Impossible Juxtapositions

2008-03-13T13:53:00.002+09:00

Yesterday was the thrilling Spectacular Spectacular at Ono High School that is otherwise known as the Chorus Competiton. Instead of spending the last 2 weeks of school involved in lessons (which would make sense surely, instead of trying to cram last term into 8 weeks and having extra make-up lessons on the weekends?) the kids have been alternatively trying to decifer an insane schedule that involves swapping 3rd and 4th period with 6th and 7th and then starting at roughly 9.38 and also trying to have choir rehearsals.

A little background: Each of the 1st and 2nd year homeroom classes are a choir group. They sing two songs; one which is compulsory, the other they can choose themselves (but after attending this Spectacular Spectacular for the 3rd year, I can now attest to the fact that rarely are the songs much different from year to year. I find myself very familiar with certain Japanese songs with no other explanation that I've heard it at the previous year's competition, as I most certainly do not listen to Japanese radio). This means that with 16 different homeroom classes you have the privilege of hearing one song repeated 16 times. 16 freaking times. It gets a little repetitive.

This year's event, thankfully, was on schedule and kept relatively short. In my first year, I seem to remember it going until about 2.30 in the afternoon, so thank goodness for small mercies and all that. I also wasn't a judge this year, so I was free to zone in and out as the occasional badly-pitched harmony demanded.

For some reason, the school invites two local choirs to perform as well. The second group were of a higher standard of the first, but to be fair, not only were they about a third of the age, they also had pretty blue velvet skirts, so they must have been professionals (in their own minds). The first group, bless them, were known as Silver Harmony. I would assume it's a reference to the fact that they are all relatively elderly and naturally, have silver hair. Except not a single one of them had anything resembling a hair colour of this nature (and let's not say anything about the harmony. That would be spiteful). Judging by the indulgent over-use of ancient vibrato that this choir employed, they must have all been well over 75 years old. And every single one of them had hair in various shades of black and dark brown which clearly was not their natural hair colour (and yes, pot kettle black, I know) and after sitting in a cold gym for several hours, this small moment of irony provided an undeserved amount of mirth. Something was necessary to stop being vicious and comparing them to cats that were slowly being stretched thinner and thinner.

However, it was not all about lovingly chosen velvet skirts and dead cat comparisions. Some of the class's choirs were very good, some were not so spot on with quite hitting the right pitch and some of them made up for their lack of skill with sheer enthusiasm and synchronated head bobbing and swaying. The latter choirs also had extremely vibrant choir conductors who looked like they would have sang for the whole 40 students they were in charge of, if only they didn't have to be out the front with the controlling and the hand waving and the conducting.

My favourite would have to have been the girl who was playing the accompanying piano for her class who was so involved in the moment and loving what she was doing so much, that not only was she playing with dramatic hand flourishes and body movements (like I always imagined Real Piano Players did), but she was singing along as hard as she could as well. I don't think her class was one of the top five, and I think the class that won the competition had 2 boys in charge for the conducting and piano accompaniment (boys that are totally fine with having amazing music skills that aren't guitar or drum based are destined to be wonderful adults one day), but I don't think it was possible for anyone else to have enjoyed those 5 minutes more than the girl and her piano. I hope I wasn't the only one who noticed and was able to share the delight that was radiating from this precious kid.

Snow fun

2008-02-27T14:31:00.003+09:00

For the first time this season, when I looked out the window, and it was snowing, for the very first time, I was all 'seriously Japan, again? Are we not done with the snow in Ono which used to be so unusual and wonderful in it's unexpectedness?'. It's been snowing a couple of times a week at least in Ono since January, and it finally looks like it's going to get warmer and we have glorious days of sunshine, and I have hope for actually getting some clothes dry and then, on the week where I have to spend literally hours in the gym for graduation, the time when I actually want it to be warmer (because I'm happy with the snow, really, it's so pretty and it means there's more snowboarding to be had), the sun has a tantrum and takes its ball and goes home again for several days, leaving the neighborhood bully, the cold wind and his friends, gloom and overcast to push everyone else around and make sure that we all know that winter is still clinging and that putting the thermals away just now would be somewhat silly.

I'm off to the Ono onsen tomorrow night with a few of the girls from Miki and Ono There's nothing like getting nude with a bunch of girls and hanging out in a great big bath outdoors. I will miss onsens when I leave Japan. I just don't think Swanbourne, Perth's only nudist beach, and the closest thing to an onsen, is going to be quite the replacement I'll be looking for.

Blank squares

2008-01-14T15:18:00.000+09:00

Slowly, gently, the new year is beginning. I like the new year. I like new beginnings, and fresh starts that hold the potential of great things to come. I like having a new calender with days and weeks and months crossing over the pages; squares to be filled with things to do, or squares to be left blank for lazy afternoons with cups of tea and magazines and a patch of sunshine to be curled up in.

The new year started well. After a brief trip back to Perth for a dear friend's wedding and a Christmas that was spent in fits of drunken hilarity with all my favourite cousins, I flew back earlier to Japan to spend a week up in the snow in Niseko and Sapporo, Hokkaido. Hokkaido ended up being focused more on drunken hilarity and less on the snowboarding, but it's gone down as one of my favourite holidays that I've had in the time that I've been in Japan (despite Niseko being essentially nothing but Australians anyway). Between snowboarding and drinking there was card games and hot tubs and cubs and New Year's and snow ball fights and atrocious movies and (ill-advised) towers of beer and a 22 hour ferry ride.

And now the last stretch of Japan starts. It's a mixture of feelings - I'm beginning to be excited about what comes next and moving towards it, I'm terrified to leave what has been the most stable, yet exciting part of my adult life, and I'm melancholic about leaving this place I've called home for almost three years and the people I've met, and the crazy lifestyle I've been lucky enough flit my way through.

The squares in my calender are filling up at an insane pace, and the afternoons spent in the sunshine are going to be rare indulgences. I'm excited though. I see big things for this year, bigger than they've ever been before and it's so good to be starting the new year feeling like this.

97 leavers.

2007-12-07T09:54:00.001+09:00

Ah, the ten year school reunion. I think that I'm quite glad that I'm living in Japan, and that I don't have to make the choice between going and pretending I'm fabulous or not going and making sure that people know that I'm being fabulous else where.

So, my unavoidable absence therefore by proxy means that I am Elsewhere Being Fabulous, thus I do not have to defend my position of how much I am winning at life. Marvellous. Break out the Veuve, it's a definite step up from the days of Passion Pop, and as a graduate from such a prestigious school, one does not pay 5 dollars for a certified #1 hangover anymore.

Trying to write a blurb about what I've been doing for the past ten years was much more difficult than I anticipated. Problem number one being that I couldn't crap on and on as is my wont to do, and that my definitions of winning at life are likely to be different to most of the girls I went to school with (and that's ok, really).

Provided below, for your reading pleasure and amusement is the paragraph of trite that quite nicely sums up the past decade.

The last ten years have flown by. I've done the usual go to Uni, get said degree (Bachelor of Science, Environmental Science, Murdoch Uni.), get perfect job at the Agriculture Department, ditch perfect job and go travelling. I've worked a myriad of jobs, but find myself constantly coming back to hospitality. One of the few permanents in my life is that I have a regular hairdresser. I've learnt how to drink Scotch on the rocks and enjoy it. I've been living in Japan for the past 2 1/2 years, teaching English at a public high school, just outside of Kobe. I have no idea what comes next, but if the last ten years are anything to go by, it's going to be nothing like I imagine.

Interesting things, these reunions. Especially when they've got a facebook group attached. Maybe I'll make it to the 20-yr one.

The Card Society.

2007-12-04T08:53:00.001+09:00

In the day and age of the uber-fast instant messaging, right here rightnow communications world, I still find something like these cards infinitely appealing. I love the idea of receiving handmade cards that are all wrapped in a pretty parcel for me to then send on to somewhere else in the world. I may then actually be enticed to tear myself away from email and my bad habit of using Bridget Jones-esque sentences and start writing real letters.

And on that note (bang bang), while I'm being old-fashioned and cantankerous, I've recently redeveloped my hatred of the word 'ya', as in 'how are ya?'. It doesn't imply casualness, or a greater sense of Australian identity and it annoys me intensely that it's apparently too hard to write one extra letter. So, be warned, in future, should you ever refer to me as 'ya', you'll get some snarky reply that will be written in god-awful internet code that will be completely indecipherable.

Or maybe, I'll have a change of heart and send you a gently guiding message of perfect grammar and spelling on real paper with a stamp.

Where Amy gives up the right to climb on her political high horse.

2007-11-26T16:30:00.000+09:00

On rushes winter. Fall is briskly swept away by the bone-chilling winds, along with the floating leaves that are every possible shade from primary yellow to a red that's so deep you'd swear it was purple. Mornings become a multi-staged battle between the snooze button, the desire to stay swaddled three layers deep in feather doonas and the necessity of time enough to have both a shower and make coffee (one of these occasionally gets skipped. it's a bad day for all concerned when both of these are beaten by snoozing and coccooning). Blankets are frequently retrieved in the middle of the night after waking up freezing and tensed into a small tight ball. The fickle seasonal love affair with the kotatsu is reignited. It is soon to be usurped by the hotter love that burns for the kerosene heater and its stupifying aromatics of burnt fossil fuels.

With kotatsu heaters and blankets and hibernation comes the immediate, rightnow need to be away from your own company and cosiness. And because I am generally an unorganised creature when left to my own devices, I do things like leave myself all of 10 minutes to get to the Australian consulate in Osaka to hand in my postal vote*, which means that generally I am forgetting things whilst pulling on more layers and a scarf and shoes and throwing myself out the door to get to the train.

And so convinced that I become that I've left my kotatsu heater on, and that it's more important for me to vote in this first federal election that I actually understand (for Lord knows, I can't berate my father for his political views if I can't even manage to vote), that somehow Nick ends up being lucky enough (lucky lucky Nick) to recieve a text message asking him to break into my house and prevent the impending house annihilation.

Yet the kotatsu's not on. And I miss getting to Osaka in time to vote.

My paper house didn't burn down. The party that I would have voted for won the election with the biggest swing of voters ever seen in Australia's political history. And the 2 1/2 hours that I spent on the train to get to a friend's birthday party went through the mountains with all their patchwork of fall leaves and late afternoon sunshine and long shadows.

*because apparently applying for a postal vote isn't enough. How ridiculous is it that you then have to physically hand in said postal vote to the Australian Consulate instead of just posting it yourself?

No Surprises

2007-10-14T22:02:00.000+09:00

Turns out I'm not so good at this blogging stuff, hey?

I was never any good at keeping a journal, there were always massive gaps, and besides, living in a boarding house led to unreasonable levels of paranoia about secrets being leaked of who hated who or who kissed which boys at the Guilford Social. I've always been atrocious at doing things on time - assignments, articles, bills, hair appointments, rubbish collections, JPLT applications (the most recent example, and now, crying shame, I don't get to sit the Japanese Language Proficiency Exam), which more often than not leads to outrageous lies and bare-faced bluffing. Fortunately I don't get called out all that often, which, not only does it make me smug, but because I am one of those people who responds to guilt (yes, congratulations Mum), I then feel badly about taking advantage of the situation. Until the next time.

This is my final year in Japan. At the latest, I will be leaving this fine country on August 31st, 2008. I am aware, now, more than ever, of the things that I do that I will unlikely have the chance to repeat again. So once more, I will attempt to capture these experiences in words, and in words that will again trigger the nuances of this crazy Japanese life once I have left. These are the things that I fear I will forget and become lost, even though it is these small insignificances that seem to merely fill in the gaps between the crazy and the serene.

This means, dear reader, that I will be spewing forth blog posts about next to nothing, interspersed with a "I went here and it was marvellous, look at my photos". Which, granted, will be more entertaining than nothing at all. Welcome to yet further impossible juxtapositions, as I try to write more frequently without turning it into another late assignment.

Ono Matsuri 19 August 2007.

Paranoia or Reason #795 Why I Hate Japanese Summers.

2007-06-11T17:01:00.000+09:00

For as long as I can remember I have been petrified (absolutely shit scared) of spiders. Nothing is as scary as these; not so much the small ones like redbacks that you can easily crush, but the great big hairy monstrosities that haunt the doorways of your house and the upper corners of rooms near the ceilings are the ones which truly haunt my paranoid scanning of rooms before I walk into them.

I have no logic for this irrational fear that makes me jumpy as hell for days after an arachnoid sighting. It may stem from the time when I was 7? 8? that Mum was driving me to vacation swimming and I flipped down the sun visor only to have a huntsman drop into my lap which then resulted in me screaming and then catapulting myself into the very furtherest corner of the station wagon while she slammed on the brakes on a loose gravel road. There was an awful lot of coaxing needed to get me back into my seat - and that spider was never found. It might have been the huntsman that I unexpectedly brushed out of my hair after coming out of the chook yard after feeling like there was something crawling on my head which resulted in a complete freak out. It might have been the huntsman in the boarding house dorms that didn't bother anyone else in the room and because of the high ceiling was left to its own devices as opposed to being promptly turned into a crunchy pile of exoskeleton. Maybe it was the huntsman which Dad proclaimed was almost dead because it had been in the same room for 4 days, which managed to come back to life the night I stayed in the farm house and moved through 3 rooms, the kitchen, the back porch to my room to where I woke up at 5 am with my very finely tuned spidey sense to look up to see it very much alive about a metre above my head on the wall.

Have I mentioned that huntsmans are very good at just suddenly dropping off walls? And scuttling their long, hairy legs towards the closest tall thing, which is either me, or a cupboard in which you'll never find them again, no matter how meticulously, anal-retentively you tear everything apart in the attempt to find the suddenly invisible spider so that you don't spend the next six months arming yourself with a shoe before opening said spider-home/cupboard?

So now, are you convinced of the levels of my fear of spiders? And just how truly fucking creepy they are?

One of the less pleasant things about Japanese summers and their soul destroying capability is the blanket of humidity, and the days of never ending rain. Add to this, the ugliest insect you've ever seen comes out looking for the perfect place to bask in this revolting weather, and more than likely will pick an old, wooden house. Exactly. Like. My. House.

This is a lesson in how to turn things up a notch. Talk up the urban myths, create the fear of the unknown. I have happily been lulled into an false sense of security that the insects in Japan don't want to invade my house and categorically scare the shit out of me. Sure, I've had to deal with wee bugs living in my tatami mats that have required a pesticide in a very cool injecting-type spray to be liberally punctured into the mats and the monumental sized cicadas that make the most phenomenal noise. But I'd never come across the great fabled myth of the mukade. Horror stories of waking up with a 30 centimetre monster centipede crawling over your bare stomach, far too close to parts that really hurt when they're bitten, are all too common, and are passed around like the creepiest badge of honour you could imagine. A friend of mine had a few that would climb up her drain pipe into her shower on the second floor while she was showering, and while I sympathised, I thought it may have been something that was reserved for the deepest, darkest inaka. Ah, foolishness.

While it wasn't as horrifying as any of the above, I don't think my Japan will ever be the same.

I woke up to go for a walk one morning and was confronted with a mukade inside my back door. Instant panic that resulted in my favourite red shoes being turned into a weapon of destruction and nervous squealing and pounding the horrid thing into mush. I was then informed later at school that squashing them leads to other mukade to come looking because of the smell, and that mukade are always in pairs, meaning that there was another one still in my house, waiting, waiting, biding it's time to launch it's revenge for the death of its mate. It's as though everyone was beside themselves to give me every bit of information they possibly could, just so they could watch me squirm.

I never did find the second one. I cleaned and I cleaned, and I spent a good part of a week in a heightened paranoia that there was something crawling on me which resulted in several embarrassing freak outs.

Touch wood, I'm yet to see a spider here that bothers me enough to be all creeped out. If that happens, I'm moving out.

One a penny, Two a penny.

2007-04-07T00:43:00.000+09:00

It's almost 1 am, I desperately want to go to bed, but my house smells amazing, because I've just pulled these out of the oven.

I must admit I feel a little smug that they've actually turned out (and yes, they're not food stylist quality), but I've not actually tasted them yet, and I'm planning on taking them to hanami tomorrow - this may be the undoing of my self-imposed Martha Stewart reputation.

I've never actually had an Easter without hot cross buns. Last year, when Mum and my sister, Chloe, came to visit me, they very very carefully and very secretly carried over some hot cross buns from Lawley's bakery in Highgate, which I promptly stashed in my freezer so that they'd perhaps last a little longer. I've tried making hot cross buns at home before, but they've always turned out rock hard, but this year, they're light and fluffy and with a little more practise, I think I've finally found a recipe that works.

Hot cross buns, chu hai and sakura. Sounds like the beginning of a great weekend.

Gratuitous sakura shot

Happy Easter!

Taste.

2007-03-19T14:42:00.000+09:00

This post is actually several months late, and to the person who sent me this parcel of goodness, I apologise profusely. But better late than never, I always say, and although some of you may indeed think that this could be my very own personal motto, the day I am actually on time with something, you'll all be late anyway.

One of the things that I enjoy most about travelling and living somewhere else is the different styles of food that you can experience. Experiences that are unique to the place that you are visiting, and experiences that are intrinsically the same in all cultures - after all, everyone has to eat.

I will try to remember this the next time someone offers me chicken sashimi, natto or sea urchin. Especially the sea urchin.

Coming from Australia, where they have a myriad of flavours and foods all mixed, all separate, all catering to every whim or craving that you might have, to Japan, where multiculturalism and it's subsequent variety of available cuisines are yet to be fully embraced and I am faced with the dilemma of wanting to eat the best Japanese food I will ever have, while balancing the need for foods that I had taken for granted like Lebanese and good Italian.

Food, for me, in Japan, is all about polar opposites. Raw fish, sashimi, is the best I have ever eaten, and having sashimi and rice in the Tsukiji fish market at 8am was a cool experience. Being served kaiseki ryori with the PTA in an old restaurant in Kyoto was special because of the ceremony and importance behind it. Being expected to eat the boiled and simmered fish head while watching other teachers suck out the opalescent eyeballs can be described as nothing else than an experience. Same goes for fish ovaries.

Food in Japan is revered and this is reflected not only in the 4 hours of nightly cooking shows that highlight some special oishii dish that is accompanied by looks of shock and amazement for the very thing that the c-grade celebrities have just popped into their mouths, but also by the way that every time I mention that I'm going somewhere in Japan, I'm told that the area is famous for special soba, or special udon, or special fish, or special water. Sure, some of these things may be special, but there are people who will travel extensively just to eat udon noodles that to me, taste no different to the udon noodles that I used to buy from Daily in Highgate. Japanese people are obsessed with food.

But, like I mentioned before, the influence of multiculturalism on the variety of foods available has had very little impact upon Japan. Finding good Indian is no longer a matter of a ten minute drive to Maya Masala. Instead it's a mission into Osaka. However, it certainly makes you appreciate it that bit more when you've had to change trains twice and walk through the crazy streets of Amemura and hope like hell that you can find the restaurant that you went to 4 months previously on a whim. The things you miss can mostly be found at international stores, albeit at inflated prices, or for the Americans among us, Costco.

The offshoot of having hours upon hours to kill at school, once I've studied of course, is that you generally end up spending a fair amount of time reading the longest book ever written, The Internet. Online, I managed to find this cool little swap thing that involves you sending a package of food stuffs from your country to someone else in another country. I think my family are sick of the weird yet wonderful types of pocky and crazy kit kats that I send them, and some of the Japanese snack foods are so odd that they deserve to be shared with as many people as possible. So this way, not only do I get to buy some of the craziest stuff I've ever seen, I also get sent a package of slightly less crazy, but equally exciting foods from another country. And postal costs aren't nearly as much as a flight!

This is a photo of the package I received in December. It was so cool to open something that a complete stranger had obviously thought carefully about, and had even cared enough to make home-made Christmas biscuits. I got different teas, some fantastic dark chocolate, Christmas biscuits, some chocolate scented bath bombs, some butterfingers and a few other things as well. It's surprising how small the world is sometimes, as my swap person had friends who lived in Perth, and she was from San Francisco. A pleasure to give, and certainly a pleasure to receive.

Hentai.

2007-03-13T13:49:00.000+09:00

Just when I thought Japan couldn't surprise me anymore, that I was completely blase when it came to 'what the fuck' moments, that I was, essentially, too cool for school, along comes Sunday night, smacks me around the head, and leaves me completely gobsmacked. Well, not literally. Thank God.

Robyn and I were walking back from Onomachi station, completely minding our own business, when we noticed this guy who had pulled up on a dark section of the road and appeared to be looking for something on the edge of the rice fields. This is no big deal, people stop for a pee all the time, and being in the country, it certainly wouldn't have been unusual. Kinda gross, but not unusual. However, when walking up to said man, he turns around, and he has pants pulled down at the front and his cock in his hand, and he's certainly not peeing. He just walked to the side of the pavement, so we had to walk past him, holding onto his fella the whole time and leering.
Gross gross creepy pervert.

So mostly I'm just really mad that someone decided that it was ok to do that to me, purely for their own perverted kicks. I feel like I've had a horrible part of Japan exposed that previously I had kind of known about but had chosen to ignore. You hear stories about people and the dirty men that have ogled them in the street, who've felt a hand exactly where it shouldn't be on a peak hour trains, or been warned not to dry your underwear outside because it goes missing, but walking home in the country, you do not expect to be the person who has the story to tell about the man waiting for you to walk past so that he can openly masturbate in front of you.

Where the wild things are

2007-03-07T14:04:00.000+09:00

When you're the world's biggest scaredy cat, and you're watching Twin Peaks in a storm, and the episode finishes in a timely David Lynch cliff hanger, do not expect to get much sleep. In fact, expect to spend most of the night listening for things that aren't there, making sure the doors are locked, that the blankets are pulled up tight under your chin so that nothing can get you, and then wondering why a cupboard door, which would have no reason to be opening, would be capable of pushing itself open and shut a fraction every time the wind tries to blow itself inside out. Expect to reason with yourself, many many times, that it's just your overactive imagination in ADD hyperdrive, and that really, monsters do not exist.

Despite what David Lynch may be trying to tell you.

Release

2007-03-02T20:35:00.000+09:00

So this is graduation the second time around. The same pomp and ceremony, the same 4 hours spent cleaning the school the day before, the same suits from last year that haven't been busted out since the last time, the same twee-ness of the corsages for the graduate's homeroom teachers. And then, like I do for special occasions, I put my cynicism away, and watch these people stand for the last time and walk away from what has probably been the most influential period of their lives.

Sometimes I think teaching is kind of addictive. The beginning part is fucking hard, you're completely winging it, ballsing stuff up, but always, the saving grace is the students. It starts getting easier, you gain a tentative grasp on what's needed, confidence grows exponentially, but is just as easily shredded into itty bitty pieces. The students, the few who actually listen, the majority that don't, are what keep drawing me back into that classroom, to teach the same lesson for the sixth time, for that one moment where something is suddenly clarified or you manage to elicit a genuine laugh from a student you've been working on for weeks and weeks.

Say what you like about JET and our lack of qualifications, and the pay that we get for doing not much, but at the end of the day, on days like graduation, you realise that you've had a chance to have an influence on the next generation, that this is your chance to stop complaining about our parent's generation and their fuck-ups, our generation and our fuck-ups, and that this is a chance to actually make some kind of difference. Maybe I notice it more in Japan because there are such apparent societal disparities that I could not stand were I to live here indefinitely, because I'm still not cynical enough to be totally indifferent, because I'm not happy with the answer of "It is the Japanese way". But now, with the opportunity of teaching given to me and these kids who are so open to learning, it's been special to have been of some significance in their lives.

Having just come through a completely hellish time with my school, arguments and tears and more arguments and cultural clashes and really, that's a whole new story, there have been days when I've woken up and wanted nothing more than to not to go to school, having had to convince myself just to go through the next logical step of going downstairs and then having a shower and then having breakfast until eventually I'm walking through the school gates, one of the few things that made me keep going is that I'm vain enough to think that by not being in class would disappoint at least one kid. In not being there, I would be depriving them of an opportunity of viewing an opinion that different to the populist bullshit that seems to drive the education curriculum here.

Graduation is special. The bonds that form at school you think will last forever. For the first time in your life you're being told that the future is up to you, that you're finally being trusted with making big decisions, and from a teacher's perspective, that you've been prepared as much as possible for whatever may come your way. You leave school no longer as one of many, but as your own individual person, full of ideas and ideals. And for whatever crazy notion made me decide to move to Japan (hey, that sounds fun and I can put off real-life for a bit longer!), at no point did I consider that I would be in this privileged position where students were actually coming to me to thank me for teaching them.

This is where I wish I had the Japanese to convey just how much of an influence they've had on my experience of Japan. And sure, call me a JET poster child, or whatever throw-away insult you may care to find, but if only this could be genuinely conveyed to more people, and their schools and powers that be, before spirits are irrevocably broken.

Infectious Part 3.

2007-02-22T17:02:00.000+09:00

Today's absentee count of the first years was over 80 students today. The second years are beginning to drop as well, with almost 30 students absent with influenza. The only reason the third years aren't getting sick is because they're too busy studying 20 hours a day in solitary confinement in their bedrooms.

In the effort to prevent an influenza epidemic, although I suspect it's already too late, all classes tomorrow have been cancelled. There was a big meeting after lunch about it, and I've found it hard to express surprise at the decision without being amused. The students still at school are completely thrilled at the bonus day, and I'm content with a student-free day myself.

To then be told that in order to prevent further sickness myself, I should gargle with either tap water or green tea every time I leave the staff room, because the virus lives in the throat, makes me wonder a) if we'll actually get to graduation next week, and b) who the amazing people are that do such a wonderful spin job on the at-home remedies in Japan.

How to gut fish.

2007-02-21T18:27:00.000+09:00

Things I'd never thought I'd learn in Japan:

Apparently gutting a fish (serves me right for not looking properly and assuming) means that I have to scrape the innards out with my hands. eeeeew. Eew.

That I'm a little squeamish when it comes to innards....actually, I don't know why that one's a surprise in Japan, given some of the things I've had put in front of me and been expected to eat. Case in point: boiled fish ovaries. eew.

Infectious Part 2.

2007-02-21T17:48:00.000+09:00

I took this morning off. I've been feeling like I've been fighting something off for about 2 weeks now, and really didn't fancy the prospect of sitting in the simmering pot of sickness that is our staffroom at the moment.

I got to school at lunch time to be questioned by many people who all kept me at arm's length as though my germs were going to be more gaijin vicious. Then I was told with a small hint of delight that there were over 60 first years away today due to colds and influenza. The kids still left at school are finding it somewhat amusing that they're tougher than their friends and have taken to mocking each other coughing.

Jokes aside, really, I'm not surprised that everyone's getting sick. The classrooms are generally freezing, there's 40 kids in each room, the windows are never opened, and the kids are constantly pushed hard. It's almost the end of term, there's exams and classes finishing, and graduation and song competitions and the cultural festival coming up. While I'm all for having a full life and being busy, you've got to wonder about the durability of these kids when roughly one quarter of the year group is absent, fallen to something that can only be fixed by prolonged bed rest. Like Amanda said, preventative medicine has a long way to go in this country. Not coming to school and getting well is surely going to be a lot better recieved by your colleagues than passing around the malady that you're incubatuing.

Infectious.

2007-02-20T14:10:00.000+09:00

I just taught a class of 23 kids. 23. I normally have 40 kids in a class. Today, 10 of them were home with influenza, and the other 7 were home with colds. The remaining 23 weren't all that flash either, with at least half of them looking like they were on the wrong side of the black plague. Minus the pustules.

Ganbatte, anyone?

Everyone else around me seems intent on spreading whatever it is that they have - the spluttering, spitting and sneezing symphony is in full swing in the stuffy, over-heated staffroom drowning out the pious ones with their Micheal Jackson-esque masks. I feel kinda crappy, and I'd rather take my chances with my own solitary germs at home than the cocktail of air-borne mucus that's on offer at school at the moment.

A wee bit excited!

2007-02-09T10:41:00.000+09:00

Your estimated departure time for HOKKAIDO is in approximately 4 hours. Please try not to panic as you will surely have packed enough clothes by now. Sit back, relax and enjoy the fun that that freezing cold white stuff will provide.

Madam, your complimentary glass of champagne awaits you on board.

Thank you for flying ANA.

The Night Bus of Evil

2007-02-05T14:31:00.000+09:00

The night bus is evil. It sucks you in with promises of luxurious reclining coach seats and the adventures of travel, but above all, a cheap ticket to somewhere far far away, all made possible while you rest and sleep.

They lie. Except for the cheap part. After the first time, you swear never, ever again, but something keeps bringing me back, like the glutton for punishment I am.

Night buses, let me state again, are evil. The whole premise that you fall asleep on departure and wake bright and refreshed is null and void. Instead, you contort into uncomfortable positions, try desperately not to encroach on your fellow passenger's minuscule personal space and have the pleasure of being woken, if you've been lucky enough to sleep in the first place, every 90 minutes for a wee and a cigarette and yet another omiyage store. To add to this whinging tale of woe, (because really, that's all this is - I got off the bus in Osaka at5.30 this morning, and I'm stuck at school AND I'M TIRED, GRUMPY AND SORE SORE SORE) encourage the majority of the night bus shenanigans during the winter months to far away snow fun that the powder monkeys clamour for.

But, should you persevere, you will be rewarded for your sacrifice. This weekend, Jeff and I headed up to Nozawaonsen, for a weekend of throwing ourselves carelessly off the side of mountains, onsens of sulphurous water that are barely cool enough to dip a toe in, Apple Kit Kats, and pigeons with wheels (if I ever find anything on the web about these, I promise promise to post a link).

When we arrived early Saturday morning, there had been 20 cms of fresh powder, and the same happened on Sunday night. There was a brilliant gully of powder between two runs that was fun to do again and again and again and as one who has never been boarding through powder, I am an instant convert. It's like falling in pillows, but it takes concentration and muscle (well, from me anyway) to turn through it and avoid the trees.

I may not be able to move my legs fully at this present moment, and anything that requires stomach muscles is a lesson in why sit-ups are good for you, and the night bus may well be the most hellish thing I have had this misfortune to have experienced of late, but the endorphins you get out of gunning down the powder on the side of a black run makes you forget all about 10 hour bus marathons.

Next weekend: Hokkaido. It's the third weekend of a potential 5 in a row of boarding and I fear it may be the point in which my body turns into nothing but a mass of highly sensitive pain receptors. Apparently whatever doesn't kill you only makes you stronger.

Feeling the love.

2006-12-06T15:31:00.000+09:00

This weekend, I was invited around to a family's house for dinner and to help them put up Christmas decorations. My friend and I went over in the afternoon and got all festive and put tinsel and baubles and lights and wreaths in almost every spot possible. The piano was played, carols were mauled and the special Disney carol-singing Mickey Mouse quickly had last year's batteries replaced. We stayed for dinner and were plied with wine and chu-hais and more food than I ever thought possible for a normal Sunday dinner.

This is the first time that I've been actively included by a family in Ono, and it's yet another reason to add to the list of why I'm thinking of staying. It's taken almost 18 months of trying to be involved and being a visible part of a small community to get to this point, and I don't think I'm ready to walk away from it yet.

We put fairy lights all through this tree and it looked pretty!

And I got to play the new Wii that Santa bought early to the Ao's house. Sidenote: it was really really cool. I'm the antithesis of a game nerd, case in point: my brother and sister, who are both mentally handicapped are better at Nintendo than I am. The whole package is sleek and it's really hard not to be sucked in by the whole speckiness of it all. It's good to see that finally, gaming companies are doing something about minimising the impact that sitting and playing games for hours on end has on rising obesity levels.

Another brand spanking new reason is that I think I may have just won my very first nenkyu battle and the right to use my unofficial time in lieu to travel instead of being made to use it to go home a few hours early. Biding my time and waiting 18 months before I've really needed to become the difficult ALT actually worked. I think I made everyone else's afternoon a little more interesting too, as it took two English teachers, Kyoto-sensei, about 4 phone calls to the office ladies, my refusal to accept an utterly infuriating explanation of 'but that's the Japanese way', all of which was conducted in the dead center of the staff-room, and it was almost all the other teachers could do to stop themselves from staring outright and trying to furtively listen to the outcome. Here's hoping they'll still talk to me at the bon-enkai...

Jittery

2006-12-06T14:21:00.000+09:00

Note to self:
Proper coffee has more caffiene that regular instant muck that is at the back of the staffroom. Remember this.

Mindlessly eating chocolate covered coffee beans while watching Lost will result in an excess of caffiene and sugar surging through the bloodstream. Check.

This may go some way to explain why my heart feels like it's going to pound it's way through my ribcage, almost every word I type is having to be re-written due to copious spelling errors, loud noises and movement make me jump, I'm somewhat nervous and I'm currently unable to stay on track with anything.

Caffiene-induced ADD. Here's to making exam week a little less tedious and a little more addiction-fuelled strung-out.

Maintaining Madonna

2006-11-27T11:34:00.000+09:00

I've recently started reading gossip columns on the internet in attempt to balance all the other serious (hah!) literature that I read at home. Well, I feel I should justify my insatiable need to know about has-been 90's star cataclysmic meltdowns and whether Britney's back with K-Fed somehow.

Amongst all of this crap which is doubtlessly taking up room in my brain which would otherwise be much better utilised for Japanese, this article about Madonna came up. It further re-inforces my views on the Confessions Tour - the woman no longer re-invents, she maintains.

Why am I so indecisive?

2006-11-19T00:55:00.000+09:00

While posting when drunk is never a good idea, and I swear I'm not going to edit this in the morning, there's a certain amount of skewed introspecitive that's provided by an hour's solitary train ride, accompanied only by an i-pod full of music from Perth bands, amongst others, and a brain addled by ume-shu.

I was handed my re-contracting papers a few days ago, and as much as I overplay everything and be a complete drama queen and be capable of giving advice of what everyone else should do in "Amy's Perfect World", I really don't know what to do and it's completely tearing me up. So instead of writing something that I can't blame on the Hub's happy hour jumbo Long Island Iced Tea's, I'm going to leave you with this; my effort at cheering a friend up on a late Friday afternoon:

And with a flick of her sleek, glossy hair, she turned on her heels and strode out of the room, towards something, she was sure, that was better than the blandness that the day had provided so far.

Third year: crash and burn, or cut and run, or see out the opportunity that I'm unlikely to have ever again?

Do you have to? Really?

2006-11-11T09:20:00.000+09:00

Can the man with the jackhammer drilling ditches on the tennis courts outside my house shut the fuck up already? It's 9am, it's raining and thank christ I'm not hungover.

the lights are off

2006-11-11T00:15:00.000+09:00

while watching a storm come in over the mountains of Ono. Purple flashes of electricity, spears of white that blaze through the sky and arc to the ground. Counting the seconds after each flash until the thunder speaks to see how far away the storm is - like being on year 8 camp in Nanga Mill, but with more than a plastic hootchie overhead. The cracks of thunder which count closer and closer until both lightning and thunder are almost simultaneous get angrier, crisper and the sound ripples over the sky. Slowly, gradually, petulantly the rain begins to drop fat splashes on the tin roof until eventually it seems like all three elements of tonight's storm are in competition to be the brightest, loudest, most oppressive. Mostly the thunder wins and I retreat to my bed, to feel safe, cocooned in blankets, away from the fury outside.

When dealing with the devil

2006-11-07T16:00:00.000+09:00

keep in mind that you may eventually want your soul back. If this happens to be the case, go here where you'll find one of the handiest How To's I've seen in a long time.

Oh, the things you find when looking for ideas for lessons...

Practising perserverance

2006-11-07T09:42:00.000+09:00

For the past 3 weeks, I have been working on making my halo shine as brightly as possible. Either that or I'm making retribution for undisclosed heinous atrocities committed in another life. I'm not yet decided. I have been ever so patiently coaching students for the speech competition that was held in Akashi on the weekend.

I had three first year students in the recital competition, which involved them memorizing a passage about some kind of 'heart-warming' rubbish about courage or another one about the importance of the earth to Native Americans. One of the girls I was ready to strangle and nearly bit my tongue off in the attempt to not explode at the seventy gazillionth fuck-up of the pronunciation of 'the'. 'Za' is not 'the' and until Japan understands this and stops using katakana (the alphabet used for foreign, mainly western, words), they will not make progress in developing confidence in speaking English. Ooh dear, I think I'm ranting. Anyway, we finally had a breakthrough, 'za' was miracurously turned into 'the', and my sanity was preserved. It helped somewhat when the passage was actually explained to the girls and they were actually able to understand where the emotion in the passages comes from.

The two second year girls were easier and not nearly so frustrating to work with. They had to write their own speeches, so the understanding was already there, it was merely a matter of sorting out intonation (so more impossible than it sounds) and dodgy pronunciation. One girl wrote a emotive essay about her grandmother's wrinkled hands, and how they reflected her difficult life, while they other girl wrote a rather timely essay on Australia's water crisis.

Three weeks of not leaving school until 5.30, watching the wonderful autumn afternoon sunshine disappear into darkness, was not more fun than a barrel of Yakushima monkeys (and they are SO fun!). Using the apparently bottomless well of patience that I managed to dig out of god knows where was certainly a learning curve (cue teacher being taught cliches), but come Saturday, I was able to send the girls off with the ability to bluff total confidence, if nothing else.

Proof that I am a great teacher. The second year who may be the solution to Australia's water dilemma won the speech competition, and the other girl came third; one of the first years came third in the recital competition and the other two were happy with their performance. Excuse me while I go and buff my halo one more time.

Oh, and to my first piano teacher, Mrs Timoney, who coached me to many a Narrogin Eisteddfod First Place - you have the patience of a saint. Teaching a belligerent, lazy student with a modicum of talent who, unlike my students, did next to naff-all practise must have made you a millionaire at the karma bank.

Maybe this isn't for me.

2006-11-02T23:22:00.000+09:00

11.30. writer's block.

If this was NaNoWriMo, I'd be fucked.

NaBloPoMo or Amy and Deadlines just don't mix

2006-11-01T22:36:00.000+09:00

While I was mindlessly browsing the endless reams of the internet for the 67th time today, I stumbled across this little gem: NaBloPoMo. It's an alternative to the NaNoWriMo, the National Novel Writing Month. Instead of having to write a 50,000 word novel, NaBloPoMo merely requires you to post on your blog every day for the next 30 days. (Also means you can't write utter shite merely for the need of filling 50,000 words)

Marvellous, I thought. I can do that. Around rocks 10.30 at night, I realise that I haven't written anything for today, I want to go to bed, and once more I remember that one of the things I'm bad at is getting things done in time. I am Queen Procrastinator Extraordinaire.

However, I have managed to get a post up for today. They say it takes 21 days to break a habit...

And really people who invent these silly things, could you have picked a more bloody inconvenient name to have to type??

Does this mean I'm meant to be grown up now?

2006-10-26T15:17:00.000+09:00

Milestones of life have never been something that I've been particularly motivated by. I've never had the ten year plan, I have absolutely no idea about how to go about the few career aspirations that I occasionally ponder, and I'm not concerned about babies and husbands.

Yet somehow, I've just made my first mortgage payment. Almost a decade of faffing about in cafes and periodically pretending to have a 'proper' job, living in cheap, crappy houses and refusing to move out of my parent's house has enabled me to save enough money to buy an apartment on Hay Street. Go looky!

I have city central apartment. I also have a mortgage. These words will be repeated many many times, until they become ingrained, because at the moment, Amy and mortgages aren't two things I ever thought I'd see put together for a very long time.

Look at me, all growing up now.

These things make me happy

2006-10-23T22:55:00.000+09:00

I like waking up at 6am on a Monday morning, and knowing that I still have another hour to snuggle down and sleep some more.

I like even more hearing the sound of rain on a corrugated iron roof, pleased that it has been saved for a school day, and not for my weekend that was filled with beautiful sun-shiney autumn weather instead.

This photo is from a PICA exhibiton that I dropped into while meandering around Northbridge in August.

Why have I not heard of The Postal Service before?

2006-10-20T21:12:00.000+09:00

Half a bottle of red wine down, and the interesting prospect of spending the entire weekend in Ono, due to this afternoon's purchase of a scooter and subsequent budget blow-out, I'm spending the night in.

All is not lost, however. I have just discovered the fabulousness of The Postal Service. I don't care how you get your hands on their music - borrow, steal or I'd even suggest buying it if there is no other option - but you really really have to listen to these guys. Upbeat, pace-y and tight, perfect for dragging yourself out of a downward slide into red wine melancholia.

If I were clever, well, not completely computer inept anyway, I'd post a link to their website. I'm not clever. Cut and paste: http://www.postalservicemusic.net/

A kindred spirit

2006-10-20T11:45:00.000+09:00

I'm mired in the depths of post-exam hell at the moment. Several hundred exams to mark, all of which I've left until the last day - checking my emails for the gazillionth time somehow seems a little less frustrating.

But I've just come across this complete pearl in an essay about how to relax while studying.

'I suggest to you that you eat a chocolate bar. If you eat one, your brains will cheer up.'

If only she'd had the foresight to staple said choclate to the paper, and there would have been a perfect score straight up, grammar be damned.

Potty training

2006-10-20T10:04:00.000+09:00

Today, on top of being Friday and almost the weekend, holds promise of being a fantastic day. I've made a new and important discovery, although it does make me feel slightly...um...dumb.

It's a discovery that I made early on when I was first in Japan, as I was exploring my school, but it seemed to disappear, never to be found again. I did look again, and again, I searched every floor of the school, but eventually put it down to either imagining it, dreaming about it or making it up after reading about secret rooms and things that disappear ala Harry Potter.

The new fabulous thing in my life? I have found the school's only western toilet.

This makes life just that little bit more pleasant. No more worries about peeing on the bottom of my trousers, no more holding it in because I just don't want to use a squatty, no more coldness on my exposed nether regions in winter.

Simple pleasures, my friends, simple pleasures. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some reading to catch up on...

Confessions (not about my apparent inability to post regularly)

2006-09-25T23:49:00.000+09:00

Madonna. 48 years old, but still one of THE hottest women on the planet. And all it takes is presence, attitude and a body that's been whittled and beaten into muscular perfection. Oh, and Guy Ritchie. And the ability to command a riding crop. A monogrammed riding crop no less - we would expect no less from the Material Girl.

The Confessions Tour is apparently the most profitable tour of any artist, ever. The Japanese shows in Tokyo and Osaka sold out in 5 minutes. 5 minutes!

2 hours of an audio-visual spectactular, quite unlike anything I've ever seen before. I've been to an awful lot of concerts and performances, but nothing quite came to the level of grandiosity, and budget too, I guess, of The Confessions Tour. Most of the songs were from the new album, Confessions From The Dance Floor, and while musically, none of Madonna's new stuff is even remotely pushing any boundaries, it certainly sounds amazing when pumped through speaker stacks three stories high. The mix was good, and she's not so over-produced so that you want to jam your fingers in your ears, she actually performs very very well. I will admit that I was surprised that she could sing as well as she does. I always thought that Madonna would be more visually based, but musically she stands in her own right too.

Which is not to say that visually, the show wasn't entertaining. It was impressive and combined with the music and the fact that I WAS ACTUALLY SEEING MADONNA LIVE, I had constant waves of goosebumps and mini fits as I tried to come to terms with someone who's music I've been listening to since I was about 10 (is it embarrassing that I just admitted that?). The costumes were ever-so-stylish, the dancers had amazing bodies and did amazing things with a scaffolding-type frame. Admittedly I was a little disappointed that she relied so heavily on the video presentation as opposed to just being an outrageous spectacle. There were three video intermissions where basically a video of a song was played while the back-up dancers provided live movement.

My only other criticism is the apparent need for almost all celebrities these days to push their political and social standing in a public arena. The much-criticised cruxifixition was almost a non-entity - it was intended as a powerful image against the video streaming of children living in poverty-stricken countries and the fact that 12 million children will be without parents. Combine this with the usual 'fuck Bush, Blair and Saddam' mentality, and a woman who is known for being intensely individualistic, merely becomes yet another media-whoring star who is jumping on the socially vocal bandwagon. Now before I'm accused of being completely insensitive, I'm all for activism, provided that it's done effectively and not like in Madonna's case, which seemed to be purely for appearances. I object to being made to feel guilty for my apparent wealth and freedom and privelege, as it's not something that I take for granted. As the cheapest ticket to Madonna was 140,000 yen (roughly $A150), and tour shirts were around 7000 yen, I'm not about to listen closely to someone preaching about excess. And isn't Madonna someone that we all associate with excess?

I would have loved to have seen Madonna ten years ago, probably during the Music tour, just after Erotica came out, before she was a mother, before she married Guy Ritchie, before she decided she'd try and appease British sensibilities, and I'm almost inclined to say, before she got old. Back when she didn't give a fuck, when she courted contreversy and loved to be hated, when she was edgy and dramatic and volatile. When sex sold, and Madonna wasn't just a business, but a convincing, influential artist as well.

Unhurried

2006-09-25T18:14:00.000+09:00

The perfect weekend consists of a fine balance of doing just enough to stay entertained and little enough to feel indulgently lazy.

So for example say, cups of tea, tv, phone calls, walking in the sunshine, more cups of tea, reading, finding the perfect spot in the sun and delighting in being able to lie about, another cup of tea. Then not waking up the next morning with a hangover either.

Wash, rinse, repeat as desired.

Throw in the perfect pair of pink Asics for only 5000 yen, a comedy show that had pretend trannies, Wendy the Weathergirl, things you never want to hear in a beauticians and a tourette's sufferer in a dating show and THEN as we were walking through Shinsaibashi, two of the sweetest, most nonchalant, real sequined-up trannies on a Sunday evening and right there, you have the almost perfect weekend.

See It Now

2006-09-22T22:39:00.000+09:00

I love watching movies by myself. There's an allowed space and time and stillness after that you can sit back and think, muse and digest what you've just seen, subconsiously filing away small parts to potentially be used again. No-one interupts and you're able to meander through with your thoughts undisturbed.

For me, the depth of what I retain comes mainly from the degree in which I'm able to be lost within a story. It's not often that I can be completely captivated for two hours and not notice the time going past. And unlike the numerous hours of my life that I have squandered watching America's Next Top Model (happily, vappidly, vacuously, mind you), I won't be wishing back the time I spent watching Crash.

For a movie that's merely about how people interact with one another and their preconcieved stereotypes, it's also surprising in how it's able to challenge the viewer's own stereotypes. It's voyeurisitc and captivating and leaves you questioning yourself for quite sometime after it's finished.

For me, the fact that it's moved me beyond my usual state of apathy, that I'm still thinking about it, makes me want to explore and question interesting things further. And that's what I liked about Crash.

Babelfish: Anti-Douglas Adams Style

2006-09-13T22:19:00.000+09:00

"I thought but the thougt that the friend whom I would become helped was wrong somehow since I went... However, I cannot be able to just come back because I was at a loss"
Courtesy of class 2-8 who are a business English class (ie. they only study English that may be applicable in a business travel field - kind of a last resort language class).

Good grief. This is taken from the opening paragraph of essay number one. And on a quick flick through, it appears Babelfish or some other equally shite translator has mutilated previously understandable Japanese and turned it into the carnage above. Fantastic. Only another 39 to enjoy completely defacing with a tightly gripped red pen.

And the opening sentence of the next essay?
"Koshien of this summer was contiunation of an impression, too."

Babelfish. Responsible for intense gaijin frustration all over Japan.

Dancing on Sun Road

2006-09-12T21:38:00.000+09:00

Occasionally, while walking through Ono, I encouter some ... peculiar... things. Such as the store called Dorkus, that sells massive beetles.

Tonight's little dose of What The Fuck comes courtesy of whoever decides that random elevator music is not good enough for the wretched citizens of Ono who may happen to be casually strolling down Sun Road, the covered shopping street. As I was coming home this evening, I was sans iPod, and happened to notice that not only was it western music, but it just happened to be the latest Scissor Sister's single I Don't Feel Like Dancing.

Rockstar awesome.

Summer. September. Time for sports day.

2006-09-12T20:30:00.000+09:00

this isn't a recent post. It's been sitting in my 'to do' files...

When I first arrived in Japan, sports day was the beginning of the realization that Japanese schools are 'different'. Now, a year on, the similarites to every other high school are apparent. You just have to be prepared to look a little harder. Everyone's still enthusiastic, the smiles, the laughter is just as apparent. On my first sports day, I was horrified that the kids were having to spend so much time marching in the sun (admittedly summer is biding us a hasty farewell at moment, instead of hanging on for grim death like it did last year), but they seem to enjoy it, it's something for them to be proud of and present themselves as a single unit, as a representative of their school. Sure, it's a little different to the freedom that I was allowed as a student, but it doesn't mean that it's any less enjoyable for the kids that I was watching today.

The focus of the day seems to be more about the culmination of an awful lot of hard work and preparation and down to the minute, split second timing and arganisation. I shit you not, the program for today not only had obscure times like 10.47, but had the second times written as well.

There's still events like the running and relay races, and my god, those kids can run fast. There's the tug-of-war that seems a bit unfair to me as the ichi-nenseis (first years) have to compete against the ni-nenseis and san-nenseis, but still, despite the apparent inevitability of it all, they still give it everything they've got. Occasionally, like the first year girls today, they'll surprise themselves and overcome the size and strength disparities and be just as amazed as everyone else. The screaming and jumping around may well have depleted their new found wee muscles, as they were then convincingly thumped by the third years as though it was retribution for even daring to beat a year group older than them. En-masse jump rope - 20 kids in one large rope, all trying to jump as many times as possible, in a limited time.

The obstacle course was one of the funniest things I have seen in school yet. It involved sack racing, commando crawling through a tunnel of netting, two-legged skipping, leap frog and then, in pairs, having to make a giant tube of cardboard (imagine a mouse wheel) move for about 50 metres by doing summersaults. Poor little poppets were so dizzy when they finally got out of it, but most of them couldn't breathe for laughing so hard, so standing up straight wasn't really much of problem. Then we had the class dances, of which I was an esteemed judge, and is one of the most popular events of the day. Each home room class has about 1 minute to do quick dance that has a story and a conclusion and some point of wonder which typically each of the teachers used as their personal opportunity to show off. Topics ranged from The Pirates of the Carribean to Doraemon, a few Chinese interperative dances, a small buddha which sprouted water, and most disturbingly, one of the male teachers dressed as a cheerleader amd with his posse of boys also dressed as cheerleader, they proceeded to bump and grind to rapturous applause and wolf whistles. Creativity at it's finest...

So while I may ponder (ie. bitch and moan) whether or not I made the right decision about staying for another year, it will prove interesting to see what my take is on events and opinions as I'm able to observe them for the second time around.

My lungs are black.

2006-09-07T13:28:00.000+09:00

The teacher who sits next to me has obviously just come back from a sneaky cigarette outside the school gates - he's sat down completely oblivious to the cartoon cloud that's currently assaulting the olfactories with a vicious right hook of anyone around him. Having just spent the previous week in Perth, often accompanied by either a glass of wine or a cigarette or quite regularly both, I've unconsciously found myself hoovering up the stench, while trying not to infringe upon the rigorous personal space boundaries that are bound in concrete over here and wishing that I wasn't such a conformist to Japan's sexist attitudes towards women who smoke.

Tomorrow, while I'm in Akashi, I think it's definitely time I went and bought myself a copy of Allan Carr's Easy Way To Stop Smoking.

Smiling on the inside.

2006-09-06T21:37:00.000+09:00

Occasionally I notice I'm frowning for no apparent reason whatsoever and have to make a conscious effort to release my furrowed brow into what I hope comes across as approachable as opposed to looking just plain pissed off. Having recently been told that I should smile more (a backhanded compliment?), it concerns me - which makes me frown again - that are times when I'm looking annoyed unnecessarily and being completely oblivious of it, there's little I can do to fix this.
On the upside, I guess I'm not looking like some complete gimp with a slightly psychotic grin permanently plastered across my gob.

Star-crossed Lovers

2006-09-05T18:39:00.000+09:00

nervous violent colours

The recent dash back to Perth was all for the wedding of my fabulous friends Amanda and Liam. Dash it was, as I was only in Perth for 10 days, most of which was spent on the back porch of their house drinking red wine and champagne, curled up on the cosiest pink couch on the face of the earth. (Let me tell you another time how many times my mother made snide remarks about the number of nights I spent at Palmerston St versus the nights I spent at home). In the past year that I've been in Japan, I've had the misfortune (or good timing, depending on which way you want to look at it) of missing the weddings and associtated hen's nights and other such frivolties of 3 friends from school, the birth of one baby, and the announcement of the impending births of another two babies. It takes a fair bit to prise me from Japan, and there's very few people that I would spend 40 hours total in transit for, so hopefully, I've managed to make my point that I think they're very special people.

It was a simple ceremony, held at the Wedding Registry in Westralia Square on St. George's Terrace. After a minor wardrobe mishap involving a strapless top and darting through the traffic in the rain, trying not to let straight hair get wet so that it would curl furiously (note: it was not the bride), the ceremony was quick, not unlike being processed as efficiently as possible. It felt a little sombre, which may have been more to do with the grey, rainy day and the windowless room, but was also helped by a lengthy period of the celebrant making sure that neither the bride nor the groom were currently married, and that they were aware that marriage is a legally binding agreement. Annie did manage to lighten the moment by announcing, when she handed over the wedding rings that she lived with them and that she was just like their kid, but she wasn't really, she was just a friend, and then finished it perfectly by blushing a stunning shade of red.
The reception was held at The Secret Garden in Murray Street, where we'd spent a good portion of the previous afternoon setting up and prepping food - well, I just faffed about, but I figure that by doing that, I saved everyone else the trouble of wasting their time. I'm good at faffing. The food was amazing, mainly because both Rizza and Amanda are brilliant, the wine was exactly what I'd been missing, and there was bottles and bottles of it (which we drank much quicker over the next few days than any of us expected) and we had the luxury of being able to lock the doors and come back the next day and clean up. Wonderfully relaxed and comfortable - like having a long, lazy lunch with fabulous friends - perfect.
I was unorganised and slack and I didn't get around to getting them a card or a present that I could write soppy sentiments in (but I flew back from Japan, so I figure the lack of a present was justified), so instead this wonderful public arena that's called the internet is going to suffice. Yes, I could just send them a card, but it's more fun this way.

So, dearest Amanda and Liam, these are the things that I wish for you to be able to offer the other:
challenges and intrigue; care and nurturing; trust and safety; strength and vulnerability; care and nourishment; dependency and space; flowers, sunshine and fast cars; spontenaity and serenity; solidarity and togetherness; love, laughter and a closeness that trancends all others.
You have all my love and hope for the future. You'll make fantastic, crazy faux-godparents.

We're not in Kansai anymore, Toto...

2006-08-24T00:30:00.000+09:00

currently killing time in Singapore Airport... and one of the first things that struck me was that the men are really tall. And then I realised that they're probably not all that tall, I've been looking at men for the past year who are rarely taller than me. That's not very tall at all.
Now if only I had magic red shoes that I could click three times so I could skip this last leg of my journey.

Shades of Grey

2006-08-24T00:20:00.000+09:00

Is anyone else struck by the apparent irony of holding such an environmentally significant conference, that culminated in the Kyoto Protocol, in a country like Japan; where if it weren't for sudden massive mountains, everywhere would most likely be hard grey concrete, holding onto hot hot heat, making a massive hothouse that hasn't had it's misters turned on for weeks (BTW, does anyone else happen to be picking lettuce leaves at Fresh Provisions, when they turn the misters on? Every Single Time?). Solid greyness as far as the eye could see and the only undulations to pierce the monotony would be the perfectly symmetrical skyscrapers and the dog boxes that are arguably called apartments. Or is it just me?
Perhaps it has less to with irony and more to do with the fact that I've just been on a bus travelling through Osaka - a city of every shade of grey imagineable - to the airport so I can flee the impermeable bubble of Japan and return to Australia, where, currently, even my greys will seem brighter.

going back vs going home

2006-08-21T20:34:00.000+09:00

anxious

Main Entry: anxious
Part of Speech: adjective 1
Definition: worried
Synonyms: afraid, aghast, antsy*, apprehensive, basket case*, bugged*, butterflies, careful, choked*, clutched*, concerned, disquieted, distressed, disturbed, dreading, fearful, fidgety, fretful, hacked*, hyper*, in suspense*, jittery, jumpy, nervous, nervy, overwrought, restless, scared, shaking, shaky, shivery, shook up*, solicitous, spooked*, strung out*, sweating bullets*, taut, troubled, uneasy, unglued*, unquiet, uptight*, watchful, wired*, wired up, worried sick*, wrecked
Antonyms: assured, at ease, calm, cool, relaxed, unconcerned, unworried

Add to this a soundtrack of typically melancholy/angsty music a la Death Cab For Cutie, Beth Orton, Sarah Blasko and Something For Kate, nights that are memorable for the complete heat-induced void of sleep and the sensation of being slightly removed from everything going on around you, and you'll have some idea of how I'm feeling at this very present moment.
I'll be glad to get to Australia, regardless of the home or back war that's going on in my mind.

Inadvertent Duplicity

2006-08-18T11:56:00.000+09:00

On getting up early and stumbling out to breakfast, we were confronted by Nate demanding random words for a game he was planning for the days lesson, the only requirement being that they had many letters, it wasn't expected that the students would understand the meaning. Words such as internationalisation (the brand-spanking new JET recruit, fresh from the brain washing of Tokyo Orientation), de-establishmentarianism (UWA boy - Arts/Philosophy degree) were being bandied about. I, however, opened my mouth without thinking, as per usual, and the first two words to leave my treacherous mouth were 'procrastination' and 'indecisive'. Raised eyebrows and sarcastic mutterings of incredible appropriateness, all before 8 am and coffee. Brutal.

Swimming through air

2006-08-17T17:22:00.000+09:00

Japan is always so proud of its distinctive four seasons. Distinctive - definitely. Psychotically extreme - well, from an Australian point of view - let's just say Japan is being kind when it gives you roughly 4 weeks in between the two most vicious seasons of fucking hot and fucking cold.
For the last month or so, it's been unbelievably hot. The humidity is normally around 80 percent, and in Ono, the temperature generally peaks at about 38 to 40 degrees, which leads to a crippling dependence on air-conditioning. The nights are almost as bad, as it doesn't really cool down much, maybe 5 to 8 degrees. Sleeplessness is coupled with a general fug that blankets indiscriminantly, slows it down, in the vain attempt that you should not over-exert yourself, as exertion just leads to more sweat. Everything you touch stores heat. Your bed feels like you've left an electric blanket on for the past three months, and lying three inches from a fan does nothing to cool you, although it does provide enough white noise to block out the cicadas - another to add to the party of sleeplessness. Lying starfish and moving constantly lest you further warm parts of your bed, while the sweat leaks from every pore and refuses to evaporate does not promote a restful night.
Today it's not so hot. There's been typhoons hammering China and Okinawa, but they've not made it to this region of Japan. Typhoons, while somewhat unpleasant, do bring with them, one single day of blistering dry heat. The lead up is mugginess like I've never known before, and the day of rain seems never-ending, but the day after is crystal clear, fresh and renewed; the ever-present layer of smog and atmosphere is dissolved for a few hours. Just now, there's been a massive downpour and the smell is amazing. The air feels like it's almost solid and the smell of wet, rich earth just hangs in the hot dampness. The humidity, if were possible, seems like it should be over 120 percent. But the sky is open and blue and Ono is beginning to glow in the late afternoon light.

Why I Love Japan

2006-08-06T02:51:00.000+09:00

... My incredible independence. Being able to walk through deserted streets by myself at 1 am and fuck about taking random photographs.

Why I despise Japan - my incredible singularity.

Why I love Japan - exceptionally cheap Tanqueray gin.

Why I despise Japan - Exceptionally expensive tonic. In itty-bitty cans that need to be recycled properly.

Iki ma sho

2006-08-03T17:16:00.000+09:00

wee hee! now there's no excuse for not keeping up to date. if only I had more than ten seconds to write something more profound before I choof off to the gym... keeping in mind that this would be the perfect opportunity for some well placed procrastination.