Abra In Exile

I was just trying to think of something exciting I could share with everyone today, but after a few minutes of banging my head againt the wall trying to come up with a humorous tidbit, cultural lesson, sad story or even blatant lie, I seem to have acquired a headache and little else. I really have not been up to much lately, and other than the excitement of Toby's little accident (he got his new tire Saturday and has been driving just as well as he did before that fateful morning last week, by the way) nothing too amazing has happened. However, that is all about to change, as on Thursday morning, the beginning of Golden Week, Meagan, Jo, Jocelyn and I are off for five days in the sun on tropical Okinawa where I plan to get tan, see fishies in the aquarium, possibly eat at an A&W Drive-In and avoid all the Marines who are stationed there just in case Japan wants to get all World War II again. Ok, ok, I know they are there to protect interests in Asia and that North Korea is just a small sea away, but still. So yes, that is what I will be doing next week, before heading back to Mine for a little teachin' and educatin' until the weekend, when I will catch the train to Kyoto and meet up with Christine, Anna and Carrie. I think I am going to feel pretty poor and busy for the next week and half or so, but it will definitely be worth it.
This highlight of this weekend was the bbq held at Meagan's country home in Shuho. As there was a ton of meat as well as Selene's famous pavlova and potato salad, I had a great time. It was a nice mix of Japanese friends and whiteys, a real cultural kind of event. Anyway, we ate and ate until the wee hours of the morning, and though most people also drank, I for some reason could barely force a couple beers down my throat and into my meat-swollen belly before declaring that I just couldn't drink that night. I am not sure what is wrong with me, but lately I have not been wanting to drink all that much because as the months go by and I get older and older, my hangovers are getting worse and worse. Or maybe I am just getting drunker than I realize and therefore can't understand why I wake up puking and dizzy after one of my famous binges. It is sad really. Hopefully I will snap out of it down in Okinawa. If not, I might just have to turn to more "adult" intoxicants. I am thinking cocaine, I am think pain killers. How sophisticated would I be then? I am picturing me, lounging by a pool, mansion owned by boyfriend/keeper in the background, wearing a black bikini, black sunglasses, large black sun hat and diamond earrings from Tiffanys, doing lines of coke and chasing little pills with sips from my martini while ogling pool boy. Anyway, another solution might be to only let myself drink to the point of intoxication, not far, far past it.
I am trying hard to come up with something else of interest to write before lunch time. My creme egg shipment from my dear mother has yet to arrive, and I fear, may not have even been sent yet. I only have two little mini-eggs to go, so am understandably worried. what if she isn't planning on shipping them at all, and just waiting until the beginning of June when she comes to see me, to present me with my 36 beauties? Ok, now am worried. Need to email her right away. More later.

Because killing bugs makes me feel guilty, yet at the same time they scare me and I want them to die, a few years ago I decided to make a deal with all the spiders, gnats, ants and beetles of the world.
"Bugs, " I said, " Here is the plan from here on out. If you stay away from me, I will stay away from you. But the minute you enter my home, my car, crawl on my arm or set foot on my picnic blanket, I will have no choice but to end your life." The bugs seemed okay with this. At least they did not voice any protest. This pact worked well most of the time. But there were a couple instances where those old feelings of guilt over swatting a fly or putting a bee in a glass jar and shaking it crept back into my soul. Maybe, for me, the killing of insects simply could never be a black and white issue. No matter what I chose to do about an invading insect, I was either going to feel guilt or fear. But I decided I could, and would have to live with that. I never thought not sticking to the original covenant with the bug would cause me any sort of trouble. Today, however, I learned that thinking too much about an insects well-being, while simultaneously being scared can do just that.
This morning was absolutely beautiful. The sun was shining and a warm breeze was blowing as I jumped into Toby and headed out of my housing deveopment bound for Isa Junior High. With the radio on and my window down halfway, I found myself daydreaming of summer and planning how I might enjoy the sun after work. All of the sudden I glanced out my window and nestled against it was a giant gray moth-like creature. Panicked, I quickly ascertained that it was on the otherside of the glass, and began to roll up my window to prevent it from entering Toby and, you know, like touching me. However, after i rolled up the window I saw that the poor little bug seemed to be stuck to the glass. It looked like he was trying to fly away but his cute little bug legs were stuck in the window. And I didn't know what to do about it. Should I help the bug by rolling down my window, and risk him, you know, like touching me, or should I let him suffer? After all, he must have known the rules. Touch my car, you die.
As I pondered, stealing long glances at the window to make sure he was still there, Toby all the sudden made this horrendous screeching sound. I wrested my eyes from the bug to try to figure out what was going on, and while doing this, turned my wheel hard to the left. Suddenly a new noise erupted from Toby's small body and I was shocked and horrified to discover that I had somehow managed to jump a 10 inch tall conrete barrier with one side of the car and was now resting on top of it, two wheels on either side. And the bug must have gotten unstuck, because he was gone.
A man who had been walking by across the street ran over to help as I jumped out to survey the damage. Yeah, I was stuck. Man #1 was soon joined by a woman who had been driving by in a mini-van and an older guy on a bicycle. We all just kinda stared for a while, until the woman got out her keitai to call someone for help and I got out my keitai to call my supervisor, who decided I must be having engine toruble and said he was going to my apartment before hanging up. Someone, I think the woman, ran over to the car dealership across the street and brought over man #2. They tried to ask me some questions in Japanese, which, of course, I understood ony about a third of, and then we all--me, men #s 1 and 2, the woman and the older guy all just stared at poor Toby some more and thought about how stupid I am. Our little group was soon joined by man #3, who must have been who the woman had called because he jumped out of his car with a chain, which he attached to both our cars before signalling for man #1 to jump into mine and turn it on. Sadly, this approach only served to drag Toby down the concrete barrier abut ten feet and make a lot of noise. Seeing it was futile, the men got out of the cars, recruited another few guys from the gas station and were able, with some grunting, to lift Toby off the barrier while the older man, the woman and I cheered them on. Toby was quickly to a parking lot across the street so we could all survey the damage and our little group dispersed, with only me, the older man, and men #s 1 and 3. One of the front tires was completely flat and the hubcap and been torn off. There was also some slight body damage to the left side. While men #s 1 and 2 set about putting on the spare for me (I could not believe how helpful everyone was being! The Japanese...gotta love them) I fielded a call from my supervisor, Kochi Sensei, who had realized I was not at my apartment and wanted to knwo my exact location. Because streets in Japan tend to be nameless, and I don't speak Japanese, I shoved my phone into the hands of the older man and asked him to tell Kochi the "namae" of the video store nearby. They chatted for what seemed like longer than necessary, pobably laughing over the antics of that crazy ALT and discussing the sho chu shortage in Fukuoka, while I tried to hde from the stares of passing drivers. Finally, Kochi showed up, laughing. The old man took off on his bicke and I talked to my English teacher at Isa, who aslo laughed hysterically, especially when I told her about the moth. And, it turned out man #1 was the son of Mito Sensei, a nice woman from my section at the office who recently was promoted to principal at an elementary school. The ordeal ended with me amazed over what a small world Mine truly is and how I was really lucky all it looked like Toby would need was a new tire.
I think it might be time to make a new pact with the bugs.

It was going to be a full week of teaching for abra, meaning 5 weekdays, 5 junior high visits, but Atsu cancelled on me today so I am enjoying a comfortable and relaxing day at the ol' office, instead of doing my self-introduction (again) for first graders who don't understand a word I am saying. I actually really lucked out on the cancelling thing because last night I went to Shimonoseki and ended up spending the night, so instead of having to get up at like 6 to get back here, change, and then drive another 20 minutes to Atsu, I got to rise at the very late hour of 6:30 and didn't even have to force little Toby to brave the expressway. And guess what was waiting for me when I got to my desk? A package from my aunt and uncle, full of magazines, easter treats and my beloved cadbury creme eggs. And guess what else? My mom has already purchased 36 more creme eggs to send me this week! Back in high school, I was almost as addicted to creme eggs as I was to mashed potatoes, and every spring would make the pilgrimage to costco, where I would pick up a large crate of the goodies that usually lasted me well through Easter. I remember taking three eggs to school everyday. Two for me to eat, and one to barter with for other goods and services. Those eggs are a commodity not unlike gold, I tell you. Anyway, cannot wait for the shipment.
In other news, and I mean big news, guess who will be playing in Fukuoka on July 1st? I will give you a hint: you might remember swaying to their soulful voices with that boy you had been crushing on for months back in the middle school gym in the mid-90's. That's right! Boyz II Men!! I am seriously considering going because 1) "Motown Philly" is one of the greatest songs to come out of the twentieth century and 2) when will I ever get a chance like this again? I am pretty sure the group's fan base has depleted so much back at home that to see them in the US I would have to go to some fair in a place like Canby or Pendleton (or, actually, Walla Walla) and who wants to do that? I also am hoping to see the Red hot chili Peppers and other assorted bands in July in Osaka, but so far no one has been able to read the Japanese website to figure out about buying tickets, so who knows if that will happen? the language barrier can be so frustrating at times.
Anyway, time for me to go scavenge for change so I can pay for my bento. More later.

For those of you who aren't aware, the Japanese like to smoke. A lot. And unlike the US where it is becoming increasingly difficult for a smoker to practice his art in restaurants, at the office, in bars, etc., in Japan a smoker can pretty much light up wherever he or she chooses. I don't really have anything against smoking or smokers, other than the way they smell (although I actually think heavy coffee drinkers smell a lot worse. I have and would date a smoker, but would probably think twice about someone who has succumbed to the intoxicating power of the devil's drink) and their slowly yellowing teeth. I would be lying if I said I didn't ever smoke at clubs or in bars, or that there isn't something about having a bottle of beer in one hand and a ciggarette in the other that adds to the atmosphere of the night. But I would also be lying if I said that all the smoking in Japan doesn't bother me. In my office, for example, the smokers have taken over a corner of the hallway outside the office door. Pretty much everytime I walk down the hallway I see someone puffing away. But even when no one is in the corner, smoking, the smell never leaves the hall. I leave the office, and I am hit with the putrid smell of stale smoke and I often return to my desk coughing. Now that is not right. At Meagan's office, the smokers don't even leave the room. The just sit at their desks and puff away. Meagn's predecessor said she used to go hide out in the library when she could to escape the smoke. Coincidentally, Meagan's office also features a large poster on the dangers of second hand smoke.

Besides the smell, what really bothers me about the smokers in Japan is that they are almost all male. Wait, let me rephrase that. The smokers that get their fix in public are almost all male. A lot of women smoke here too. i have seen them doing it in clubs and bars in big cities, and in their own homes. But at the office? At any of my schools? No, never. Why is this, I wonder? Why should Japanese men be allowed to smoke wherever they choose to, filling the lungs of those around them with their dirty secondhand smoke, while others (women) who might want to join them have to just sit there and take in the worst of all that associated with smoking while not getting to enjoy any of the "good stuff"? It is not right. Given my general aversion to smoking and its byproducts, I would never call myself a crusader for smoker's rights. But I would like to think of myself as someone who is willing to stand up for those punished by a sexist society, those afraid to break societal taboos (Japanese female smokers) and I think the time has come for me to to make that stand. My new plan is to get myself a pack of ciggarretes, grab my lighter and go have a smoke with all the men folk from my office and from each one of my schools. As a foreigner, I have a much better chance of getting away with this than my Japanese female counterparts, and if my co-workers do try to reprimand me for behaving in an unladylike fashion, or not as a female teacher in Japan should behave it won't matter because, as i am unable to speak Japanese, I probably won't understand and will just nod and say "hai". Anyway, this is what i have been thinking about all morning, in between reading my new Leningrad siege book and trying not to think about the cadbury creme egg currently waiting to be devoured. Do any of you smokers in Japan (in otherwords, Christine) know of any particularly manly ciggarette brands that are perhaps favored by the salaryamn set?

Before coming to Japan, spaghetti was not something I thought a lot about. I mean, yeah, I ate it from time to time and when accompanied by garlic bread, it was never all that bad, but to be honest, when I would come home from school and ask my mom or dad what was for dinner and they said we would be having spaghetti, I was usually pretty disappointed. My favorite dinners involved fish, chicken or beef and, of course, potatoes. Noodles with some sauce on top just didn't do it for me.
I would like to say that this remains true, that if given a choice between say a piece of salmon and a bowl of spaghetti, I would choose the former, no questions asked, no hesitation. But I simply cannot. In the same way living in this country has made me mean, unmotivated and unfashionable (will deal with that at another time, but just remember I did wear a fleece suit for the entire winter), Japan has made me obsessed with spaghetti.
It all started back in October, when Meagan got her car and we began meeting for dinner every Wednesday night, prior to taiko practice. One of the first places we went was a restaurant close to Mine station called "Nonno". We ordered the "cheese and tomato spaghetti" and were surprised to discover that what at first appeared to be an absolutely ordinary, if not subpar, bowl of noodles, some cheese, sauce and broccoli was actually one of the best tasting things we had had in Japan. For a few weeks, we pretended to be interested in going to other restaurants in Mine on Wednesday nights. But by November it went without saying that Wednesday night was Nonno Spaghetti night.
"Nonno's" (not her real name), the woman who owns the restaurant, and with whom we are on friendly terms, spaghetti retails for 850 yen and it is just that: a bowl of spaghetti. There are no side salads or soups that accompany the meal, no pieces of bread or desserts. It is just about the spaghetti. However, Meagan and I quickly realized that while the spaghetti was amazing, or maybe because the spaghetti was so amazing, we were left unsatisfied at the end of each meal. We wanted more of the cheesy, broccoliy (I realize this is not a word, and Jo, I am quite capable of spelling university, just not capable of typing it) goodness that one fateful Wednesday night we decided we would order three bowls and split the third. When we told Nonno this is what we wanted she gave us another option: for only 1000 yen she would make us, and only us (this is not a menu item) "big spaghettis". Since then, I have ordered nothing but.
We have had some good times at Nonno. We now include Tomoko (who sadly only orders the regular spaghetti) and on occasion Selen in our outings. We held a joint birthday dinner for Meagan and Tomoko there in February, and Nonno even conspired with Selene and me to hide the birthday cake in the back. We have taken pictures with Nonno outside the restaurant. We have shed bitter tears when Nonno has had to close the restaurant for private parties or much needed days off. We have enjoyed free apricot cake as a token of Nonno's appreciation of our business and unwavering dedication to her spaghetti.
But because 1000 yen is about $10 and though I constantly crave that magical spaghetti, I am not willing to pay this fee daily and have thus had to put away my potato peeler and start making my own spaghetti en casa. Again, the spaghetti I make is nothing special. Some skeptics might even call the prepackaged sauce and mystery type of bagged, shredded cheese I use "crap". However, while not the same as Nonno's, my spaghetti has also become something of a craving for me and my fans (From time to time, I add broccoli or chicken, just for those of you who are curious).
I am not sure what I am going to do upon my return to the states this August. I realize there is no way I can get Nonno to move to Portland with me and I am wondering just how much room I will have in my bags and boxes to ship home packets of Japanese spaghetti sauce and pre-shredded mystery cheese. Maybe Japanese spaghetti and its magic will just have to be one of those things I leave behind, destined to become just another fond memory of my year in Japan.

Well, cultural leave has ended and to be completely honest, I am not entirely all that sad. Yesterday, as the rain poured down and I tried to brainstorm people I could call to hang out with me, I quickly realized that everyone else was working and decided to watch Schindler's List, being the longest movie I own. And while the film did manage to take up my whole afternoon, it was not an altogether pleasant experience, as it is not an altogether pleasant movie. By the end , I was crying, which messed up my contacts, rendering me partially blind for the rest of the day. The movie also gave me Nazi dreams (which somehow also involved the cast of Friends and a plane trip to Texas), so I didn't get that much sleep. So the point is that it is good for me to be back in the office, far away from sad movies (and candy, I can't seem to stop eating the stuff Jolina brought me, although the skittles, snickers and creme eggs are all gone, leaving only the whoppers eggs and york peppermint patties).

I am also glad to be at work because I hate getting out of routine for long periods of time, and thats just what being on cultural leave for three weeks has done to me. While it isn't necessarily a good thing for me to have to get up at 7:30 am every morning, its alot better for in the long run I think than sleeping in until 11, spending lots of money on gas driving places, eating lots of cheap bentos because I am not home or can't be bothered cooking and then staying up late doing nothing of value. Yes, I am happy to be back, hard at work once again.

In other news, I attended two sakura (cherry blossom) festivals this weekend. The first, on Saturday, was held in good ol' Mine and involved strolling along the crowded river bank with Meagan and Selene, drinking beer and sampling food from pretty much all the vendors there. Some, such as my friends in the Mine Soroptimists club, even hooked us up with free stuff. Anyway, I ate takoyaki, yakisoba, udon, yakitori, popcorn and cookies, all of it very good. I also played a fun game called "Spot My Students, Wave and Say Hi and Then Watch Them Run Away Giggling". It's such a great game, although very predictable. One very brave girl, a thug from Omine Junior high, actually came and sat with us for a bit, as her friends giggled and pointed in the distance. However, she refused, or maybe was unable, to say much in English, but she did remind me that it is bad to get drunk. It is not often that you meet a 14 year old so wise beyond her years. Anyway, after the festival, we headed to our friend Tomoko's uncle's bbq, where I ate and drank even more and enjoyed a little talent show put on by Tomoko's nieces. Upon heading back to Meagan's we watched footage of us in Hong Kong (so funny jolina, especially us heckling at the rugby, dinner with Guy and the dance party in the tent) and I somehow decided it was a good idea to put a handkercheif on my head, thus "becoming" a peasant and for the rest of the night prefaced everything I said with "We peasants..." Like, for example, "We peasants don't use dishes so I am not sure I can help clean them" or "We peasants share our mud floored hut with seven people a goat, a donkey and a gander of geese, so I can't join you in complaining about our small apartments in Japan". Meagan and I also fought for a bit, you know, physically, but that had to end before a winner could be declared because Meagan started to laugh so hard she almost peed her pants, and apparently it wasn't fair for me to use that against her, you know, exploit her weakness, and keep shoving her. Whatever.

Sunday was the festival in Akiyoshi, where Meagan lives. The highlight of this one, of course, was the taiko performance, where, after months of preparations, setbacks and tears, Meagan and I made our debut on the formidable "big drum". All in all the performance went well, and the family from Spain that feeds me and I tutor the little boy in English came and said I did well (although when i asked Yoshio about it the next day, like "Was I bad?" he said "Oh, yes" but I am pretty sure that was just because of his english level and not his real opinion of my playing. yes.). While waiting to play, I invented more stories involving my peasant background. It turns out i am a refugee from Uzbekistan and the log drum that is used in taiko closely resembles the machine gun I had to wield when the rebels came to attack my small village (where we farmed potatoes). It is a good thing no one but Meagan could really understand what I was saying.

So all in all, not a bad weekend. And only one more day to go until the next one.