Today I bunked the two periods after lunch with Gunch and his motorcycle chommie. We went to a swanky Italian resturaunt on the other side of town and ate at a leisurely pace, they drank wine. I wanted to but thought it would be pushing my luck to arrive back to school late and drunk. The meal was delicious – a small salad followed by a small helping of pasta with fresh mushrooms and parma ham. The main course was a little helping of osso bucco, a tiny medallion of steak, a square of silvery fish baked with carrots and tomatoes and an espresso cup of hot leek soup. Dessert was one strawberry, cream, almond icecream and a sliver of apple tart.
The men spoke about their respective work. Gunch mourned for the days when teachers were broad-minded people (the seventies apparently) and Mr Motorcross (Mr Yamamoto…I think!) told me that he likes his job because when he discusses it with his wife she doesn’t understand what he is talking about. Mr Yamamoto is a Christian (Shinto father, Christian mother) and is currently very interested in Jews – how they are different form Christians and what our ‘big book’ is called. I felt like such a sneak sponging such a fabulous lunch and being mostly unable to answer his questions in return.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
my favourite class
I have just finished teaching my favourite class. They are second year students and I normally only teach first year students. I have only taught them once before, just after I arrived; I remember it was stiflingly hot. What makes them my favourites is hard to categorize but the feeling was instantaneous when I first taught them. Their focus is absolute but more than that, I can feel that they are with me, not against me (anyone who has faced a pride of teenagers will know the visceral distinction). They are a smart class but not too smart – the really smart ones have been bogged down by their book knowledge whereas my favourites are still agile of mind, making them more dynamic than the really smart ones. Smarter than the smart ones. I can play with them. They are a joy.
So I was walking around my favourite classroom (because it houses my favourite class) and all of a sudden a sadness began to seep in like the leak at the bottom of a boat. I felt a slight sogginess initially through my socks but the sadness’ progress was steady and by the end of the lesson I was sloshing around, knee deep in it. Let me say here that it is not entirely unusual to have bizarrely intense feelings come over me here in Nippon. It happens on my bike or mid conversation or at home or whenever – one minute I am feeling thusly and the next minute – the converse of thusly. Its alright, proof of sanity rather than madness I think. As an extremely irritating hippie once advised me, I usually just ride the wave, babes. Today however it irked me and I wanted to know why I suddenly felt so sad. Here are my thoughts.
The sadness was about Hiroshima and the bomb. This in and of itself is not so strange, because it is a desperately sad thing. It is strange however that it happened in class and not say, last weekend when I was in Hiroshima city for a conference. I know that when I say the Hiroshima to people outside of Japan it must still carry the taste of the bomb and the tragedy but to me the name only signifies the place. Hiroshima is just a city now – no connotation, it is where I can go for better bars and shopping and conferences. This time round I even arranged to meet with someone at the A-bomb memorial because it is central and convenient. When I went there I barely looked at it, its significance did not even register.
Maybe the fact that it didn’t register must have registered because sadness seeds were surely sown. It was not coincidence either that the sadness happened when I was with my favourite class. In fact I'm certain that they triggered it. They trigger it partly, I think, because the last time I taught them in sticky July and August, the significance of where I was and what happened here in August 1945 was very present, exacerbated by my reading every bit of info about the bombing I could get my hands on. It was then that I began reading the series Barefoot Gen – a manga about the bombing and its aftermath. I’m still reading it now but I am wary of it. The simple, cartoony pictures have a way of getting under my skin, it’s very disturbing. I made the mistakes, at first, of reading it while eating, while sick and with company. Now I only read it when I am feeling in top physical and mental condition, away from any food or people. Yes, so in part I associate that class with that time and therefore with the book. But deeper than that, the feeling of joy they give me feels inextricably linked to the horror I feel about the bombing. Like they are a memorial - is that morbid? That they are there and happy and smart and that they are people - diverse, interesting people as much as anyone anywhere makes me think about the bomb. People who drop bombs cannot think of their targets with the affection I feel for my favourite class. If they did, they wouldn't drop bombs.
But of course you don't hint that any of this is going on. You just wander around and teach as per normal while all these wild feelings bump and squeeze inside.
So I was walking around my favourite classroom (because it houses my favourite class) and all of a sudden a sadness began to seep in like the leak at the bottom of a boat. I felt a slight sogginess initially through my socks but the sadness’ progress was steady and by the end of the lesson I was sloshing around, knee deep in it. Let me say here that it is not entirely unusual to have bizarrely intense feelings come over me here in Nippon. It happens on my bike or mid conversation or at home or whenever – one minute I am feeling thusly and the next minute – the converse of thusly. Its alright, proof of sanity rather than madness I think. As an extremely irritating hippie once advised me, I usually just ride the wave, babes. Today however it irked me and I wanted to know why I suddenly felt so sad. Here are my thoughts.
The sadness was about Hiroshima and the bomb. This in and of itself is not so strange, because it is a desperately sad thing. It is strange however that it happened in class and not say, last weekend when I was in Hiroshima city for a conference. I know that when I say the Hiroshima to people outside of Japan it must still carry the taste of the bomb and the tragedy but to me the name only signifies the place. Hiroshima is just a city now – no connotation, it is where I can go for better bars and shopping and conferences. This time round I even arranged to meet with someone at the A-bomb memorial because it is central and convenient. When I went there I barely looked at it, its significance did not even register.
Maybe the fact that it didn’t register must have registered because sadness seeds were surely sown. It was not coincidence either that the sadness happened when I was with my favourite class. In fact I'm certain that they triggered it. They trigger it partly, I think, because the last time I taught them in sticky July and August, the significance of where I was and what happened here in August 1945 was very present, exacerbated by my reading every bit of info about the bombing I could get my hands on. It was then that I began reading the series Barefoot Gen – a manga about the bombing and its aftermath. I’m still reading it now but I am wary of it. The simple, cartoony pictures have a way of getting under my skin, it’s very disturbing. I made the mistakes, at first, of reading it while eating, while sick and with company. Now I only read it when I am feeling in top physical and mental condition, away from any food or people. Yes, so in part I associate that class with that time and therefore with the book. But deeper than that, the feeling of joy they give me feels inextricably linked to the horror I feel about the bombing. Like they are a memorial - is that morbid? That they are there and happy and smart and that they are people - diverse, interesting people as much as anyone anywhere makes me think about the bomb. People who drop bombs cannot think of their targets with the affection I feel for my favourite class. If they did, they wouldn't drop bombs.
But of course you don't hint that any of this is going on. You just wander around and teach as per normal while all these wild feelings bump and squeeze inside.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Thursday, December 18, 2008
me towards mumbai
All packed and ready to be off this island!
The mainland with other sights and smells and frights and delights awaits me.
Lets hope i don't get dysentery.
Peace out. x
The mainland with other sights and smells and frights and delights awaits me.
Lets hope i don't get dysentery.
Peace out. x
Monday, December 15, 2008
J-Christmas
On Christmas Day I have heard it is "traditional" for Japanese families to go to KFC and eat a whole lot of chicken. Roast chicken is traditional Christmas fare after all. This, and other familiar but distorted practices make up what it is like to have Christmas in Japan. I'm sure for people who celebrate Christmas with gusto and faith in their home countries, all this bizarro world Christmas stuff is more unnerving than it is for me. My Christmases are traditionally spent wishing I was Christian so that I could get presents and decorate trees. When on November first they start playing electronic carols in Pick n Pay, it means little more to me than the sudden abundance of chocolate mallow eggs. Even this isn't all that exciting because that's what Easter means to me too.
My school insisted that I give a Christmas themed lesson this week. They know I am Jewish just like they know I am South African but I suppose all white people are the same to my co-workers (in the same way that us whiteys lump all Asians in the same boat). So a Christmas week it will be! I went all-out making a convoluted board game in the shape of a Christmas tree and worked long hours making present shaped question cards with such questions as:
The baby Jesus was visited by three wise
a) goats
b) kings
c) angels
and
Santa Claus says
a) Ho ho ho
b) He he he
Finally the little Jewish girl who went to A.P.P.S who still lives inside of me can do crafts with green, read and gold paper!
The Santa questions in the game have proved to be no problem so far. Everyone here knows that elves work in workshops, not gnomes and that the big man says Ho ho ho in his jolly red suit. The Jesus questions have been a little more problematic. One class had no one in it who had even heard of Jesus Christ. Initially I was shocked but you know - fair dos I reckon - I don't know the names of any bigwig Shinto gods (I don't even know if gods is the right term). Why does Japan do Christmas with such gusto though? Its really big here, much bigger than in South Africa. Everyone puts lights up in the windows. Suddenly all the food on sale is in Christmas wrapping or Christmas shapes. The malls play Mariah Carey and Wham! hits. Why? I asked a fellow teacher and they said that Christmas has been around since the end of the war and is growing in popularity. At first I thought this was a revolting tragedy - that the country had it forced on them and had to learn to love it. But then again, it is quite lovable. I like the twinkly lights and the cinnamon flavoured...everything. Should I feel bad for the Japanese people who have to have Christmas or should I feel sorry for the Jesus whose birthday has been forgotten in amongst the shopping. Maybe its a bit grinchy to feel sorry or bitter either way. Everyone appears to be enjoying themselves, even me. The one thing I know I will never take part in, however many Kurisu masu I spend here is the Christmas cake phenomenon. Somewhere along the line Japan heard about Christmas cake and decided to make it their own...and a big deal. Like real Christians feel about the whole birth of Jesus thing, I think that's how people here feel about Christmas cake. They are everywhere and they are not the stodgy brown fruit loaves with rock icing I think of when I play Christmas cake association. These cakes are enourmous white flurries - there is enough soft icing on them to fashion into ski slopes and they are decorated with lace and glitter and holly and and and. They also cost upward of 10 000 Yen...so about R1000.00. I don't care how delicious they look, I hope I never spend that much on holiday sugar.
The Christmas in Japan phenomenon (and believe me, it is rather phenomenal) is a crude but in no way unique example of how Japan has adopted something Western and run with it. Western isn't even the right term because Christmas here is thought of as American specifically and this is the point I am trying desperately to get to (thanks for bearing with me). Why does Japan embrace all that is American? Why don't they despise America the way the French despise America? One could say they have more reason than anybody. But they don't. They lurve America. It's a question that smells complicated - one part cinnamon to two parts uranium. Hmmmm... Any ideas?
My school insisted that I give a Christmas themed lesson this week. They know I am Jewish just like they know I am South African but I suppose all white people are the same to my co-workers (in the same way that us whiteys lump all Asians in the same boat). So a Christmas week it will be! I went all-out making a convoluted board game in the shape of a Christmas tree and worked long hours making present shaped question cards with such questions as:
The baby Jesus was visited by three wise
a) goats
b) kings
c) angels
and
Santa Claus says
a) Ho ho ho
b) He he he
Finally the little Jewish girl who went to A.P.P.S who still lives inside of me can do crafts with green, read and gold paper!
The Santa questions in the game have proved to be no problem so far. Everyone here knows that elves work in workshops, not gnomes and that the big man says Ho ho ho in his jolly red suit. The Jesus questions have been a little more problematic. One class had no one in it who had even heard of Jesus Christ. Initially I was shocked but you know - fair dos I reckon - I don't know the names of any bigwig Shinto gods (I don't even know if gods is the right term). Why does Japan do Christmas with such gusto though? Its really big here, much bigger than in South Africa. Everyone puts lights up in the windows. Suddenly all the food on sale is in Christmas wrapping or Christmas shapes. The malls play Mariah Carey and Wham! hits. Why? I asked a fellow teacher and they said that Christmas has been around since the end of the war and is growing in popularity. At first I thought this was a revolting tragedy - that the country had it forced on them and had to learn to love it. But then again, it is quite lovable. I like the twinkly lights and the cinnamon flavoured...everything. Should I feel bad for the Japanese people who have to have Christmas or should I feel sorry for the Jesus whose birthday has been forgotten in amongst the shopping. Maybe its a bit grinchy to feel sorry or bitter either way. Everyone appears to be enjoying themselves, even me. The one thing I know I will never take part in, however many Kurisu masu I spend here is the Christmas cake phenomenon. Somewhere along the line Japan heard about Christmas cake and decided to make it their own...and a big deal. Like real Christians feel about the whole birth of Jesus thing, I think that's how people here feel about Christmas cake. They are everywhere and they are not the stodgy brown fruit loaves with rock icing I think of when I play Christmas cake association. These cakes are enourmous white flurries - there is enough soft icing on them to fashion into ski slopes and they are decorated with lace and glitter and holly and and and. They also cost upward of 10 000 Yen...so about R1000.00. I don't care how delicious they look, I hope I never spend that much on holiday sugar.
The Christmas in Japan phenomenon (and believe me, it is rather phenomenal) is a crude but in no way unique example of how Japan has adopted something Western and run with it. Western isn't even the right term because Christmas here is thought of as American specifically and this is the point I am trying desperately to get to (thanks for bearing with me). Why does Japan embrace all that is American? Why don't they despise America the way the French despise America? One could say they have more reason than anybody. But they don't. They lurve America. It's a question that smells complicated - one part cinnamon to two parts uranium. Hmmmm... Any ideas?
Saturday, December 13, 2008
gunch update
Just to let you all know that Gunch is decidedly on the mend! He went to the doctor who diagnosed him with nothing more than a bit of high blood pressure. His cough is nearly gone and he is wearing a natty new winter suit.
On Monday he was called into the principal's office (I think its ridiculous that a man of 68...yes, he is 68 now, can be called into a principals office). He thought he was going to get kakked on for smoking on the property or having his motorcross buddies round for tea in the staffroom but, it turns out, the principal just wanted to make sure he was going to keep teaching next year. And, he told me he had said that, reluctantly...he would. Hehe, he's back on board! I am so delighted. He told me that its not official yet, just between him and me. I thought it would be ok to let ya'll know, what with the internet being a most discreet place.
So don't tell anyone. But my friend Gunch is staying. Yipee.
On Monday he was called into the principal's office (I think its ridiculous that a man of 68...yes, he is 68 now, can be called into a principals office). He thought he was going to get kakked on for smoking on the property or having his motorcross buddies round for tea in the staffroom but, it turns out, the principal just wanted to make sure he was going to keep teaching next year. And, he told me he had said that, reluctantly...he would. Hehe, he's back on board! I am so delighted. He told me that its not official yet, just between him and me. I thought it would be ok to let ya'll know, what with the internet being a most discreet place.
So don't tell anyone. But my friend Gunch is staying. Yipee.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
mgmt at the shangri-la
I arrived at 19:07. The lobby was empty and there was no sound coming from the quilted velvet doors. Smugly assuming I was early I almost crossed the road to grab a bite to eat. Lucky I didn't, that would have been cocky! The concert had started, of course, at seven on the tit and I was not the first but literally the last to arrive. As I slipped through the padded doors I was confronted with the hundreds of backs and arses of a crowd already two songs in dammit! I couldn't believe I was stuck at the back of another concert! I wanted to let my elbows guide me to the front but alas Japan has made me too polite! Still, no biggie. The venue was tiny so even at the back you could see the writing on their Tshirts. The lead singer WhatisFucknosenberg or whatever is really really sexy in that way that ugly people manage to be only because they are really arrogant - which he was! I fell for him instantly. He is ugly because he is pale and scrawny and stooped. He also has the worst hair I have ever seen. Of course, its supposed to look that way and it says much about his innate deep sexiness that he still looks good under a long curly mullet with middle parting curtains to boot. Absolutely disgusting. And as he sweated bucketloads his mullet got longer and longer sticking to his neck and down his back.
The others were just hairy - not sexy at all. They looked like cave men or engineering students. The keyboard player, it seems had made some effort to look like...something, by wearing tacky plastic sunglasses. All in all their appearance was not overwhelming - they looked like a fun but kak South African band playing at Sunningdale hotel.
They played the whole of Oracular Spectacular - Kids being the highlight of course. Really fucking cool! Everyone went mad. Then 8pm had arrived and they had played the whole album and that was that. Lights up, roadies up to walk the guitars off. I went to the bar to get my one free drink and everyone else who had had their one free drink before curtain-up flocked out to buy the ugly tour thsirts. Three variants competed to be the ugliest tshirt design available, not just in the venue, but I suspect, on the whole island. As I stood in line amongst Osaka's horn rimmed uber-hip, clutching my free drink, I realised (as did the horn-rimmeds too I think, on some level) hang on, I dont want one of these ugly starchy t shirts in plastic packets from under a tressle table - I want the shirt the singer was wearing! Old and sweat drenched - it might have been blue or really old black - anyone's guess. I want that one! hmph. I bought one from the cardboard box under the tressle table. Design A. The black one with wizard purple bubble writing "mgmt" across the boobs, and a cutesy lion with purple paws. Sounds sif? It is. Better than T shirt B though, a clip-art hot dog drinking a beer or T shirt C which was lime green - I dont care if it had the best font, lime green is a crime. Like the hair, the shirts are dead ironic you see and I want to be as ironic at Whatis Fucknosenburg. I will sweat prodigiously into my new tshirt and make it old.
I had forgotten how heavy handed Japanese bar ladies can be with the hard tack - by the time I had downed it, bought my t shirt and been spat out into the street I was proper pissed. In the middle of Osaka. Where would I find a bed in the megalopolis? I was lucky that it was night time and I couldn't see quite how mega this lopolis really was, otherwise I might have cried.
The others were just hairy - not sexy at all. They looked like cave men or engineering students. The keyboard player, it seems had made some effort to look like...something, by wearing tacky plastic sunglasses. All in all their appearance was not overwhelming - they looked like a fun but kak South African band playing at Sunningdale hotel.
They played the whole of Oracular Spectacular - Kids being the highlight of course. Really fucking cool! Everyone went mad. Then 8pm had arrived and they had played the whole album and that was that. Lights up, roadies up to walk the guitars off. I went to the bar to get my one free drink and everyone else who had had their one free drink before curtain-up flocked out to buy the ugly tour thsirts. Three variants competed to be the ugliest tshirt design available, not just in the venue, but I suspect, on the whole island. As I stood in line amongst Osaka's horn rimmed uber-hip, clutching my free drink, I realised (as did the horn-rimmeds too I think, on some level) hang on, I dont want one of these ugly starchy t shirts in plastic packets from under a tressle table - I want the shirt the singer was wearing! Old and sweat drenched - it might have been blue or really old black - anyone's guess. I want that one! hmph. I bought one from the cardboard box under the tressle table. Design A. The black one with wizard purple bubble writing "mgmt" across the boobs, and a cutesy lion with purple paws. Sounds sif? It is. Better than T shirt B though, a clip-art hot dog drinking a beer or T shirt C which was lime green - I dont care if it had the best font, lime green is a crime. Like the hair, the shirts are dead ironic you see and I want to be as ironic at Whatis Fucknosenburg. I will sweat prodigiously into my new tshirt and make it old.
I had forgotten how heavy handed Japanese bar ladies can be with the hard tack - by the time I had downed it, bought my t shirt and been spat out into the street I was proper pissed. In the middle of Osaka. Where would I find a bed in the megalopolis? I was lucky that it was night time and I couldn't see quite how mega this lopolis really was, otherwise I might have cried.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)