ON PRIDE
So I spent a busy day at work researching ninjas. I had absolutely nothing to do as usual (I get paid a ridiculous amount of money to do nothing), so I was looking into places to travel in Japan. I found Iga Ueno, home to the incredibly famous Iga ninja clan. I would estimate that I spent somewhere around 4 hours reading about different medicines and moves and whatnot that they developed. As happens when I read things like this, I started thinking, "That doesn't look too hard. I bet I could do some of those easier moves, no problem."
Whoever said pride cometh before the fall certainly knew what they were talking about (it's a Biblical quote, so obviously...). I finished my ninja research, then went off to plan a St. Patrick's Day bulletin board. I walked along the sidewalk to my board, then started holding up sheets of poster board to estimate how much green I'd need. Now, the fun thing about this sidewalk is that there is a slight slope. It's really easy to miss unless you're looking at it. So as I lay on my back 7.2 seconds later, trying to replay the last 7 seconds of my life going from upright to sprawled out, I realized that my ninja stealth may need some fine tuning before it is ready to be put to the test.
ON GIVING UNTO OTHERS
I have some friends who will be visiting over Japan in March and April. In honor of them, I've decided to really scrub my apartment. This will be a harder task than it sounds, by reason of my gentle nature. Some of the mold in my apartment has become like family to me. I know it well. It's been there so long, it's almost gained sentience (not to mention hair longer than mine). So my pain in cleaning will be two fold. I will have to destroy my beloved friends, and I will have to scrub REALLY hard to destroy said friends. To make my life easier, I ordered American cleaning supplies from the Costco in Japan. I have nothing against Japanese cleaning supplies. It just seems to me that if nothing is sudsing or foaming when you're using soap, something's got to be wrong.
Tonight I was eagerly awaiting the delivery of my cleaning supplies (and the Root Beer I had ordered [hey, heavy cleaning makes a person thirsty. I NEEDED the Root Beer for its refreshing qualities.]). At 7, I heard someone pull up outside, so I rushed to the door. The delivery man handed me receipts to sign as he went down to the truck to get my boxes. Now, when I ordered these cleaning supplies, I assumed they'd just come in normal sized bottles like we use in America. Hahaha, oh, my naivete. This is Costco. Nothing comes small. I was thinking I'd get boxes the size my parents normally send; boxes which could comfortably fit Gimli and possibly his battle axe. Instead, I looked down the stairs in horror to watch this poor man struggling with 2 boxes that could have housed Legolas, Aragorn, the hobbits, and possible quite a number of orks as well. And their weapons. And STILL had room for Treebeard if they all scrunched up. The Delivery Man (he earned the capital letters after carrying these things up the stairs) set the boxes on the top step to my apartment, then lifted the top one to put it in my apartment. I noticed the bottom box was teetering on the edge of the stairs, so I tried to pull it up a little. The box didn't move. I tugged harder, putting my back (as well as my newly acquired ninja skills) into it, miraculously managing to move the box 3 inches. Woohoo!! I looked at the little Japanese man who had just carried TWO of these behemoths up the stairs at the same time. It's at times like these that I just don't understand why Japan didn't win the war.
Mr. Delivery Man put both boxes in my entry way, took his receipts, and went back to his van, probably to cry over the pain of his newly pulled groin muscle. Sparing about 2 seconds in a moment of silence for his children who will now never be able to exist, I started opening my boxes. Holy crud. I've seen big bottles of cleaning fluids, but these put them all to shame. I wasn't aware that Mr. Clean came in a bottle which passes big and super size and goes straight to deity size. It's mammoth. Now I see why these boxes were so heavy. I bought about 5 gianormous bottles of cleaning liquids and a 24 pack of rootbeer and 1000 sheets of construction paper. And 2 pillows. I don't really factor the pillows in with the other things, though. They seem fundamentally different somehow. I opened the second box and saw the pillows on top and thought, "ha, I can move this one, it's just light stuff." I missed the construction paper and years-supply of Tide on the bottom, though. Now my back hurts. Sigh. And it's sad that I'm so excited, because all that awaits me now is cleaning. Woohoo.
But I'm still excited nonetheless. So I'll sit here tonight, happily belching my rootbeer and having happy dreams of Moldy Death in the morning. Maybe I'll send up a prayer or two for Mr. Delivery Man, praying that he has already had all the children he wanted or that scientists develop wonderful new technology to aid him in the next 10 years. Sleep well, Delivery Man, wherever you are. And use ice. Lots of ice.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Monday, February 12, 2007
ON ROMANCE
Since Valentine's Day is fast approaching, I thought an entry on romance would be appropriate. Not a lot of romance happens in my life, though. I was looking at clipart the other day and saw a monkey kissing another monkey and I thought, "Man, even the clipart monkey is getting more romance than I am."
A few weeks ago, I started making visits to elementary schools in my area. Since I didn't know where any of the schools were, I had to have teachers show me the way. Usually, the school would call me a few days before my visit and arrange, in very, very, incredibly sadly broken English, for someone to pick me up at my base school. I was getting worried one Tuesday, as the school I was to go to didn't call me. I was relieved when I got a phone call at school in the early afternoon. The elementary school principal called me and arranged to pick me up himself the next day. I was surprised, but happy that it was resolved. The principal called back later that afternoon, though, to inform me that he had a meeting and thus could not pick me up. It was okay, though, he said, because there was someone else he could send. "I will send K-sensei. He is the 6th grade teacher," he said. Okay, whatever. He then continued, "He is 30 years old." Do I care? No. But thanks for the info. I got ready to say goodbye, but he was not done yet. "He is a very handsome boy." Whoa. Definitely didn't ask. But thanks again. "I think you will like him."
"..."
New rule to my life: In order to set me up, you have to know me first.The story then continues. Mr. K did indeed come to my school. I was flustered because of what the principal said and because I was worried that Mr. K didn't speak English. No worries, though, because he does speak English. His English was better than almost every elementary school teacher I had previously met. Thank goodness. But I guess that isn't saying much considering that most of the elementary teachers I know have issues handling, "Hello."
So I went to the school and the children there were adorable. The school only has 26 students. Literally. 26 students. That's it. The kids were very friendly. Many of them ran up to me and introduced themselves, shaking my hand. So cute! So I taught all the classes, then had lunch with Mr. K and his 5th and 6th graders (since there are so few students, most of the teacher teach 2 grades). I love school lunches. Today's lunch featured thin smelly soup and rice with mysterious tentacles. Yum. As I was focusing intently on chewing and trying to figure out if things were wiggling in my mouth that I wasn't controlling, some students tried to ask me questions. They kept asking Mr. K how to ask things like, "What ___ do you like?". Some of the girls kept giggling. Mr. K came and sat across from me once he was done with his lunch so he could better translate for the students. Finally, one of the girls whispered to him a few times, and he whispered back. She then turned to me and asked, "What type of guy do you like?" ... I'm fairly certain I turned a shade of red not normally seen in nature. Eventually, I said, "I guess I like guys who are nice." The students didn't understand, so Mr. K translated it as kakkoi (to my knowledge, kakkoi usually means "cool"). The girls all started giggling, and one girl immediately pointed to Mr. K and said, "Kakkoi, desu yo!" ("He's really cool, you know!"). Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match...
ON DIET
No, not DIETING, but DIET, like the food you eat. I don’t think I’ve ever actually dieted in my life (though I probably could have used it…). As I have talked to various friends and relatives about food here in Japan, I have heard almost all of them utter something along the lines of, "I didn't expect you to eat strange stuff. I mean, it is YOU after all." Now, I know I may not have been the most culinarily adventurous person before I came to Japan, but I've changed. I have eaten so many strange things since I came to Japan that at times, I feel well qualified for Fear Factor.
Foods I hated (or had never tried) in America
mushrooms, fish, radish, soggy vegetables, sesame oil, tea, coffee, cabbage, spicy stuff, etc. There's a long list.
Foods I’ve tried in Japan
mushrooms, fish, radish, soggy vegetables, sesame oil, tea, coffee, cabbage, sweet bean paste, more noodles than you can shake a stick at, crab, shrimp, raw fish, clams, scary dairy products, octopus (mmm, tentacles...), bread with pudding, ice cream that looked as though a fruit shop had vomited on it, raw eggs, et. al.
Foods I hate in Japan
mushrooms, fish (I'll admit that some fish are good, but some are really, really horrible), radish, sesame oil, soggy vegetables seasoned with sesame oil, tea, coffee, cabbage, spicy stuff, shrimp, raw fish, clams, scary dairy products, octopus (mmm, tentacles...), raw eggs, etc. I’m building a tolerance for most of these, but I’m sure that people can build a tolerance for cyanide.
Foods I suspect that I’d hate if I actually tried them
basashi (raw horse meat), fish testes*
*The fish testes is a fun story. I was at the bonenkai (year end party) for my base school. There was some weird white stuff in one of the bowls on the table. It was squiggly and looked like milk curds. I asked one of my English teacher was it was. She got a very strange smile on her face (HUGE warning sign. Many, many bells were going off in my head.) and said something in Japanese that I didn’t understand. I asked her to explain, and she couldn't. She got her dictionary (still with that freaky smile) and looked something up. She turned her dictionary to me, still smiling. I looked at it and saw the word "albino". Hm... I explained to her that that word means different things and really didn't help unless she was implying that I was eating a human. She got a confused look and entered something else into her dictionary. She turned it back to me, and I suddenly understood. Testes. I was looking at a bowl of fish testes. Yup. Not quite sure how to respond to that one. Fish testes. Yup. Um. Yeah. I pushed the bowl away and gave it" a look". The teachers around me laughed and kept trying to persuade me to taste it all night. They would tell me that it was delicious and it was considered a delicacy. I kept pushing it further and further away. There was NO WAY I was going to try it. And not for the reason most people think. I wasn't worried that it would be nasty or that I'd throw it up. Oh, no. What I was truly worried about was that I would actually LIKE it. Iwas scared that I'd develop a taste for it. Iwas that scared I'd be hanging out with my friends in America one day and suddenly say something like, "Hey, you know what I could really go for right now? A big plate of fish testes. Mmmm, yes. Can't beat a big plate of fish testes."
Since Valentine's Day is fast approaching, I thought an entry on romance would be appropriate. Not a lot of romance happens in my life, though. I was looking at clipart the other day and saw a monkey kissing another monkey and I thought, "Man, even the clipart monkey is getting more romance than I am."
A few weeks ago, I started making visits to elementary schools in my area. Since I didn't know where any of the schools were, I had to have teachers show me the way. Usually, the school would call me a few days before my visit and arrange, in very, very, incredibly sadly broken English, for someone to pick me up at my base school. I was getting worried one Tuesday, as the school I was to go to didn't call me. I was relieved when I got a phone call at school in the early afternoon. The elementary school principal called me and arranged to pick me up himself the next day. I was surprised, but happy that it was resolved. The principal called back later that afternoon, though, to inform me that he had a meeting and thus could not pick me up. It was okay, though, he said, because there was someone else he could send. "I will send K-sensei. He is the 6th grade teacher," he said. Okay, whatever. He then continued, "He is 30 years old." Do I care? No. But thanks for the info. I got ready to say goodbye, but he was not done yet. "He is a very handsome boy." Whoa. Definitely didn't ask. But thanks again. "I think you will like him."
"..."
New rule to my life: In order to set me up, you have to know me first.The story then continues. Mr. K did indeed come to my school. I was flustered because of what the principal said and because I was worried that Mr. K didn't speak English. No worries, though, because he does speak English. His English was better than almost every elementary school teacher I had previously met. Thank goodness. But I guess that isn't saying much considering that most of the elementary teachers I know have issues handling, "Hello."
So I went to the school and the children there were adorable. The school only has 26 students. Literally. 26 students. That's it. The kids were very friendly. Many of them ran up to me and introduced themselves, shaking my hand. So cute! So I taught all the classes, then had lunch with Mr. K and his 5th and 6th graders (since there are so few students, most of the teacher teach 2 grades). I love school lunches. Today's lunch featured thin smelly soup and rice with mysterious tentacles. Yum. As I was focusing intently on chewing and trying to figure out if things were wiggling in my mouth that I wasn't controlling, some students tried to ask me questions. They kept asking Mr. K how to ask things like, "What ___ do you like?". Some of the girls kept giggling. Mr. K came and sat across from me once he was done with his lunch so he could better translate for the students. Finally, one of the girls whispered to him a few times, and he whispered back. She then turned to me and asked, "What type of guy do you like?" ... I'm fairly certain I turned a shade of red not normally seen in nature. Eventually, I said, "I guess I like guys who are nice." The students didn't understand, so Mr. K translated it as kakkoi (to my knowledge, kakkoi usually means "cool"). The girls all started giggling, and one girl immediately pointed to Mr. K and said, "Kakkoi, desu yo!" ("He's really cool, you know!"). Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match...
ON DIET
No, not DIETING, but DIET, like the food you eat. I don’t think I’ve ever actually dieted in my life (though I probably could have used it…). As I have talked to various friends and relatives about food here in Japan, I have heard almost all of them utter something along the lines of, "I didn't expect you to eat strange stuff. I mean, it is YOU after all." Now, I know I may not have been the most culinarily adventurous person before I came to Japan, but I've changed. I have eaten so many strange things since I came to Japan that at times, I feel well qualified for Fear Factor.
Foods I hated (or had never tried) in America
mushrooms, fish, radish, soggy vegetables, sesame oil, tea, coffee, cabbage, spicy stuff, etc. There's a long list.
Foods I’ve tried in Japan
mushrooms, fish, radish, soggy vegetables, sesame oil, tea, coffee, cabbage, sweet bean paste, more noodles than you can shake a stick at, crab, shrimp, raw fish, clams, scary dairy products, octopus (mmm, tentacles...), bread with pudding, ice cream that looked as though a fruit shop had vomited on it, raw eggs, et. al.
Foods I hate in Japan
mushrooms, fish (I'll admit that some fish are good, but some are really, really horrible), radish, sesame oil, soggy vegetables seasoned with sesame oil, tea, coffee, cabbage, spicy stuff, shrimp, raw fish, clams, scary dairy products, octopus (mmm, tentacles...), raw eggs, etc. I’m building a tolerance for most of these, but I’m sure that people can build a tolerance for cyanide.
Foods I suspect that I’d hate if I actually tried them
basashi (raw horse meat), fish testes*
*The fish testes is a fun story. I was at the bonenkai (year end party) for my base school. There was some weird white stuff in one of the bowls on the table. It was squiggly and looked like milk curds. I asked one of my English teacher was it was. She got a very strange smile on her face (HUGE warning sign. Many, many bells were going off in my head.) and said something in Japanese that I didn’t understand. I asked her to explain, and she couldn't. She got her dictionary (still with that freaky smile) and looked something up. She turned her dictionary to me, still smiling. I looked at it and saw the word "albino". Hm... I explained to her that that word means different things and really didn't help unless she was implying that I was eating a human. She got a confused look and entered something else into her dictionary. She turned it back to me, and I suddenly understood. Testes. I was looking at a bowl of fish testes. Yup. Not quite sure how to respond to that one. Fish testes. Yup. Um. Yeah. I pushed the bowl away and gave it" a look". The teachers around me laughed and kept trying to persuade me to taste it all night. They would tell me that it was delicious and it was considered a delicacy. I kept pushing it further and further away. There was NO WAY I was going to try it. And not for the reason most people think. I wasn't worried that it would be nasty or that I'd throw it up. Oh, no. What I was truly worried about was that I would actually LIKE it. Iwas scared that I'd develop a taste for it. Iwas that scared I'd be hanging out with my friends in America one day and suddenly say something like, "Hey, you know what I could really go for right now? A big plate of fish testes. Mmmm, yes. Can't beat a big plate of fish testes."
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