Monthly Archives: December 2014

Fat Men In Diapers Slapping Each Other

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Soon after I got to Japan, my favorite sport to watch involved mostly naked men trying to push each other out of a dirt ring. This is a normal thing for most non-Japanese after they arrive in Japan.

Although almost no one watches it anymore, Sumo is still considered Japan’s national sport. I remember seeing it once on Wide World of Sports way back in the 70’s and maybe once on ESPN back when it was desperate to show any sport it could find. However, I never understood it and only had vague memories of it.

However, it’s very common for newcomers to Japan to suddenly stumble across a tournament  (called a basho) on TV soon after they arrive–Basho are held every two months in the odd-numbered months–and to become fans.

At first you’re kind of amused and watch Sumo with the same glee you watch the aftermath of a train wreck. (Oh, like you don’t.) After a while, you begin to understand the rhythm’s of the sport, despite it being formal to a fault. It’s no joke that the preliminaries to a bout–which involve clapping, salt throwing and spitting–typically take longer than the bout. That said, I’ve seen more experienced wrestlers (called Rikishi) psyche out their younger opponents during the preliminaries and either put them off their game or trick them into mistakes.

I mostly got interested because when I first got to Japan, there were a few US-born rikishi in the higher ranks and it was easy to find the matches with English commentators who helped explain the sport. It was also fun to watch the tinier rikishi throw around the giant rikishi. I still remember 633 pound (287 kilogram) Konishiki getting slung around by the much smaller Mayanoumi.

Eventually I became a sumo snob and could arm-chair quarterback (so to speak) a match with the best of them. “The Yokozuna Grand Champion shouldn’t win with those tricky spin moves at the edge. He should be winning going forward.” (For the record, that is actually true. The Powers What Are in Sumo look at quality of wins and not just number of wins, although the latter should always be high.)

Then one day I just stopped watching it.

For a lot of reasons my interest in sumo went the way of some of my past collections. The formality and unwillingness to change had made it boring. Also, I was working a lot and the evening match summaries had been moved to late night/early morning. As a result, I lost interest in the sport and to this day don’t follow it, except to see who the latest foreign-born Grand Champions are.

Oh, and to see what the latest scandal is.

 

 

Sticky Floors for Algernon

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It’s been said that a bad dress rehearsal leads to a good opening night. Whoever said that never had to deal with a sticky floor on opening night.

A couple hundred years ago when I was still in graduate school, I took part in the play Flowers for Algernon (based on Daniel Keyes’ Novel.) I portrayed one of the doctors (although I don’t remember if I was Dr. Nemur or Dr. Strauss. I think I was Strauss.)

The production was directed by a fellow graduate student who was submitting it as part of his Master’s degree requirements. However, he had a couple handicaps. First, there were other major productions going on meaning the acting pool at Kansas State U had been spread thin and 2) he wasn’t particularly well liked in the department which thinned down the acting pool even more. (That’s how I was able to get a substantial part.)

As a result, he had lots of first time actors, including the lead actors, and a cast that was much bigger than it needed to be. This meant he had to spend a lot of time doing “trust” activities and exercises that got us working together as a team whilst simultaneously trying to teach the bulk of the cast how to act.

A few never quite got it down. One woman had one line “I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes” but could never get the inflection down. It always came out as “I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it with my OWN eyes.” (As opposed to someone else’s?)

A lot of stage acting is based on listening and being in the moment. Although you practice lines and blocking, the way a person delivers a line can change the entire scene. If you’re expected to have an angry reaction to an angry line, but the other person says their line calmly, you have to react the scene you’re in, not the scene you practiced. If you don’t, it looks weird to the audience. You have to simultaneously know what you’re supposed to do but can’t anticipate what you’re going to do. When it works, it’s brilliant and you see why people like acting.

However, as a group we didn’t work together very well and things didn’t look good. I didn’t even tell my family about the play because I expected a disaster.

Then, oddly, the disaster came, but it actually kind of worked out.

On opening night, as we prepared to go on, we were informed that the stage manager had made a huge mistake. He’d used glossy black paint to prepare the stage instead of matte black paint. This made the stage sticky. As we walked we made ripping-Velcro noises and if we stood in place our shoes stuck to the stage making quick exits difficult. However, in the spirit of “the show must go on” we were told to make the best of it.

The results were great. We started cutting out our blocking which mean we had to listen and observe and basically be in the moment. I remember one scene where I was supposed to turn away from a character then turn back and deliver a line. Instead, since my shoes were stuck to the floor, I stayed facing her and changed the way I spoke instead.

Audience members from the department told us we were the most focused cast they’d ever seen. It felt great on stage, too.

Unfortunately, the next night the stage was back to normal and we went back to being ordinary.

 

 

There are Usually No Stupid Questions

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Every now and then, during exams, students ask questions that are so stupid it’s all I can do to keep from laughing in their faces. I have, however, on occasion, openly expressed my disgust and contempt.

What usually happens during exams is the first 10 minutes or so of the 50 minute period are taken up by the listening portion. Lately this has me worried as a result of an incident that wasn’t even my fault. (Today, to make matters worse, the sound technician kept playing with buttons as if there was something wrong with the CD, and that had me stressing out.)

After the listening, those of us teaching that grade assemble in the teachers’ room to await questions and as a rapid reactionary force if an actual mistake is discovered.(Which happens every now and then.)

Usually the junior high first years (7th graders) have the most questions: do we have to print or should we use cursive?; can we use numbers or do we have to spell them? These are understandable as, for most of them, this may be their first exam in English.

However, my favorite questions have all come from high school students. Two happened today. First, my student wanted me to spell a word for him. I told him I could neither confirm nor deny the spelling. He went huh? Later, in the same class, a student asked a question that amounted to “Is it necessary for me to follow the instructions on the long writing?” I said “of course.”

At that moment, my student took a second shot at getting me to spell a word. I just smiled and left.

Last year a student pointed to an entire section of the exam and said “I don’t understand.” My reaction was “That is why you fail.”

The best, though, was a high school second year student (11th grade). That term was speech contest term which meant every 11th grader had written and memorized a speech appealing to some authority figure to change something in the school or in the world. Because that took up a large portion of the term there wasn’t a lot of material for the exam. The long writing, therefore, involved person A appealing to person B to change something. (I don’t remember if it was a dialogue or an essay.)

Thirty minutes into the exam time I was called upstairs to answer a question. One of my worst students pointed to the long writing and said “What is ‘appeal’?”

Given how I felt, my look must have been something between “Is this a joke?” and “You are a moron”. I told him I couldn’t tell him but told him it was just like his speech contest speech and left him to his own devices.

He ended up not writing very much. (Which actually makes my life a bit easier.)

The Collecting and the Dumping

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If history is any indication of the future, anything I’m currently collecting is ultimately doomed.

In my life I’ve collected model cars, Star Wars stuff (a technical term), stamps, vintage paper back books, and a few rare books. Now I have a small collection of knives and pens.

I typically start a collection with righteous fervor and very little discretion. The goal is to collect shiny pretty things. Actually, that should be the plan because well made shiny pretty things may actually hold their value, but what ends up happening is I buy what can get my hands on without any consideration toward future value except in the form of “yeah, I’ll totally sell this for a profit some day” without actually knowing what’s worth collecting.

I ended up with milk crates full of plastic wrapped paperback books with cool covers, lots of interesting stamps, lots of plastic model cars and lots of dolls, er, action figures and action figure sets. Now, I have several pens and two small dry boxes full of various knives.

Eventually I reach a saturation point where I just stop caring. It’s as if I move them from point A to point B one time to many and get sick of it all and decide to dump them. This overrides the sentimental value and the sunk cost fallacy, or the hope of making money on the transaction. In the case of model cars, I’d stopped building them and just dumped them to someone I knew would be interested in them. The paperbacks I dumped just to be rid of them.

Occasionally, the energy involved in selling things causes me to keep things I’m no longer interested in. For example, I still have a bunch of stamps partly because I have no clue how to sell them and no interest in wasting any more time on them. (Of course, I haven’t decided to throw them out or give them away yet.)

The only thing I actually didn’t dump was the Star Wars stuff, which I sold at what it was worth to other doll, er, Star Wars stuff collectors at the time rather than at fire-sale prices.

The knives I’ve sold have made their money back partly because a big chunk were acquired at a great price from another collector dumping part of his collection. Now that I know what I like, the things I don’t are on their way out which, for me, is a huge improvement. I’m also looking to sell most of my old pens to keep the collection from growing beyond a handful of pens I can use on a regular rotation.

In the back of my head, though, I’m wondering what my next collection will be.

Beware Beware Ye Who Buy In Bulk

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One of the things you have to keep in mind when you go shopping in Japan is that the more you buy the more you pay.

This seems like an obvious thing until you realize I’m talking about bulk purchases. Except for US chains such as Costco, it’s unusual to get a “per item” discount when you buy several of something.

For example, if you buy one beer here in Japan, you pay about $2.50 US. (That’s if you buy real beer and not the other crap.) However, if you buy a six pack, you pay $15 US or, $2.50 per can. If you buy 10 cans you pay $25.00. Etcetera. However, that’s only if you’re lucky.

If you’re not careful, you may discover that you’re paying more per can because the store charges you for the box the six pack and ten pack came in. It may, in fact, be cheaper to buy the cans individually and forgo the convenient box.

I first learned this, as you might imagine, buying pens. I believe I was buying several colors of Signo Uniball pens when I noticed they came in a convenient 10 pack. The 10 pack had a slot for each pen and a snap flap that held them in place. I put the individual pens I’d chosen back and grabbed the 10 pack. As I paid, my red alert signal went off but I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. (I was also buying some notebooks which distracted me.) When I got home and studied the receipt, I realized the 10 pack was more expensive per pen than buying each pen separately.

I also almost got caught buying a local craft beer in Nikko. As I looked at the prices, I noticed the six pack was substantially more expensive per can than buying individual cans. (The cardboard must have been very special.)

The odd effect of this is that you never get fooled into thinking you’re saving by buying in bulk. (Wow, I totally saved $50 dollars by buying 200 pens instead of just buying the three I needed.)

The trouble for the stores and manufacturers, though, is that you also spend less. (Well, since I’m not saving anything, I’ll only buy three pens. Well, maybe four.)

Slow Slow Fast Faster Never

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Now that I think about it, I have to blame acting for my struggles in karate.

I was pretty good at acting in university because the nature of the way actors prepare for plays suited my learning style.

When  you first start working on a production you’re given your script and start memorizing your lines. As you do this, you work up your character and start filling in the history the play doesn’t give you.

After that, you are walked through the blocking and told where to stand and when to turn and as you do it the director is making changes.  It’s fair to say that for the first month you’re memorizing stuff but none of it is expected to be perfect. The perfection comes later and culminates, if you’re lucky, in a crappy dress rehearsal that panics everyone and usually produces a good result on opening night.

It’s a slow process that I actually like because it gives time to learn things carefully and to learn any changes.

Unfortunately, in sports, and especially with my karate sensei, you’re expected to get things perfect after only a few tries. Any more than that and you’re wasting time. With my sensei it’s “Watch one; Watch one again; Do one; Screw one up; Do one again; Patience is lost.”

This is especially true as we approach my belt test. If I do badly, it’s  reflection on him. Me emphasizing “no, really, I suck at this” doesn’t help. I also have a hard time practicing techniques by myself. Sure, I can practice the basic moves but it all falls apart at speed. It’s the difference between learning your plays in basketball and actually running them in a game.

The other issue I’m having is that December is a bad time for belt tests as I’m marking exams for my job. On the other hand, the May test is bad because it comes after March exams, Spring break; and the start of school.

Luckily, I’ve had some time this weekend to review and a couple weeks to memorize. Now if I can just convince my sensei a bad dress rehearsal is a good thing.

So Productive It’s Scary and Must Be Suppressed

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Today I was productive enough that I almost finished marking one batch of exams. I’ll bet the last little bit takes me all day tomorrow to finish.

Today I had three basic tasks: pass back exams to 3rd year high school students and have them laugh at me about seeing next terms (long story) and then hand in their final marks; collect 2nd year exams; and sit around waiting for final marks to come back for final approval.

This plan left me with a couple choices: bail and go home and never come back leaving one colleague to check my final marks and correct any errors based on my notes; go home and come back around 4:00 and wait for final marks (which typically arrive an hour after deadline); or stay at school, mark exams and wait for final marks.

I chose the latter, which actually surprised me. I started with the worst part of the exams (the long writing on the back) and then marked the rest. By 3:45 p.m. I was 90% done marking when a shocking thing happened: the final results came back early. I quickly texted my colleague who appeared right as I hit send. (And you doubted my wizard powers.)

The final check involves making sure the OCR machine scanned our sheets correctly. If it did, we just write “OK” and run away as fast as we can.

I checked the marks, packed my tests and ran into the cold. Now I’m at home not finishing marking. Unfortunately, the quick arrival of the final marks interrupted my flow and it’s scientifically impossible for me to get it back until tomorrow.

To make matters worse, the devil over my left shoulder is reminding that because I don’t have that much to do there’s no rush. The devil over my right shoulder is going “Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.”

My goal is to finish all that in the morning and be done for the weekend until the next batch of tests arrive on Monday. Before that, I’ll probably find a few other things to do.

There is Some Joy in Dullsville This Day Only

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There is no pleasure in having nothing to do; the fun is having lots to do and not doing it.
—Andrew Jackson

I had nothing to do today after school and, with apologies to the former President of the United States, I had a pretty good time.

Tomorrow exams start which means I’ll be entering a cycle of denial, wishful thinking and distraction that should be a lot of fun.

When it come to having lots to do and not doing it, I am the master. For example, when I was in graduate school, right at the end of the term when exams were coming up, I had essays to mark and papers to write, I would bake cookies.

In my defense, it was an experiment to see if the Nieman-Marcus cookie recipe included in a family cookbook was actually good.  (Note: it is, but I recommend replacing one cup of butter with a cup of sour cream.) Also in my defense, I would pass the cookies around the department at Ole Miss, mostly to keep myself from getting fatter than I already was at the time.

Now the distraction can involve games and writing and reading. Oh, and there’s the binge watching of whatever random TV show I decide to watch. (In the past: Dexter, NCIS, Only Fools and Horses, Red Dwarf, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer.) Occasionally I will read something, too.

To try to prevent the binge watching from happening, I’ve stocked up on back issues of various podcasts and things that can be enjoyed without needing to turn on a computer. Turning on a computer, mind you, in and of itself is not bad, it’s the “well, let me check my email first” and the “well, a couple quick World of Tank matches won’t hurt” and the “Well, it’s too late to do anything now, I’ll just take care of this in the morning.”

That cycle ends with the “Holy Crap is that what day it is? I need to finish!” phase.

Watch What You Watch and Where You Watch It

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I’ve always maintained that if you want to learn everything there is to know about a country you need to view its dirty videos. In Japan, though, what you learn isn’t always that good, especially when you see them filmed while riding the train.

Soon after I moved to Tokyo, I was riding the train back to my apartment in Eastern Tokyo. I was sitting at the front of the second car, which gave me a window into the first car. While I was sitting there minding my own business, I saw a camera flash from the first car.  When I glanced over, I saw a couple men groping a woman right near the window.

I went into “get ready to call the police mode”, and then I saw a second flash and the video camera. Eventually the scene got a little more revealing and involved cellphone antennas and the woman pretending to fight back. A lot of Japanese dirty movies (ahem, so I’ve heard) involve groping and rape and domination. Seeing it on the train was especially disturbing.

Eventually they stopped, which meant they were probably getting ready to get out a station and film the next part.

Another time, many years later, I happened to look down the train car and saw a scene pretty much straight out of Seinfeld: a woman wearing a bra as a top. This itself wasn’t particularly disturbing, it was the fact she was dressed as a school girl. She and her entourage got out the train almost as soon as I noticed so I never saw exactly what was going on, but I’m guessing a camera was involved.

Now, however, such scenes are illegal as a few years ago Japan passed a law banning public displays of, um, simulated affection and public nudity. A model and her photographer got in trouble soon after the law was passed for shooting a photo book on the streets late at night when no one was around. The photo book itself was evidence of the crime.

This is all probably for the best, but I can’t help but think that somewhere in Japan there is a photo of me on the cover of a dirty movie. I’ve probably got a “what the hell is this” look on my face.

Shrieking and Wailing and Claiming of Seats

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Only once in my life have I made a person eternally grateful by merely moving rather than by leaving. The other person involved wasn’t quite as happy, but everyone nearby was.

A few years back I used to teach a night class in a nearby town and although it wasn’t that far away, the timing prevented me from going home before I went to the class. Instead, I would roam around and window shop and/or drink coffee.

One afternoon, after a particularly bad day in school I was feeling cranky and, as luck would have it, I managed to get a seat on the train. In fact, I not only got a seat, I got the coveted “Seat At The End Of The Bench” which would allow me to lean on something other than the person next to me if I fell asleep.

However, as I sat down, a shaggy haired woman who looked to be maybe in her early 20s caught my eye and, although I know this is ugly, you could see the crazy. She declared–several times–that my seat was hers, even though there were other seats available.

Now, although I consider myself reasonably chivalrous and will give up my seat if there are no others available, I’m not the kind of person who believes you should get the seat you want simply because you want it, especially if others are available and especially if I’m in a bad mood. At that moment, therefore, Crazy met Cranky and I gestured to an open seat.

She started shouting “It mine!” “It’s mine! It’s mine!” (in Japanese of course) and then let out a bloodcurdling shriek (similar to this but hers got louder) and started beating the sides of her head with her fists.

Cranky hit 11 as sympathy hit 0 and I told her to f@#k off and was getting ready to tune her out and read a book but at that moment I noticed the conductor was staring at me and even I could smell his fear. Sympathy went back to 3.  I nodded and stood up. Crazy sat down and you’ve never seen a person as happy as that conductor was in that moment. Everyone nearby seemed relieved, too.

Crazy then took offense to me standing near her and to everyone staring at her. I said something less than polite, in English, about how if she didn’t want attention she shouldn’t act like a crazy bitch over a seat on the train. (Cranky had reached 11.1 at that point.)

I moved to a different part of the car and at the next stop the conductors were switched and the one I’d made grateul gave me a series of grateful bows.

I eventually got a seat. Crazy got off the train somewhere, but I’d stopped paying attention by then.