Category Archives: Japan

Once More into the Brats

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No, this post is not a repeat of last week’s post on the same subject; rather it’s a post on the similar events as happened last week.

Today we got rain and that means the weather’s about to turn hot and the changing weather and air pressure is messing with lots of people’s heads. I got to school mostly soaked and in a bad mood.

That was the perfect setting for teaching my worst class.

Once again, they started off with the “Jason’s” and this time were more persistent about it. Once again I ignored them and went on with the class.

Things went reasonably well after that until I checked answers by having students stand up. (If you answer you get to sit down and last brat standing starts the next row). At one point, three students decided to play a game by refusing to answer. One guy even turned away. This not being my first rodeo, so to speak, I made three rows stand up which suddenly inspired faster response times.

Towards the end of the activity, a different group of three brats decided to try the same game. This time I just let them stand. I told them I had no problem making them stand until the end of class. (I stand for hours a day as part of my job so half a class is no big deal for me, but it’s torture to them.) One of the brats then tried to lead the class in the “We Will Rock You” beat. I let them do it and started working on my notes for my next class which stopped the music (although they tried it a couple more times).

When they finally realized they couldn’t out-stubborn me or piss me off enough to yell, they answered questions and got to sit down. (Note: the ring-leaders did this to their teacher last year, too.)

Their final gimmick was to refuse to memorize the conversation I told them to memorize. They took great joy in getting help or blatantly reading from the book. In this case the joke was on them, though, as I actually got all but one of them to perform the conversation, which they wouldn’t have done unless they thought they were making a game of it. (See, I know a few tricks.) Everyone who read (which was all but two pairs) earned a zero for the day but at least they spoke English.

One boy in a group of three didn’t perform the conversation as both his partner’s refused to go twice. I told them to come in at lunch (flash forward: they didn’t, but I’ll get them.)

As I left the room, I heard someone say “Fuck you” (Remember, the school where I work is nominally a Christian school). The good news is the homeroom teacher is on my side. I told him to warn them that if I hear another “fuck you” I’ll keep the class after school every night until final exams. It’ll be my own little English club as they write “fuck you” 10,000 times or spell all the numbers from one to ten-thousand.

If they think I’m joking, well, I’ll be the only one laughing. I do this kind of stuff for sport.

Name Stamps Last Longer Than Memories

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I’ve mentioned before how I spent a year or so studying Japanese calligraphy and then stopped. Before I stopped, though, I acquired a few skills along with several brushes, paper, weights, felt pads, ink sticks and grind stones.

Most of that gear has either been thrown away, sold or, in the case of the brushes and the ink sticks, passed on to our girls. The only things I’ve kept are a couple seals.

In Asia, for lots of complicated reasons, the preferred method of sealing contracts and official forms is with a literal seal. The seals, known as “chops” in Chinese speaking countries, are called “Hanko” (判子) in Japan. (That’s “Han” as in “Han shot first” and “ko” as in “coke”.)

Every family, mine included, as an official seal for official documents as do most companies. (Actually, I suspect they all do.) The official seals are made by craftsmen and the hanko is officially recorded. As I understand it, every hanko is different, even those made for people with the same last names. Those are usually round and the coolest kids, depending on your point of view, have hanko made from ivory.

Mine are made from soap stone and are the more artistic versions. They were used to sign my calligraphy works (which are buried somewhere and unavailable for reproduction). Because I was in a “this is awesome” philosophical mood, I opted for kanji and then spent time working out a proper pretentious artist’s name.

The two hanko, my cleaning brushes and the cinnabar paste next to the final results.

The two hanko and paraphernalia next to the results on Tomoe River paper (top) and Japanese washi (bottom).

The larger version reads  旅人道延, or Tabibito Doen (the latter word is two syllables and pronounced very close to Dwayne). The high concept, which made sense at the time, was that since I was travelling, I’d use the kanji for traveler (旅人) and the letters for road/path (道) and stretches (延). Thus, the traveler’s road stretches (with an implied “into the future”.) This hanko was used on larger works (the paper was about a meter long).

The small version is only the letter “do” (pronounced “doe”) and was used on smaller works.

I don’t remember how much they cost, but I also acquired a couple cleaning brushes and a tub of cinnabar/vermilion paste which is a remarkable concoction of castor oil and vermilion powder and other ingredients that has stayed usable for over 18 years.

The cinnabar (or vermillion) paste with the ox bone smoothing spatula.

The cinnabar (or vermillion) paste with the ox bone smoothing spatula. Sharp eyes will notice a third stamp.

I was surprised, after a couple do-overs, that the placement of the seals was as important as the calligraphy itself. A perfect work could be ruined by a badly placed stamp or a smudged one.

I use them now to mark the backs of my notebooks. I could make the small one my official stamp, but that would involve paperwork.

I also acquired, as a gift, a hanko hand made by a student. It has his name Nakashima (Naka) 中 and Shima (しま) with the Naka around the outside as a frame. I mostly keep it because he carved it to look like the man in Munch’s “The Scream”.

My three hanko and how they look on paper.

My three hanko and how they look on paper.

I’m tempted to have it recarved and turned into my official stamp, but it’s the only reason I remember the student’s name. Instead I’ll keep in on my desk as a way to express my mood.

 

(Note: If you’re interested in carving your own hanko, you can buy a kit here.)

(Note 2: hanko are also referred to as “inkan” (印鑑). I’ve not been able to tell if there’s a difference as they seem to be used interchangeably.)

Absence Makes the Heart Go Paranoid

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She Who Must Be Obeyed, being a mother, talks a pretty mean game: she doesn’t care about our oldest; she doesn’t care what our oldest does; she doesn’t care if our oldest eats or not; our oldest absolutely 100% does not need a phone.

Then our oldest goes to Tokyo for a concert and, She Who Must Be Obeyed being a mother, changes attitude.

Yesterday I wrote about how I didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing today. Then, finally, today I learned what I’d be doing today. Our oldest’s friend didn’t cancel which meant my job amounted to going down to the Ex Theater Roppongi at about eight o’clock and escorting the two girls home.

However, this meant the two girls would be going to heart of the largest city in the world by themselves. I was like “That’s cool. As long as I don’t have to actually attend the concert.”

She Who Must Be Obeyed, however, suddenly was concerned about everything and even gave our oldest her phone in case of emergencies. I entered Standard Daddy Crisis Mode which translates roughly to “Don’t worry about it.” However, that was met with things like: “What if there’s an earthquake? There have been three this week.” “What if they get lost?” “What if they join a cult?” (Note: that last one was mentioned sometime today but I’m still not sure of the context.)

It was suggested that I escort them down (I suggested otherwise). It was suggested I follow and spy on them (Once again, I suggested otherwise). SWMBO then noticed the tickets required those under 18 to have adult permission (I suggested that an hour after the girls left was too late to worry about such things. I also suggested she call the theater and check on that).

Eventually I made it down to Roppongi and did some window shopping. (Shopping in Roppongi sucks and what doesn’t suck is expensive. It’s an entertainment district on a shopping district.) It was a pleasant evening and I ended up sitting on a bench and doing some writing and some people watching.

At eight I joined several parents who were also waiting for kids. At first I was concerned as several men about my age walked out but they seemed to have some sort of official status. Then droves of girls walked out and met the group of serious looking parents.

In the end everyone got home safely and, as near as I can tell, no one joined a cult.

Mothers and Fathers and Embarrassing Greetings

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To rephrase a famous line from Dazed and Confused: “That’s what I like about these mothers, man. I get older; they stay the same age.”

Today was parent’s day at the school where I work which means 1) I wore a tie and 2) parents were free to wander in and out of classes at their whim and 3) many students suddenly denied three times that they even knew their parents. (When that happened several years ago, the mother, who spoke excellent English, promised, in so many words, that her son would be punished.)

One of the things I’ve noticed over my years as a teacher (approaching 26 years, in various forms) is that because my students are always the same ages, their parents are usually about the same ages. Seventh grade parents are in their early to mid-30s and 10th grade parents are in their mid-30’s . The problem is, every year they seem to look a bit younger than they are.

It’s the same reaction you have when you see high school kids and junior high kids and 1) realize how young they are and 2) remember how old you used to feel when you were their age. (You, of course, were a lot smarter than these kids. These kids are morons.)

Complicating matters, the mothers tend to dress up and do their hair and make-up perfectly as a part of parent’s day is putting on a show for other parents. This also makes them look younger than they are.

I only had a few visitors, one of whom may have been a homeroom teacher, because the biggest turnout happens on Saturday.

Occasionally fathers show up on a weekday, but that can be a mixed blessing. Today a father committed the ultimate sin. He came into class and after a minute of resistance, walked over and spoke to his son. The other students reacted with uncomfortable laughs and I felt sorry for them both. The father stayed for most of the lesson, even during the part where students wrote conversations. But then, after a while he seemed to get bored and left for a while.

It was during this absence that his son pounced, so to speak. One of my rules is that if you perform your memorized conversation on the day of the assignment you get bonus points. As soon at the coast was clear and the father gone, the son volunteered to do the conversation (his partner wasn’t as happy but did a good job).

I understand why the son did this, but kind of wish his father had been there. It would have made him happy and made him think more positive thoughts about me (the parents are allowed to officially evaluate us). Instead I announced those who already had bonus points to let him know he’d missed something by stepping out.

On the other hand, by embarrassing his son like that, he probably deserved to be punished a little.

Next year I’ll do it all again, but the mothers will be even younger.

 

The Difference Between Bad and Worst

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Today I taught a class that’s the same level as my worst class. Unlike my worst class, though, they are bad in a better way.

First some history: A few years ago, the school where I work changed the way it divides junior high school English Conversation classes. It added an extra section to the grade to make class sizes smaller, then divided the classes with the “S” class having 20 students and the lower level “R” class having 14. The idea was that 14 students would be easier to control than a larger class. (Note: the classes used to be divided more evenly with about 17-21 in the lower level class and, yes, 14 are a lot easier to control than even 17.)

Because the “R” classes are lower level, and because no one can fail, they are often rowdier than the “S” classes and usually more trouble. The worse they are, the more likely they are to get a nickname: Class 2A (Second grade, A class) becomes “2 Awful”; 2B becomes “2 Bad”, etc. (Note: the others are “2 Crappy,” “2 Damned/Dammit,” “2 Evil” and “2 F@#ked”.)

Today’s class was loud and the students have a typical “I don’t understand, therefore I now have free time” attitude but they actually listened and actually did work (most of them). It was only in the last 10 minutes or so that things began to collapse. Some gave up; some finished and started playing; everyone was talking; no one was working. This is typical of an “R” class. I’ve always maintained that if “R” classes were 40 minutes long they’d be great; unfortunately they are 50 minutes long.

Also unfortunately, my worst class tends to skip the first 40 minutes and starts well after the collapse and goes downhill from there. Those classes tend to get lots of worksheets and they often make me recite the mantra (it’s only 50 minutes, it’s only 50 minutes) and start counting how many more times I will have to see them.

The better bad classes, though, tend to be more fun to work with and they often surprise you. Today a student who got in trouble stayed into lunch to help another student finish his writing assignment.

This class doesn’t have a nickname yet, but it’s still early in the year.

 

Sometimes Ignoring is Bliss

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Today I had to teach my worst group of students. They started the class off by insulting me.

After I entered the classroom, the bad student with the “whatta ya gonna do aboudit?” attitude muttered that he’d been informed by his homeroom teacher that if he didn’t turn in his homework at the beginning of class he’d have to meet me at lunch and do his work. I also tried to remind him but he tried to ignore me.

After got his attention he said “nice joke” and that that prompted the rest of the class to start saying “joke” and to start calling me “Jason,” after Atsugiri Jason, an American in the IT industry who’s become a popular comedian by poking fun at the absurdity of the Japanese alphabets. (For example, the kanji for one, two and three are 一､二､三 and the number of strokes match the numbers in a nice pattern. But four 四 has five strokes. After he points this out he shouts his catch phrase “Why, Japanese people!”)

They called me Jason, I guess, because I’m a white foreigner and we apparently all look alike.

The name Jason stuck most of the rest of the class. They even tried calling me over for help by calling me Jason. I entered a blissful zen state (a very, very rare occurrence) and I ignored them until the used my name. (I also don’t respond to “teacher” or “sensei” so I had a lot of practice at this. I also ignored the three “fuck you’s” that were muttered. I caught one student and told him if he said it again, the entire class would get homework and I’d keep them all after school until they finished. (Note, because this was a junior high class, I can’t send students out of the room for things like that.) (Second note: the “fuck you’s” and most of the “Jasons” stopped after that.)

Somewhere in there, most of the students actually got work done. A few others adopted the usual “I don’t understand therefore it’s free time” attitude and did very little.

I collected all the worksheets and then reminded my bad student about our lunch appointment. I then reminded his homeroom teacher about it. (Long story short: the student showed up, eventually and eventually finished his homework.)

Now I have to back off a bit. I don’t want to keep dragging the homeroom teacher into the battle (and will probably buy him lunch to thank him) and I can’t pull the homework card all the time.

The precedent, however, has been established and that’s often all I need.

 

Babies Make People Insane

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There was a brief fit of madness at the school where I work today. Mostly from the women, but a couple of the men got involved, too.

Luckily, I knew what was about to happen and got to watch the madness unfold, albeit after briefly suffering because of it.

This only happened because I found a discarded or dropped memory stick in one of my classrooms and delivered it to the student office to be added to the surprisingly large pile of lost goods. (The pile is large enough that it reminds me of the large warehouse where the Ark of the Covenant is secretly being stored.)

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to get immediate service as one of the teachers had just brought his child to school. This teacher is currently taking paternity leave after swapping with his wife. (He wisely waited until after 2:00 a.m. feedings and the toxic Velcro poop phase were finished.) However, clearly being bored, he brought the young one to school. The staff at the student office both looked at me once, determined I was not carrying a child and quickly shifted their attention to the young one and adored him with squeaks and koos that reinforced my notion that babies make people insane.

(Note: the insanity is much different for the casual viewer than the actual parent. More on that later.)

After pretending to play along by making faces at the child, I was treated as a member of the tribe and finally able to deliver the lost goods. I went back to the office an mentioned to a couple people that the room was about to explode. (More specifically, I mentioned that the teacher was visiting and “with child” so to speak.)

Soon the child arrived and there was squeaking and kooing and the crowd gathered and even women who already have children were saying how awesome it would be to have one.

This, is the first form of insanity: mother’s, upon seeing someone else’s baby, immediately remember the cuteness and how adorable the clothes were but forget the 2:00 a.m. feedings, the toxic Velcro poop and, more importantly, the Terrible Twos.

Even She Who Must Obeyed goes through this. When she enters this phase, I play a recording of our youngest letting out a blood-curdling scream that sounds like it belongs in a scene from a horror movie where the baby suddenly stands up in her crib, lets out a blood-curdling scream and then eats her entire family who are so stunned by what’s happening they either freeze or run down into the basement.

If you think I’m joking, here’s the actual recording:

 

The men also found the baby cute and a few played with it.  This is the second form of insanity: playing with a child and thus exposing it’s undeveloped immune system to the germs of dozens of strangers.

In the end order was restored.

 

NOTE: Edited for clarity on June 2, 2015.

This Zone is Dead for Now

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If I liked baseball, I might actually have something to watch other than English detectives.

The end of football season (the violent chess US version) and the end of the college basketball season marks the start of a dead zone for me. Until the start of football season (and by that I mean the real season, not the useless pre-season) there is no sport worth tracking down and nothing worth keeping track of.  Instead of sports I’ve started watching A Touch of Frost, which is annoying in its own way (but that’s another post).

I’m not a big fan of professional basketball as I don’t like the way they limit the defenses and encourage endless scoring. This makes it just a series of wind sprints ending with baskets or a rebound. Also, pro-basketball doesn’t have that March Madness energy. Not fun at all.

Also, as I’ve mentioned before, to me baseball is little more than a bunch of people standing in a field watching a couple guys play catch. This is especially true in Japan where it is the only sport on television right now. The major networks in Japan all share broadcast rights meaning baseball is on TV every night and often preempts the few things I might still watch on TV.

There are exceptions to this: Any time there’s a major figure skating competition it will be shown on Japanese TV as will any major marathon in Japan or marathon relay. There are also a few interesting things shown on TV: major golf tournaments like the Masters’  and the US Open (these are mostly fun to watch to see the leaders choke on the last day). We also get to see international volleyball competitions, international soccer matches and any tennis event where Kei Nishikori is doing well.

Unfortunately, those aren’t as common as I’d like. Eventually, though, football and college basketball seasons start again.

Until then, I’ll keep watching A Touch of Frost and try to forget the lead character is named Jack Frost and is played by Del Boy from Only Fools and Horses.

Shaken and a Bit Stirred

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We got a two earthquakes this evening in rapid succession. The first was kind of humorous. The second started scaring us.

I’ve written before about how we used to get enough earthquakes that we got complacent, at least until the 2011 Tohoku Earthquake and Tsunami, which made us get a lot more serious about our emergency plans and preps.

However, after several months, the aftershocks stopped and my sense is that we’ve had fewer earthquakes. We occasionally get a good shaker, but they don’t impress anymore. In fact, there was one last week when I walking to the station. I didn’t notice it and wondered why all the trains were running several minutes late. I didn’t learn about the quake until I got home.

Tonight, though, we had a small one that my oldest and I noticed. We felt a little shaking and noticed the pull strings on the ceiling lights swaying. She Who Must Be Obeyed and our youngest quickly turned on the news. This is a normal reaction. If I even notice the earthquake, I act as if it’s perfectly normal that everything is wiggling and SWMBO gets very serious.

A few minutes later, we got a bigger one. This one caused the ceiling lights themselves to rock. It went on long enough that SWMBO and our youngest got in the doorway and even I got serious and started eyeballing our emergency kits. After a minute or so it stopped but we are suddenly much more cautious.

Lately, even Kansas and Oklahoma have been going through a cycle of quakes. Although it’s fashionable to blame Fracking, the truth is much more ominous: earthquakes are more common in the Midwest than people like to admit (note, the data in the link ends around 1972).

The bright side is, at least you don’t have to deal with volcanoes. Well, at least not right now.

 

The Day After and the Last Day

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All my students were pretty much brain dead today, but it wasn’t actually my fault. That said, my brain wasn’t much better.

The school where I work is strange in May. There are lots of school trips and lots of disrupted schedules and lots of partial days. During mid-term exams we focus on our final exams and making lesson plans for the final push whilst everyone else is administering and marking exams and they don’t care about anything else. To give an example of what happens, on the day before exams I told one of my homeroom  teachers I had a junior high student who was sitting back, doing nothing and daring me to make him work with a “whatta ya gonna do aboudit?” smirk. The homeroom teacher’s reaction to this news was one part “why is this my problem?”, one part “why are you telling me this now?”, and one part “yeah, how about that.”

(For the record: now that mid-terms are over and I can keep students after school, my student’s about to discover what I’m gonna do aboudit.)

The final push, as I’ve mentioned before, is June. We’ve been at school since early April but still have about half our classes to go because of the strange schedule.

Today, though, was especially strange as it fell after two days of mid-term exams. To a student, in three different grades, the students’ attitude was “Whoa? You’re still here?” and “Why the hell are you making us do stuff?”

I had students sleeping; students pretending to use their phones as dictionaries whilst “secretly” texting; a student who walked in with a smile but no text, no pencil and no paper; students who didn’t bother to bring the handout; students who ignored me when I called on them because they weren’t ready; students who did the wrong assignment when it was their turn to speak and had to do it again.

Granted, they are coming down after an intense couple days, but my class doesn’t have mid-terms exams which means, quite frankly, I don’t care about their previous problems.

June is coming and things are about to change. If they think this ends happily, they haven’t been paying attention.