japanese standards our place is fairly large, with two tatami rooms, a western styled room (i.e. carpet) and a decent sized kitchen. It's a little noisy, as we're right above a main road, but it's really a great place. The location, in fact, is amazing, less than a 30 minute walk into downtown and super-close to our base schools. We've got a large COOP supermarket a few blocks down the street, adjoined by a bookstore, internet cafe, and Italian restaurant. It's quite strange, Julianna and I have eaten Italian in Japan more often than we ever eat it in the States!
Tomorrow there is a giant fireworks display that launches the annual Tannabata festival. We'll also meet up with a few other ALTs for an improvised tour of the city. I'll try to post some pictures soon.
In short, we're doing well, slowly allowing ourselves to adjust to our new surroundings. We'll keep you posted...
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