Sunday was the day reserved for Kagaonsen. I went with Alessandro, Tammy, and Andrew. I was very nervous about the day because I was convinced that Alessandro was hitting on me, but I’m not exactly sure if that is the case anymore. Tammy was very nice, and took some photos for me. Her boyfriend was also very nice, but a little quiet. How they felt about me, however, I cannot rightly say.

From left to right: Ali, Alessandro, Andrew

I’m not even sure how I got to Kanazawa, but I feel quite proud that I did. The entire event was completely from the seat of my pants. At first, I thought I was

going to take a bus, but I could not find the damn bus schedule for the life of me. It is as if the existence of Togi’s bus station is so tentative that it does not take any great pains to assert itself. It is almost as if it were a lone bus station, where buses come and leave for no readily discernable reason. Instead, I drove to Hakui Station, where the train comes. Then, in very bad Japanese, I got a train ticket. The train, while it cost about ten dollars, was faster than taking my car! Needless to say, I was quite impressed with it.

Then, at Kanazawa Station, I met Alessandro, went shopping for birthday presents, and lost my phone. Of course, I had not realized that I lost it until we were on the other side of the gate. So, I just shrugged it off because that’s what I always do, and resolved to forget about it until after we came back.

Kagaonsen is home to a gigantic golden statue that loomed over the train. I am told that the people of the town hate it, but can nothing about it because it is privately owned. It reminds me of dad’s antenna that we used to have in Meadow Station. The only difference is that when the neighbors complained, we were forced to take it down.

From the train station, the view of the statue.

We went to this beautiful temple. Words do not describe it's beauty, and photos cannot full capture it, however:

Ali Complains it All

My weekend was eventful, and this weekend looks to be shaping up to be the same.

The first adventure was all because I wanted to be able to walk around my house in my underwear. However, I did not have curtains, and living in the center of town, I felt it prudent to keep my skin concealed. Changing clothes was always a hassle too for I always had to go to the one spot where no one could peer into, which also happened to be in an uncomfortable corner by my china cabinet. So, I decided on Friday to go to Tsubata and get the curtains Joe was trying to get rid of. In the process, I thought I’d visit Travis, a boy I was instantly fond of since the moment I talked to him on the phone.

It was a rather blasé night, which are always my favorite kinds of nights. We went to a yakitori (grilled meat on a stick) place and had a few drinks. Naturally, I didn’t, but that is because I’m always the designated driver, and I absolutely hate the taste of alcohol. Mostly, the four of us talked about what a ladies man Joe is, and argued about whether or not the law should be used to protect French culture in Quebec. Much to the dismay of the proprietor, we stayed for an hour past closing. Being a waitress in a past life, I was very embarrassed to have done so. I always hated people who stayed for too long when I wanted to go home.

I drove Joe and Hide (a Japanese guy who is nice, but comes off little creepy in a “it puts on the lotion on the skin” sort of way) back home, and then made my way back on the silent roads to Togi. At two o’clock, I laid my weary head to rest.

At eight o’clock, I was forced to wake up to go to a charity event in Monzen organized by the infamous Kojima-sensei.

There is no one I hate more than Kojima-sensei. He is always talking to me, and asking if I understand English words, which I always have to shake my head and say no to because his pronunciation is so bad. Then, he announces to the whole office that the stupid American girl doesn’t know her own language. “What a bad vocabulary.” Unable to take it, I finally stood up and told him I can’t understand him because his pronunciation is so bad. Although I was very angry, I realized that I got some perverse pleasure in telling people off in Japanese. When I was finished, he proved to be slightly embarrassed, but undeterred. He still talks to me everyday.

Kojima’s vocabulary is very good, but his grammar is very bad. Therefore, he only can say words, but cannot connect them together in any coherent manner. This, with the fact that I have no earthly idea what he’s trying to say makes it a frustrating and irritating time. Fortunately, everyone in the office is worried about me and they have started to take steps for my protection from the horrific presence of Kojima.

Fujita, my desk mate, asks me random, important-sounding, questions whenever Kojima solicits me to translate impossible hard phrases into Japanese. He also lets me ask him random, important-sounding, questions if he’s passing by. Fujii has lent me his desk, which he often refers to as heaven, on my off periods. He calls it heaven because no one can see it, and he can pretty much do whatever he likes. His desk is the envy of all the teachers, and I desperately want it now as well. Lastly, Bill lets me hang out in his office during morning and afternoon Kojima sneak attacks, when I am not expecting him.

Let it be known that I am not nearly so cruel that I would hate a man for just practicing his English. There are many other reasons. He, for example, is a sexist bastard. With great relish, he tells me that women are the number one worst drivers, and that drunk drivers are second. I would normally take it as a joke, except I know that he doesn’t understand the concept of sarcasm. Also, he insists that it is a kotowaze (ancient Japanese proverb), which means he believes in the acumen of such a phrase.

The problem is that I can never say no. Never. It’s impossible for me. And if it the event is volunteer work in an earthquake stricken area, I certainly can’t say no. He asked me about it all week, and tried to explain what I was going to do, but refused to do in Japanese. So, up until that point, all I knew that I was going to Monzen at 9:00.

I arrived where I am supposed to, by the grace of god more than any real idea of where I was going, and I find there are two old men sitting in the room I am ushered into, with some middle school students fidgeting nervously in their chairs. I try to speak Japanese, but they look at me as if I were sputtering nonsense. I think they understood more than they let on, but I certainly was not talking in tongues, in any case. Finally, they are joined by two old ladies. Mind you, I still had no idea was going on.

Then, the middle school students and their teacher start to sing. It was quite beautiful, although I still did not understand what was happening. After twenty minutes, Kojima brings me up to the front and has me say stupid jokes like “this snake is very heavy.” The joke is because the Japanese cannot pronounce the word heavy, so they pronounce it hebi, which means snake. Then, he sends me away, and starts to perform magic that even a sixth grader could figure out. It was then that I realized that the Elderly appreciation day was on Monday, so we were there to cheer up the elderly who were affected by the earthquake. Instead, however, I think Kojima patronized them as if they children. I was so embarrassed I could hardly look at anyone.

I left early. Although I toyed with the idea of bothering my supervisor at work because I was bored, I went home and proceeded to sleep for a few blissful hours. I was too lazy to cook, so I only ate snack food and coke, which was probably not a good idea since my throat had been hurting for days, and I was likely coming down with something.

Then, I went to Nakajima, not after being accosted by Aki (Ishihara-san’s daughter), which made me late. What made me even more late was that I went the wrong way on 249. Then, I went the right way, but ended up driving around Nakajima for twenty minutes looking for the damn theater. The drama of the previous post started that Saturday night.

Used

I'm being used, and I hate it. What I hate more is that I'm sure enough that I actually am able to confront the problem like I want to. If only I had the courage to cut through the bullshit red tape that strangles relationships. I like to fancy myself as someone who can read people easily, but I have been out of my element here in Japan (likely due to cultural differences), if even I had a element to begin with.

In any case, it is no secret that Okayama-sensei likes my supervisor. However, whether he likes her not remains to be a mystery. "And, what is the problem?" you ask. The problem is that she is getting chummy with me specifically to get closer to him. I really should not be complaining, because now she invites me up for strawberry JELL-O, to go to plays, and really wants me to join her Home Ec class. I love food, so I can't turn that down.

Yes, the problem isn't evident. But let me explain last weekend:

Last weekend (which will be elaborated on further in the next post) was the weekend of the play that Okayama-sensei invited me to. Bill was also going, so I ask him to make sure I don't forget to ask for directions before I leave work. Instead, he comes by and says that we'll just meet here in Togi because he has to work anyways, and he'll drive me it to the play. I hate driving the road towards Nakajima, so I'm quite glad of this turn of events.

However, Saturday rolls around, and he finds out that he has to go to Tokyo to accompany a student at a speech contest. Matsuura-sensei, who was supposed to be with her, had to return home because he is a priest, as well as a teacher, and someone had died. So, I'm given directions (which were very bad, I might add), and bid good luck.

I was twenty minutes late after driving the same stretch of road nearly forty hundred times. The frustrating part was that the theater was only a few blocks away from where I was! Thank god the conbini where I asked for directions at was not closed.

The play was funny, but I only understood a little of it. I wish I could better understand polite forms. In any case, I had to leave very quickly because I was illegally parked, so I think Okayama-sensei is doubtful that I even went. I tried to drop enough names so that she could know that I did see it. Whether that was sucessful or not, I'm not sure.

Where is the drama, aside from the play, then? She comes down specifically to tell me it was a date with Bill. At first I thought she was insinuating that it was supposed to be a date for him and me, which makes me say no a few times. Then I realize what she is talking about, and tell her how sorry I am. "Shikatta ga nai" (it can't be helped) she said, although the tone of her voice indicated that clearly that she felt the opposite.

This is where I feel particularly used. If this was truely a date with Bill, then why would he take me in his car, and fail to mention to me that it was a date with Okayama? Furthermore, if he took me, I would naturally assume I would get to sit next to him and hang out. That would make a date fairly awkward, now, wouldn't it? And there I would be, sitting like Shusaka Endo's Obakasan, completely unaware of it the damper I put on the evening.

It is the most bizarre feeling, being used by one to get closer to the other, and being used by that self same other to put up a barrier against the one. I'm pissed off enough that I decided to not talk to either of them, like a child. However, so far, the plan has not suceeded.

Nothing to Write Home About

I am very behind, yet I have many tales to tell. None so interesting that I will give them the lengthy description that I usually do. I need to stop trying to make adventures out of mere bus trips, I realize.

I went to Suzu again two weeks ago, and that was nearly the same experience as the last time. Not realizing just how far out of the way I was, Travis, from Kahoku, picked me up so I could go to the party. He thought I lived in Shika-machi, which is technically true, but found I lived a full thirty-minutes further than that. What made matters worse was that as we tried to journey to Suzu, we ended up taking back country roads.

When I say back country roads, I'm sure the image of dirt roads in the middle of nowhere comes to mind. However, in Japan, the imagery is altogether haunting. Travis and I were beginning to wonder if there were such things as Japanese rednecks who attack cars and scratch their belly while chewing out the words, "I want the one with the beard. He's perdy." We also began to speculate that there were likely Children of the Rice, an equivalent to our Children of the Corn. Back roads in Japan are horrible, twisting rollercoaster rides that are wide enough for only one car to pass. Couple this with zero visibility due to sheer height of the trees that line the road, it is, indeed, a hair-raising experience. Everynow and then, we pass through a town that was only three or four houses long with one lone vending machine seeming to be the only thing to illuminate the place. Just as we left one town was when we met our first car, and then promptly tried not to meet it so completely that we would be two cars smashed into one bizarre mess.

By the end of the trip, Travis was shaking with adrenaline. When we finally reached a major road, he stopped the car, opened the door, and then proceeded to dance around it. Then, without a word, he buckled up and sped off down the road towards Suzu.

The party itself was okay. I drank very little, fell asleep, and hitched a ride back to Togi with Davin. There were two memorable moments: Damo peeing himself, and the JTE of Suzu's High school falling off his chair, mid-snore, and then puking in the sink.

A few days later, I realized that I was absolutely sick of cooking for myself. So, I dropped by Nick's house, banged on his door loudly, demanding that he put pants on and go to dinner. The food was delicious, if not a little expensive, and I found out how to order a pint of beer. I regaled, or more likely, bored, Nick with tales of Togi. One of which was the world's ex-longest bench. Until that day, I had not found it. Together, we struck out, and it turned out to be exactly where I thought it was, and yet, the last place I would have looked. In general, I'm never right about that sort of thing.

There is something romantic about the bench not being the world's longest, but the ex-longest bench. At one point, the bench, of which I walked the entire length, used to be pristine and loved. It was the only that gave Togi any claim to fame. Now, it barely supported my weight in places, and half of it is ill-kept with grass growing through the slats. What it was before was nothing special (as if they built it, and realized, "hey, this bench is pretty long"), but now it is only an artifact of something that was nothing that special.

My last adventure was to Nanao. One day after I recieved my car, I decided to adventure to the faraway place to visit my friend Judith and to eat at the Fish and Chips place. It was fun, but nothing to write home about (although it is clear that I invariably am). I bought a futon, some new clothes, notebooks, and some CDs. The Fish and Chips place was closed because there was a dance concert of traditional dance and modern dance fusion. My camera, and my ability to shoot at night, did not give these dances justice:

I love life sometimes.

The Crazies (cont) Sport's Day

Today was Sport's Day, an event that the teacher's seem less than interested in. There boredom is written as clearly on their face as if I had taken a marker and wrote it there for them. Of course, on the list of disinterested sensei's, Bill tops the list. We get lunch together, and he makes sure to drive all the way back to school, as if he wants to avoid all the noise and rabble rousing. I didn't mind, mostly because he gave me a delicious tofu snack that tastes like pudding.

No one told me what was happening today, so all the sudden I look up from my computer at the Home Ec teacher, who points out the window. "Sanka suru? (Are you joining them?)" she asks. To my horror, I see teacher's leaving in droves, and students mounting the stairs of a bus. "Where?" I ask, frightened, wandering with my eyes rolling around the office. Just as they turn off the lights in the teacher's office, I grab Fujii. He says he'll take me with him, but to where, he does not elaborate. Again, I ask "where?!" There is no reply. I'm starting to wonder if it is some convaluted plan to kidnap me. Then I remember that I'm not worth anything, and quickly dismiss the idea that festers in the romantic synapses of my mind. Instead, I end up at the community gym, alive and whole, andsurprisingly enough, not held for ransom.

I always hear these fascinating stories about Sport's Days, and how there bizarreness has confounded many a foreigner. For my part, everything made sense. They played Tug o War (which I participated in), played mass jump rope, and did three-legged races. The only race that was slightly out of the ordinary was the race that required the students to spin around a baseball bat ten times, then dizzily make their way to a pan of flour where they had to pick a piece of candy out with their teach. Then, with their faces ghostlike, and somewhat creepy, they get a piece of paper that says what their partner should be like. They then have to find a partner, tie their legs together, and then make it to the finish line. It was altogether very interesting.

I have not yet had chance to talk about Fujita-sensei, and although I spoke to him little today, I think a description is in order.

Fujita sits next to me in the office, and is the head of the first year class, second homeroom. Apparently, he was very good friends with Etienne, and it makes me a little sad that I haven't yet achieved that status. I do my default of doing stupid things around him so he thinks that I'm not scary. My plan hasn't suceeded yet. MyMr. Bill told me today, with great relish, that I scared the crap out of him initially, and joked that I made him pee his pants. "You're an awkward person, aren't you?" I respond.

Fujita is very good friends with Fujii, and completes the "cool trio" of teachers (Okada, Fujii, Fujita). When I told him my brother's age, he became very excited because it was the same as him. Since my brother isn't always the most mature person, I found it odd to be in an office setting with a twenty-six year old. I mean, surely, that's not grown up enough, right?

Who Fujita is would make a great story in a novel, if he already has not been. He is a math teacher who he says he likes the incomprehensible subject because the order of it all is simply beautiful. This order he loves so greatly is put into practice by leading the brass band after school. I find that I admire him for being so mathematical, yet inspired.

This is not enough to make him a character worthy enough to write about, although I think that it is intriguing at the very least. What I find so interesting is that he enters all purchases so he knows his finances down to the single yen. He even enters in a 100 yen purchase of a bottled water into his excel document. I had never thought such anal behavior from such a seemingly normal person could exist! He also has three cellphones, one for each Japanese company (au, Softbank, DoCoMo), with a compartmentalized purpose. Such extremes are only reserved for fictional characters, yet here he is, existing in the real world, existing in the same office, existing in the chair next to me. I wonder if he wonders at my existance. How could such a messy girl exist? I never keep track of my money, and my desk is a trove of papers which I must excavate before every class to find the necessary worksheets. Surely, no one could be as messy as I.

I feel as if ying and yang.

The Crazies (cont.) At the School Festival!

The school festival is today, and I must say that it is a bit bewildering. How a festival works is so ingrained in their society that they don't even think they have to explain it to a foreigner. It makes sense, naturally. Silly foreigner.

I ate entirely too much delicious food. The yakisoba was the best I had ever tasted, and the karaage was wonderfully fatty. I had two doughnuts that were beyond tasty, and rivaled that of an American doughnut. Until now, I was under the mistaken impression that nothing could outdo the glorious taste of an American doughnut, but I was wrong. So very wrong! They dissolved in my mouth like a precious nectar, and like that, the taste was gone and I was left wondering at its glory. Would I ever taste anything so heavenly again? I decided not to buy a second box, in honor of the first box's memory (and also because I did not want to completely betray my diet).

I met who I think is Fujii's girlfriend today. Her english was not very good, but I finally understood that we were going to go see a drag show. A drag show? I thought incredulously. Surely the Japanese are far too uptight for that. As I walked to the gym, I saw three of my students, who were, by the way, the most masculine in my third year, looking like bizarre Picasso's of a girl.

"Tetsuya?" I asked, my confusion painted on my face as prominently as his lipstick and mascara.

The boy snickered, and nodded. "Aren't I beautiful?"

The were paraded on stage, asked their favorite type of man, and what kind of date they would go on. Strangely, the boys were brave enough to down the clothing of the other sex, yet not brave enough to answer the questions into the microphone. Then five girls were asked to go up and stage and give a banana to their favorite girl. Most of the boys thanked them for their prize, but others were more creative.

"I'm so happy." One's rich baritone says, clearly making fun of the typical girl in a drama.

The other, I could not understand, but his prepubescent crack in his falsely emotional voice led me to believe he was trying to be funny. Everyone laughed at him, in any case.

After that, I watched the bands and karoake, where I got to know a little more about Okada-sensei.

Initially, I did not sit next to her, but instead gradually drifted over to her sit by sit because I kept wanting to say some innocuous comment, and hated that there was no one to listen to me. We talked about how the singer was really bad. Then Okada-sensei, being the nice girl that she is, said that maybe, the stereo was broken. The guitarist, Shota, on the other hand, was excellent, and I wished that he wasn't stuck with clearly second rate players. The next band that played was all about drama. One of the actual members could not preform because his hair was too long, and he had dyed it, which is an awful big no-no, even at a low academic school like Togi. The crowd cried "Kyousuke! Kyousuke!". He came out, with tears in his eyes, and thanked them for coming, and expressed how much he wished he could be performing with his band. I had never seen anyone so emotional but something that was clearly their fault. I may not agree with the strictness of the rules of appearance in Japan, but the boy knew the consequences. Perhaps his tears were the tears of someone trying to be free, but feeling the constriction of society's bars press up against his chest he reached out for the sky.

Okada-sensei is very kind, I realize. I told her that follow her like a puppy, and she laughs at the idea, but lets me follow her anyways. In my heart of hearts, I know I'm seriously taking down her cool points, but then again, I've made it my mission make her english better. I already think it has improved leaps and bounds since I have come. I'm embarassed to say this, but I seem to think it to be a better idea to teach the English teacher's English, rather than the students.

I wish I could describe her properly, but I know very little about her. I know that she leaves close to the drummer of one of the bands that performed today, and that she learned the trick of fanning two people at once from her ex-boyfriend. This trick was much appreciated by me today, as I kept forgetting my damn fan. In America, one usually thinks that fans are useless. But here in Japan, I have learned that their usefulness is so great that it is nearly ineffable.

I hope that after today, I have endeared myself a little more to Okada-sensei. It sounds very dorky to say it, but I hope that we become friends.

The Crazies (cont.)

On friday, at about three o'clock, Fujii-sensei and Okada-sensei approach me, asking if I know how to play Monopoly. It tell them yes, but they won't believe how long it takes, so we play against my better judgement (I needed to leave for a party at five). Two hours later, I am fully aware of how only an American could come up with such a complicated game of finance and deception and think that it is an easy game. All the little rules that I just knew, such as how to get out of jail, and what Free Parking was were something that I just thought everyone innately knew. It never occured to me that I would have to explain so many small details. After two hours, they ask me how long the game takes. I told them I've had them last up until six hours. Their eyes dart about nervously, and I tell them that we can stop and play it again another time. Relieved, they start putting it away with the sort of expression that tells me that they never want to play that game again. I wonder what Americans find fun about the game, and why I like it so much.

I found that I really like these two.

Fujii, who I often call Fuji-san (Mount Fuji) on accident, is awesome. Most of what I know about him is told to me by Bill, but when I confronted him with the information, he confirmed it. It is important to note, that while I did not state it before, my initial impression of Fujii was that he was a dumb jock that choose to teach English because he did not know what else to do with his life. It seems, however, that I was wrong.

Fujii lives thirty minutes away in a town called Rokusei, where he happily informs me, there is a McDonald's. In his house is a billiard's table. I accuse him of being a pool shark, to which his responose is to always "come over, and we'll play for money." How I know this is because of a digression in conversation where in which Bill confesses he is not a lady killer, but instead a "madame killer" (because his student's mothers are always hitting on him). "You know, Fujii used to be a lady killer," is how the conversation really started.

Fujii, before he became a sensei, used to be a suit with long hair and girls hanging off his arms like decorations. He was inundated with gifts from girls at every turn, most of which were very expensive (giving gifts to the ones you wish to date seems to be very common practice here). His suaveness was further enhanced by his job, a bartender at a classy joint. The idea is sort of a non-sequitar for me. After all, the Fujii I know wears the same shirt nearly every day, and carries a box of teaching supplies around. Lady killer is not even on the list of adjectives I have for him. I remind myself that Bill has been to America, and knows the humour of a good lie. But then again, Fujii corraborated, so I have no legs left to stand on. Perhaps he really is one.

In any case, Fujii of the now is a friendly man who likes to laugh, and usually responds to everything by saying narhodou (indeed, or certainly) twice. Sometimes, when he is confused, or is agreeing with you, he makes four sounds that resonate in the back of his throat like a happy gorrilla. "Hm, hm, hm, hm". Consequently, I think he looks a little monkey-like. At first, i thought his intelligence reflected that of a monkey, I must confess, but I later found that he understands more than one initially thinks. I think it was simply a case of lack of practice. I have to remember that first impressions are never right.