Category Archives: Japan

All Your Summers Are Belong to Us

1 Reply

Because the girls are finishing up school tomorrow, I’m in the mood to ramble about Japanese schools and a few of the odd differences between Japan and the USA.

First, a few boring details: Japan operates on a year-round school system with the school year starting in early April. The Spring/Summer term runs until the end of July. There is then a six weekish long summer “vacation” (more on that later). Autumn term runs from early September until December 27th or so, then there’s a ten dayish break for the new year. The winter term runs from early January until the end of March. Students and teachers then have about two weeks to prepare for the next school year–which for some teachers involves moving to new schools in new cities.

Elementary school is very laid back–although the students get way ahead in math compared to their Western counterparts by using rote memorization of times tables, speed drills and other techniques Western educators have proven don’t work.

Starting in junior high school, students in public schools put on uniforms and boys and girls begin to be physically separated more and everyone begins to study their “roles” in Japanese society. The boys will be the leaders; the women will serve tea and, hopefully, according to the Japanese government, start producing babies in order to keep Japan stocked with future workers whose future taxes will support the aging population. (Keep that in mind when someone tells you the US needs an educational system more like Japan’s.)

Extra-curricular activities are also taken much more seriously. At the beginning of the year, older students recruit 7th graders to join their clubs. The choice is important because once you’re in a club, that’s your club for the rest of the year. It is, for example, not possible to be in the band during football season and then play basketball and then go back to being in the band during track season. Many clubs also meet during the holidays.

I remember being shocked after we moved back to Kansas that football practice at Southeast of Saline High School had started over a week before school started. However, in Japan it’s normal for some clubs–especially sports clubs–to meet nearly every day of the year, including Sundays. My oldest plays the flute in the brass band club and in one year she’s probably already had more practice time than I had in six years of playing the trumpet. (She’s also much better at flute than I ever was at trumpet.) She did get in trouble, though, for missing practice while she was visiting her grandparents in the USA last summer. (She Who Must Be Obeyed wisely keeps me away from the teacher; although I serve as a kind of “bad cop” last resort.)

It’s also standard operating procedure for teachers to give reams of homework during holidays. The students diligently put all this off and finish it in a mad rush at the end of the holiday.

Complicating matters, especially for Junior high school, is the emphasis on entrance exams. In Japan students don’t simply move from the local public junior high to the local public high school. Instead, they prepare for rigorous entrance exams in order to get into the school they want and, hopefully by default, the university they want. Failing to get into an elite high school pretty much ruins any chance a student has of getting into the best universities. As a result, many parents send their kids to evening “cram schools” that prepare the students for the entrance exams. These classes, of course, can’t take place until after clubs let out which results in a lot of students dragging themselves home at 9:30 or 10:00 at night and then having to eat supper, take a bath and do their school homework.

Especially in public schools, many students consider “cram school” to be their real school and the school they go to during the day is their chance to have fun with their friends. Classrooms are therefore usually much more noisy than most Westerners expect them to be and the students a lot more rude to teachers.

I’ve never wanted to be a helicopter parent, but I am always hovering around the edges, ready to swoop in with my crazy Western ideas that holidays are supposed to be a time for the students to relax and recharge.

There Can Be Only One (Twice Each Year)

Leave a reply

Since there are no Kansas teams left in March Madness (the National Collegiate Athletic Association Men’s Division 1 Basketball Championship), and I am now reduced to shopping around for a new team to follow (Early candidates: Florida, out of respect for an acquaintance; and Louisville, or whoever plays Kentucky if Louisville loses.)

For those not from the USA, March Madness is one of the greatest sports spectacles in the world. There are teams full of young players who are there representing their universities and Kentucky, who’s young players are there auditioning for the professional draft. There are emotions and moral dilemmas (do I cheer for Kansas University if Kansas State and Wichita State have already been eliminated or do I want to watch them bleed? Unfortunately, as they are wont to do, Kansas University has been eliminated early, so we’ll never know what my choice would have been.)

All this madness, though, has got me thinking about Japan’s equivalent of March Madness: the Summer National High School Baseball Championship.

This is event, nicknamed “Koshien” because it is typically played at Hanshin Koshien Stadium near Kobe, takes place every August. After a long series of regional championships, each prefecture sends its best team–Tokyo and Hokkaido each get two teams–for a grand total of 49 teams. They then compete in a single elimination tournament, sponsored by the Asahi Newspaper chain, that’s been taking place since 1915 (with a few years off for things like World War II).

It’s no exaggeration to say that participating in Koshien is a religious experience. Every Japanese boy who plays baseball dreams of playing there. If one player on a team causes trouble before the tournament, the entire team is suspended. In 2006, a FORMER player of a Hokkaido team was caught drinking and smoking and the team was banned from the tournament. Teams wear predominantly white uniforms to represent their purity. There are no “home” and “away” uniforms so it’s common for two teams with nearly identical uniforms play each other which begins to play tricks on the eyes after a while. Players from losing teams tearfully gather bags of soil from the field after their loss to scatter in their home fields. Graduating seniors collect vials of soil to keep as souvenirs.

Any player with a chance to go professional gets shocking amounts of news coverage and scrutiny and, if they are a pitcher and the team’s ace, may find themselves pitching every pitch of every game. For example, Yu Darvish was forced to throw every pitch in a loss in 2003 and in 1998 we saw Daisuke Matsuzaka pitch an entire 17 inning game (I think he threw 250 pitches). It’s not unusual to see the ace pitcher pitch full games three days in a row.

I don’t even like baseball (which is basically just a bunch of people standing in a field watching two guys play catch) but I like watching Koshien. There really is nothing like it, at least in the USA. March Madness is close, but cheering for A team from Kansas, is not the same as cheering for THE team from Kansas. (Note: The FIFA World Cup has its moments, but is hindered by crappy play in the group stage and lots of flopping about in order to draw penalties.)

There is a spring invitational tournament held at Koshien (and sponsored by the Mainichi Newspaper chain) but it is a distant second to the emotion and spectacle of the summer tournament. The only suspense is if a team can become only the 8th to win both tournaments in the same year.

Unfortunately, after the boys of Koshien are gone, all that’s left on TV is Japanese professional baseball. The only suspense then is which player is going to bolt for the US major leagues. That’s when I start playing free games on the internet and, oh, yeah, writing something every now and then.

Painful Lessons With Lumber and Fists

Leave a reply

Since tonight was karate night, it’s time for some blather about studying karate.

One of the problems with studying karate in the USA is that a lot of the teachers take themselves oh so seriously. Instead of practical skills they focus a lot on fake mysticism and cliche buddhist quotes. Imagine going to a gun range to learn how to shoot a pistol and being taught Gun Kata instead of a reload drill and a Weaver stance.

They also let pseudo political attitudes bleed over into the teaching.  For example:

Conservative Dojo: “Crush your enemies, see them driven before you and hear the lamentations of their women.”

Leftist Dojo: “You have hate. You have anger. But you don’t use them.”

??????? Dojo: “Let me test your midichlorians.”

Libertarian Dojo: “Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side.”

Japan is, in general, much more practical, although you are expected to remember the techniques once they’ve been taught and apply them yourself. For example, back when I started studying karate, we (my friend Charles and I) were taught how to do a punch and then, after a few months, asked to do the board-breaking-thing. This isn’t the kind of thing I was looking forward to doing, but I though I’d give it a shot, especially after seeing the kids in the dojo mess up some half-inch boards. When it was my turn, the teachers took out a seven inch thick board (well, actually it was only one inch thick, but yeah, intimidating nonetheless) and said “Go ahead, break it.” Without offering any real advice. Remember, we’d already been taught the proper punching technique.

In a case like this, an American teacher would give you some mystical bullshit advice like “See the board. Be the board. Soon you will realize that there is no board. There is only you. It is not the board that breaks. It is you.” Now, it turns out, and in defense of American dojos, after my first few attempts to break the board failed, it WAS me that broke, or more specifically, it was me that messed up the middle knuckle on my right hand (the biggest one sticking up when you make a fist). It also, I have to say, made a very impressive sound that gave lots of people sympathy pains. Cut a golf ball in half, paint it purple black and blue and set it over your knuckle and you’ll understand what my hand looked like for the rest of the week. On the other hand, I was able to kick through board with no problems (except on the day of my black belt test–long story.)

At the next practice my sensei was “ahh, well, see that’s what happens when you try to punch the board rather than punching through it. Oh, and don’t slow down as you reach the board, you’ll mess up your hand.) And my reaction was “Thanks. Great advice. If I don’t have to cut off my hand to save my arm, I’ll try all that next time.”

Nothing mystical about it. Just a painful lesson. I did eventually break the board, then I moved to the Tokyo area and got a new sensei and have never been asked to break a board again. Instead, we started fighting in tournaments and I got the opportunity to understand the phrase “seeing stars”. But that’s another story.

Broadly Publicly Speaking

1 Reply

Today I watched a group of Japanese high school students give speeches in English.

This is especially impressive because, according to an oft cited, and in some cases replicated survey in the 1977 edition of the Book of Lists, the number one fear people have is speaking before a group. This fear beats out insects, sickness and death. Jerry Seinfeld said “This means, for the average person, if you have to go to a funeral, you’re better off in the casket than giving the eulogy.”

Oddly, I’ve never had this fear. I’ve been nervous before a speech, but I’ve never been afraid of speaking before a group. (Speaking to people one on one, though, is closer to number one for me and fodder for another post.)

I vaguely remember acting as narrator for a Christmas production in early elementary school and doing various reading bits in church. I’ve given speeches before businessmen and Air Force personnel and even dabbled in acting. I’m pretty good at extemporaneous speaking and can, on occasion, make funny jokes. I don’t remember ever being afraid.

That said, I do understand the fear. I’ve become nervous during speeches when a joke failed or I wasn’t getting any response. In such cases I lose my rhythm and intonation and become more reliant on notes than I should be.

I gave one such speech last December to a group of junior high students who’d just finished watching the school’s annual English speech contest. It was an off-the-cuff speech so I started with a joke that I’d used on other occasions about knowing how much they love giving speeches. This time, though, the line got zero reaction. Then rather than just saying “Good job everybody. See you next year.” and running for cover, I made the terrible mistake of trying to save the speech, forgetting that 97% of the audience couldn’t understand a word I was saying and the other 3% couldn’t have cared less that I was saying anything. That just made matters worse. Eventually I was dragged away by a team of men armed with chains and a large hook.

There was no use defending the speech and since then I’ve happily participated in the joke about how bad it was, while secretly hoping it means I never have to give another speech like that again. (Hey, I said I was good at it; I didn’t say I liked doing it.)

That, though, hints at why I think people fear public speaking more than death. If you die, all your problems are finished one way or another. If you give a bad speech, you hear about it for a very long time and get to relive it a few more times.

 

The TV to Meet the Faces that You Meet

Leave a reply

If last time I was communing with ghosts, today I’m channeling my inner seventh grader and longing for the glory days of Japan’s late night television.

Japanese late night broadcast television used to be a cesspool of skin, raunch and over-sexualized dramas. In other words, it was an awful lot of fun. Unfortunately, times change and Japan, under pressure to improve the image of the image it presents of women, began to clean up. Mind you, the status of women hasn’t improved–it took Japan 30 years to approve the birth control pill; but only six months to approve Viagra.–just the presentation.

Before this change, Japanese TV had such gems as Gilgamesh Night, which was hosted (hostessed?) by women porn stars. It was modeled after an ordinary talk show but featured such unique segments as “Lingerie Photo Break” which featured a scantily clad photo shoot and “Bathtub Cinema” which featured naked women in baths reviewing current movies. (Don’t look at me like that. It was more fun to watch than Rex Reed and infinitely more intelligent.)

Late night also featured Tonight2, which was a news program that followed the more prurient side of life in Tokyo. Instead of Valentine’s Day stories such as  “what kinds of chocolate are good girls getting their boys?”, it presented what the strip clubs, soap lands and hostess clubs were doing special for Valentine’s Day. It was also the only Japanese show I’ve ever seen present the dark and lonely side of the hostess and soap land life. Unfortunately, it cleaned up and started doing reports on ramen noodle shops that seemed disturbingly similar to day time television.

There was also Miniskirt Police, (link probably Not Safe for Work) which only existed to put young models in skimpy fetish outfits and put them in events that resulted in lots of up-skirt shots and revealing accidents. As twisted as it was, it was more honest about what it was doing than the Miss Teen Pageants.

The ultimate TV show, though, was Super Jockey (please pause for a moment of silent genuflection). Super Jockey was the ultimate infomercial. Young models and singers, usually women, would come on the show to advertise their latest photo book or album. In order to do so, they had to change into bathing suits quickly and then subject themselves to scalding hot water. Every second they spent in the tank earned them time to talk about what they were selling.

Allow me to offer a couple Not Safe for Work clips that feature women who went on to be quite successful  in Japan. The short clip is actress and singer Emiri Henmi. The longer clip, which shows the full process, is Yuka, who became a popular model, actress and talk show host. You don’t need to understand Japanese to understand what is going on and what’s being sold.

The best part about Super Jockey is it was on at 1:00 p.m. on Sundays.

However, for better and for worse, all this has gone away and Japan has proven that the line between “mature” and “boring” is quite thin indeed. The result is an endless supply of news programs and sports programs that all cover the same stories, and unfunny comedy shows hosted by unfunny comedians. For example, a few years ago, Sekai no Nabeatsu was the hottest comedian in Japan because when he counted he made funny sounds on numbers with three in them or that were divisible by three. (Here’s a taste, you only need to watch the first couple minutes. You don’t need to understand Japanese to see how stupid it is.) That routine earned him his own talk show. Luckily, fame in Japan for even the hottest comedians is quite fleeting.

There are a few saving graces. Japan hasn’t discovered the endless array of staged “reality” shows that infect US television. There were a couple versions of Survivor, but those went away. There’s also a comedy competition modeled after “X Factor”. A few retro-style shows are even beginning to slip back in. There’s a “let’s find the best beach resort in the world” infomercial that’s basically an excuse to show international models in bathing suits. And there’s a Friday night drama with story lines that alternate between raunchy, funny and raunchy/funny.

Although there’s hope, I’m afraid to say that Japanese television has become a nice place to raise a child. At least it appears to be one.

And Then Everything Changes and Nothing is Normal

3 Replies

Three years ago today. Friday. I was wasting time at home as final grades weren’t due until Saturday morning. I was in post-marking malaise and already pondering asking someone else to check my marks so that I didn’t have to go in. At 2:46 in the afternoon we started to feel the tremor. We’d felt a big one two days before and, well, there were always big ones happening and we’d grown fairly complacent. We even tried to guess the size before the official news report.

I felt it first, as I was sitting down. My wife was standing it didn’t feel it until the ceiling lamps started swinging. Unusually, it got stronger and didn’t stop. As everything began to rattle in our first floor apartment we decided to head outside.

Idiot me didn’t even think of taking a camera. Or, for that matter, an emergency kit (more on that later). The large tree near our building was rocking back and forth and we could hear it cracking. The cars in the parking lot were dancing. The tin roof of the bicycle shed was rattling.  I felt dizzy and had to hold on to a sign to keep standing. At about three minutes one of our neighbors joined us. She’d been on the third floor.

I remembered that, about four years before, after a big earthquake in Niigata, our in-laws had sent us an emergency kit. I couldn’t remember where it was. Finally, after four minutes. It all stopped and we went in to watch the news. Then we started to get the aftershocks; one was strong enough to send us back outside.

We watched news about the tsunami and then about Fukushima Number One. Telephones and cellphones were down, although data plans were still usable. Even though the internet was working, email was having problems. Oddly, Facebook was working, but in strange ways. One of my friends was stuck at school. Her husband worked in Tokyo. Each could contact me via Facebook, but they couldn’t contact each other. He eventually walked the 13 miles to be with her and escort her back home.

Japanese tv stopped showing commercials and started running Ad Council PSAs instead. This was creepy, especially as the “AAAAAA CEEEEEEE” jingle got stuck in everyone’s heads. (The jingle was eventually pulled, too, although the spots kept running.)

The emperor, who usually remains silent while the government operates, went on television with a quiet, yet surprisingly powerful “don’t give up” speech.

We learned, eventually, that the quake had literally moved the Earth by shifting it 4-10 inches (10-25 centimeters) on its axis. It had also moved Japan’s main island, Honshu, eight feet (2.4 meters) East and dropped the coast around four feet (1.2 meters). The sound waves from the quake were detected by satellites in low orbit.

We then entered a phase where the government was denying what was happening in front of our eyes (explosions at Fukushima) and the big shots at TEPCO started citing, in mumbles no less, incomprehensible technical bullshit that pissed off even the docile Japanese press. The anti-nuclear industrial complex started screaming, and have been screaming ever since, about how we were all going to die; in fact, we were already dead. All of the above have since been discredited and it’s no joke to say we trust the thousands of people who now own Geiger counters (including a colleague of mine) more than we trust anyone in an official work uniform.

The Japanese became a lot less trusting of government. They also discovered the absurdity of having incompatible electrical systems in the same country (Western Japan in on a 60hz system; Eastern Japan is on 50hz.) Back in the day, when I visited my friends in Niigata, there was a crossover point where the lights suddenly went out for several seconds as the grids changed. (Yes, that’s right, incompatible power grids in the same COUNTY.)

As for us, we were about as lucky as people could get. Our apartment is apparently in a geologic sweet-spot that limited much of the shaking (which is why we didn’t feel it at first.) Not even a single book fell off a shelf. We had ways to get food, but only because some transportation was still working. We avoided the rolling blackouts and the worst that happened to me is I had to walk home seven miles from school when rolling blackouts shut down our train line for 10 hours.

The hardest part was the aftershocks, which lasted the rest of the year. It was impossible to relax. I remember my wife and I talking about that and me saying “Nothing is normal, right now. Nothing is normal.”

This video shows the larger quakes that occurred two days before and three days after. It’s worth watching it all, but the real action starts at 1:18 or so. I recommend watching it full screen, so you can see the date and time:

)

This video shows all quakes for the entire year. The real action starts at around 1:40. Note the line at the bottom that shows how rapidly the number of quakes increased.

)

Finally, this video shows the quake and tsunami as filmed by a number of survivors:

)

Now: The aftershocks ceased a long time ago and although we’ve been more diligent with our preps, we’ve started to slip back into complacency. I know where my emergency kits are now, though, and I carry one every time I go to Tokyo.

Last year, there was another tsunami warning, and the announcer didn’t mess around. He basically started shouting for people to get to high ground. His tone was “Do you remember 2011? Do you want to f&#%ing die?” which scared us, even though we live a long way from the ocean.

Only the oldest member of the Fukushima 50 has died, and that from esophageal cancer unlikely to have been caused by radiation exposure. (Thyroid cancer is more likely from radiation exposure.)

The government is still run by idiots who manage TEPCO in an idiotic way. Relief funds seem to have been spent everywhere EXCEPT the areas in need of relief funds. They’ve supported the whaling industry, Tokyo Sky Tree, fighter pilot training, wine and cheese events, turtle counting, and a contact lens factory.

Everyone thinks there was no looting after the quake and tsunami (there was) but the worst looting is happening now.

Note: Edited 3/11/2014 to add links to AC Japan videos.

That Went About As Well As Expected So Now What?

3 Replies

I’ve just spent a fortnight staying up late and passing judgement on the work of young men who most likely won’t even read my comments. In some cases, I put more red ink on it than they put pencil marks.

We’re now in pass-backs, which is basically 10 minutes of writing answers on the board and passing out the marked exams followed by five minutes of reactions and trying to get everyone quieted down again. I’ve seen entire classes celebrate having the lowest average. I’ve seen students celebrate their low scores. I’ve had one student doubt that his low score was real because it was the highest test score he’d ever received. I’ve received and passed back tests with blood on them but no writing. I’ve even passed back a blank test that had been glued to the test behind it, because, apparently, the proctor fell asleep or knew it was unlikely the student would ever write anything on a test.

This period of celebration and hand-wringing is followed by a few minutes of answering questions from the handful of students whose parents will give them a hard time about their grades, followed by a half-hour of baby-sitting while the students enjoy free time. (My only limits on the free time: no fighting, no kissing, no sports, at least while I’m in the room because I don’t want to have to do paperwork.)

Eventually all this ends and I am suddenly left to my own devices. Which means I enter the post-marking malaise. My old schedule has been scrapped and I have to start remembering what I used to do in the evening before I marked exams. It’s especially difficult at the end of the school year–Note: Japan’s school year runs from April to March with only a short break between years–as different grades end at different times which means we are marking exams for one group and still teaching another.

That said, I can’t complain too much. With a few exceptions, my students are loud but not rowdy. Even the rowdy classes aren’t as bad as similar classes in the USA or the UK would be. (I’ve heard that even Australia and Canada have some, um, challenging groups of students.) The work is only crazy a few times a year, and crazy me decided to start a daily blog during that time, mostly to see if I could maintain the habit through a busy time.

Now that I’ve finished that for today, I have to figure out what to do next. I could start an online business, or write, or play free games online.

 

 

 

Everybody’s Culture Shocking

2 Replies

One of the early side effects of living in a developed foreign country is that you are the happiest person in the land. You glow. You are imbued with a teenager level of knowledge and wisdom that lets you know everything about the country and lets you see things the old, bitter veterans have never noticed before and clearly don’t understand.

Everything about your new home is better than your old, decrepit country. It’s cleaner, healthier, nicer, safer, cooler, more beautiful, more cultured and, in general everything is just more awesomer. Anything that’s bad is, just, well, that’s just something you’re going to have to get used to–it’s not YOU it’s ME–and it’s probably just your lack of language ability causing a miscommunication.

This lasts about three months.

At that three month mark all those niggling little annoyances become big annoyances and full blown culture shock. Suddenly the country you’re in is the most ass-backwards, low-life, 19th century wretched hive of scum and villainy you’ve ever had the displeasure of living in. It’s not ME it’s THEM idiots. Everyone is racist and all those people you thought were cool are just racist metro-sexual scumbags who’ve been lying to you and withholding the truth from you the entire time. You’ve been making all these efforts to communicate with your new language skills but clearly the racists and their racist ears can’t hear a foreigner, however brilliant, speak.

This feeling lasts two to three months and then suddenly the country you’re in isn’t that bad again. It’ll never be as cool as it was, but it’s pleasant. A few months later, the culture shock comes back, but not as bad. That cycle goes on and one, with slowly leveling swings between happy and culture shocked.

Even after all these years, I still experience bouts of culture shock. Normally, it doesn’t bother me that when I’m at the front of a line, especially at a train station, no one in Japan believes that’s the right line. I’ve even seen station masters look confused about which line was which when they saw me. I also find that Japanese are hyper-sensitive to little pronunciation mistakes. When I say the name of the school I work at: Rikkyo, I get lots of puzzled looks. This is because the pronunciation has a slight pause “Reek-kyo” and the “o” is long. If either of those features is left out, puzzled looks ensue, even though there’s no other school with a similar name. It’s like saying “I work at Princetown University in New Jersey” and having people go “where?” even after you’ve pronounced it several times.

However, when I find either of these things making me angry, I know I’m in culture shock. I usually try to relax at home and, whenever possible, try to watch a US news program. Several minutes of suffering that vapid and superficial emptiness, especially if it’s CNN International or NBC, usually reminds me that things could always be worse and I start feeling better. At least until the next time.

 

You Don’t Need No, er, An Education

Leave a reply

And now, a disturbing look into the mind of a teacher at the edge of sanity.

I’m now down to one final set of tests to mark and am full on and well into The Walll. It doesn’t help that, for various complicated reasons not worthy of explanation, we’ve chosen to include essay sections on our tests. This subjects the reader to such gems as “My mother is name’s is Letitia” (not the mother’s real name) and “She is like a soccer” and the more appropriate to an HBO series or the late great Jerry Springer show:  “My mother has my five childs.”

The Wall is a moment you reach when you physically and mentally cannot read another word of student writing. You stare at the scribblings on the page but cannot comprehend the words and you soon cease to care. You begin to question most aspects of life itself and whether or not anything has any meaning whatsoever. (It’s rather like reading Ulysses or The Scarlet Letter or watching The Room.)

Of course, this could also be because I’ve had a marathon session of True Detective running in the background. (Point of Information to all TD actors: Refusing to speak in a normal tone of voice with normal inflection does NOT actually make what you’re saying have depth anymore than filming slums in washed out tones counts as cinematography.)

Yes, part of the hitting The Wall is letting outside influences influence you. (Especially when I realize I’m a tall man with a scarred face who used to live in the South…)

Also, at this point, you begin to have ethical dilemmas. At first you’re worried about fairness. Is this essay better than the last? Have I marked consistently? That gives way to revenge fantasies: Well this kid was an obnoxious twit in class, that makes his misspellings worse than this other kid’s misspellings. You are tempted to write but, if you’re lucky, refrain from writing “Have you considered public school? It’s easier.” or “The world needs ditch-diggers, too.” That gives way to moral absence: Should I just mark all the essays with random scores and count on most of the students not bothering to follow up? (And if they do follow up, should I lower their scores for questioning me?) That gives way to hallucination: Is that a mistake or do I just think it is? Does it matter?

That eventually gives way to bourbon and haste. (Note: It’s not bourbon time yet as I have to work tomorrow.)

That’s enough of that for now. It’s clearly time for a break. I also have another episode of True Detective to finish before I sleep. (Like I tell my students: Speak up! Enunciate!)

 

 

Judge Not Lest Ye Become Ye Own Enemy That is Ye

5 Replies

Back in 2,000, before the turn of the millenium, I dragged my in-laws and my wife to the USA for our second wedding ceremony–for the record, there were three total in two hemispheres. While we were there, we went to Kansas City to  visit my friend Steve Brisendine and his family.

We were staying in a hotel and I had to call him and let him know our hotel phone number so we could arrange mind-numbing consumption at KC Masterpiece. (This was a compromise as we thought the shouting at Gates would scare the hell out of them.)

After a half-hour of listening to me carefully recite the numbers, Steve paused, perhaps to splash water on his face to wake up, and said something to the effect of “I can tell you’re used to talking to people who don’t speak English.”

Talking funny is one of the unusual side effects of living overseas, especially if you’re a teacher.

First, to communicate with your students, you begin to speak slowly and carefully. The challenge is to retain normal intonation: “NOW-OO EV-ER-Y-ONE LIS-TEN TO MEEEE” is not particularly helpful to  your students. (Neither, it should be added, is a rapid “Y’alllisnup”) Eventually, your native accent begins to erode. Professor and musician Dan Strack wrote the song “You’ve Lost Your Native Accent” (Sung to the tune of “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling” ) in honor of this. (He also included, ominously, the line “you’ve lost nearly half your vocabulary”.)

In my case, my Kansas twang, stretched “A”s (It’s not Kansas it’s KAAANsas) and dropped “G”s (it’s lovin’ not loving) disappeared and I now have a broadcaster’s voice that would be right at home on CNN or MSNBC (unfortunately I can’t work at either place because I’m only a partial moron not a total one.)

I also, despite my best efforts, I still speak numbers slowly. In my defense, that’s often necessary when talking on the phone with airlines and banks in other countries.

The effects of this are especially brutal on people from England, Scotland and Australia, who, despite admirable resistance, eventually begin sounding a lot more like me.

Then there are the odd grunts and sighs you pick up. I also find myself bowing a lot when I go home and the occasional arigato slips out.

I do have one quirky way of speaking that’s stuck with me, but that’s fodder for another entry. (Hint: Who What Where When Why Which and Whore.)