Tuesday, February 24, 2004
Relatively soon after I arrived in Mine, like maybe in September, I happened to make the aquantaince of a Pakistani man who claimed to live in Mine. I was walking down the main street in town on my lunch break, probably going to Fugi for a cream puff or eclair, or maybe some ice cream or cookies, when all of the sudden I heard someone yelling. Turning around to see what was going on, I saw a man motioning to me from his parked car. Curious, I went over and a man of middle eastern descent, probably in his late 30s or early 40s starts asking my where I am from and what my name is and if I live in Mine and if he can have my phone number and if I want to go to some bar with him sometime for a drink. Completely confused, I learned that the man was "in the car business", was from Pakistan, but lived in Mine. When I got back to the office, i asked if they knew of anyone from Pakistan in the "car business" who lived in Mine. After I managed to explain where Pakistan was and why I wanted to know, they said that, no, they had never heard of of man like this, but maybe we should all go over to town hall and check out the city register to be sure. A few months later, my office did confirm that there was someone from the middle east in Mine as there were a couple of children enrolled at one of the elementary schools with names from that region.
Because I had been reading a lot of cnn.com at the time of my run-in with the Pakistani, I somehow managed to convince myself that he was an al-qaeda operative out to go all terrorist on the one American resident of Mine, Japan. But when I was never kidnapped and abducted to the mountains of Afghanistan to be Osama Bin Laden's new concubine, and when I also realized how stupid I was for even thinking such a thing was possible, I let the fact that there was another foreigner of non-asian descent slip my mind. In fact, I had completely forgotten about the man until Monday when I was walking to the post office and a dark blue car pulled up to the curb and who I assume must be the same man started asking me where I was from and if I was a teacher in Mine. Caught off guard by this man yet again, I uncomfortably answered his questions. Then, all of the sudden he asked me where I was going. i said the post office, which was about two blocks away. He patted the passenger seat of his car and told me to get in. I was like, no I want to walk, and he asked me if I was sure and manuevered his hand to the door handle as if about to open the door and help me in to the car. After another refusal, he said ok, and zoomed off. Interesting, huh? Mine is such an international city.
I went back to court this morning for the big "final decision" in my ongoing case against the evil boy who hit poor Toby that fateful night. I think I won...maybe. Well all I know is that I am going to get most of the money to get little Toby all painted up and the rest of the money my insurance company will be paying. If you ever happen to be in Japan and are driving and some guy hits you and it his clearly his fault, don't expect the Japanese court to see it that way. That's all I have to say about that.
Because I had been reading a lot of cnn.com at the time of my run-in with the Pakistani, I somehow managed to convince myself that he was an al-qaeda operative out to go all terrorist on the one American resident of Mine, Japan. But when I was never kidnapped and abducted to the mountains of Afghanistan to be Osama Bin Laden's new concubine, and when I also realized how stupid I was for even thinking such a thing was possible, I let the fact that there was another foreigner of non-asian descent slip my mind. In fact, I had completely forgotten about the man until Monday when I was walking to the post office and a dark blue car pulled up to the curb and who I assume must be the same man started asking me where I was from and if I was a teacher in Mine. Caught off guard by this man yet again, I uncomfortably answered his questions. Then, all of the sudden he asked me where I was going. i said the post office, which was about two blocks away. He patted the passenger seat of his car and told me to get in. I was like, no I want to walk, and he asked me if I was sure and manuevered his hand to the door handle as if about to open the door and help me in to the car. After another refusal, he said ok, and zoomed off. Interesting, huh? Mine is such an international city.
I went back to court this morning for the big "final decision" in my ongoing case against the evil boy who hit poor Toby that fateful night. I think I won...maybe. Well all I know is that I am going to get most of the money to get little Toby all painted up and the rest of the money my insurance company will be paying. If you ever happen to be in Japan and are driving and some guy hits you and it his clearly his fault, don't expect the Japanese court to see it that way. That's all I have to say about that.
Monday, February 23, 2004
It's not like I have never been bored before. I have been bored in Genes and Genetic Engineering class. I have been bored shopping with my family at Home Depot. I have been bored on car trips. I have been bored at the movies. I have been bored being forced to watch Andy Griffith with my mother and even more bored watching the Twilight Zone with my father. Yes, I have been bored before. But I have got to say there is something different about the boredom that I live with day in and day out here in Japan. The boredom here does something to me, something that boredom never managed to do to me back home, no matter how long I was stuck in the plumbing section of Home Depot or how many episodes of The Golden Girls my Mom felt it necessary to watch. Being bored in Japan makes me mean.
I don't tend to think of myself as a mean person. I mean, I was voted second most lovable senior in high school, and there is no way I would have gotten enough votes for that esteemed honor if people thought of me as a mean, judgemental girl, right? But somehow, a mean, judgemental girl is what I tend to be sometimes here in Japan, when my boredom gets the best of me. Take today for example. My assignment today was Isa Junior High, a school that I always am a little apprehensive about visiting because I have had some of my worst bouts of boredom within its walls. I don't know why, because its not like I do less work there than other schools, or that the kind of work I do do differs much from that done elsewhere, but there is something about Isa that just makes me want to scream with boredom. And makes me get mean.
I didn't feel the meanness kick in today until 3rd period, when I joined the selective english class (composed of four students) in watching The Wedding Planner. Sitting in the bleak, chilly little room where the selective class meets and hearing the four girls screeching on and on in Japanese must have made something in me snap because within minutes I was feeling mean. It didn't help that the movie wasn't starting or the girls insisted on asking me questions like "Do you listen to the English when you watch the movie?" and then all shrieking together about how great that was when I was like, with an exasperated half smile, "Of course". As I sadly have already seen The Wedding Planner twice, I found my mind wandering a lot during the 45 minutes the movie was shown. And the places my mind was wandering to were not nice places at all.
Back in the teacher's room, I noticed that one of the teachers, whose small stature had led me to mistake him for a student during one of my first visits to Isa, had changed out of his usual track suit into dress pants and shirt and a tie. But the funny thing was that he had these clip things on each one of his sleeves, cinching it up as to make his sleeves shorter. Because I had nothing else to think about, I found myself growing more and more irritated with this man and his shirt. And I would like to point out that this man has never done anything to me. I don't think he has ever even made eye contact with me. But all i could think about when he was in sight for the rest of the afternoon was why didnt the little man buy shirts in his size and did he think his sleeve clips were cool? These are mean thoughts and while I felt guilty for having them, I couldnt help myself. And later, when I noticed that the giant SUV in the parking lots was his car, I couldnt help but think that it figures that the littlest guy in the office had to not only have the longest sleeves but the biggest car as well.
I could go on and on, detailing the mean, boredom-inspired thoughts I had today, but it actually makes me feel kinda guilty to do that, especially now that I am in the warm office at the Mine City Board of Education and have things like the internet to keep me occupied. I feel almost like happy, second most lovable student in the class of '99 again. I think I am going to make it a goal of mine to not let the boredom make me mean anymore. Will keep you all posted.
This past weekend was a great one. Hung out in Shimonoseki all weekend and got to do fun things like eat really good sushi and smoke on the beach. I came back to Mine Sunday night feeling quite fulfilled and ready to take on the week, but somehow I seem to have already lost that feelin and its only Tuesday. Oh well. Am heading to Tokyo this Friday for a weekend I hope will be equal parts culture and fun. And by fun I mean intoxication.
I don't tend to think of myself as a mean person. I mean, I was voted second most lovable senior in high school, and there is no way I would have gotten enough votes for that esteemed honor if people thought of me as a mean, judgemental girl, right? But somehow, a mean, judgemental girl is what I tend to be sometimes here in Japan, when my boredom gets the best of me. Take today for example. My assignment today was Isa Junior High, a school that I always am a little apprehensive about visiting because I have had some of my worst bouts of boredom within its walls. I don't know why, because its not like I do less work there than other schools, or that the kind of work I do do differs much from that done elsewhere, but there is something about Isa that just makes me want to scream with boredom. And makes me get mean.
I didn't feel the meanness kick in today until 3rd period, when I joined the selective english class (composed of four students) in watching The Wedding Planner. Sitting in the bleak, chilly little room where the selective class meets and hearing the four girls screeching on and on in Japanese must have made something in me snap because within minutes I was feeling mean. It didn't help that the movie wasn't starting or the girls insisted on asking me questions like "Do you listen to the English when you watch the movie?" and then all shrieking together about how great that was when I was like, with an exasperated half smile, "Of course". As I sadly have already seen The Wedding Planner twice, I found my mind wandering a lot during the 45 minutes the movie was shown. And the places my mind was wandering to were not nice places at all.
Back in the teacher's room, I noticed that one of the teachers, whose small stature had led me to mistake him for a student during one of my first visits to Isa, had changed out of his usual track suit into dress pants and shirt and a tie. But the funny thing was that he had these clip things on each one of his sleeves, cinching it up as to make his sleeves shorter. Because I had nothing else to think about, I found myself growing more and more irritated with this man and his shirt. And I would like to point out that this man has never done anything to me. I don't think he has ever even made eye contact with me. But all i could think about when he was in sight for the rest of the afternoon was why didnt the little man buy shirts in his size and did he think his sleeve clips were cool? These are mean thoughts and while I felt guilty for having them, I couldnt help myself. And later, when I noticed that the giant SUV in the parking lots was his car, I couldnt help but think that it figures that the littlest guy in the office had to not only have the longest sleeves but the biggest car as well.
I could go on and on, detailing the mean, boredom-inspired thoughts I had today, but it actually makes me feel kinda guilty to do that, especially now that I am in the warm office at the Mine City Board of Education and have things like the internet to keep me occupied. I feel almost like happy, second most lovable student in the class of '99 again. I think I am going to make it a goal of mine to not let the boredom make me mean anymore. Will keep you all posted.
This past weekend was a great one. Hung out in Shimonoseki all weekend and got to do fun things like eat really good sushi and smoke on the beach. I came back to Mine Sunday night feeling quite fulfilled and ready to take on the week, but somehow I seem to have already lost that feelin and its only Tuesday. Oh well. Am heading to Tokyo this Friday for a weekend I hope will be equal parts culture and fun. And by fun I mean intoxication.
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
So who here has been to Japanese court? I have! I know you are all jealous. Although, in all honesty, it was not the most exciting thing ever. I mean, all that happened, as far as I could understand, was that my supervisor and I sat in this room for a couple of hours, talked to random Japanese guys (two judges and an insurance agent? not really sure) and then were told that I would have to come back next Wednesday for the final decision. So yeah, it wasn't the Law and Order meets Japan scenario that I was hoping for, and I didn't even have to dress nicely (the guy who hit me, who turned up right before we left with a couple of other random Japanese guys, didn't). Oh well. My plan is to just tell people I have been to Japanese court, but not tell them exactly how unexciting that really was.
It is such a beautiful day in Mine today. Apparently, this is the kind of weather the city usually doesn't get until April. I hope it lasts, and that there are no more blizzards because I am getting super excited for the Burning of the Fleece Suit ceremony, which will be happening just as soon as I don't have to sleep in the thing every night anymore. I wonder what my neighbors would think if I built a bonfire in the grassy area outside the apartment building, and cast my fleece items into it. I suppose I could just tell them it is an important American tradition, or maybe a religious custom symbolic of rebirth if they ask too many questions.
It is such a beautiful day in Mine today. Apparently, this is the kind of weather the city usually doesn't get until April. I hope it lasts, and that there are no more blizzards because I am getting super excited for the Burning of the Fleece Suit ceremony, which will be happening just as soon as I don't have to sleep in the thing every night anymore. I wonder what my neighbors would think if I built a bonfire in the grassy area outside the apartment building, and cast my fleece items into it. I suppose I could just tell them it is an important American tradition, or maybe a religious custom symbolic of rebirth if they ask too many questions.
Sunday, February 15, 2004
You always know it was a good night out if the next day your hair still smells like smoke even though you washed it with your most fragrant shampoo and conditioner. As you might have expected, my return to binge drinking after a month's absence was a smashing success. In all honesty, it was probably a little too much of a success.
Yesterday, Saturday, Meagan, Selene and I hopped on a shinkansen bound for Hiroshima. If the shinkansen didn' t cost so much it would probably be my favorite thing in Japan. I mean to drive to Hiroshima would take like nearly 4 hours from Mine, but on the train, you get there in less than one. Pure genius. Anyway, after checking into our ryokan and briefly freaking out over sign declaring the establishment had an 11 pm curfew (don't worry, there actually wasn't one), we headed out to see The Return of the King. We had been worried that we might not be able to get tickets as it was opening weekend at all, but luckily the theater was gigantic, with about 650 seats, so even Mary, who arrived only about 5 minutes before the film started, was able to get in.
I think it would be safe to say that the four of enjoyed the film immensely, and also probably annoyed a great number of Japanese who might not have seen the humor that we did in Gollum's refering to Sam the Hobbit as "the fat one" and in the lines "the fat one cannot know" and "the fat one wants the precious". If they weren't annoyed, they were at least probably a little confused about why the four whiteys kept repeating the line aloud after the scene had ended, laughing hysterically.
After the movie, we met up with Jo, ate some pasta, and headed back to the ryokan to beautify ourselves and start the boozin'. The usual drinking games were played, and I pretty much stumped everyone with concentration categories such as "names of boys Abra has hooked up with" and "names of people in Abra's family". I will admit though that I was quite impressed when Jo was able to name Big Steve.
We ended up hitting two bars. The first, Mac, is a little sit down kind of place with its walls covered in music posters and its clientele ranging from older white men to hippie Japanese youth. The owners also have a huge collection of cds and play requests. I got to here Journey, foreigner and AC/DC, but alas the owners had nothing by Whitesnake or Poison. After a few more beers here, poor low tolerance Abra was pretty well on her way to being wasted. Our next stop was El Barco, which it turns out is a hang out for the Marines from nearby Iwakuni, as well as many of Hiroshima's foreign residents. I spent the night dancing and drinking Southern Comfort that boys bought for me, and was having a great time until I went out of the club to join Meagan, who had picked up an entourage of men and was entertaining them with her vulgar mouth, on the steps. Somehow I managed to scrape my hand and wrist on the bumpy concrete steps and noticing I was bleeding, went to the bathroom where I decided it would probably be a good idea to stand at the sink and hold my hand under the water until the bleeding stopped. Or maybe I thought this would stop the bleeding. I'm not really sure, but the Japanese girls were all giving me really odd looks, which I was too drunk to really notice. I would probably have just stayed in the bathroom for the rest of the night, with my hand in the sink, but some nice Japanese girl gave me two band aids so I was able to leave. Unbeknownst to me at the time, Meagan had also suffered an injury that night, falling on the very same steps. She ended up with a sprained toe and a large bruise on the top of her foot.
After my injury, the night started to wind down a bit. I ended up roaming the club, interrupting my friends and whoever they were talking to, holding up my hand and saying "Look, there's blood." Needless to say, none of these guys bought me drinks, although a guy Jo was talking to decided I probably needed some water and got me a glass from the bar. It was also about this time that I found Meagan talking to some guy from North Carolina, and I spent the remainder of my time at El Barco standing with her and the guy, and whenever anything was mentioned about North Carolina, or there was a lull in the conversation, or really anytime either one of us opened our mouths, we found it necessary to sing that Petey Pablo song about the great Tar Heel state. "This one's for North Carolina/ Come on and raise up/Take your shirt off/ Twist it round your head/Spin it like a helicopter". Such a great song. Anyway, the guy had never heard of the song, or so he claimed, and while he grinned sheepishly at us each time we broke in to song, I think by the 11th or 12th time (in about a twenty minute period) he maybe was starting to wonder about us.
We finally left the club around 4:30, passing out around 5. So when someone's keitai got messaged at 8 am this morning, I had been asleep for only 3 hours. Unable to get back to sleep due to my headache and trips to the toilet where I would sit, unable to make myself puke, it is not surprising that I am currently exhausted, and not surprising that Meagan and I skipped Taiko tonight, which I really should have gone to because I am about to make a breakthrough on the big drum. Anyway, all in all, it was a pretty great weekend.
Yesterday, Saturday, Meagan, Selene and I hopped on a shinkansen bound for Hiroshima. If the shinkansen didn' t cost so much it would probably be my favorite thing in Japan. I mean to drive to Hiroshima would take like nearly 4 hours from Mine, but on the train, you get there in less than one. Pure genius. Anyway, after checking into our ryokan and briefly freaking out over sign declaring the establishment had an 11 pm curfew (don't worry, there actually wasn't one), we headed out to see The Return of the King. We had been worried that we might not be able to get tickets as it was opening weekend at all, but luckily the theater was gigantic, with about 650 seats, so even Mary, who arrived only about 5 minutes before the film started, was able to get in.
I think it would be safe to say that the four of enjoyed the film immensely, and also probably annoyed a great number of Japanese who might not have seen the humor that we did in Gollum's refering to Sam the Hobbit as "the fat one" and in the lines "the fat one cannot know" and "the fat one wants the precious". If they weren't annoyed, they were at least probably a little confused about why the four whiteys kept repeating the line aloud after the scene had ended, laughing hysterically.
After the movie, we met up with Jo, ate some pasta, and headed back to the ryokan to beautify ourselves and start the boozin'. The usual drinking games were played, and I pretty much stumped everyone with concentration categories such as "names of boys Abra has hooked up with" and "names of people in Abra's family". I will admit though that I was quite impressed when Jo was able to name Big Steve.
We ended up hitting two bars. The first, Mac, is a little sit down kind of place with its walls covered in music posters and its clientele ranging from older white men to hippie Japanese youth. The owners also have a huge collection of cds and play requests. I got to here Journey, foreigner and AC/DC, but alas the owners had nothing by Whitesnake or Poison. After a few more beers here, poor low tolerance Abra was pretty well on her way to being wasted. Our next stop was El Barco, which it turns out is a hang out for the Marines from nearby Iwakuni, as well as many of Hiroshima's foreign residents. I spent the night dancing and drinking Southern Comfort that boys bought for me, and was having a great time until I went out of the club to join Meagan, who had picked up an entourage of men and was entertaining them with her vulgar mouth, on the steps. Somehow I managed to scrape my hand and wrist on the bumpy concrete steps and noticing I was bleeding, went to the bathroom where I decided it would probably be a good idea to stand at the sink and hold my hand under the water until the bleeding stopped. Or maybe I thought this would stop the bleeding. I'm not really sure, but the Japanese girls were all giving me really odd looks, which I was too drunk to really notice. I would probably have just stayed in the bathroom for the rest of the night, with my hand in the sink, but some nice Japanese girl gave me two band aids so I was able to leave. Unbeknownst to me at the time, Meagan had also suffered an injury that night, falling on the very same steps. She ended up with a sprained toe and a large bruise on the top of her foot.
After my injury, the night started to wind down a bit. I ended up roaming the club, interrupting my friends and whoever they were talking to, holding up my hand and saying "Look, there's blood." Needless to say, none of these guys bought me drinks, although a guy Jo was talking to decided I probably needed some water and got me a glass from the bar. It was also about this time that I found Meagan talking to some guy from North Carolina, and I spent the remainder of my time at El Barco standing with her and the guy, and whenever anything was mentioned about North Carolina, or there was a lull in the conversation, or really anytime either one of us opened our mouths, we found it necessary to sing that Petey Pablo song about the great Tar Heel state. "This one's for North Carolina/ Come on and raise up/Take your shirt off/ Twist it round your head/Spin it like a helicopter". Such a great song. Anyway, the guy had never heard of the song, or so he claimed, and while he grinned sheepishly at us each time we broke in to song, I think by the 11th or 12th time (in about a twenty minute period) he maybe was starting to wonder about us.
We finally left the club around 4:30, passing out around 5. So when someone's keitai got messaged at 8 am this morning, I had been asleep for only 3 hours. Unable to get back to sleep due to my headache and trips to the toilet where I would sit, unable to make myself puke, it is not surprising that I am currently exhausted, and not surprising that Meagan and I skipped Taiko tonight, which I really should have gone to because I am about to make a breakthrough on the big drum. Anyway, all in all, it was a pretty great weekend.
Thursday, February 12, 2004
It turns out I am a basketball superstar. I just got back from an elementary school visit, and it turns out the kids at the school are basketball crazy. We played between classes and then after lunch, and i am pretty sure I was the best player on the court. Granted, I was also the oldest by about ten years and the tallest, but still. It felt good to be the best. I was doing everything, grabbing rebounds, making baskets, garnering steals (good use of the word, garnering, huh?) and channleing the spirit of my beloved Johnny Stockton--best point guard to ever play the game--i think i assisted just about every basket by team made. It was great. If it wasnt for the fact that I was playing in my socks and nice black sweater, I probably could have taken the whole lot of them to school, one on nine. After my showing on the court, four students asked me for my autograph. ok, so maybe the basketball had nothing to do with the autographing, but for real, four students seriously wanted my autograph.
Only half an hour to go until the weekend. You have to live for the weekends here. I got a pretty nice one planned, and I'll tell you exactly what it involves: getting wasted in Hiroshima. It has been over a month since I last got drunk and I don't think thats very healthy. Well, maybe it is physically, but mentally, I know not drinking is bad for me. If I don't regularly kill my brain cells, I end up with too many and my mind starts making me do weird things, like imagining I am a starving Soviet in Leningrad. But don't worry. i will be doing more in Hirsohima than just drinking. I will be doing coke and getting strung out on meth too! Haha, just kidding. Probably. What I am really going to do is finally see the final Lord of the Rings movie. I have been waiting months for this occasion, and although I am saddended by the fact that I will not be able to continue the tradition of viewing each installment of the trilogy with my father, Big Steve and will miss his lecture/commentary during the movie about how the story is all about good versus evil and how Americans must always fight to defend the free world instead of letting evil's dark shadow cross into our lands, or something like that. Anyway, I can't wait. Last week, I watched both of the previous Lord of the Rings movies and read The Fellowship of the Read. I was reading The Two Towers too, but I got distracted by my Leningrad book, and then a series of Bridget Jones-esque novels. Oops. Before I start sounding too nerdy, I would like to give a shout out to my hobbit friend Natalie, who lives in the Shire and shaves her hairy feet, and Meagan, who, it was recently discovered, can speak elvish.
Oh, and Brian, I realize that 16 is technically not "legal" in the US, but here in my adopted land of Japan, its ok for girls to start getting down with older men at the tender age of 12 (or was it 13?).
Special message to my sister: I am resending you the link to this website. For confirmation that you are being a good sister and keeping up on the life of your beloved Abra, you need to leave me a comment.
Only half an hour to go until the weekend. You have to live for the weekends here. I got a pretty nice one planned, and I'll tell you exactly what it involves: getting wasted in Hiroshima. It has been over a month since I last got drunk and I don't think thats very healthy. Well, maybe it is physically, but mentally, I know not drinking is bad for me. If I don't regularly kill my brain cells, I end up with too many and my mind starts making me do weird things, like imagining I am a starving Soviet in Leningrad. But don't worry. i will be doing more in Hirsohima than just drinking. I will be doing coke and getting strung out on meth too! Haha, just kidding. Probably. What I am really going to do is finally see the final Lord of the Rings movie. I have been waiting months for this occasion, and although I am saddended by the fact that I will not be able to continue the tradition of viewing each installment of the trilogy with my father, Big Steve and will miss his lecture/commentary during the movie about how the story is all about good versus evil and how Americans must always fight to defend the free world instead of letting evil's dark shadow cross into our lands, or something like that. Anyway, I can't wait. Last week, I watched both of the previous Lord of the Rings movies and read The Fellowship of the Read. I was reading The Two Towers too, but I got distracted by my Leningrad book, and then a series of Bridget Jones-esque novels. Oops. Before I start sounding too nerdy, I would like to give a shout out to my hobbit friend Natalie, who lives in the Shire and shaves her hairy feet, and Meagan, who, it was recently discovered, can speak elvish.
Oh, and Brian, I realize that 16 is technically not "legal" in the US, but here in my adopted land of Japan, its ok for girls to start getting down with older men at the tender age of 12 (or was it 13?).
Special message to my sister: I am resending you the link to this website. For confirmation that you are being a good sister and keeping up on the life of your beloved Abra, you need to leave me a comment.
Thursday, February 05, 2004
It turns out it is not as easy to be a teacher as I once assumed it was. When I was younger, in middle and high school, I thought teachers had it easy. They just had to throw together a few lessons every now and then, they got special lunches made for them in the teachers dining rooms and they didnt have to work during the summer. And, as evidenced by the behavior of a few male teachers at Cleveland High School, if you were into the barely legal crowd, you might just even be able to count getting some as one of the jobs perks. If they were paid a little more, being a teacher wouldnt be a bad career choice at all.
But now, after having been a teacher, I have discovered that it really isnt all that easy. Not that I do any work (and not that some of the English teachers I work with seem to do much work either); no thats not the problem. The problem is the students. It is not very heartening to stand in front of a class of 30 15 year olds and watch as they completely ignore you, talking and laughing with their friends (perhaps sometimes about you or the other teacher) or when they show such disrespect for their teacher that they climb out the window during class and have to be chased around the school. or when they throw peanut shells at the teacher. yes, those things are not nice. Of course, most of the students arent like this. In fact, of the five junior highs I visit, there are only two were I see this kind of stuff, and only in the second and third grade classes. Still, its funny because before I came here, I had this picture in my mind of neat little rows of Japanese scholars, in immaculate matching uniforms, quietly doing their lessons. When I realized that my idealized version of the Japanese junior high school was far from what I was actually seeing, I became indignant. "How dare these little brats act like this? How immature are they? Why don't the teachers do something about them?" I thought. I tried to think back to what I was like in middle school and high school. Let's see...well, I think I was pretty much perfect. Yes, that sounds about right. I pictured myself in perfectly pressed khakis and collared shirts, with neatly combed hair, perhaps in pigtails, sitting quietly at my desk, doing all my work without complaint, and getting perfect grades. And my peers? Yes, I seem to remember them acting in much the same way I did. Even the boys. Yes, we were so perfect and mature and just enamored with school.
The other night, though, I started to realize that this picture i had painted of myself as the model student wasn't entirely correct. In fact, other than the good grades, it was relly quite far from the truth. I started to remember some of the things I had done with a little shame, and even a little sympathy for the teachers who had to put up with me and some of my classmates. I remembered sneaking out of PE in middle school everyday with Courtney (Jolina, you heard from ol Mystery lately? Brian?). We would wait until the teacher wasn't looking, sneak into the locker room, change and then roam the school for half an hour or so, giggling about how easy it all was. And I liked PE. Am not sure why we did this, except for the simple fact that we could. In high school, there are many examples of how I was not quite the perfect student. Sneaking out of astronomy by climbing on the floor, under tables, and having people hide me with their legs and backpacks so i could go to Safeway with Jolina. Blatantly ignoring the seating chart poor Mrs. Gordon made for health class (one of the reasons for which I was) so I could spend the class talking with my friends. Skipping class. Often. Talking constantly throughout humanities. Everyday. Skipping class to hang out with Brian, and then climbing into the balcony of the auditorium and making noises at the stage craft nerds hard at work below. Haha. That was fun. They were so confused. I to this day have no idea what went on in English senior year as I spent everyday in the back corner of the room, talking with Eli, Tyler, Kate and Kathleen about highly inappropriate subject matter (such as all the bad stuff we did on the weekends) and not caring that our teacher heard every bit of it. I can't remember the number of times I was called on in that class and had no idea what was going on. Using illegal substances at lunch while hiding in bushes... and the list goes on. Hmm...turns out I wasn't the mature student I had thought i was. And now that I think about it, I never ironed my khakis or wore my hair in pigtails. But somehow, since I got A's in every class, I thought my behaviour was ok. After all, I was still learning stuff. When I would change seats without permission in health, it was usually to carry on very important discussions with my friends about drugs. Thats covered in the curriculum so I was really just trying to gain more knowledge. And when I left astronomy to go to safeway with Jolina, it was a school authorized errand (well, at least for her) so that was ok. And when I was huddling under the tree with bad boys from chemistry and hot older guys at lunch or on the school trip to Ashland, all I was trying to do was expand my mind. So that was ok too. Plus, when I was really bad, my teachers yelled at me. Deiter told me to stop messing around with the boys in humanities. Mrs. gordon told Jolina and me to shut up constantly, and often threatened to send us to the hall or to the vice-principal. Even Mr. Mayer in English made a point of constantly calling on us troublemakers in the back to or resorted to yelling, or telling us to stop our inappropriate talk, when necessary. One time, Mr. Thacker even swore.
So I guess I shouldnt be so hard on the students. If I was doing worse things when I was a few years older than them, then maybe i have no right to think of them as immature little brats who must be idiots for not recognizing the importance of learning English. Some of the twachers here, though...they really need to assert themselves a bit more in class. Getting yelled at in school, while it didnt stop me from misbehaving for long, always shut me up for awhile and made me respect the teacher more.
Still snowing in Mine. Still stuck in the office. Still thinking about the mashed potatoes I ate yesterday.
But now, after having been a teacher, I have discovered that it really isnt all that easy. Not that I do any work (and not that some of the English teachers I work with seem to do much work either); no thats not the problem. The problem is the students. It is not very heartening to stand in front of a class of 30 15 year olds and watch as they completely ignore you, talking and laughing with their friends (perhaps sometimes about you or the other teacher) or when they show such disrespect for their teacher that they climb out the window during class and have to be chased around the school. or when they throw peanut shells at the teacher. yes, those things are not nice. Of course, most of the students arent like this. In fact, of the five junior highs I visit, there are only two were I see this kind of stuff, and only in the second and third grade classes. Still, its funny because before I came here, I had this picture in my mind of neat little rows of Japanese scholars, in immaculate matching uniforms, quietly doing their lessons. When I realized that my idealized version of the Japanese junior high school was far from what I was actually seeing, I became indignant. "How dare these little brats act like this? How immature are they? Why don't the teachers do something about them?" I thought. I tried to think back to what I was like in middle school and high school. Let's see...well, I think I was pretty much perfect. Yes, that sounds about right. I pictured myself in perfectly pressed khakis and collared shirts, with neatly combed hair, perhaps in pigtails, sitting quietly at my desk, doing all my work without complaint, and getting perfect grades. And my peers? Yes, I seem to remember them acting in much the same way I did. Even the boys. Yes, we were so perfect and mature and just enamored with school.
The other night, though, I started to realize that this picture i had painted of myself as the model student wasn't entirely correct. In fact, other than the good grades, it was relly quite far from the truth. I started to remember some of the things I had done with a little shame, and even a little sympathy for the teachers who had to put up with me and some of my classmates. I remembered sneaking out of PE in middle school everyday with Courtney (Jolina, you heard from ol Mystery lately? Brian?). We would wait until the teacher wasn't looking, sneak into the locker room, change and then roam the school for half an hour or so, giggling about how easy it all was. And I liked PE. Am not sure why we did this, except for the simple fact that we could. In high school, there are many examples of how I was not quite the perfect student. Sneaking out of astronomy by climbing on the floor, under tables, and having people hide me with their legs and backpacks so i could go to Safeway with Jolina. Blatantly ignoring the seating chart poor Mrs. Gordon made for health class (one of the reasons for which I was) so I could spend the class talking with my friends. Skipping class. Often. Talking constantly throughout humanities. Everyday. Skipping class to hang out with Brian, and then climbing into the balcony of the auditorium and making noises at the stage craft nerds hard at work below. Haha. That was fun. They were so confused. I to this day have no idea what went on in English senior year as I spent everyday in the back corner of the room, talking with Eli, Tyler, Kate and Kathleen about highly inappropriate subject matter (such as all the bad stuff we did on the weekends) and not caring that our teacher heard every bit of it. I can't remember the number of times I was called on in that class and had no idea what was going on. Using illegal substances at lunch while hiding in bushes... and the list goes on. Hmm...turns out I wasn't the mature student I had thought i was. And now that I think about it, I never ironed my khakis or wore my hair in pigtails. But somehow, since I got A's in every class, I thought my behaviour was ok. After all, I was still learning stuff. When I would change seats without permission in health, it was usually to carry on very important discussions with my friends about drugs. Thats covered in the curriculum so I was really just trying to gain more knowledge. And when I left astronomy to go to safeway with Jolina, it was a school authorized errand (well, at least for her) so that was ok. And when I was huddling under the tree with bad boys from chemistry and hot older guys at lunch or on the school trip to Ashland, all I was trying to do was expand my mind. So that was ok too. Plus, when I was really bad, my teachers yelled at me. Deiter told me to stop messing around with the boys in humanities. Mrs. gordon told Jolina and me to shut up constantly, and often threatened to send us to the hall or to the vice-principal. Even Mr. Mayer in English made a point of constantly calling on us troublemakers in the back to or resorted to yelling, or telling us to stop our inappropriate talk, when necessary. One time, Mr. Thacker even swore.
So I guess I shouldnt be so hard on the students. If I was doing worse things when I was a few years older than them, then maybe i have no right to think of them as immature little brats who must be idiots for not recognizing the importance of learning English. Some of the twachers here, though...they really need to assert themselves a bit more in class. Getting yelled at in school, while it didnt stop me from misbehaving for long, always shut me up for awhile and made me respect the teacher more.
Still snowing in Mine. Still stuck in the office. Still thinking about the mashed potatoes I ate yesterday.
Wednesday, February 04, 2004
Hmm...they werent there. am trying again.
ok, comments might be back!
Somehow I had managed to convince myself that upon returning from Thailand, Japan would be warm, since Thailand was warm. Was definitely wrong about that one. It just keeps getting colder and colder here. However, I have found a new way to combat the bitter, frigid winter weather. Its called using my imagination. See, I just finished this book that was set in Leningrad during the German blockade of the city that began in winter of 1941. The name of the book is The Siege, and it was actually quite good. But anyway, my new favorite activity while walking outdoors, or when huddled up by my heater, is to pretend I, like the characters in the book, am a brave Russian (well, I guess technically Soviet) slowly being starved to death thanks to the German blockade and shelling of important food depots. When I am walking in the snow to the post office, I am not just making a quick dash out to mail some postcards. Instead, I am taking my ration card to the daily bread queue, braving sub zero temperatures in my ratty coat and boots, to wait in line for my two pieces of bread (sometimes I am an essential worker, in which case my ration is three peices). One false step and I could end up buried in a snow drift, unable to find the strength in my emaciated body to pull myself out. I live for that bread, and it, in turn, keeps me alive. I know I must survive the harsh cold and ignore the constant pain in my stomach in order to do my part for Mother Russia, and to let those Germans know the Russian people will never fall succumb to their fascist will. It helps that last time I was out in Fukuoka, a bartender asked me if I was Russian, and since I couldn't hear her very well and was thirsty (for booze) I somehow ended up telling her that, yes, I was Russian. After a high five from my fellow countrywoman, and speedy service with my drink order, I left the woman believing that I was a Russian-American, only a generation or so removed from the Motherland. Later, my comrade gave me free water but charged Jo. Anyway, sometimes I really worry about myself.
Other than my new fascination with Russian history, not too much going on in Mine these days. Am in the throes of yet another mini-crisis regarding recontracting or not, but as the form is due tomorrow and I am not the kind to make rash decisions, I am pretty sure the form will remained as signed after the sexual harrassment in the workplace incident--not recontracting. But I don't know...
Went to Nagasaki last weekend, and enjoyed myself immensely, apart from the bad sinus headache that kept me from my beloved booze Saturday night. But the city was nice, friendly, with a laid-back sort of feeling. And they had KFC. 4th weekend in a row. Pretty impressive, I know. But here is the thing about KFC in Japan: there are no mashed potatoes (even though I did fill out a comment form at the Shimonoseki branch reminding them KFC is simply not KFC without them. No response yet. Maybe because i wrote it in English). Another thing about KFC in Japan: they serve mini-chicken. Like one pice of fried chicken here is the equivalent of like half a piece (or maybe even a third) in the US. Still, just like when you are under siege in Leningrad, you make do with what you have.
Well, I am off to pay for my plane ticket to Hong Kwong. Jolina, I hope you are working on those t-shirts. Am assuming they will be red?
Other than my new fascination with Russian history, not too much going on in Mine these days. Am in the throes of yet another mini-crisis regarding recontracting or not, but as the form is due tomorrow and I am not the kind to make rash decisions, I am pretty sure the form will remained as signed after the sexual harrassment in the workplace incident--not recontracting. But I don't know...
Went to Nagasaki last weekend, and enjoyed myself immensely, apart from the bad sinus headache that kept me from my beloved booze Saturday night. But the city was nice, friendly, with a laid-back sort of feeling. And they had KFC. 4th weekend in a row. Pretty impressive, I know. But here is the thing about KFC in Japan: there are no mashed potatoes (even though I did fill out a comment form at the Shimonoseki branch reminding them KFC is simply not KFC without them. No response yet. Maybe because i wrote it in English). Another thing about KFC in Japan: they serve mini-chicken. Like one pice of fried chicken here is the equivalent of like half a piece (or maybe even a third) in the US. Still, just like when you are under siege in Leningrad, you make do with what you have.
Well, I am off to pay for my plane ticket to Hong Kwong. Jolina, I hope you are working on those t-shirts. Am assuming they will be red?
