Category Archives: Japan

Fear, Less Fear, Success, Running, Decent and A No Show

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It’s karate day, and that means it’s time for a sports story.

Every odd numbered year my karate style hosts an international tournament of most of the dojos in the style, including one from Israel.

As part of the tournament, without any input from me, I am always scheduled for the kumite or fighting competition. This is something that not every dojo does. My dojo in Niigata was interested in breaking boards/hands but not in the sparring, whereas my current sensei regularly places in the annual 8th dan competition, and was champion once.

My first fight, when I was a second dan, was laughably bad as I was plagued with a lack inexperience and a deep sense of being scared shitless, this despite the heavy, kendo style helmets, body armor and gloves we wore. Each bout is two minutes long and is full contact above the belt. The first competitor to score two points using proper karate techniques wins–simply boxing won’t get you points, although knocking your opponent out will get you the victory. You can also use throws that while they don’t score make you look awesome which helps you win in the event of a draw.

I fought in the heavyweight division which meant most of my opponents were as tall as I. I also discovered my first opponent was a specialist who did nothing else in the tournament except fight. I got a couple kicks in and a punch but didn’t score. He eventually landed a couple punches and that was the end of the bout.

Two years later the best I can say is I wasn’t as laughable and I went the distance. I lost 1-0.

In my third tournament, I got a bye for the first round and then went up against an older man with a powerful punch that made little stars appear in my eyes the first few times he hit me but didn’t score. I eventually managed to score on a side step punch to his head and a back hand move that’s half block, half punch and looks a lot like swinging a sword over your head. In the next round I faced an opponent who liked to box but was too good to be defeated. He won with a perfect punch to my lower face mask that scrambled the world a bit, split my chin open and made me take a knee.

Important safety tip, kids: the gloves and helmets only inspire people to hit harder and a well-placed object in motion will set things in your head in motion, for a while at least. Don’t let yourself get hit.

Luckily, that was his second point and the match was over saving me the humiliation of not being able to go on. I ended up getting the third place trophy in that tournament which is, I think only the first or second trophy I’d ever actually earned in sports.

For the fourth tournament I came up against a guy who thought he was a combination of Bruce Lee and long-distance runner. He danced and ran around, trying to get in quick kicks but wouldn’t let me get near him. I suspect if I’d gone the distance in a scoreless match, I would have won simply for my attempt to do karate. Instead, he landed a couple roundhouse kicks to my hip that scored for reasons I still don’t understand. In the past, kicks below the belt didn’t score and using the same technique twice didn’t score the second time. In fact, stepping into the kick and letting it hit low was one of my standard defenses as it let me inside to deliver a punch.

For the fifth tournament, I met the eventual champion in the first round and he basically just kicked my ass. I held my own for a while and hit him and kicked him a few times but didn’t score. He hit me and scored and then read one of my techniques perfectly and put a front kick straight in my sternum.

Second safety tip, kids: don’t telegraph.

Last year I had to withdraw for medical reasons and was surprised how much I missed being in the fights as I watched them. It’s one of those things I always dread doing, but am always glad I’ve done, even when the world is a bit wobbly after I finish.

Team Teaching When Not So Much On The Team

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I’m in one of THOSE moods today, which means I’m probably in a culture shock down swing.

One of the things that hurts me with both languages and sport is that I’m prone to periodic bouts of brain lock. I can practice the basic set plays in basketball and memorize subjunctives and modals and various tenses described as “perfect” but when the actual play starts, and things are moving much faster and more chaotically than in practice, my brain just sort of stops and says “Okay, so now what?” More often than not I’m left standing in one part of the court just sort of blathering to myself. (This, by colossal coincidence, is a pretty apt description of my dating techniques as well.)

It is, I suspect, a form of panic. Rather than living in the moment and reacting to what actually is going on, my brain searches out the perfect thing to do and, not finding it, just takes a little vacation, but I usually pull myself together and move on (albeit, from the far end of the bench whilst I’m holding the stats clipboard trying to keep track of shots and rebounds).

That said, there have only been a few times in my life where I felt completely helpless as a result of brain lock. In one case, it was a the result of ignoring a series of signs, and my own nature, and hoping for the best (which is also a symptom of brain lock).

Back when I was working in Nou-machi, as a rule, I tried to avoid teacher trips. They typically took place in the summer and the staff of the school bussed off to some resort town and had a drunken good time whilst the parents were, for a short time anyway, actually in charge of their children.

I was usually invited to join the trips, but the people issuing the invitations were clearly only doing so out of courtesy. There were a lot reasons for this, part of it having to do with me being a foreigner, and part of it having to do with me working for the school board and not for the school (long, long story that).

One summer, though, in a fit of brain lock, I thought “Well, why not? What’s the worst that can happen?” and said yes. The English teachers I worked with, Miss Kato and The Beautiful Miss Takahashi (not her real name–for the record, that is the phrase She Who Must Be Obeyed used to describe her) talked up the trip, which was to a famous lake and ski resort in Fukushima Prefecture. They talked about all the stuff they were planning to do.

Then, at a PTA party, or some such random drinking event, I said I was looking forward to hanging out with all the other teachers and with Miss Kato and the Beautiful Miss Takahashi. They both gave me that look (which is apparently universal to all women all over the world) and explained that “hanging out” was pretty much not going to happen as it was not an English department trip. (Cue ice cold wind sounds, shrieking and horror music theme.)

At this point, the part of my brain that actually, on occasion functions, took the hint (DON’T GO! GET YOUR MONEY BACK! HELL, LET THEM KEEP THE MONEY! DON’T GO!) I also seem to remember complaining about that incident to my friend Charles who said something like “You know, whenever I start to feel like a part of the team, something always happens to remind me that I’m not.” In retrospect, this was his way of saying DON’T GO! GET YOUR MONEY BACK! HELL, LET THEM KEEP THE MONEY! DON’T GO!

I, of course, went on the trip because the large part of my brain that was locked up thought things would work out.

Long story short: things didn’t work out. We had an expensive, microscopic lunch and rain cancelled the one set of activities everyone was most looking forward to. Therefore, everyone was in a bad mood when we somehow ended up at a glass factory/museum. No one bothered to tell me how long we’d be there or that most of the teaching staff were going to a nearby bar. At that point, I was in the middle of the basketball court two movements behind in the set play, out of position and pretty much already blathering.

What I remember most about this incident was the feeling of panic and not knowing what to do. I was stuck for two days with people who clearly didn’t want me around and weren’t bothering to keep me informed. After a while I want back to the bus for a short nap. To make matters even more interesting, they’d stuck me off in a room by myself which is something that never, ever happens on a Japanese trip because the group is too important to them.

However, it did give me some time alone to recharge and settle down and get my brain working again (well, so to speak). A long soak in the hot spring bath helped a lot, too (almost as good a form of therapy as a proper haircut).

I ended up having a good time drinking with the principal and vice principal and didn’t have to pay for any of the beer, whiskey or sake.

Since then, I’ve managed to avoid school trips, although I did stumble across someone else’s once on a trip to Kyoto. (But that’s another odd story.)

 

 

 

 

More In Common Than One Would Hope

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Another work related one today. I do not have a one track mind. My mind runs on TWO tracks that go in the same direction.

Just over 14 years ago my company sent me for an interview at the school I currently work at. Before I went there, it’s not much of an exaggeration to say the powers what were at the company were speaking out of the sides of their mouths in a kind of “Shpeek odlee laik zees. Ze vallss haf earss” style and told me not to discuss the opportunity with the world at large (meaning anyone else in the company).

I was told I was heading to a top tier private Anglican school and that I shouldn’t tell anyone I was going there. I’m convinced they “disappeared” the other candidate who attended the interview.

When I got to the school, I was surprised at how plain it was. It was a long, three story building with an odd maroon/brick paint job. What really shocked me was the interior: it featured a slabular concrete look with narrow, dark hallways that seemed to stretch on for quite a distance. The concrete floors were cracked. I stopped for a moment because for a moment I was back at the Faculty of Foreign Languages in Tirana, Albania. In fact, to this day I’m shocked by how close the two buildings were and how disturbingly familiar the building in Japan felt.

There were a couple fundamental differences:

In Japan the hallways were dark because the lights had been turned off to save energy. In Albania the hallways were dark because someone had smashed all the light fixtures leaving, in most cases, just a few wires and bits of twisted metal.

In Japan, the windows were cheap and thin and basically served as energy vents that let heat escape during winter and let it enter during summer where it basically mocked the pathetic swamp cooler air conditioning system. In Albania, the windows had bars but no glass because someone had smashed them all.

In Japan, the blackboards were painted metal boards that actually could be written on with chalk. In Albania, the blackboards were black squares painted on the walls. Any attempts to use local made chalk caused gouges in the walls.

In Japan students could study English for six years and still respond to “How are you?” with “How are you?” In Albania, students could go from zero English to near-fluency in just about a year.

In Japan there’s a financial incentive for learning English but no one has bothered to tell the students. In Albania, the students knew they could make more money if they learned English.

In Japan, we have lots of places to get lunch, but they pretty much always serve the same things. In Albania, my boss would take me across the street to a vendor for qofte and a couple glasses of Raki before class. Needless to say, class usually went very well after that. (Note: Please don’t tell the Albanians Raki may have Turkish origins.)

Now, though, we have a new building that is bright and shiny, but looks disturbingly like the Academy of Arts in Tirana.

 

 

Change is Good Even When It Makes Things Different

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A work related post today as tomorrow is the first day of teaching in a new school year here in Japan.

The start of a new school year brings a strange amount of stress here in Japan. Just a few weeks ago the old school year ended. You’ve had a short break and a shorter time to get ready. A few weeks ago you were telling junior high school students good luck in their future as ditch diggers–education is compulsory only until 9th grade–and then suddenly you’re combing through the lists of students assigned to your 10th grade class and going “Him? Really? Him again? And him? And him, too? Who the hell let them into high school? My God, My God, why hast thou forsaken me?”

Scream Photo

My Reaction Upon Viewing My Student Lists.

Of course, I also accept that I’m probably the teacher that makes students swear when they discover I’m their teacher for the year. In fact, I often aspire to that.

Student A–Oh no! I’ve got Library.
Student B–(Points and laughs) You’ve got Library. Ha ha ha. SHUT UP! Ha ha ha.
Student A–AIEEEE! (Student A explodes.)
Student B–Wow!

(Note: My name, with two “L’s” and one “V” is about the most difficult name possible for Japanese to pronounce. In the Japanese version of Roman letters, it’s spelled/pronounced “Raiburi”; Library is “Raiburari”. Every now and then I get mail intended for the library. “Shut up” is a common phrase in some of my junior high classes.)

This year is especially odd as we have a new school building and three and a half new teachers. (One old veteran returned to the school last November after nine years away; I therefore consider him half new.) Although I’ve been at the office almost every day this week, it’s a different office. As crappy and dark and potentially toxic as my old office was, it was familiar. The crap was always in the same place–I had the same desk for 14 years. On the shelves above my desk were copies of the textbooks and a letter box stuffed with scratch paper and abandoned exam papers. Above that was a row of personal books and above that were copies of the Encyclopedia Americana from 1967. This means they were almost as old as I am and that they didn’t even include the moon landing.

Now, we’ve got shiny new rooms and shiny new desks and the old encyclopedias are stored away somewhere along with decades of dust and mildew. Our chairs are more comfortable and don’t have wheels that give off nerve shattering squeaks, but now our desks are crowded by desktop bookshelves and everyone can see us through large windows on one side of the office. Nothing has that lived-in look.

Even the old folks need maps to get around which makes us appear less than knowledgeable to the three and a half new people.

I’ll get used to it, though, especially when Pleasant gives way to Humid and the new air conditioners kick in. The old building had the world’s largest swamp cooler that worked until it got humid and cloudy.

I’ll also get used to the students, even those I expected to be digging ditches. They’ll be mixed with new students and I’m pretty good about leaving behind the old dust and mold, well except for what I carry with me.

A Nation of Four Distinct Seasons, More or Less

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One of the defining characteristics of the Japanese is a belief that Japan is unique because it is a nation of four distinct seasons. The Japanese are surprised when people from other countries point out that their countries also have four seasons. In fact, in Kansas, as last summer proved, it’s possible to to have four distinct seasons in one day. The Japanese usually counter with “Yes, but are they DISTINCT seasons?”

Part of this stems from the fact that, relative to it’s wealth, Japan is a small nation which makes it easier for it to have four distinct seasons. The problem is, the Japanese believe their seasons break down as Winter, Spring, Summer and Autumn. The truth is, of course, much more complicated. In the Tokyo region, for example, the seasons are best described as Static, Pleasant, Humid, and Awesome.

The defining characteristic of Static is a lack of humidity that dries and cracks the skin and makes all metal objects potentially dangerous (albeit a lot of fun in dark rooms). Static also features stunning blue skies, drunks on trains and snow.

Static gives way to Pleasant. The air is warming and the island is turning green and the drunks are moving from the trains to the parks to enjoy the cherry blossoms. Unfortunately, the air is beginning to feel a bit sticky but you still have to have your entire wardrobe ready because, as I like to point out, it always gets cold one more time after someones says “Well, I’ll bet that’s the last time it’s going to be cold.” You are wrong, you fool.

After Pleasant comes Humid. Humid is broken into three distinct sub-seasons, all with white skies. The first is The Season in Which it Rains. I hate this season a great deal as it’s too warm to wear a rain coat and I often get to work soaked from the chest down. Give me snow any day. You can play in snow, but you can only sing and dance in the rain, activities I find abhorrent. After The Season in Which it Rains comes Rainy Season which often has no rain at all as it’s defined by a specific weather pattern and not the presence of rain. After Rainy Season is Hell. The Tokyo region is suddenly overwhelmed by waves of heat and humidity and periodic cloudbursts of scalding water and mosquitoes. Once you get sweaty, you are wet all day. If you go inside though, you are instantly frozen because many offices keep their air conditioners set at “Keep Vegetables Crisp” setting. It’s normal to see women and men carrying small blankets to use at work.

Many new English teachers arrive during Hell and immediately start hating the place, and looking for the closest place to get a beer.

After the 2011 earthquake and tsunami, there was a government sponsored movement to save energy called “Cool Biz” the purpose of which is to make offices warmer–this is different than “Warm Biz” which is designed to make offices cooler in the winter–but the change from outside to inside can be quite shocking even under Cool Biz.

The drunks, by the way, move to indoor/outdoor beer gardens during Humid.

Humid gives way to Awesome. The change from Humid to Awesome happens abruptly, giving some credence to the notions that 1) Japan is a nation of four distinct seasons and 2) someone in the government actually controls the weather (albeit very badly sometimes).

In Awesome the weather gets cool and dry and the sky slowly turns blue again. You can walk to work without needing to carry hand towels and lots of extra water. But then it gets dry and you have to start drinking more water. The drunks go to the mountains and the parks to see the leaves change.

I just enjoy the cooler weather, and start getting ready for Static by buying wool socks to wear around the house.

 

Sloth, Lethargy, Laziness, Bachelor Mode

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Perhaps as part of my recovery from yesterday’s journey to watch Frozen. I and the oldest were about as lazy as it was possible to be today. We did somehow manage to wake up, change out of our pajamas (although the oldest had to be told several times) and feed ourselves, but neither of us could be bothered to actually venture out of the house.

This is a normal condition for me when She Who Must Be Obeyed is away. When the Cat’s away, this mouse gets lazy and sloppy and plays computer games. In other words, I revert to bachelor mode. The kitchen table becomes excess storage and the kitchen sink becomes a receptacle for dirty dishes which are cleaned as necessary but not before. The living room becomes a secondary Temple of Half-Finished Projects (i.e. an office), with appropriate stacks of half-finished projects set on the coffee table and balanced carefully on the sofa.

To rephrase a part of the Bible: By much slothfulness the bachelor decayeth;
and through idleness of the hands the house filleth up with crap through.

I have warned She Who Must Be Obeyed to never, ever, try to surprise me by coming home early without telling me. Were she to do so, I have no doubt she would immediately flee back to her parents’ house or go find a psychiatrist (for her) and a zoo keeper (for me).

The most amazing thing about bachelor mode is, after days of acting as if the washing of a single dish will somehow destroy me and doom my soul to hell for eternity (as if altering Bible verses won’t…), in those last few hours I can transform the house into a model room suitable for showing potential renters.

I always leave something undone though. I wash the dishes but don’t dry them and put them away. I leave the laundry hanging. I have to show She Who Must Be Obeyed some physical proof that, yes, I really do need her, if nothing else for some adult supervision and so the neighbors don’t think a bear moved into our apartment.

Now, however, this is all complicated by the presence of my oldest. Now I have to maintain certain fatherly standards. Today I did that, albeit in a very lazy way.

Lady Go, 7-Zark-7 and a Castle in the Sky

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A quickish one tonight after Daddy-Daughter movie night.

As part of my daddyly duties, and because I’m watching the 13 year old for next couple days while the youngest and She Who Must Be Obeyed are visiting my in-laws. I took my oldest daughter to see Frozen–especially because the first of every month is discount movie day in Japan. It was visually spectacular, fairly standard Disney fare, and I’m guessing there’s a debate about which version of “Let It Go”–Demi Lovato’s or Adele Dazeem’s–is the best. Unfortunately, the version forever stuck in my head is courtesy of the lady announcers on Fuji TV’s morning show, who, at the end of the promotion segment started singing “Lady Go, Lady Go.”

All this has me thinking about the differences between US animation and Japanese anime. Growing up I mostly remember watching The Krofft Supershow, (which is not cartoons, I know), Scooby-Doo, The Flintstones, The Super Friends, The Jetsons, and Johnny Quest among others. But the only one that had a long lasting impression on me (well, besides the Krofft Supershow’s Electra Woman and Dyna Girl for various complicated reasons I best not explain in detail) was called Battle of the Planets.

It is a heavily edited, nearly ruined (by the addition of 7-Zark-7, the bastard love child of R2-D2 and C-3P0) US version of Japan’s Science Ninja Team Gatchaman. I remember the animation itself being gritty in a way US cartoons didn’t imitate and the level of violence being shocking. It also had cool vehicles and a great opening theme song. I started trying to track down other Japanese animation, and eventually found what in the USA was known as Robotech.

After I got to Japan, and saw other cartoons and lots of Studio Ghibli movies, I realized that the main difference is that, in Japan, most cartoons are intended for adult audiences, not for children. Compare, say Laputa: Castle in the Sky, to Frozen. Even the Japanese animation aimed at children, say Ponyo, are fun for adults, too. If you really want to see grown up, watch Barefoot Gen (makes Threads and The Day After seem rather soft) and Grave of the Fireflies (which is one of the saddest movies I’ve ever seen). If you want to transcend time and space, get drunk and/or high and watch Akira, Ghost in the Shell and its sequel Innocence.

In the USA, Pixar films probably come the closest to being for grown ups, but they’re still a bit sanitary for my taste. In a Japanese version of The Incredibles, the final fight would leave scorch marks and corpses.

 

So Long Farewell Good Riddance Most Likely

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Tonight is the last episode of the world’s longest running live television show, Warratte Iitomo! (or It’s Okay to Laugh!), which has been hosted for its entire 32 years by the ubiquitous, on Japanese TV anyway, Tamori. You don’t need to know that much about the show: it’s a daily variety show with a revolving cast. What’s important for this blog is that it reminds me of one of my stranger television hobbies: watching the final episodes of television shows, even ones I don’t watch regularly.

My only rule is that I must have seen either enough episodes of a series to actually enjoy it and be sad it’s ending or enough to get annoyed by it and wish it good riddance (kind of like Jack at the end of Titanic). As a result, I’ve seen final episodes of many of US television’s most famous shows, and a couple of its most obscure: M.A.S.H; China Beach; Little House on the Prairie, which is complicated by Little House: A New Beginning and the fact it ended in a two hour movie, complete with explosions; Good Times; All in the Family; Mary Tyler Moore and its inferior ripoff Ally McBeal (which inexplicably aired here in Japan); Beverly HIlls 90210; Thirtysomething; The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air (which I had to track down on a trip to the USA); the underrated, badly named Space: Above and Beyond; The X-Files, Millennium; Fringe; Lost; Red Dwarf (complicated by having been continued later); Babylon 5; everything with Star Trek in the title; Battlestar Galactica (twice); and Breaking Bad, even though I’d only seen two episodes.

One of the things I enjoy is seeing how maudlin or insane the writers decide to get and how, more often than not, the endings are crap. My old standard for crap used to be St. Elsewhere (spoiler: it was all a little boy’s dream). My new standard is Battlestar Galactica, the new version, (spoiler: Huh? What? Oh come on! What bullshit is this? Really?)  Even the ending of Lost, as bad as it was, was more disappointing than stupid.

Part of the problem with endings, especially of TV shows, is that the shows usually start with a great premise and then, because of the nature of television, are forced to twist and mangle the characters and the story lines well beyond the premise and all hopes of resolution. Babylon 5 had a great conclusion after four years, but then, unfortunately was renewed for a fifth, and the ending is a quiet let down. Lost and Battlestar Galactica were clearly being made up as they went along, for better and for worse.

The best endings find an inevitable twist that makes you go “Of course. It couldn’t end any other way”. Dinosaurs had a great ending because, well, look at what happened to the dinosaurs. Star Trek: Voyager was a bit neat for my taste, but didn’t try to be too clever; Space: Above and Beyond, had a kind of bitter-sweet ending that left many characters’ fates in limbo–but not in an annoying Lost kind of way–and left me and a couple of my friends sad. Newhart, though, remains the best ending ever because it was the twist we didn’t know we wanted.

The worst endings, though, answer questions in ways that are too obvious or offer an annoying twist that distracts from everything that went before. For example, I could point out that my other odd television hobby is watching episodes where popular characters die, even if I don’t watch the show, but then not elaborate. Or, I could do the ALF ending, and just stop without resolving anything.

 

 

You Are Number Two And Will Be Treated Accordingly

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Since today is the day I practice Karate, or was supposed to be (long story), it seems that Sunday’s are slowly becoming the day I tell my sports adventure stories, pathetic as they are.

Many years ago, when my friend Charles and I had our brown belts securely fastened and were being considered for our black belts, we were told that Norihito Kawamoto, the founder and head of our style, was going to visit our dojo–which, given the no nonsense nature of our style, meant he’d be visiting the community gym where we practiced. Our sensei’s suddenly turned very serious and we had several minutes of etiquette practice, which we’d never done before.

I don’t remember us talking about what we were expecting, but neither of us was expecting a tall, pot-bellied balding man who spent most of his time sitting on a chair with his eyes closed, apparently asleep, whilst two of our senseis tested for their sixth level black black belts.

Joining Kawamoto sensei was another high level sensei from a dojo in Myoko. I don’t remember his name, even though I’ve met him once since then, but I remember he’s the first Japanese martial artist I’d seen who had swagger. He knew he was good–and we weren’t about to argue. When we practiced with him, he was doing things in ways we hadn’t practiced, including getting in closer at the start of a technique than we’d practiced. I’ve learned since then that this is pretty common. Although we all stick to the same basic techniques, there’s a lot of variation in performance and teaching styles.

Eventually Kawamoto sensei left the chair and it was clear that despite his size, and a noticeable limp, he was light on his feet. He pulled the Myoko sensei over–as he was officially the second highest rank in the room–and used him to demonstrate the various techniques.

Now, it’s important for you to understand that, in this context “used him to demonstrate” means “smacked the living crap out of him for the better part of ninety minutes”. Several of our techniques involve pushing on the opponent’s face. Kawamoto demonstrated that by smacking the Myoko sensei loud enough in the face that the rest of us cringed. And then he kept doing it. By the end of the night, The Myoko sensei had a little less swagger and a bright red face.

Lesson learned: Never be the second highest ranked guy in the room.

Now, although this has never been officially stated, this seems to be a rule across the style. In my sensei’s case, you don’t want to be the second highest ranked student in the room. When Fukuda, a sixth level black belt, is at practice, I get the extra special treatment. With Fukuda he’ll demonstrate “Now, after blocking the knife with both hands, you deliver a backhand across the stomach and then push the person’s face with your right and then you do the throwing technique. Got that?” With me, he back hands me across the stomach, smacks me in the face and throws me. If I get things wrong, I get yelled at.

When Fukuda’s not there, unless I’m doing something completely boneheaded, the tone is much more gentle, while the lower level student gets the special treatment.

To this day, I don’t know if this is official policy, or just some kind of the hazed becomes the hazer psychological thing. In general, the teacher’s aren’t abusive in other ways. My sensei went through a faze where he was slapping us on the shoulder or on the head when we made repeated mistakes. I told him if he didn’t stop, I was leaving for good, and he’s never done it sense.  But the sensei’s bring the pain when demonstrating techniques.  I’m on my guard no matter what, especially when we’re using bo staffs and swords, even if I’m number one.

 

 

 

Ask Me No Questions and I’ll Tell You No Lies

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A dirty little secret of being a teacher overseas is that you are one part educator, one part bald-faced liar. Well, you don’t start out that way; it’s just that you quickly learn that lying is part of the job.

More specifically, it’s a defense mechanism. When I was in Albania, a fairly common conversation would proceed something like this:

Albanian–Tell me how much is kilogram of meat in America?
Me–What’s a kilogram?

Well, that was an EARLY conversation. A few months later the conversation was more like:

Albanian–Tell me how much is kilogram of meat in America?
Me–What kind of meat?
Albanian–Beef steak.
Me–What kind of beef steak? There are different cuts.
Albanian–Just average kind.
Me–Well, in Kansas the cheapest kind was–
Albanian–No, New York City.

Substitute “kilogram of meat” with “liter of milk”, or “pack of cigarettes” or “car” or “house” and you start to get the idea of what we were going through. Eventually, we just gave up and started lying.

Therefore, by the end of the first year, the conversation went more like.

Albanian–Tell me how much is kilogram of meat in America?
Me–Twenty dollars.
Albanian–It is expensive, I think. How much is kilogram of chicken?
Me–Sixteen dollars.
Albanian–I see. How much is pack of cigarettes?
Me–Seventeen dollars and twenty-seven cents.
Albanian–(Lighting cheap Partizani Cigarette). America is bad place.

I justified it by telling myself that somewhere, somehow those things were actually those prices.

I wish I could say things had improved in the age of the internet and the smartphone, but even here in Japan teachers field questions such as “How much it cost to have wedding in America?” I always say “ten thousand dollars” and then watch while they start to do the math in their heads “102.23 times 10,000 equals” pulls out smartphone, uses calculator “Ahh, that is cheap I think.” I don’t tell them they can just head over to the Little White Chapel in Vegas and be married and out for a lot less. I also don’t say look it up.

Part of what gets to you is it isn’t always a way to lead into a broader conversation; you really are expected to be a kind of living breathing Wikipedia, and it gets old fairly quickly.

Luckily, no one’s ever looked up and called me on it. If they do, though, I’m ready for it.

“Well, I haven’t been home in a while. Things may have changed a bit.”

I try to be a good person. Really I do, but only as necessary.