Monday Shogakkoing

As I've said, when the junior high school I work at has testing, I'm usually sent to elementary schools where I'm exploited and revered. This is how I started my week.

I rode my bike 30 minutes uphill to Oono Elementary and arrived at 9 o'clock. Last week, Nakayama Sensei informed me that if the weather was clear on Monday (which is was) first period lessons would be canceled for some outdoor activity and I wouldn't begin teaching until 9:40. Well, he needs to verify his sources because the moment I stepped on the premises, sweaty and exhausted from my bike ride, a frenzied teacher whisked me away and told me I already missed half of first period. Delightful morning news, and on a Monday no less. She tossed me in the gym with 80 six-year old students and said, in so many words, "OK, teach," before vanishing to the back. I patted my moist brow and chewed the inside of my cheeks. After a particularly depressing Sunday, this was the last thing I needed, but, oh, my brothers, I persevered. I sucked up some air and played Simon Says...

Shogakko visits are, admittedly, tons of fun, though overwhelming at times. The students can be a handful. I've learned to let their annoyingly endless energy wash over me in a carefree wave. Add to this that in most cases the teachers don't speak English and gawk at me after I give instructions for the next game. (That wasn't the case today, however, because Oono has gone out and collected a staggering number of English-speaking teachers. I was impressed.) Anyway, I played Simon Says..., always a big hit with the kiddies. Then I got the students up and moving with a vicious game of tag that had no relevance whatsoever to English education but goddamn it we were having a blast. Another thing I've come to accept is that my visits, which occur 3 or 4 times a year, do almost nothing to enhance the kids' English. That said, this is a unique privilege for the students: an opportunity to interact with a foreigner in a friendly, encouraging atmosphere. I have a chance to shape their image of all foreigners while they're still young. I try very hard to not be an asshole.

Back to tag. The first time I came to Oono my games resulted in two injuries and several tears shed. Now I don't leave satisfied unless I see one or two students fall to the ground crying. It isn't all my fault; the kids take the games seriously, sprinting and darting and colliding and yelping and crumbling. And I'm against the safe, safe wall laughing. We all have a good time.

A Duck, Duck, Goose Game later and we're all knackered. First period is over, but the fun is just beginning. I teach every lesson, three periods of 50-student groups and two periods of 80-student groups. Three hundred and ten students. And a tiny school lunch waiting for me at 12:30 (which, I just realized, I forgot to pay for).

The students hounded me for my signature. They're fiends really. I signed pencil cases, folders, notebooks - almost anything that has a writable surface. Some students have rows and rows of past signatures, from who I know not. All the teachers are kind, but one in particular was very pleasant. We chatted awhile and she told me she lived in San Diego ten years ago. I asked for her email address so we could keep in touch. Perhaps I shouldn't have done that because she is relatively young and the other teachers probably assumed I was asking her on a date. And that couldn't have looked good since this teacher is married with child. Let people think what they want, I don't care. But she's the one who has to go back there every day. In any event, we exchanged info and that was that.

I zipped by students on the sidewalks, pedaling slow to enjoy the clear weather. The kids wore their yellow caps - mandatory while walking to and from school - and the same looks of dumbfounded wonder they always have when I'm around. Hey, I'm the joy-bringer. I give the gift of game. They better love me.

I watched Beowulf at home, and, feeling suffocated by my coffin apartment, went to the beach to study Japanese or write prose, whichever inspired me. Turns out neither inspired me and I did nothing. The beach was freezing, a storm wind kicking up. I stretched out on a bench and stared at the gray sky through the pine trees. Yeah, pine trees on the beach here.

Unwilling to return home, I risked a Jusco trip. I walked with my head down, sick of the stares, and found the keyboards. I pounded out music a few minutes then ambled to Wave where I played 30 minutes of billiards and sang karaoke for an hour, alone. I bought dinner at Jusco, stares free of charge, and ate ate home and watched Beowulf again and ordered Saint John's Worts online and wrote a blog entry.

The Calendar Hung Itself

Does he kiss your eyelids in the morning when you start to raise your head? And does he sing to you incessantly from the space between your bed and wall? Does he walk around all day at school with his feet inside your shoes looking down every few steps to pretend he walks with you? Oh, does he know that place below your neck is your favorite to be touched? And does he cry through broken sentences like, "I love you far too much"?

Does he lay awake listening to your breath worried you smoke too many cigarettes? Is he coughing now on a bathroom floor? For every speck of tile there's a thousand more you won’t ever see, but must hold inside yourself eternally.

Well, I drug your ghost across the country and we plotted out my death in every city, memories would whisper "Here is where you rest." I was determined in Chicago but I dug my teeth into my knees and I settled for a telephone, sang into your machine:

"You are my sunshine
My only sunshine.
You are my sunshine
My only sunshine,"

And I kissed a girl with a broken jaw that her father gave to her. She had eyes bright enough to burn me they reminded me of yours. And in a story told, she was a little girl in a red-rouge, sun-bruised field and there were rows of ripe tomatoes where a secret was concealed and it. rose. like. thunder. clapped. under. our. hands and it. stretched. for. centuries. to a diary. entry's. end--where I wrote:

"You make me happy, ah
When skies are gray.
You make me happy, ah
Oh, when skies are gray
They're gray and gray,"

Well, the clock’s heart, it hangs inside its open chest with its hands stretched towards the calendar hanging itself but I will not weep for those dying days for all the ones who left, there's a few that stayed and they found me here and pulled me from the grass where I, was laid.

Bright Eyes

Vince's Commercial

Here's a man who loves his job. My buddy Vince works in Osaka and made this commercial as an example for his students, who will be doing similar projects next month. Great editing, award-winning acting. It doesn't get much better.

Dayna and the Cricket

Dayna munching on some fried crickets. Isn't she so very, incredibly beautiful?!! Yeah, I'm talking to you, and you know who you are.

Takoyaki Party

About two weeks ago, a few Sumoto locals had a takoyaki party. For those of you who don't know what takoyaki is, get involved. Here's a video of us indulging. Dayna again demonstrates why she's the girl of my dreams.

Free Write 1

My good friend Gabe knows my passion is writing. He also knows I haven't been diligent in my practice. More than anyone else, he encourages me to get back on track. So tonight we started what will become (maybe) a daily free write exchange. My submission is below. He gave me a random topic and 10 minutes to write. This is more than I've written in months. If it's shit then it's shit. At least it's something. I am grateful for a friend like Gabe.

You should note that these Free Write posts will likely have nothing to do with Japan, so if you're here for insight on the country, JET, etc., you won't find it in these brief exercises.

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His favorite book was Moby Dick. Not because it was a good book. In fact, he'd never read it. But everyone raved, and raving got his attention. So he kept Moby Dick near the register, propped on its side like something lounging about, and he'd tell his customers in a gentle voice that few works of literature compared to this grand, epic achievement that he knew nothing about, and they listened intently over their stacks of comics and magazines like he was some sort of classic god and his words meant something more than theirs. This part he liked.

The air conditioner kicked on with a thump. He looked up at it and wondered how much the electricity bill would be this month. He didn't sell enough books and magazines and whatever to cover more than the bare minimum. He'd often thought of converting this place into a porn shop, with meter-long dildos displayed in glass cases along the walls like specimens from another world or encased sea-creatures, motionless and immense. He'd shine blue light on the glass for effect. The aquarium was always his favorite destination as a child. There were no aquariums around him anymore. He wasn't a child.

But the idea of having smut around him seemed too much to bear. What would his mom think? What would God think? He masturbated daily and every time he wondered these things. Before, pursuing is collection of Playboy and Hustler; during, rubbing his cock with his right hand and shuffling the pages with his left; after, scrubbing the cum off his bed sheet and pubic hair. He would smile.

Why not make this a porn shop? He could have a cactus out front like a guard dog. He could wear a fur coat. Moby Dick would still be on the counter and customers would still ask him what was up with that and he would speak to them like simpletons because he knew that they didn't know that he knew nothing about Moby Dick, or Captain Ahab, or anything else like that.

Someone walked in. This man slunked behind the first aisle and ran his finger along the display case

Ninja Will Caught in the Act

This is Ninja Will on location: climbing the walls of a castle. Audio ain't so great, but there is a ninja.

Re-Contracting and Hissy Fits

This is opinion and not intended to be a direct attack at anyone in particular, except the Hyogo Times staff.

This is dated. I meant to post months ago, but lost interest until I heard yesterday that Hyogo Times was once again publishing negative articles.

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The deadline to submit the re-contracting form for all ALT JETs was in February. The timing's cruel because it comes in the middle of the coldest month, so while us JETs are freezing and begging for a warm day, they slap a piece of paper in front of us that asks if we want to do it all again. If you agree, then you'll be here for another 18 months, a bit hard for some of us to fathom as we pray for spring. Regardless, I agreed, but many JETs I know did not. One in particular wrote an article for the Hyogo Times (Hyogo Prefecuture's JET news publication) detailing some of the reasons she refused a second year. Another JET I know promptly commented on how negative the article was, which, in all honesty, it was--describing living conditions as "shitholes," stating the job "isn't rewarding...[or] fun," and accusing Japanese people of lacking passion in their relationships and lives. Thus began the great Hyogo JET debate, and I'm here to toss my hat into the mix, even though things cooled down a long time ago.

First, and I say this with all due respect, the author had no right to claim that Japanese people lack passion, especially since she admitted earlier in the article that she is treated like an outsider. She supported this claim by saying Japanese people don't hug enough. She has no insight into the lives of the Japanese. This is an insult to an entire nation of people. Damn freedom of speech, she has no right. We are guests in their country, and to belittle them in such a way is despicable. The author should retract the statement and Hyogo Times should issue a formal apology. (You may be getting a sense now of why I will never submit an article to the Hyogo Times, a shoddy joke of a publication.) Apparently, this article was meant to examine the author's reasons for not re-contracting. However, I spoke to this person months ago, and she had decided very early on - maybe before coming, I can't remember - that she would only do one year on JET. So the entire basis for the article was moot. This was just an excuse to complain to a large audience.

But let's take a deep breath and calm ourselves a minute. Not including the insult to the Japanese population, I believe the JET was entitled to her opinions. She feels she's wasting her education here, she feels she's not respected enough, she feels like an outcast--times two since she lives on an island, in the inaka. I understand where she's coming from, but negativity begets negativity. The circle of friends she associates with is extremely negative when it comes to the JET experience. (At least, that's how they normally act when I meet them - which, in all fairness, doesn't happen often.) I'm not saying JET is perfect because it's not, but when a group sows the seeds of negativity, and encourages each member to compound that negativity, bad attitudes form. Most of those girls made up their minds in the first month that they would not re-contract and some shout "Fuck no!" when I ask if they are sticking around. In my experience, people who think and act that way want other people to share their views, otherwise they look like complete assholes, so they belabor the point, find everything wrong with everything they see, focus on the worst things until friends quietly accept. The group I affiliate with doesn't let me get away with saying, "JET sucks, Japan sucks" etc., without asking me to really consider why I'd say such a thing and forcing me to acknowledge that their are positives to every negative. I think I would be in worse shape if my friends here encouraged only negative talk or allowed me to go on tirades without calling me on it. That's enough to make someone want to break contract and slink home, tail between legs.

If you don't like it here, fine, but don't incessantly whine about it. It isn't peaches and creams for everyone, you know. We're all struggling, we all have problems, we're all homesick. Every day is a challenge, and we don't need constant reminders about the hardships of our lives; we have enough of that when we step outside. We find ways to improve ourselves and enhance our experiences. We don't sulk; we don't countdown the days until our contracts end. I won't lie and say we never complain. But it's mostly in jest and almost never bitter.

Finally, Hyogo Times. This organization should be ashamed of itself. Their defense was that they had no submissions and had to publish the precious few they did receive. If they're that short of material, don't publish for a month. The world won't end. They also say this was an opinion piece that did not reflect Hyogo Times, but just allowing an article like that in your paper says something.

Sadly, this publication is available to newly accepted JETs who are arriving in Japan this summer. Even before coming here they get a heavy dose of negativity. These people are reading Hyogo Times for insight on life in Japan from the people who came before them, not to be discouraged beforehand. Hyogo Times has a responsibility to provide readers with quality articles.

Those are my thoughts. I'm sure some of you won't like them very much, and those are probably the only people who actually read this far. Therefore, I'll restate that I'm not attacking you in this post; I'm just exercising my freedom of speech. I've long been a person who holds grudges, but I'm trying to change. I won't despise you for your actions, attitudes, or opinions. Hate consumes too much energy. That doesn't mean you can't hate me. Feel free. After all, we won't even be in the same country come September.

Little Shit

So I do conversation time with my third-year students at lunch. Today I asked them to teach me a Japanese word in English. One student said, "Unko equals shit." Fabulous, I know. So I asked him, "Where did you learn that word?" He thought a moment and said, "At home." Really, what more needed to be said?

Ninja Will

This poor Japanese family wasn't prepared for an encounter with Ninja Will. But can anyone ever truly be prepared for such an encounter?

thought

Cows should refrain from thinking.

Osaka Nights and Mie Ninja

I caught the bus off Awaji at 6:45. In Tsuna two handicap people were lugged into the bus by young men and stapled to their seats, bags of urine swinging freely from their sides. We crossed the bridge to their discordant moaning. I hurried for the exit.

At Maiko I took the train bound for Osaka. I was already late. The plan was to meet Will at Drop, a club in Triangle Park, around 9. I reached Umeda at 9:10 and quickly went underground toward the Midosuji Line, which runs north and south. I hit Namba moments later in utter panic because I didn't know where I was. Osaka's underground is a catacomb of shops and restaurants. I'd taken the wrong exit after the subway and desperately tried to locate familiar landmarks. At last I found some coin lockers I recognzied and was back on track.

Above ground the cops were out. More cops than I've ever seen in Osaka. Nearly two at every street corner, weilding big sticks. I kept wondering if I'd missed some important crisis that put the city on high alert. I zinged through the backstreets, which are incredibly safe for a city, on my way to Shinsaibashi and America Town.

Drop is on the B1 level of a building adjacent a convenie. I scampered down the steps and met the man at the window who took one look at me and said, "Will's friend?" You bet your ass, Will's friend.

Tonight was a metal fest of music. The bands blasted, intense and ferocious, but when I entered the room, it was Will, not the players, who was putting on the show. Hair flailing in golden streams, limbs pumping, legs pounding. He controlled the nearly empty dance floor, and I couldn’t help but smile. The passion this man possesses for everything is admirable.

Turns out I was right on time. The band we’d come to see was next. They’re called Harvest and play music influenced by System of a Down, though their style is unique. After a tequila shot and some Mexi Cola I stood side-by-side with Will and Hitomi, who joined us from Awaji, and danced. We danced angry and intent. Stomping and marching. Punching and screaming. The violent songs fueled our movements. Just the three of us. A room full of people shyly bobbing their heads. The band’s groupies were near the stage with us, overtaken by the music, gripping the padded railing that separated them from their idols.

It was a quick set, no more than 30 minutes. For the best, considering we were all drenched in sweat now. Naturally, Will is a good friend of the band, so together we vacated the club, which closed at a ridiculous hour, and mingled on the sidewalk. We bought some drinks at the convenie and perched on the ground. What a remarkable group of friendly people. We chatted for about an hour and exchanged cell phone information. The guitarist said he would tell me when their next show was. I can’t wait.

Next - and what a change – was a hip-hop club. Will, Hitomi, and I ventured to this new destination to meet Sayaka (name changed to protect the not-so-innocent). She is a lovely young lady from Awaji who lives in Osaka now. Her friend, Maki, accompanied her, as did a man named Shin who is quite clearly trying to get into Sayaka’s pants. He’s a nice enough fellow, but I don’t think he liked the idea that Will and I were planning on staying the night at Sayaka’s apartment.

The new club was much more energetic, though the music was awful. MCs strung together words to R&B covers and DJs mixed a heavy dose of hip-hop junk into the air. I downed my first tequila upon entering. We kept drinking and dancing, and the night wore on. I had a lengthy conversation with Maki outside the bathrooms. At this time I couldn’t see straight anyway, and she was on her way to a messy end. Hitomi had to leave because she had work in 4 hours back on Awaji. Will, the gentleman, escorted her all the way home, leaving me alone with Sayaka and Maki. It’s not as much fun as it sounds. Sayaka was working in the club that night as a tequila girl. She talked up the guys and got them to buy more tequila. And Maki, well, that messy ending was waiting for her in the bathroom. Around 3 am, I noticed she disappeared. We found her at 5:30, clutching the toilet bowl, face pressed against the seat, door locked. I scaled the stall to unlock the door. I maneuvered around Maki’s limp body, careful not to step in the vomit, and let Sayaka in.

We managed to get her up and left the party. Outside the dawn light was in full force. We took a taxi to Sayaka’s apartment where I promptly crashed on the floor. When I went to sleep, Sayaka was on the futon to my right with Maki. When I awoke a few hours later, she was on my left, using my bicep as a pillow, back arched against my chest. I’m still trying to work out how that happened. I’m certain I didn’t pick her up and move her. Her hair smelt like smoke. Her arms were smooth and frail. Her petite body was contorted on the floor, legs perpendicular to her torso. I couldn’t fall asleep again. I lay there and searched the room with my eyes. For the first time I noticed how messy it was: clothes scattered about, knick-knacks and various accessories piled on the table, condoms pinned to her bulletin board. I was surprised (by the mess, not the condoms). She knew she would have guests. Why hadn’t she tidied up? I rested my head on the pillow and stared into her bundle of smoky hair, waiting for her to wake. I’m pretty sure this is one of those missed opportunity moments, and plenty of men would do a face-palm in my honor when they read this story, but I don’t care. It was nice just to wake up next to a beautiful girl again.

Kate emailed my cell phone and the new day’s adventure was underway. We were meant to rendezvous at Tennoji Station, except I didn’t know how to get there. Plus, I didn’t have any sense of where I was at the moment. I said goodbye to Sayaka in pathetic fashion and raced along the streets to the subway. With a little ingenuity, I managed the trains and showed up 30 minutes late, sweaty and hungover. Dayna and Will were also there. Will had driven to Awaji from Osaka that morning, and now he was back, a few minutes of sleep under his belt. I apologized for making them wait and we jumped the first train for Nara.

We spoke of many things. This is the hardest part to write. How do I describe our conversations? Our topics of discussion probably won’t entertain people who don’t know us or understand our group dynamics. Suffice it to say, they entertained us. It seems like a simple thing, just talking, but it was the most enjoyable part of the weekend. It’s rare to find a group of people like this. We’re all so different, and yet we have so much in common. Most importantly, we’re all looking to have fun – the same kind of fun might be a better way to put it – and we don’t bring each other down by being apprehensive, uncooperative, or annoying. In fact, we encourage each other to do what we want. We’re young and just living our lives the best way we know how, I think.

Two hours later we were in Mie Prefecture. We located the ninja costume shop and ducked into the changing room together. We came out ninja. Will and I ate lunch first while the girls scouted the area. Once finished, Will and I set out. The park was built in the shadow of castle, the walls high and foreboding along the trail. Will scaled the ruins and I got some good pictures of him doing it. While looking for the girls, Will sprinted between Japanese tourists, his right arm extended forward like a lance, index and middle fingers jutting out. I nearly collapsed I was laughing so hard.

Eventually, we found the girls and four black ninja dashed into the meadow together. There we filmed a few excellent videos and took great, unforgettable pictures. I’ll post more from that day later. Basically, we pranced around in ninja suits for an hour and a half, acting like overgrown children and loving every second of it. Even now, I can’t stop smiling as I recall the day. Our last charge was down the road, through the meadow, and by a few Japanese families, kids saying, “Ninja,” in awe and horror. We returned our ninja powers and headed home. On the way we stopped and stood on some concrete road dividers (not sure what to call them). The reason I bring it up is because we had just as much fun standing on those things as we did talking and running around and everything else. It was the company that made the moment. It wouldn’t have been the same any other way.

On the train, a young man, who may have had a mental deficiency, stood next to us and wouldn’t stop staring. I even sprayed water on him, but he wouldn’t quit. I was highly irritable and defensive from weariness. Anyway, this guy, after 10 minutes of gawking, said, “Excuse me. Can I…It’s my dream to talk to whites.” I shook my head and looked away. Will and Kate were willing to have a chat. I was in no mood.

We ate dinner in Kobe, met a sweet Japanese girl who knew Will at Sannomiya Station and welcomed her in our travel party, had a drink with a JET friend in Akashi, took the Tako Ferry across to Awaji, and drove home. During our Akashi drink, I sat next to another JET guy I’d ran across a few times but never really talked to. When our new Japanese friend from Sannomiya took her seat, he leaned over to me and said, “Who’s that?” I half expected his tongue to fall out of his face. It happens so often that I don’t mind white guys perving Japanese girls (well, to a certain extent) but this guy already had his arm across the shoulders of another Japanese girl. That bothered me a little.

And thus concluded our ninja adventure…for now.

Ninja Fun

Will, Dayna, Kate, and I went to Mie Prefecture together and enjoyed a lovely day of train rides, conversations, and bloody ninja wars. Here is a video of the three attacking each other with intense realism and mind-blowing effects. Note the master filming.

Busy Little Me

I have rediscovered my pathetic ability to write, but lately I've been so busy I haven't had the time to update. Gabe and I spoke togther about the social life on Awaji and how there's always something happening. On the weekend, I had almost no free time because I was meeting new people, going to barbecues, practicing Japanese, doing Yoga, drinking, or writhing in pain on my futon. Gabe and I both agreed that if you can't find the abundance of fun available to us here, then you're not looking hard enough.

On Monday night, most all the Awaji folk went to a takoyaki party (octopus balls). It was a blast. I drank more than my fair share and ate enough takoyaki to feed a family. Then Tuesday morning I had a mandatory health check for work. It was probably a bad idea to eat and drink so much the night before, but oh well, I'm young. Wednesday I went to a birthday party. One of the regulars from Roots was celebrating his 34th year. And Thursday I played basketball. Not a dull moment here!

Returning to the Tuesday health check: what a gash experience. I rocked up and simply said, "I don't speak any Japanese at all," because the little I do know wouldn't help me with the medical jargon. It was quite embarassing, but I'm beyond the uncomfortable I-can't-speak-Japanese moments. Luckily there was a teacher there who spoke English and he walked me through the process. I took an eye exam and didn't know what the lady was asking me to do (something about numbers, up-down-left-right), so I backed off and said, "My eyes are excellent," in perfect Japanese. She looked at me and said, "Take the test." They don't mess around here. Anyway, once I figured out what she wanted, I answered everything. I have 15/15 vision, according to the Japanese test.

I had to complete a survey about my daily life. With the teacher's asssistance, I rushed through the questions. Do you drink alcohol at least four times a week? Check. Have you gained 3 kilograms in the last 6 months? Check. Has your lifestyle changed in the last 10 months? I paused at this question and reflected on how drastically my lifestyle has changed. This time last year I was buckeled down in a library, cramming insane amounts of knowledge into my peanut. I drank minimally, went to the gym regularly, and only occasionally met new people. It made me wonder. Had I uprooted to anywhere else would my life have changed this much? If I had moved two cities from my home, would I be doing basically the same things I do here? Definitely not, and I couldn't be happier.

Today I teach 4 classes and 3 lunch conversations. After work I hurry to Osaka to watch a heavy metal band, then roll down to Shinsaibashi for a "Tequila Girl" event until dawn (I still don't know what that is, by the way). Saturday I head to Mie for a Ninja Village adventure. Sunday I drag myself back home, lick my wounds, and repair my broken heart in time for another run of work and recreation.

I've had the song "Hurt" by Nine Inch Nails stuck in my head all week. Two lines in particular: "What have I become, my sweetest friend? / Everyone I know goes away in the end." It's true.

Rafting Dance Party

Here's another video of all the great fun we had at rafting and everything you missed out on. Steve absolutely makes this clip.

Where the Arse Is

In certain cases, names of body parts in Japanes cover more area than the corresponding names in English. The best example of this is ashi, or leg, which refers to the entire leg, including the foot. Te, or hand, as I understand (and correct me if I'm wrong, Phil) consists of the hand and forearm. Recently, I've been noticing that when Japanese people say hip, they mean the hip and the rear. I was surprised at first, watching my JTE smack her rear in front of the class during a body-parts lesson and shout, "Hip." I thought, maybe she just has really big hips. I was later told that the word ushiro describes the entire area from the hips to the rear.

Do you ever notice that when you notice something you start to notice it a lot more? Well, I started noticing Japanese people claim that their rears were their hips. I was sitting alone in an empty bar, chatting it up with the bartender, when a Shakira song started bopping through the speakers.

I said, "Kireina onna, na?"

He said, "Nice hips!"

I pondered this a moment. "You mean, nice ass?" I finally said.

He commenced to tap his rear and wiggle it a little. I contributed to his English and paved a new path in international cultural exchange by teaching him the word "ass." We both agreed that Shakira's is ookii.

After that, I looked around the deserted bar and had a sudden swell of depression. Teaching the word ass to a bartender in an empty bar, in a distant land. This is what my life has become.

Okonomiyaki Dinner

Since I'm still incapable of writing, here's another video. The gang and I went to an okonomiyaki shop owned by the mother of a regular at Roots and got completely battered. I'd like to share more movies of the night, but...most of the others contain lots of cussing and I decided to censure things in case children stumble upon my humble blog.

By the way, I just finished an excellent weekend in Sumoto. We had an Awaji BBQ that rocked our socks, and I had a chance to catch up with a lovely lady from Osaka. For all those who couldn't attend the barbecue (not you, Robbie), you suckers missed an awesome party.

Rafting Party

Two weeks ago we went on another amazing rafting trip. This time it was Steve, Will, Phil, Kate, and I participating in a all-Japan race, and Ryan, Gabe, Dayna, Kathy, Ali, and Robbie tagging along. The rafting was excellent, but the party that night was even better. Here's one clip showcasing some of the fun. I'll add more in the follow days. And I'll probably write a little more while I'm at it.

Basketball in Japan

On Sunday I went to my school to play basketball. When I walked into the gym at 9 a.m., the girls' basketball team greeted me. This was a special event where teachers and parents could play students for a few hours. I didn't know much about what was going on, and I certainly didn't know we'd be playing the girls' team. I shrugged it off. Besides, I had four hours of sleep and was severally hungover from a night of tequila shots. I figured that was enough of a handicap to even things out. I was wrong. The girls turned out to be defenseless, tiny road blocks that I effortlessly dribbled by on my way to the basket. I lead my team, comprised of various teachers and a handful of parents, in scoring and minutes played. I can think of little else more satisfying than stomping a girls' junior high school basketball team. I was pleased.

Basketball is my sport of choice, and since coming to Japan I've not had a chance to play like I used to. In America I played at least three times a week. And each time I went hard for several hours, stopping occasionally and briefly for water breaks. Here, though, I've yet to expend myself in the proper way. Sunday I came close. Even though I was beating up a bunch of little girls, I felt I reached the level of exertion necessary to enjoy the game.

My normal Thursday basketball is good fun but not a real exercise. The players require too many breaks and seem to prefer drills to games. Also, they don't keep score, which takes something away from the experience. I would be very interested in joining a league, if such an option was available. I'll look into that. After careful consideration, however, I don't think I'll play basketball with a hangover again.