Black Passenger Yellow Cabs

I've mentioned this book in previous posts. It's an erotic ethnographic memoir that explores in easy layperson’s terms the socio-psychosexual dynamics of Japan and the erotic capital of the Western male. Such are the social dynamics which allows sheer effortless and infinite availability of sex, for black and white men. A phenomenon I was only too eager to explore.

Or so the summary states. In six years the author slept with sixty different Asian women while living in Japan, and his book recounts those experiences as well as his early childhood that, he says, shaped him into a sexual predator.

Black Passenger has received mixed reviews, but I think it could still be worth a read. I've met the author in person, and, even if I don't agree with some of the things he did here, he's an all right guy and his story is an interesting one.

It's available as a Kindle book on Amazon (with reviews)
http://www.amazon.com/Black-Passenger-Yellow-Cabs-Excess/dp/B001F0RKXE

And in print at Create Space
https://www.createspace.com/3358400

I recommend you read reviews and excerpts before you purchase.

Influenza

It's the reason for the season. I just got back in from paradise to find my school infested with the flu. But they don't call it the flu here; it's in-flu-en-za. Twenty-eight students are ill, seven with influenza. Two weeks ago another JET told me all her classes were canceled because every student was sick. Incredible. And just yesterday I was trekking a white-sand beach in clear, eighty-degree weather, looking at jade-green waters. A later post will be all about Palau, pictures included.

For the time being, I have to think of ways to avoid getting sick. Facemasks are a viable option, even if my nurse in the States told me the things are useless. It might just be the psychological effect of covering your mouth and nose. I didn't get a flu shot and now I'm thinking I should've. Maybe I’ll just cower in the staff room and wait for the horror to go away.

Escaping the Weather...I Hope

In two days, I'm flying off this island nation to visit another, smaller island nation. Palau is about 2000 miles south of Tokyo in the Philippine Sea. It's somewhat of a tropical paradise. For those of you who enjoy reality TV, you might remember Survivor: Palau. Here's a picture of Palau's famous Rock Islands.



Yeah, that's where I'll be.

The weather in Sumoto has been crap, but it's not nearly as cold as it was last year. To make up for that, there's rain. Lots of it. Cold rain. Yesterday when I walked into my apartment after a very long bike ride home from work, I was soaked through. The umbrella did a good job of keeping my hair dry, though. I've had a cough since I left America, and conditions like these do little to improve my health. So I'm off to beautiful Palau where the weather forecast says...RAIN!

Thunderstorms to be more specific. The temperature will remain around 27 degrees: a drastic change from the 2 degrees predicted in Kobe this weekend. Maybe the clouds will part for a little while. Then I can lounge on the beach and drink a Pina Colada without getting caught in the rain.

Mid-Year Conference and English Education

Every winter, prefectures across Japan host the infamous mid-year conference. Why infamous? Because many JETs and Japanese teachers alike dread taking part in it. Personally, I’ve had both negative and positive impressions of the conference and have heard comments ranging from “Terrific input. I can use this in my daily work” to “I think my brain is shrinking.”

The mid-year conference is a major gathering of almost all JETs and some JTEs in the prefecture. For two days, participants listen to lectures and a keynote speech and meet in workshop groups aimed at improving team-teaching (JET is a team-teaching system, one JET and one JTE sharing the class). This year the event began with an assembly in a large auditorium. During the keynote speech, the speaker, a head honcho in the system, compared English to sports, music and art. He said English requires a more unconventional form of academic teaching, saying you can discuss the theory of tennis for an hour to a group of students, or you can give them a ball and racket and let them figure it out from there. I really like his point of view. Unfortunately, he assumed that students of English have the same interest in learning the language as they do in playing sports or painting or singing. Thus began a conference in which the attendees were exposed to highly idealistic goals for English teaching in Japan, goals that almost completely discounted fundamental problems that have and will prevent them from being achieved.

One problem touched on several times during the gathering was the entrance exams for upper secondary schools and colleges. When I say touched on, I mean it was mentioned but no solution offered. The keynote speaker essentially said, “Deal with it and don’t use it as an excuse.” The entrance exam is a major thorn in a JET’s side. In the education system, so much emphasis is placed on the test that classes are tailored toward training the students on how to pass. And since the test is reading and writing based, things like conversation skills can become devalued. In all fairness, the prefecture has no control over this. The Ministry of Education creates the test (for high school, anyway) and everyone else has to adapt. It’s a small tragedy, really. Kids who study English for six years can’t speak a word of it because they were too busy cramming grammar rules into their heads. When you think about it, almost the entire nation should speak English, it being a requirement in junior and senior high school. Back to the point, there’s no way around the test and there’s so much material involved in preparing for the test that actual English speaking falls by the wayside.

Another major bomb dropped by the keynote speaker was that within five years English classes are required to be taught “mostly in English.” Sounds great! But I don’t know if it will work. I’m not being negative, I’m being realistic. I would love to see English classes taught in mostly English. As the announcement was made, I could see JTEs in the audience frowning. (I’m sure most of them had heard before but grimaced nonetheless, as if they didn’t like being reminded). In a perfect world, the JTEs would be comfortable conducting class in English only, the students would respond enthusiastically, and English would flourish. In reality, many JTEs prefer teaching English in Japanese and think it would be too difficult and maybe pointless explaining complex grammar in a jargon the students can’t grasp. Students, already apathetic about English, will totally shut down. Even the ones trying will be overwhelmed and maybe about 5-10% of the class will remain engaged while the rest daydream. I just finished a Japanese summer course taught entirely in Japanese. It worked fine because the students volunteered to do it. I was excited about learning Japanese. Japanese students studying English, on the other hand, have no incentive other than passing the test. I take that back, some have higher aspirations like living abroad and will push themselves. Those who will remain in Japan are aware of one glaring truth: English is completely unnecessary here. A Japanese person can live his or her entire life without picking up a word of English and be fine.

I hope I’m wrong and English learning will boom. But the other day I heard that the education plan has already been modified after parents and teachers complained. Following the section on how English class should be taught mostly in English, the Ministry added “as much as possible.” The interpretation is left up to the instructor. “As much as possible” might be 10%. It might be less. Regardless, I think this does show a willingness of the Japanese government to push students in the right direction of English education, away from the books and into speaking.

The conference continued with workshops. In the workshops we looked into new and creative ways for teaching the students. A theme was debates. The format was very simply. Give a student a topic, have him or her decide an answer and give three reasons why their answer is best. I enjoyed this exercise because it encourages independent, creative thought and articulating an opinion, essential for the students’ English. Whether this will work in class or not remains to be seen.

The best part of the conference for me was the final lecture. It was highly informative and entertaining. After that, some questions were answered. The questions had been written down and stuffed into a box. One question in particular struck a cord. Piled in with forgettable questions you’d expect to hear, an anonymous person had written something along the lines of, “Why do you waste Japanese tax payers’ money by re-contracting JETs who don’t care about anything but getting drunk every night and living the easy life?” It was received with uneasy laughter. In retrospect, a lot of the conference brought up behaviors of certain JETs that can potentially make JTEs suspicious of their JETs.

At the end of the day, swarms of JETs took to the streets and migrated from bar to bar around the city where they drank the night away. Amen.

*Added later*
One moment that astonished me was when a JET raised his hand during the assembly and asked, "When I'm at school and I finish everything I'm supposed to do, what do I do after that?" Really? I mean, really? Use your imagination, man. He asked this shortly after the speaker finished saying that JETs are in an elite group, having survived several screening processes to land their positions. His question earned my obligatory face-palm of the conference.

First Weekend Back

Sonoko came to visit and we spent almost every waking - and sleeping - hour together during the three-day weekend. This time the holiday was Coming of Age Day, or Seijin Shiki. Coming of Age is one of my favorite celebrations, though I've never witnessed the proceedings. The day honors all the young people in Japan who have turned 20* in the last year. Twenty is the age of adulthood here and though it’s not mandatory to attend the ceremony most people do in order to see old friends and for the experience. They dress in kimono or suits and can be seen throughout the city walking through stores and admiring each other on the sidewalks. The traditional Japanese wear is stunning, and the girls’ professional styling and make up further accentuate their beauty. Their hair is particularly captivating, lifted up in elaborate designs with small, colorful accessories in varying places. Unfortunately, it was freezing this weekend and I rarely left my apartment. I did see a few people wearing kimono, shivering in the cold outside McDonald’s.

Sumoto is one of the warmest places in Japan during winter. Temperatures teeter around 5 degrees Celsius. But the wind chill is fierce. Wind rips through the city and all its inhabitants like a bloodthirsty animal. It also changes direction in a flash. Holding an umbrella becomes a perilous task. Due in large part to the cold, my weekend was tame. I did get to spend a little quality time with friends I haven’t seen in weeks.

On Friday Sonoko and I boarded a bus to Tsuna, one town north, and met Chris for a taco night at his apartment. Phil, Phil’s friend Aki and Amanda were also there. We stuffed ourselves after playing Jenga, then played Twister. Phil is some kind of Twister god and felt like rubbing various body parts on all the other players so he could position himself for the win. And he did win, but only the first round. It was Sonoko who took the next game, with her limber moves and tremendous luck – every spin was the same for her. Later we went for karaoke. The Japanese girls were reluctant to sing. Too shy, I guess. Thank Zeus for Phil. He manned the mic and thrashed through some solid Japanese tunes. Everyone had had some alcohol, and since Japan has zero tolerance for drinking and driving, it looked like we were all crashing at Chris’s that night. Not the case! Enter Japanese ingenuity. There is a service available for people who drive somewhere to drink. All you have to do is call the company and a car shows up with two men inside. One of the men will drive your car home while the other follows. It’s reasonably priced and very convenient. That’s how we got home.

The next night was Roots. It was a gaijin takeover. Roy, Cain, Amanda, Phil, Ali, Wendy and I were all in attendance. We drank and made merry. Roy told me he was hosting a movie night the following day and I told him to sign me up.

All the familiar faces were at the movie night. Mori and Cherie joined us as well. So did a Japanese girl who no one had met but everyone knew from Facebook. It was strange meeting her, but she seemed nice. Phil was working his charm on her, even after he got plastered. More to come on that.

We watched Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz. Phil downed a can of beer the size of his head and was well on his way to a hangover when we started playing Taboo. Glass of wine in hand, Phil guessed for both teams. Members from either side had to keep reminding him when to talk and when to shut up. His effort was commendable: even while intoxicated he was a skilled player. Occasionally he would roll his head toward the Japanese girl and, applying the world-famous Sexy Phil Voice, would engage in small, meaningless conversations with her. Without question Phil made the party.

Last night while walking home from a restaurant, snow began to fall. It settled on my hair and jacket and quickly melted. I wanted to stay out longer, but the cold drove me indoors. The wind brushed against my window until I fell asleep.

I almost forgot, about a month ago Phil and I were standing in Sannomiya station when a girl with an unusual gait strolled by us. She lifted and stomped her legs like she had something stuck in her boots and was trying haphazardly to jar it loose. “Why is that girl walking like a horse,” Phil said. That’s precisely what she looked like too. “It’s just Japan,” I said. “Soak it in, man.”

The Neighbors

Since I just finished a post on how well I handle adversity, it’s probably a good time to touch on something that challenges my newfound pacifistic nature: the neighbors. I live in an apartment complex with about 24-26 apartments. All of the residents are Japanese except me and another English teacher. Her and I don’t get along, which makes the situation awkward because we live next door to each other. In fact, one time I had about ten people come to my apartment. They arrived in waves and three times my friends, who all know my neighbor, accidentally rang her intercom instead of mine. No, no, we’re not having a party at Pat’s. Please, relax at home tonight. See ya. Most days, her and I do a good job of avoiding each other. She’s notorious in her own right, and I feel no need to elaborate further on her.

My landlord is a woman in her early 60’s. She occupies the entire seventh floor with her family. All her children are married, some with children of their own, and share the floor together. I don’t know much about them other than they are extremely wealthy and like to study English. According to my predecessor, he spent every Monday dining with the family and teaching them English. He said the youngest daughter, a pretty twenty-five year old, was a good friend of his. How good I don’t know. He informed me via e-mail that the family would invite me to dinner every week. Sure enough, my first month in the apartment, they asked if I’d like to join them for dinner.

I took the elevator to the seventh floor. It opened onto a terrace with plants and a clear night sky above. Their dog barked up a storm and I strolled in without a house gift, a huge mistake. She served curry and rice, and the family gathered around to practice their English with me. It went pretty much as anyone would expect a visit like this to go. A month later they invited me up again. After that they stopped inviting me. I’m still trying to figure out what I said or did to make them shun me. I was polite and gracious. Unexplained changes in attitude bother me. I shouldn’t let them, but I can’t help it. More than the hurt of an abrupt one-eighty, it’s my inability to understand why it happened that haunts me. I’ve experienced similar turnarounds and they all keep me up at night. Even when I ask for explanations, they hardly satisfy. People have their reasons and sometimes they can’t be articulated.

I’m in room 102. The American I don’t get along with is in room 103. And the biggest cowards in Sumoto live in 104. For the most part I never see or hear from them (not including the coughs and murmurs I pick up through the walls), but one time I made too much noise after midnight and they’ve been out for blood ever since. These cowards are complete mysteries to me. I don’t know if they moved in after me or if they’ve been there for years. Last winter I hosted a movie night and we blasted the volume until two or three in the morning. I felt bad, but my friends kept turning it up. Still, there were no complaints from the neighbors. That wasn’t the case this last time.

Instead of coming to me like adults, the cowards complained to my employers. They could do this because on my mail slot it’s stated that the city office employs me. The next day I received a call at work from the city office. I came in and they handed me a poorly translated letter listing the complaints the cowards had issued against me. Between my verandah and the coward’s, there is a small barrier that separates the two areas. On either side of the barrier are openings where a person can look through. The cowards stuck their cowardly little eyes through these openings and wrote down every inappropriate thing they could see in attempt to bust me. I guess invasion of privacy isn’t a big deal here. Ryan had left an ashtray on my balcony. It’d been there since August, and in December the cowards complained that the ash was getting on their clothes and the cars below my apartment. When I went home later, I shook the ashtray. Nothing came out, ash having blown away months ago. I looked down to see where the cars were, but I couldn’t see them because a huge plastic cover blocked the parking lot. No ash was getting through that. They also wrote about my bathtub cover, which I had moved outside last spring. The city office demanded I put it back in the apartment because it was property of the building. And the final note on the letter was about the noise. I thanked my employers and cleaned up the mess and contemplated all along how to exact revenge on the cowards.

There was speculation that the complaining party was no the cowards but the American living on the other side of me. She, too, has a clean view of my verandah, and when I met the city official, she mentioned my neighbor’s name several times, but it was all in Japanese and I couldn’t understand why she was brought up. So I confronted the American that week. I ran into her in the garage and asked, “Did you complain about me to city office?” Her response: “No. I can’t hear anything from your apartment.” I suppose that would seem innocent enough, except that I didn’t mention it was a noise complaint. I didn’t even say the complaint was related to the apartment. Suspicious indeed, but the cowards helped to clarify things two weeks later when they taped up the barrier between my verandah and theirs and, just to push it a bit farther, stacked bricks behind that. I hadn’t made a peep in that time. I had, however, passed the man from that room in the hallway a few days earlier. He walked by and diverted his eyes and sealed his lips and frowned. It’s exceedingly rude to not greet someone in the hallway, even strangers, if you live in the same building. After he moved behind me, I laughed out loud. These are the type of people I have to deal with.

Oh, and let’s not forget the folks living above me. Anytime the volume on my TV or computer rises a little, I can hear them move around. As if on cue, small creaks and moans from the wood floors sound over my head. They do it every time without fail; it’s more than a coincidence.

I don’t talk to my neighbors anyway.

Japan as Rage Inhibitor

My first day back I ate nabe with Steve. He asked me about my trip and said it went well. Then he asked if I had noticed a change in my attitude when I was home, specifically, if I could control my anger in situations that would normally send me over the edge. I reflected on that a moment and admitted that yes, I had been very calm and collected.

That’s Japan, he said. We have to deal with so much different crap here that the things bothering us back home aren’t so terrible and don’t push our buttons like they used to. He couldn’t be more right. Living as a twenty-four year old child for the last year has altered my attitude. I’m not quick to anger as I was while living in America. It could still be argued that I have a negative attitude at times, but I usually brush things off unless circumstances are more than I can take. In Japan I have been laughed at, I have been made to feel like an idiot, I have been ignored, lied to and forgotten. I have sat at a table for twenty minutes and not understood a single word exchanged. I’ve been stared at and made fun of and even had rocks thrown at me. All that and I still love the place.

So those past transgressions that enraged me, I took them in with a placid trance and smiled and shrugged.

Amerika

I'm back after a short vacation to see my family and friends in San Diego, CA. I mentioned in the previous post that this was my first time returning to the United States in over a year. It's funny the things you notice after being away for a while. I felt shorter the moment I stepped off the plane. And skinnier. American obesity had never been so apparent to me. There are overweight people in Japan, rare as they may be, but at least they seem healthy. The people I saw at the airport, then later at Wal-Mart and in various restaurants, with guts the size of basketballs and sedated eyes, looked like they’d break a sweat if they thought too hard.

I stayed with my sister and her fiancé. They let me share a room with my baby niece, and, first thing in the morning, I heard a tiny voice calling out “Bubba,” my brother’s nickname. I had my back turned to her so the only thing the baby could see from her crib was the shape of a body under the blankets and a dark head of hair. She’d guessed it was my brother. She was wrong. I rolled over, blanket still concealing my face, and waved to her. She responded by laughing and playing peek-a-boo. Then I slid the blanket away and she froze in terror. Her smile shrank and she sat down in her crib, silent. I tried to convince her it was all right, but she looked away when I approached. It took some time for her to trust me after that.

My one moment of true reverse culture shock came when I entered my aunt’s house on the first night. I was tailing my mom and watched three people go in before me, but I stopped at the entrance and removed my shoes. Only after placing them aside did I realized that no one else had bothered.

I no longer own a car and bikes don’t cut it so well in America, so I was at the mercy of others. My friends were very generous in giving me rides, and my sister and mother let me borrow their cars whenever I needed them. Driving again after so long was no problem at all. I’m sure the transition would’ve been more difficult if I drove in Japan, which I don’t. Some days, the weather being so agreeable, I elected to walk, much to my sister’s disbelief. “It’s far,” she pointed out. It’s not even a mile. “But it’s uphill,” she said. On one of these walks I was waiting for a traffic signal when two white men drove passed and one screamed, “What, nigga?” at me through his open window. I sighed.

Everyday I ate the worst food imaginable. Del Taco, pizza, breakfast burritos, Jack in the Box, Carl’s. No McDonald’s though, since I live next to one in Japan. I soaked in the trans-fatty temptations of my homeland and watched my belly bubble and listened to it groan and cherished the stomach pains that can only come from a Taco Bell Burrito Supreme. Who knows when I can enjoy these things again.

Five days into my trip, I caught a cold. For the next seven days I was miserable. I finished two extra-large boxes of tissues in 72 hours. Even now, three weeks later, I’m still struggling to fully recover.

Despite the sickness, I played football on Christmas and attended a family event at my grandpa’s house that evening. The day after that I went to Six Flags Magic Mountain and devastated my health further by standing in the freezing wind for hours on end.

Most of the time was downtime. Though San Diego is where my family and best friends reside, it can’t compare to Japan. I’m having the time of my life here. That’s part of the reason I’ve been slow on the blog updates. I’m having too much fun to sit down and write. Every weekend is a new adventure. I can’t say the same for San Diego. My friends and family made the trip memorable, and seeing them again made me happier than I could’ve imagined, but America doesn’t hold my interest the way Japan does. So, why don't we get back to living then?