Take Me to the Hospital

(Pictured above: a "cold warning" poster at Momoishi Elementary School that urges children with colds to wear face masks. Notice that in Japan, the spread of colds takes place not through airborne bacteria but through tiny ninjas.)

Allow me, if you will, to briefly indulge in a little cultural generalization. If there's one thing that Japanese people love to obsess over, it's health. Or, as the principal at Momoishi middle school puts it, "the Japanese people love medicine. Dai sukii desu." Reading Ewen's blog last week, I couldn't help but laugh at his tale of x-rays, threatened blood tests and a grab bag of assorted drugs-all for the sake of a common cold. Well, karma must have a quick turnaround time this week as I have found myself under the weather as well.

I suppose it was only a matter of time, though. While I rarely fell ill in the States, I also never held a job that involved shaking hands with classrooms full of nose-pickers. Thus, for most of the week I've been blowing my nose constantly and hacking up more lungs than I ever knew I had. Luckily, I've also been teaching solid days lately, so I had thus far managed to avoid the well-meaning concern of my co-workers. However, after returning from the junior high school on Tuesday, a poorly-concealed cough quickly alerted my co-workers to what, in their minds, was a dire emergency. They tried to talk me into going to the hospital right then and there but I resisted, not only because it was clearly just a cold but also because I had my language class to attend. I eventually talked my way out of it but was told by my supervisor that I shouldn't drive. I then proceeded to get in my car and drove down to Hachinohe.

When I came into the office the next day, my cough had clearly gotten worse which only made my co-workers more determined to drag me to the hospital. It was also my only office-day in weeks, so I suppose I didn't really have much of a case to begin with but I dug my heels in anyway. I protested that in America, we don't go to the doctor if we just have a cold. Unfortunately, the prosecution presented a more convincing argument. Among the pieces of evidence presented to me by my supervisor was the fact that my complexion was poor, proving that medical intervention was needed. Next, Yayoi-San produced a thermometer and instructed me to insert it into my armpit while I sat at my desk. When she read it, the reading came up as a little high but this evidence was dismissed as inconclusive. "Maybe it's because he's so tall," she said and the rest of the office nodded in agreement.

Well, I eventually caved in, although more out of curiosity than for actual regard for my health. The things I do for you, loyal reader.

The first thing I noticed upon setting foot in the hospital was the fact that it didn't look like a hospital lobby at all: more like a train station, really. It was absolutely full of people, most of them old and most of them wearing face masks (on a related note, I'd really like to see an independent medical study of how effective these things are in preventing the spread of airborne diseases because it seems like wearing them is practically a law). My supervisor proceeded to march up and down the lobby, greeting almost every person he encountered. He then took me back behind the registration counter to introduce me to the various doctors and administrative folks. "This is the new ALT, he says he has a cold but I'm pretty sure he has influenza." I knew my supervisor was a big shot but I never suspected that an M.D. was among his qualifications.

The first thing I had to do was administer my own blood pressure test on a machine that printed out a ticket for me with the results on it. My supervisor and I then settled in for the long wait during which we had a number of hilarious conversations. Example:

Kacho: Mehan-San, what do you eat for breakfast?

Me: Um, toast and orange juice (a complete lie-I never eat breakfast).

Kacho: Toast and orange juice? Ha! I eat rice for breakfast every day. That's why my body is so strong! *pounds chest with fist*

Eventually I was called up to a nurse's desk where I was interrogated on the topic of my consumption of various foods and poisons. When she asked me if I had any drug allergies I said "Yes, but I don't know how to say the name of the drug in Japanese." So she told me to say it in English. When I said "erythromycin" she looked at my supervisor and then wrote down on my chart "No drug allergies".

Afterward, I was seated in a narrow hallway that had six chairs facing three doors numbered 3, 4 and 5. Occasionally they would announce a patient's name and a number over the loudspeaker and then the corresponding door would slide open in accord. I waited here for about half an hour while, inexplicably, many others came and went. Finally, I was called into door number three. When I walked in, the doctor (a middle-aged woman in what looked more like a nurse's uniform) stared at me in disbelief. The nurse behind her then said "It's okay, he speaks Japanese" and she seemed to relax a bit. She instructed me to sit down on a stool and then proceeded to chat me up about where I'm from, my job, the schools I teach at, etc. Seemingly as an afterthought, she looked at my throat, declared it a common cold and then quickly wrote out a prescription. "I see that you don't have any drug allergies, is that correct?" she asked. "Actually," I replied, "I'm allergic to erythromycin but I don't know how to say that in Japanese". "Ah, irisuromayashin!" she exclaimed.

When I walked out, my supervisor directed me to a different waiting section where we had to wait another half an hour to receive my prescription. As soon as we sat down, he turned to me and asked "Was it a woman doctor?" and then raised his eyebrows when I nodded affirmatively. After paying the bill, I presented my national health insurance card and then paid the remainder of the price: just over $8 USD according to today's exchange rate.

Finally, we walked to a pharmacy across the street to retrieve my medicines. When we sat down, a youngish woman approached us with a clipboard to which was attached a questionnaire. "Can you explain this to him?" she asked my supervisor. "I don't speak any English, so you'll just have to explain in Japanese. He'll understand," he replied. What happened next was quite possibly the most surreal thing that has ever happened to me in Momoishi (if not Japan). The woman turns to me and in a perfectly disinterested, tired midwestern drawl asks "So, do you have any allergies? Bananas, really? That's interesting." After we finished the form, I remarked that her English was excellent. "Oh, well my husband is an American," she replied. Funny that all of the worst English speakers in this town seem to end up teaching English while the best dispenses drugs in a pharmacy. Go figure.

While the collections of potions, powders and pills above might look like the contents of Hunter S. Thompson's fanny pack, it's really just the Japanese "cure" for the common cold. Yayoi-San explained to me that the large pills are anti-inflammatory (but for what? my lungs? my throat? my feet?) and the powder and the small pills are simply "cold medicine," although I don't have the foggiest what that might entail. Needless to say, the drugs have remained untouched on my kitchen table for the past week where I occasionally stare at them apprehensively. If anyone is planning on going as a deadhead next Halloween, let me know, as I will probably be able to provide you with some costume accessories.

The remarkable thing, though, is that all those drugs only cost me just over $4 USD, again thanks to national health insurance. So all together, I paid less than $15 for a trip to the doctor and a bag full of chemicals. No wonder Japanese people are such hypochondriacs. Widely regarded as one of the most successful health care systems in the world (or the most successful, according to the WHO in 2004), the Japanese national health plan claims universal coverage, offering timely and affordable healthcare to all citizens (and even non-citizens, like me). Wow, is that a paper-cut? I'd better go get it checked out, don't you think?

Note to Self: Do Not Throw Garbage in the Garbage

Every year, the Tobu-Kamikita board of education (which encompasses Momoishi, Shimoda and Rokunohe) engages in an exchange program with our sister-city, Kittery, Maine (Maine is the northeastern-most continental United State, for those of you who don't know). During the spring, we send a group of about 15 middle-schoolers to America to eat pizza hut, drink pepsi and bathe in the warm glow of freedom that emanates from every television set in the land. Then, in the late summer, about 15 American students come over here to complain a lot and marvel at how boring the Japanese countryside is (although I imagine that Kittery, Maine is not much more exciting).

Well, this year, three girls from Momoishi Junior High School have been selected to participate in the exchange. They have been asked to prepare English aisatsu (self-introductions) and yesterday they were set to recite them for the principal. Well, I sat next to the three girls at lunch and eventually coaxed all three of them into letting me hear their introductions, which were quite good, especially considering their usual performance in class. However, when I asked them if they actually understood what they just said, they replied with a hesitant "Not really...".

Anyhow, actually conversing with my students during lunch reduced the already minimal amount of time I had to finish an entire tray of food to about two minutes. While this would be no problem for the average Japanese person (anyone who has eaten a meal with Japanese people before will know why they so easily dominate eating competitions the world over). Although I was able to finish most of the food on my tray, I still had a roll of "graham bread" left. I hastily took two bites out of it and then got up to dispose of my leftovers and return my tray and bowls. In Japanese schools, each classroom deposits all of their leftover food and liquid into a large metal pot-I'm told that the contents are then shipped off to farms to feed pigs with. Well, by the time I got up there, they had already carted-off the pot, which left me in a bit of a bind. After putting away my trays and bowls, I discreetly buried my half-eaten bread in the garbage can underneath some papers. I was a little unsure if this was the correct course of action but I figured that in all likelihood, no one would be the wiser.

Well, after teaching a few more classes, I returned to the teacher's office to kick back with a copy of Hard Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World when two of the girls I was talking to at lunch came into the office. They stood nervously in front of me for a few seconds before the more outgoing girl produced an old friend from behind her back: the half-eaten bread. "Sensei, did you...bread...into...dust box?" I replied that yes, I was the culprit. "Don't...bread...into...dust box," she replied. She then thrust it forward towards me and exclaimed "Present!" Um, thanks.

As comical as that may be, even funnier was the explanation that I received afterward from Takahashi Sensei, their "English" "teacher". "If we didn't enough bread," she said as she outlined the shape of a pot with her hands. She then took the bread from me and placed it on her desk. I have no idea what she intended to do with it.

Judy and the Dream of Horses

Being an American, I find it a little strange that the day before American Thanksgiving is a national holiday in Japan, suspiciously named "Labor Thanksgiving Day". I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth though, so I hatched a plan to drive out to Shichinohe to finally pay a visit to Mr. Leo Sylvester (pictured below with two of his students and a coach from his high school) on this auspicious occasion.
Leo lives in an apartment complex with two other ALTs (Eric and Carlo) as well as a bunch of other teachers from his high school who all seemed cool. Luckily for me, I found out that Japanese people spend their days off the same way that we Americans do: washing their cars and grilling up some meat. Natch!

Before the BBQ, we headed out to the Shichinohe Jusco to pick up some foodstuffs. Of course, we also perused the selection of Engrish clothing and found some real gems. Leo's visiting girlfriend Annie actually ended up buying the top one, it was just too good to pass up.


Unlike in the states, in Japan Kit Kats come in a variety of unusual flavors. Matt prides himself on being something of a strange Kit Kat connoisseur and recommended the wine flavor to us. Unfortunately, it just tasted like white chocolate with a hint of bitterness. It was no melon Kit Kat, that's for sure.

After the barbecue, we decided to go down to the Shichinohe art museum which was supposedly playing host to a huge Astroboy exhibition. Unfortunately, after paying the $5 admission fee we realized that the exhibit had since been replaced with an exhibition of crappy children's drawings. Great.

One of the drawings on display was of none other than Toby, a fellow Aomori ALT. You might not be able to read it in the photo but the title of the work is Yasashi ("kind") Toby Sensei. The kid did an excellent job of capturing Toby's mullet, if you ask me.

Perhaps the only interesting thing about the museum was that it was seemingly designed to be earthquake-resistant. Look closely at the lamps below and you'll see what I mean.

Outside of the museum, there was a park full of life-sized, plastic horses. Everywhere we went in Shichinohe, there were pictures and statues of horses, so obviously they've got something to do with the history of the town. We didn't see a single living horse, however.


One thing that's always upset me about Japan is the dire lack of turkey. I don't think I've ever seen any sort of turkey product, which is a real shame. The end result is that when it comes to cold cuts, your only choice is the Budweiser of cold cuts: ham. I did find out though that if deli-sliced human hands is your thing, Shichinohe's got you covered.

Worked Up So Sexual

As I was sorting through photos from my recent trip to Shichinohe (more on that later), I started to notice a strong theme emerging. Leo (pictured above) must have written something perverted in his JET application to get placed in a town like Shichinohe, which (along with nearby Towada) sold some of the strangest, funniest and most confusing products I've ever seen.
Apparently, the folks at Leo's office were asking him various, shall we say, questions relating to eros, which prompted him to teach them the word "horny". Well, they got a real kick out of that and immediately told him that he needed to see the "horny candy". You'll see Carlo modeling the phallus above while Leo has the grab bag, featuring both human reproductive organs reproduced in lollypop form. Worthy of note: these were being sold in a gift shop adjacent to the Shichinohe art museum and culture center.
I felt that the "interesting" packaging was worthy of a close-up.
This box says "Surprise!! Sexy Bomber". I have no idea what that means.
How do you suppose you turn this lamp on?*
Of course!

*double entendre intended

The Fruit Formerly Known As Quince

So I'm sitting at my desk today when the head of the school district (who is an unusually jovial and energetic fellow, by the way) bounds into the office, carrying with him what looks like a large pear with some leaves still attached to it. At the sight of this, Yayoi-San's eyes light up and she thanks him profusely as he hands her the fruit. He then rattles off an excuse for being in a hurry so fast that I barely catch any of it, turns to me, smiles and says "konnichiwa" and then quickly disappears whence he came.

After he leaves, Yayoi-San holds the pear up to her face and begins smelling it deeply with a look of absolute glee on her face. She then passes it around the room for all of us to smell. I smell it and it is indeed, quite fragrant. When I ask her what it is, she replies that it's called a marumero. Unfortunately, none of my usual online dictionaries have an entry for this word. When I tell her that I can't find an English translation, she says that she always assumed that marumero was a katakana transliteration of an English word to begin with. Strange.

Well, then she asks me if I want the pear for my room. I tell her that it smells nice but try not to show too much interest as she's obviously quite fond of it. So then I ask why you would want to put it in a room. Turns out, the fruit's flesh is too sour and tough to be eaten, so it's used primarily for fragrance. Then Yayoi-San types the word into one of her translation programs and it churns out the word "quince". Turns out, marumero is actually a transliteration of the Portuguese marmelo, from which the English word "marmalade" is derived. The fruit also appears to have quite a bit of mythological value to it, so I might have heard of it had I not so expertly avoided the Classics. Well, at least now I finally know what the sour quince log is all about. Happy Thanksgiving.

When Serindipity Comes A Knockin'

Every Tuesday, I make the trek down to Hachinohe for a Japanese language class organized by the local international council. The classes are organized into six increasingly difficult levels (I'm currently in level five) and are attended by young immigrants (mostly Chinese) as well as local JETs. I usually ride up with Charlie Mac and only once have I ever driven down there myself, with Charlie acting as co-pilot. Well, shortly before I left my house today, Charlie sends me a text message saying that he wouldn't be going to class today. Well, if you've ever gone anywhere with me, you would know that I have what is, quite possibly, the worst sense of direction in human history. I wasn't too worried though, as the route to class is fairly straightforward and I've watched Charlie drive there a million times (rough estimate).

So, of course I got lost and ended up in a completely different part of the city. Which is strange, because it's pretty much a straight shot once I get off of the expressway, so I'm not sure how I fucked it up. Well, at least I knew whereabouts I was and was able to find my way back home fairly easily.

As I was rolling back into Momoishi, I couldn't help but remember a comment that Jamie had left on my blog the last time I posted about toys, claiming that there was something of a toy store in Momoishi, just before the bridge to Hachinohe. Well, at the time I found it hard to believe that I could have missed a toy store in my own backyard, although, admittedly, I haven't really explored that side of town much. But sure enough, there it was, a fairly sizable toy and model shop just on the edge of town.

The place is divided roughly in half with one side reserved for toys and figures and the other for model kits and is run by an old Japanese couple who really seemed to enjoy watching my every move. While they may have simply been amazed to see a foreigner in their store, I've come to expect this kind of treatment from years spent under the watchful eyes of the old ladies at Nelson's Dime Store in Racine, Wisconsin (oh my God, they have a website?). I guess I can't blame them, being under the age of 50 and having dark skin really stacks the deck against me when it comes to clerks whose name-tags read "Eleanor" and "Gertrude".

But alas, I digress. The toy half of this store was like some sort of nerdy fever-dream, the Japanese toy store that time forgot. While almost every box was covered with a thick layer of dust, concealed just below the surface were many treasures to be found from decades past. Perhaps the most exciting find was a few old, 80s transformers, still in their original boxes. I know exactly who's salivating reading that and he's incidentally the only person who'll be able to recognize the small piece of childhood nostalgia that I gleefully brought home with me (pictured). I kid you not, the box was so dusty that the old man wiped it down with a wet rag before selling it to me. According to the box, our old friend Rick Hunter's "real" name was Hikaru Ichijo. I did not know that.

The Wind in the Wires

Construction crews here in Japan are pretty different from those I'm used to seeing back home in the states. For one, they're far more ubiquitous, a result, no doubt, of the standard Japanese government funding allocation method that dictates that if a body is unable to spend all of the money allocated to it for one year, it will receive less money the next year. So, of course, towns and cities are constantly looking for new construction projects (and these are no Daley hired trucks, mind you). The end result is that it's difficult to drive anywhere in Japan without running into some kind of construction.

Another key difference is that they quite often work through the night. I'm not sure exactly how this works but most of the construction projects I've observed seem to continue nonstop until the job has been completed.

Finally, we have the safety regulations. Yes, the men pictured are really working on power lines while cars pass underneath.

Winter Wonderland

I'm no linguist but I would be willing to wager that Japanese is one of the more robust languages when it comes to expressing things having to do with snow. A quick search for "snow" in a Japanese dictionary will turn up dozens if not hundreds of entries, for expressing everything ranging from "sake drunk while observing a snowy scene" to "light reflected by snow". In this instance, I think the most appropriate term would be 銀世界 (ぎんせかい) which translates roughly into "snowscape".

This past Thursday and Friday marked the annual Aomori JET midyear conference. Now you might be saying to yourself "But wait, you've only been there for just over four months!" and you would be right. But in Aomori, we hold our midyear conference a bit early to avoid the difficulties that accompany the heavy snowfalls that the winter brings. So on early Thursday morning, Charlie Mac, the Misawa twins and myself piled into Charlie Berkenshaw's car and headed north for the bright lights of Aomori City once again.

Since all of us live along the coast on the southeast side of the prefecture (where the snowfall is comparatively light), we were all shocked to see how much snow has already fallen further inland. Where I live, we've had a few early-morning icings but no real snowfall to speak of yet. But up near Shichinohe (Leo's territory) we were greeted by the sights seen in these photos. If this is a sign of things to come, I should probably listen to my co-workers and put those snow tires on my car.

Anyway, I forgot to charge my camera's battery before leaving, so I was unable to take any photos at the conference. Let me assure you though, you didn't miss much aside from a bunch of boring presentations and a lot of rain. Perhaps the only highlight worthy of mention was when our very own Matt played the shit out of his drums at the Everest of Apples fundraiser talent show. We can now all bask in his reflected glory by saying that we knew him before he was a rock star.

The Lamentable End of Shimokun

In Japan, most (if not all) towns and cities have some sort of town logo or mascot. I'm not sure exactly what the point of "branding" municipalities is but they sure do get a kick out of it over here, blanketing every available public space with the likeness of a usually cute mascot. Sometimes these logos make at least some logistical sense. For example, we have a cute little statue of liberty and Aomori-Shi has a cute little ASPAM; both commemorate "famous" local landmarks. Rokunohe has a little maple leaf guy, as they have chosen to nickname their town "Maple Town," despite the fact that they probably don't actually have any maple trees. However, these mascots all pale in comparison to Shimoda's own Shimokun (lit. "Shimoda boy"). While at first glance he might look like an amoeba or amorphous blob, he's actually an outline of the town with a face that sports fashionable polka-dot vestments (feel free to consult this unreliable map, if you're skeptical).

Well, as one might imagine, Shimokun was in full effect at the Salmon festival; sailing omnipresently over the proceedings, standing directly in front of a large speaker blaring American dance music and even in festivalgoer stomachs, in the form of Shimokun cookies. But sadly, this marks the last year that salmon-killing enthusiasts will be able to enjoy the ubiquity of our favorite gelatinous blob. You see, there's been a huge trend in recent years for Japanese towns to consolidate into larger towns. The reason for this is that the archaic national system by which money is distributed to local municipalities offers huge incentives for such consolidation (this system is apparently, one of the targets of Koizumi's planned postal reform). As a result, Momoishi (the town that I call home) and Shimoda will fuse in a Voltron-like fashion in February, forming a behemoth called Oirase-Cho. Okay, well, forming a slightly bigger small-town, at any rate.

Sadly this spells the end of little Statue of Liberty and Shimokun, in favor of some sort of boring logo that Charlie saw last week. As I mentioned a while back, elections were held to select the new logo which will ostensibly be plastered in every corner of the town come next year. So long, Shimokun, we hardly knew ye.

The Shimoda Salmon Festival, Part Three: the Salmon Race and the Origin of the Species

And so, loyal readers, we reach the third and final event of the salmon festival: the salmon race. Below we see the "race track" of sorts, crowded by spectators eagerly awaiting a show of gentlemanly sportsmanship (this double-masculine isn't really all that accurate, salmon racing isn't as much of a boy's club as one might expect).
Well, you might say to yourself, "That's all well and good but how exactly does one get a salmon to race?" The answer is quite simple, really:
you beat the shit out of it with a stick.
Another photo finish! But what fate will befall our noble athletes?
Oh yes, that's right. Congratulations! Your prize is getting to suffocate in a garbage bag! At least the Kentucky Derby winners had a few years left in them before they were shipped off to the glue factory (or Japan, for that matter).

Well, if you're like me, you're probably wondering by this point, "Where does this seemingly endless supply of live salmon come from?" The answer is more simple than you might think: the water. The Oirase river runs right through the Shimoda Salmon Park and they simply set up this cage on the water that somehow manages to catch an abundance of salmon who are swimming downstream.



As one might imagine, they're not all too happy about being imprisoned. Perhaps the jumpers pictured above are discreetly planning an escape a la The Great Escape? If that's the case, I imagine that one of them speaks with the voice of Mel Gibson and is inexplicably American despite the cultural legacy of Mad Max.

The Shimoda Salmon Festival, Part Two: The Fast Salmon Catch

When we last left off in Shimoda, a few santa impersonators and professional fratboys had just accomplished the extremely difficult task of picking up a fish by it's tail. But no friends, the fun doesn't stop there. There were still many hours and salmon left to kill. Which brings us to the next event: the "fast salmon catch". What this entailed was a race to see who could catch a salmon and then run back across a line with the aforementioned animal first.
And they're off! Notice the guy in the back-left of the frame-he's not stretching-rather, he seemed to have fallen over with excitement.
Here, you'll notice that the fellow with the black and red boots is off to an early lead...
...and he's the first to catch a fish!
Run Forres...er, Takahashi!
And it's yet another triumph of man over nature, folks!

Perhaps even funnier was the children's fast salmon catch, as most of the kids participating were roughly the same size as the fish they attempted to grapple with. Many of them picked up a writhing fish only to be dragged back into the water with it. The eventual victors had to resort to dragging the fish out of the water as if it were a sack of potatoes.

There's Something Fishy Going On Here: The Shimoda Salmon Festival Part One

According to PETA, "There are very serious problems in the world that deserve our attention, and cruelty to animals is one of them." Luckily, cruelty to animals isn't a problem in Japan. It's more of an art, really. From dogs who live their entire lives on a foot-long chain to children who take an unusual amount of pleasure in pulling the wings off of dragonflies and killing squid, it's quite clear that the 'rights' of animals are not taken quite as seriously here as they are in some other parts of the world. What's that you say? Children all over the world enjoy dismembering bugs and bad pet owners can be found anywhere? Well, you're right. But do many other highly-developed nations hold festivals that center around the public tormenting of one species of animal?

Which brings us to the Shimoda salmon festival, the largest of it's kind in Japan. While the innocuous name might lead you to believe that salmon are simply eaten at the festival, there's actually quite a bit more to it than that. The festival consists of three main events: the "salmon catch," the "fast salmon catch" and the "salmon race". For brevity's sake, I'll use this post to focus on the main event, the salmon catch and will cover the other events in subsequent posts.

As the name might imply, the salmon catch does indeed involve the catching of salmon. However, the event doesn't take place in a river or open body of water. Rather, captive salmon are released into a small, shallow pond where crowds of people descend upon them, attempting to capture a fish with their bare hands. Fun for the whole family! Except, of course, for the salmon.
"Hey honey, look! It's like that singing fish we bought at Spencer's LOL!"

"OH MY GOD, A FISH!"

Too small, weak or feeble to catch a large salmon in a small pond? Well, then the salmon kiddie pool should be right up your alley!

After the big catch, the salmon are placed in plastic garbage bags where they generally flop around futilely and slowly suffocate.

You can then pay 200 yen to have a team of old ladies gut, clean and disassemble your fish; the end product is a plastic bag full of grocery store-style cuts of salmon, ready to cook.

Now, you may have already noticed a large number of foreigners in these photos. The reason for this is that the salmon festival is (unsurprisingly) one of the more popular events in the area with the Misawa folk. I'll try not to comment too extensively on this, as Matt should hopefully be posting a video soon that will brilliantly illustrate the manner in which American military personnel carry themselves overseas. I can tell you though, that walking around the festival, it was not at all unusual to hear southern-accented exclamations of "I caught the big one!" Yeah you did.

The young man above decided, for whatever reason, that it would be a good idea to remove his (still living) salmon from the bag and repeatedly slam it, head-first, into the concrete. Whoa! Save it for Osama, bro!
By far, the strangest sight at the festival was the family of santas. For some reason, a Japanese family decided that the best way to get into the festival spirit was to employ the use of matching santa suits. Here we see all five santas assembled, preparing to judge which fish have been naughty and which have been nice.

"Mommy, what is santa doing?"
"Oh, he's just catching a fish with his bare hands, honey."

Please Excuse My Use of Rather Florid Language

Last weekend, I made the trek down to Hachinohe for one of the area's larger exhibitions of Ikebana. Now, before you start making allegations regarding my sexuality, I should clarify that I was somewhat obligated to attend this "flower show," as Baba-San (one of my office-ladies) was exhibiting a piece and even went as far as to provide me with free tickets. Rest assured, I would have otherwise spent my Saturday eating steaks, watching televised sporting events and thinking about monster trucks.

Anyhow, despite the fact that I had to endure the stares of every person in the room (not only was I the sole male in attendance but also the only foreigner, the only person over 5 feet tall and the only person under 50 years of age), the exhibition turned out to be a pleasant surprise. What I had initially expected to encounter were a number of small, simple and linear arrangements. Of course, there were a good number of these but despite their simplicity, many were quite interesting to look at.




Now, what I hadn't really expected was pieces that pushed the boundaries of what I would normally consider to be a "flower arrangement". While I'm assuming that they all adhered to the aesthetic code of ikebana (with which I am not at all familiar), many of them didn't look like flower arrangements to me at all. Rather, they seemed more like art installations that just incidentally used plant life as one of their materials. What I found most impressive was the sense of motion that so many of these pieces had; they really managed to communicate something dynamic using a very static medium.




Another type of arrangement that really interested me was those that juxtaposed fresh flowers with dead or decaying matter. The real irony of a flower show is that while the objects that you are looking at may seem colorful, alive and fecund, many of them are in fact, slowly dying (although I suppose this statement is true of just about any living thing, depending on how pessimistic you are). Anyway, I thought it was interesting to see a few arrangements that tried to address this. The one below used rotting pomegranates, some of them broken open, alongside fresh flowers.


Anyway, I hereby promise that my next entry will be much more manly than this one. Don't say I didn't warn you...

Caramel Corn Fish

What follows is a series of four anecdotes, all relating to my past couple days of teaching at Momoishi Elementary School (百石小学校).

1.) Yesterday, I was walking down the stairs from one of my classes when the special ed. session let out. There are two special ed. students at the school and they get pulled out of their regular classes once a day for individual tutoring. I struck up a conversation with one of them as I walked down the stairs and he asked to look at the worksheets I was carrying. I explained that I would be using them when I teach his class next week and he seemed interested. Well, when we reached the entrance of the teacher's office, I was feeling pretty satisfied with how the conversation had gone. I'm starting to build relationships with a few of the kids at the school and I was glad to count him among them. I turned to say goodbye to the kid but instead of bidding me farewell he simply asked "Who are you?"

2.) At the end of the day yesterday, I had to teach the English Club. We now have one boy, who's a bit of a joker but the rest of the club consists of all girls, as can be expected. Well, we're sitting around playing a board-game when these two boys show up at the door. "We have presents for you," they announced, which (of course) sent the room into a frenzy. The girls lined up at the door to receive the "presents": two small, white squares of folded notebook paper. When they opened them up, they discovered little devices constructed from a rubber band, a piece of cardboard and a soda can tab. The tab was tied in the middle of the rubber band, which was strung between the edges of a square of cardboard and the band was all wound up. Perhaps you might even recall constructing such devices during your own elementary school days; they're supposed to jump out at whoever opens the letter and scare them. Unfortunately, these ones didn't work for some reason and just sat there. The girls pretended to be scared out of obligation but the boys soon lost interest and left, dejected at the failure of their elaborate prank. As one of the girls was disposing of the device, she somehow managed to cut herself on the soda tab. When I sat back down to continue the game, I heard a commotion going on at the other table and looked over to see that the girl's thumb was bleeding slightly. At the sight of this, the girl sitting directly across from me turned to me and with a completely deadpan look on her face said (in perfect English) "Oh my God." I don't think anyone in that room understood why I laughed so hard.

3.) There's a big difference between sixth graders and fourth graders. This week, I decided to design separate lessons for my older elementary schoolers and my younger ones. For the younger ones, I'm doing a Halloween lesson centering around trick-or-treating. The older guys get a Halloween word-search that I downloaded off of the internet. I figure, if they're going to put in a minimum of effort, so will I. Little did I know that I managed to tap into a secret Japanese passion for worksheets. In my sixth grade classes, the minute I handed them out, heads went down and the kids began to concentrate on solving the search-before I had even asked them to. This came as quite a pleasant surprise as instead of having to teach a usually rambunctious class, I was free to stroll around the room and daydream for half an hour. In one of the classes, the teacher got so into it that she sat down at a desk and solved it with the kids. When she finished, she pumped her fists in the air and exclaimed "I DID IT!" She then assigned the remainder of the word-search as homework for the class, resulting in a collective groan.

Now, the fourth graders were a completely different story. I couldn't decide if they were ready for the word search or not but I guess I figured that I would challenge them (or maybe I was feeling lazy) and decided to give it a shot. I spent the first half of class explaining all of the words to them in Japanese and even drew a word-seach on the board to show them how to look for the words. However, in all three fourth grade classes, approximately 30-50% of each class entered collective whine mode after I handed out the word-search. They slumped back in their chairs, their necks and limbs went limp, their eyes rolled-back in their heads and their mouths opened wide, releasing an extremely whiny chorus of 意味わかああない ("I don't understaaaand the meaning!"). I shudder just thinking about it.

4.) If you've managed to read this far then consider yourself duly rewarded, as I always save the best for last. I've been eating school lunch for the past two weeks or so and despite the fact that I once was the kind of kid who was so finicky about what I ate that I generally turned my nose up at the mere mention of school lunch, I have found the Japanese equivalent quite palatable. Each meal generally consists of five components: vegetable, meat, soup, rice or bread and milk. While there are occasionally rather questionable items included (yesterday's corn, spinach and sausage salad, anyone?), on the whole, it usually provides a satisfying afternoon meal. Today, one of the items was a piece of fish, breaded and fried in the delicious katsu ("cutlet") style. There was a little tube of tonkatsu sauce on the side, which is commonly eaten with katsu-style items. When the secretary of the school tried to put some on her fish, a whole bunch came gushing out and everyone laughed at her. "Here, have another one," said the teacher sitting across from me, as he served her one of the extras and put the soiled fish back in the box. After I had eaten most of the rest of my lunch, I decided to tackle the fish (I always save the best for last, remember?) and I made sure to apply the sauce very sparingly, so as not to be laughed at. When I looked up, the entire table was staring at me in amazement. "What are you doing?" the teacher across from me asked. I looked down at the tube in my hand, which I had not even bothered to read: "...coffee". "What is this?" I asked. "That's coffee flavoring for your milk!" he exclaimed, resulting in a eruption of laughter. He offered me another piece of fish but determined to pay for my own stupidity, I insisted on eating the coffee-flavored fish. Perhaps as a sign of solidarity, he then removed the discarded fish cutlet from the box (which was literally soaking in the coffee syrup) and began to eat it. "It's not that bad, it just tastes like caramel corn!" he exclaimed, adding, "It's really sweet, though". After that, he tried to trick every other teacher who entered the room into making the same mistake but none of them fell for it. Zanen deshita.

The Sweet Potato Party

Momoishi kindergarten is simultaneously one of my favorite places to teach and one of my least favorite. The kids are always full of energy, happy to see me and ready to try whatever activity I have planned for the day. However, the school is also the worst when it comes to scheduling-and believe me when I say that there's some stiff competition. Perhaps the best example of this is the time that I was scheduled to teach two half-hour long classes to small groups of 5 year olds but arrived to find out that I would be teaching a one hour lesson to a large group of 3 year olds instead. Anyone who's worked with children this young knows that there's a huge difference in maturity and capability between 3 and 5 year olds. I spent that hour watching futilely as kids threw crayons at each other instead of drawing and vowed to never believe the kindergarten schedule again.

Well, there are rare instances in which the kindergarten's insistence on keeping me ill-informed regarding schedule changes provides a pleasant surprise. When I walked into the school today (prepared, of course, to teach a group of any size, age, shape or color) I was told that there would be no lesson today as there was going to be a school-wide "Yakimo Party". The word yakimo refers to the Japanese sweet potato when it is grilled; an act that traditionally takes place in the fall, when the potatoes are harvested.

Upon my arrival, I was summoned to the woods behind the kindergarten where many of the children were already hard at work building a giant pile of leaves. After this task was finished, the teachers produced a few boxes full of sweet potatoes, which had been wrapped in tin foil. The children then buried these in the pile after which it was ignited aflame. After the pile had burned completely, the teachers carefully removed the potatoes from the smoldering ashes with tongs and then distributed them to the children. So we all sat around in the woods, eating freshly grilled sweet potatoes and drinking refreshing mugicha (barley tea). When a swarm of dragonflies descended upon our gathering, I was instructed by one of my young companions on how to rid myself of them. Rather than moving around or even trying to swat them away, if you simply tap the appendage on which they rest, they will sense the vibration and fly away. This is what they're paying me for, folks.

Yet Another Post About Toys

While en route to Hachinohe city hall for an Ikebana exhibition this weekend (more on that later), I made a rather serendipitous discovery. Just down the street from city hall, there are two toy collector's boutiques, right next to each other. They're both rather small affairs but that doesn't seem to matter much as both places have managed to pack every available inch of space (including the ceilings) with toys, glorious toys. One place seemed to specialize in Star Wars and had an entire wall literally covered with packaged Star Wars action figures and accessories. Knowing that I had to make it in time for the exhibition, I managed to forcibly remove myself from the second store with only a ¥500, tin Astroboy in tow (surprisingly, these were just about the only places where I've seen any Astroboy or Godzilla toys). However, if anyone is willing to make the trip back down with me (*cough*Leo*cough*), I'd love to waste my very non-disposable income on shaped lumps of painted vinyl.

Gimme The Car

So, for the past week or so, I've been the proud owner of a 1998 Subaru Impreza. While the long and strange journey that I undertook to purchase this piece of machinery is worthy of its own non-fiction volume, I think I'll have to settle for an abridged blog entry instead. It all began some months ago, when I realized that all of the vehicles being sold cheaply by other JETs were long gone and that I would have to venture forth myself in search of an appropriate motorized carriage. One day while being driven to a school by Okubo-San, I was casually asked what type of car I wanted to buy. I mentioned the Impreza, also known as the Aomori JET standard issue. For various reasons (heavy snowfall/numerous mountains/Melanie knowing a Subaru dealer), what seems like 90% of JETs in the prefecture drive an Impreza of some sort. Well, Okubo-San was surprised at this suggestion and remarked to me that it was a "very expensive car". Oh, okay, scratch that, then.

Well, Okubo-San must have mentioned my rather lavish automotive tastes to the others in the office because before long, Baba-San (our office's most senior office-lady) approached me. "Mehan-San, you want to buy an Impreza?" she asked. "You know, I have an old Impreza and I'm going to be getting a new car soon." Indeed, she does drive a 93 Impreza and has been in the process of buying a new Legacy for some time now. Well, I waited for a few days for her to offer her car to me for sale. She never did.

Instead, she said that since she was buying a new car that she would introduce me to her Subaru dealer. Okay. After a few days, I was told that the dealer had found me an older used Legacy. "The Impreza is a very expensive car, you should get a Legacy instead," Baba-San advised. I expressed interest in seeing the car but for some reason, it never materialized. Instead, a few days later I was told that the dealer had found me a 95 Impreza. "The Impreza is a very good car, you should get an Impreza," Baba-San said. Um, Okay. However, this car was apparently going to cost me about $4500 USD, which was quite a bit more than I was looking to spend. Luckily, the dealer also failed to produce this car.

Fast-forward to last month. I walk into the office after a long day of teaching and Baba-San tells me that the dealer has found yet another car for me. Okay, whatever. Then she tells me that it's an Impreza for only 28 man ($2400) and that I can see it today. Now, that's more like it. After I expressed interest in seeing the car, I was told that "the previous owner of the car was not skilled at driving". Well, why should I care about that? "It's full of [word I didn't understand]". Well, I looked up the word, which was translated as "wounds or bruises". Not caring much about the car's appearance, I agreed to see it anyway.

Unlike in the States, the dealer drove the car to the office so that I could have a look at it. It turns out that the car (which had previously belonged to an old man) had a barely noticeable, small dent below the passenger-side back door. That was what they meant by "full of dents". Still, in a society where appearance and conspicuous consumption rule supreme, this was enough to discount the value of the car by almost 50%. Otherwise, everything seemed to check out (the only downside being the relatively small 4-cylinder 1.5 L engine) and since Japan's system of mandatory maintenance (shakken) essentially guarantees that any car with valid shakken is mechanically sound, I agreed to buy it on the spot.

Well, in America, all that would be left to do would be to go down to the dealership, fill out some basic paperwork, pay some money and drive the thing home. Oh, if only it were that simple. I agreed to buy the car on the 17th of October and finally received it on the 2nd of November. The two and a half weeks in-between were filled with paperwork, paperwork and more paperwork. In addition to the run of the mill stuff, I had to register my personal stamp with town hall, get my landlord to sign a statement certifying that I had a parking spot in which to park the car (he also had to draw a map of the parking spot and sign that) and provide proof of insurance before even owning the car. That's right, I paid insurance for the entire month of October, during which I was still a pedestrian.

Furthermore, while the price of the car, including shakken inspection, was a measly ¥200,000, I ended up paying an additional ¥70,000 in taxes, fees and taxes on taxes and fees (yes, some of the various taxes were actually taxed themselves). I guess that's not a lot of money compared to what you would pay for a vehicle like this in the states but it does seem a little excessive to pay a tax on a parking tax when I'm already paying money for a parking spot.

Well, it was quite a fiasco but well worth it in the end, as I no longer have to ride my bike home from the mall in complete darkness. The whole driving on the other side of the road thing is a bit scary at first but I think I'm getting used to it. The first night I took the car out, I was apparently veering a little too close to the left, as Leo remarked that his knuckles were white from grabbing onto the "oh shit bar" for the duration of the ride. Silly Leo, your knuckles are always white! However, barring that episode and a minor incident in Hachinohe where I attempted to drive on the wrong side of the road before being corrected by an angry, oncoming driver, things have been going swimmingly.