Dear everyone at home,hope you're having fun being cold. This is me.
love,
Joyce
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Just to rub your nose in it
Dear everyone at home,hope you're having fun being cold. This is me.
love,
Joyce
Monday, November 27, 2006
Ambulatory Consumption
In this country, it is very rude to eat or drink while walking or standing. I have dubbed this unspoken regulation: the law of Ambulatory Consumption. Those of you who know me well are no doubt chuckling at my misfortune, as I am notorious for never sitting down to eat. My general instinct is to multi-task multi-task!!! No time to waste on eating, its always such a nuisance. Hunger is a fly buzzing around my head, at which I must swat with whatever victuals lay handy. I'd much rather stand at my kitchen counter, devouring cold kidney beans from the can with one hand and reading a book with the other, than do what many label "enjoying a meal". Of course, I enjoy my meal of cold kidney beans as much as the next person enjoys their 7-courses. Hell, I'll eat cold Cambles soup out of a plastic bucket with my fingers and be happy (just ask anyone who was at Tokashiki this year). Different strokes for different folks! as pops always says.
Anyway, this may have been somewhat acceptable behaviour in America, but here in Japan it creates constant ISSUES. My food and drink related habits are in violation of the law of Ambulatory Consumption. The most frequent infractions occur when I'm rushing in the morning and bring my (third cup of) coffee with me in the car to school, then carry it through the parking lot and into the building, frantically sipping all the while in a last ditch attempt to imbibe enough caffeine as to achieve the same level of frenetic genkidom as my students. I think the Okinawans have some sort of built-in detector for violators of the Ambulatory Consumption law, because people near and far turn and stare at me in accusatory silence as I walk the schoolyard-become-gauntlet-of-shame. By the time I realize what's happening, it's too late to rid myself of the cup, so I try to look like a dumb foreigner (not difficult) and shuffle along a bit faster.
I also get caught chewing gum in class all the time (fyi: in America a lot of people aren't allowed to chew gum in class, but in Japan it's supposedly rude to chew gum in public at all). The sensei (not having realized that Joyce-san, too, is misbehaving) will yell, "Takahiro!!!! We don't chew gum! Go spit it out!" Takahiro gives me an accusatory look, as I have been happily chomping away right there in front of the entire class for the last 20 minutes without realizing it. In order to assuage his feelings of injustice, usually I sidle over to the trashcan along with Takahiro and we spit it out together, producing waves of giggles throughout the classroom, and an embarrassed little, "Oh, Joyce-san!" from the teacher who has just realized her mistake and has fallen into a blushing fit.
There are actually some general eating and drinking rules besides those mentioned above, which you ought to know if you are planning on coming to visit me (which I firmly believe each and every one of you will do!). It's rude to refill your own glass when drinking in a group. If you want more, you should pick up the bottle and pour some into the glass of the person next to you, even if their glass is full and you can only fit a drop or two. They will then return the favor. Traditionally, the youngest person pours all the drinks. I haven't experienced this in Okinawa, but when I hung out with mainland Japanese in Chapel Hill, that's how they did it. It is also rude to take food from a communal eating dish with the end of your chopsticks that you're eating with. Usually when you go out to eat in Japan, you go to an izakaya where various group dishes are ordered and passed around. No one ever orders their "own" food in an izakaya. Instead of taking the food with the eating end of the chopsticks, you should turn them around and use the end that your hands are holding onto, then turn them back around to eat from your own plate… I haven't yet figured out why this isn't messy for anyone except me.
While I'm thinking about it, let me detail a few more oddities that you will have to deal with when visiting.
1. ATMs have working hours
Ladies and Gents, Im sorry to say that many ATMs here are only open until 8pm weekdays, and closed on the weekend. I suppose the machines need family time as well. Perhaps there is an ATM union here, which has worked hard and suffered many casualties in the struggle for a 40 hour work week. Their slogan, ATMs: the folks that brought you the weekend! Give it back to them!
2. The standard color of a parasol is BLACK. Don't use any other color or you will attract stares. Its perfectly fine to use a black umbrella, but it needs to have an old granny wooden hook handle if you want to fit it. Practically all women refuse to leave the house without a black parasol in the heat of the summer. Before I had my car, I used to walk 15 minutes to school (in August) at 8.30am. Within seconds, my entire body was covered in sweat. It gushed from every pore, creating ginormous splotches on my shirts, pools in my elbows, rivulets down my legs, and soaking my hair. Truly phenomenal. After a week of looking at ladies carrying umbrellas around, I finally tried it myself and it worked wonders. Cut my sweating by a third. Why they use BLACK, however, is a mystery to me.
3. When attending an Okinawan wedding, you are required to give the bride and groom 1-万 (roughly $100). This is not a matter of choice, it's how the wedding gets paid for (on the mainland they have the same tradition, but it's a lot more expensive!) So watch out if you are invited to a wedding. Without that money-envelope, you aint gettin in the door. (You also give money at funerals but I dont know how much).
4. Envelopes cannot, I repeat, CANNOT, be purchased at the post office. Stop trying, Joyce!!!! One of my least favorite things about this country. You have to go to a different store entirely to find envelopes. On the bright side, plane tickets and many other such items can be bought on the internet and paid for with cash at any convenience store (this is one way they get around having credit cards… barely no use of credit cards here). Another least favorite thing of mine is that boxed candy and microwave popcorn cannot be purchased at the movie rental store (though blank CDs, DVDs, and batteries can be). Interestingly, CDs can be rented at video rental stores. The music section is just as big as the video section, in fact! Am I right that we cant do this in America? Thats what I told the Japanese people, but I know my memory of America is rapidly failing.
5. Alcohol blood level tolerance is ZERO. They have this really useful service called daiko</EM> similar to a taxi service. A taxi comes with 2 guys in it, and one guy hops out and drives your car home for you with you in it, tailing your taxi. This costs less than a taxi! Yay no drunk driving!
8. There is a national curfew for high school students. They are not allowed to be outside their houses from 10pm-5am. Game halls kick middle school students out at 6pm, and high school students out at 8pm with loudspeaker announcements, so they can get home in time. Plus, part time jobs arent allowed to employ the kids past 10pm, though they do illegally. This is one of the reasons I find it particularly funny that I run into various and sundry students o mine every weekend between the hours of 2-5am on Kokusaidori (downtown). Even funnier is that they approach me to say hi. Normally, students hide when they are smoking cigarettes (must be 20 to smoke) or breaking curfew and see a teacher, because the teacher will report to the school, and they will get punished. Actually, any adult who sees them is supposed to report them to their high school for punishment, but unless theyre wearing their uniform (which is distinctive for each school for just this reason) no strangers have any way of knowing who to report them to. This is one way in which Japan is very different from America. It is the school`s job to control/punish student misbehavior OUTSIDE of school. Back to what I was saying. My kids will flag me town from a block away on the back of their motorcycles with cigarettes dangling out of their mouths at 4am to say hi. Fearless hooligans! I marvel. They know Americans wont report them, due to our renown belief in independence: school has no business meddling with their private lives. I even had one kid last week wave hi to me on the street when he was skipping class. The gumption.
Anyway, this may have been somewhat acceptable behaviour in America, but here in Japan it creates constant ISSUES. My food and drink related habits are in violation of the law of Ambulatory Consumption. The most frequent infractions occur when I'm rushing in the morning and bring my (third cup of) coffee with me in the car to school, then carry it through the parking lot and into the building, frantically sipping all the while in a last ditch attempt to imbibe enough caffeine as to achieve the same level of frenetic genkidom as my students. I think the Okinawans have some sort of built-in detector for violators of the Ambulatory Consumption law, because people near and far turn and stare at me in accusatory silence as I walk the schoolyard-become-gauntlet-of-shame. By the time I realize what's happening, it's too late to rid myself of the cup, so I try to look like a dumb foreigner (not difficult) and shuffle along a bit faster.
I also get caught chewing gum in class all the time (fyi: in America a lot of people aren't allowed to chew gum in class, but in Japan it's supposedly rude to chew gum in public at all). The sensei (not having realized that Joyce-san, too, is misbehaving) will yell, "Takahiro!!!! We don't chew gum! Go spit it out!" Takahiro gives me an accusatory look, as I have been happily chomping away right there in front of the entire class for the last 20 minutes without realizing it. In order to assuage his feelings of injustice, usually I sidle over to the trashcan along with Takahiro and we spit it out together, producing waves of giggles throughout the classroom, and an embarrassed little, "Oh, Joyce-san!" from the teacher who has just realized her mistake and has fallen into a blushing fit.
There are actually some general eating and drinking rules besides those mentioned above, which you ought to know if you are planning on coming to visit me (which I firmly believe each and every one of you will do!). It's rude to refill your own glass when drinking in a group. If you want more, you should pick up the bottle and pour some into the glass of the person next to you, even if their glass is full and you can only fit a drop or two. They will then return the favor. Traditionally, the youngest person pours all the drinks. I haven't experienced this in Okinawa, but when I hung out with mainland Japanese in Chapel Hill, that's how they did it. It is also rude to take food from a communal eating dish with the end of your chopsticks that you're eating with. Usually when you go out to eat in Japan, you go to an izakaya where various group dishes are ordered and passed around. No one ever orders their "own" food in an izakaya. Instead of taking the food with the eating end of the chopsticks, you should turn them around and use the end that your hands are holding onto, then turn them back around to eat from your own plate… I haven't yet figured out why this isn't messy for anyone except me.
While I'm thinking about it, let me detail a few more oddities that you will have to deal with when visiting.
1. ATMs have working hours
Ladies and Gents, Im sorry to say that many ATMs here are only open until 8pm weekdays, and closed on the weekend. I suppose the machines need family time as well. Perhaps there is an ATM union here, which has worked hard and suffered many casualties in the struggle for a 40 hour work week. Their slogan, ATMs: the folks that brought you the weekend! Give it back to them!
2. The standard color of a parasol is BLACK. Don't use any other color or you will attract stares. Its perfectly fine to use a black umbrella, but it needs to have an old granny wooden hook handle if you want to fit it. Practically all women refuse to leave the house without a black parasol in the heat of the summer. Before I had my car, I used to walk 15 minutes to school (in August) at 8.30am. Within seconds, my entire body was covered in sweat. It gushed from every pore, creating ginormous splotches on my shirts, pools in my elbows, rivulets down my legs, and soaking my hair. Truly phenomenal. After a week of looking at ladies carrying umbrellas around, I finally tried it myself and it worked wonders. Cut my sweating by a third. Why they use BLACK, however, is a mystery to me.
3. When attending an Okinawan wedding, you are required to give the bride and groom 1-万 (roughly $100). This is not a matter of choice, it's how the wedding gets paid for (on the mainland they have the same tradition, but it's a lot more expensive!) So watch out if you are invited to a wedding. Without that money-envelope, you aint gettin in the door. (You also give money at funerals but I dont know how much).
4. Envelopes cannot, I repeat, CANNOT, be purchased at the post office. Stop trying, Joyce!!!! One of my least favorite things about this country. You have to go to a different store entirely to find envelopes. On the bright side, plane tickets and many other such items can be bought on the internet and paid for with cash at any convenience store (this is one way they get around having credit cards… barely no use of credit cards here). Another least favorite thing of mine is that boxed candy and microwave popcorn cannot be purchased at the movie rental store (though blank CDs, DVDs, and batteries can be). Interestingly, CDs can be rented at video rental stores. The music section is just as big as the video section, in fact! Am I right that we cant do this in America? Thats what I told the Japanese people, but I know my memory of America is rapidly failing.
5. Alcohol blood level tolerance is ZERO. They have this really useful service called daiko</EM> similar to a taxi service. A taxi comes with 2 guys in it, and one guy hops out and drives your car home for you with you in it, tailing your taxi. This costs less than a taxi! Yay no drunk driving!
8. There is a national curfew for high school students. They are not allowed to be outside their houses from 10pm-5am. Game halls kick middle school students out at 6pm, and high school students out at 8pm with loudspeaker announcements, so they can get home in time. Plus, part time jobs arent allowed to employ the kids past 10pm, though they do illegally. This is one of the reasons I find it particularly funny that I run into various and sundry students o mine every weekend between the hours of 2-5am on Kokusaidori (downtown). Even funnier is that they approach me to say hi. Normally, students hide when they are smoking cigarettes (must be 20 to smoke) or breaking curfew and see a teacher, because the teacher will report to the school, and they will get punished. Actually, any adult who sees them is supposed to report them to their high school for punishment, but unless theyre wearing their uniform (which is distinctive for each school for just this reason) no strangers have any way of knowing who to report them to. This is one way in which Japan is very different from America. It is the school`s job to control/punish student misbehavior OUTSIDE of school. Back to what I was saying. My kids will flag me town from a block away on the back of their motorcycles with cigarettes dangling out of their mouths at 4am to say hi. Fearless hooligans! I marvel. They know Americans wont report them, due to our renown belief in independence: school has no business meddling with their private lives. I even had one kid last week wave hi to me on the street when he was skipping class. The gumption.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
マヨラー (MAYORAA)
There are so many bizarre things about Japan that just seem normal by this time. I wish that I could recognize more of them as bizarre so that I could share them with you. Remember the good ol days when I thought karate chopping a watermelon open was strange? I am slowly being transformed into a creature of my environment. Did I once drive on the right side of the road?! Even seeing it in an American film fills me with panic and a sense of something wrong. Did I once dare to dream of wearing my SHOES inside my house?! To do so here would be the end of life itself! I fight to retain some sense of what I once was... yes! there it is!...
I WILL NEVER EAT FRENCH FRIES WITH CHOPSTICKS!!!!!
There are some good Japanese words that I might start posting about. We shall begin with the world マヨラー (MAYORAA), which shall provide a tidbit of cultural insite for you.
マヨラー: a lover of mayonnaise
I stumbled upon this word during a lunch-time chat with some of my fellow senseis. They were commenting on how bizarre it was that I like to eat raw vegetables, such as carrot and celery sticks. One does not really eat raw vegetables here. One cooks them. I often bring carrot/celery sticks to school as a fourth-period snack to sate my appetite before lunch. Every time I crunch into one, the entire staff room turns in their seat and looks at me (whichever part of me they can manage to see, behind the pile of crap on my desk). Then someone inevitably comments,
`Joisu! You like eat carrots, HEH?!? You RABBIT!!!!!!!` (please imagine this being followed by hysterical laughter.)
Anyway, I decided to freak them out further by telling them that Americans enjoy dipping raw celery sticks in peanut butter and eating THAT. Or apples and PB. Or bananas and PB. Their jaws dropped further with every addition to the list. Beginning to enjoy myself, I described Ants on a Log (that kids snack where you put PB down the celery boat hole and stick raisins on top) and a PB, honey and banana sandwich. One of them looked slightly ill.
My good friend Shouko, however, had some cards up her own sleeve. Nodding enthusiastically at my story, she began her own:
`HEH, culture so different!` she cries. `Joisu, do you know, Japanese we like to eat celery with mayonnai-zu.`
Stop. Smile. Wait. I blink and venture a response:
`What, like just... dipping celery in a bowl of mayo?`
I say, watching Shouko`s hands in horror as they trace the shape of what I take to be a ginormous bowl of mayo and a celery sticks` descent into its yellow-tinged jiggly fat-filled depths.
`YES! Dip!`
She further explains that Japanese people as a whole love mayonnaise and eat it on everything; they dip all sorts of vegetables into it (the examples given were radishes and celery) or they smear it onto cooked vegetables (such as broccoli), or heap it all over a bowl of cabbage. Or a pizza. Or anything really. They like to slather a thick layer of mayo on slices of bread and toast it. As she continued to list
mayo-appropriate items, a particularly horrific encounter of my friend Christina was recalled to my mind. At the time, I had envisioned the offending bun to have been a fluke of sorts, but I saw now that it was not!Having bought a bun for the road at the Nago Jusco, and being of the mind that it was filled with sweet cream, Christina (behind the wheel of her car now) took a large and hungry bite. To her utter disgust, as her teeth broke the surface of the bun, the resulting pressure forced the ooze-ation of a giant blob of day-old mayo-filling into her mouth, gagging her and producing vomitation reflexes. Luckily she got these under control without vomiting on herself in her car. However, she was forced to swallow the mouthful of thick slimy mayo-gunk because she couldnt take her hands from the wheel.
The thing that had stuck with me about the story was swallowing this mouthful of thick slimy mayo-gunk. The very thought makes me shudder and feel the urge to shout (in the spirit of Roal Dahl) `bring us a basin! We`re going to be sick!`
I phased back into Shouko`s mayo-monologue just in time to hear her say,
`We even have word for people love mayonnai-zu so so much. They put on everything, like rice! (fyi: rice = LIFE here)! We call them MAYO-RAA.`
If you are unfamiliar with Japanese or Japanese writing, I will explain the immediately apparent origins of this word. The script in which it is written is Katakana: used mostly for writing foreign loan words, a very high percentage of which are English in origin. So when you see a word in Katakana, you immediately hope that it is a Japanified version of a word you already know, and try to sound it out. Give it a go...
Mayo-lover... mayo-laa... mayo-raa... やった！
Now, I walk the halls of school, haunted by stories of mayo. Who in my immediate circle is a mayoraa? Will I ever know? Do I dare to ask? Would the knowledge of such an icky habit cause me to act differently towards said mayo-lover? Anyone could be a mayoraa.. that first year boy, this second year girl. Is the Tea Lady a mayoraa? I glance suspiciously from side to side, and walk faster.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Rollin' with the Boozefighters
Upon exiting the Nago Pineapple Park, we notice a gang of American Harley motorcyclists and found this decidedly odd, as we are living in Japan. But no, that's right: we live in Okinawa. This place was occupied by the US from 1952-1972. The dollar was the only currency, and Okinawans needed a passport to travel to mainland Japan! Currently, 55,000 American military reside in Okinawa. Why should I be surprised that enough of them belong to the famous Boozefighters Motorcycle Club to form the Far East Asia branch? As we walked down the street, they roar up behind us, and we stop to turn and watch them go by. A few wave to us, we wave back, and so begins another adventure in Okinawa. Three Boozefighters pull over to the side of the road and offer us a short ride around the block. Christina, who has a long history of Harleys, doesn't hesitate. I blink and she's gone. As you might imagine, in America Joyce (I have adopted the Okinawan habit of referring to myself in the third person) would not be tempted to do any such thing with any such strangers. But come on, this is Okinawa! Live a little, right. Motorcycles, yeah, I should do this! I'm thinking. The only thing holding me back is:
1. The large and cumbersome bag of recently purchased pineapple products on my arm
2. The short skirt I happen to have donned for our stroll in the sunny Okinawa breeze
Ah, but this stops me for a mere moment. I heap my purchases into Amy's arms and hop on board behind a fellow North Carolinian, who is wearing a confederate flag skullcap, a worn leather jacket, and some very offensive stickers on his helmet. Here, put this on! He grins and hands me a helmet that is about 5 times larger than my head. I am in the midst of attempting to tighten the strap under my chin (safety first, children!) when with a mighty rev of the engine and the fear of God in at least one of our hearts, we screech away from the sidewalk, burning rubber and riding like the devil is on our heels. I hang on for dear life, already regretting my decision to live a little. Where did that every get anyone, really?
Now, I don't know how many of you have ever ridden a motorcycle, or if so, a giant Harley with a Boozefighter-maniac at its wheel. Handles. Whatever. Well, I have. Let me say that this was my first time on a motorcycle.
Completely terrifying, and yet utterly exhilarating.
My fellow Carolinian roared and raced me around Nago City for a good 10 minutes, whizzing and winding in and out of traffic lanes and taking precarious curves at breakneck speed (from my point of view). The moment we had started up, my ill-suited helmet had slipped off my head from behind and was now hanging around my neck by the ill-adjusted strap, choking me and flying behind me in the wind as I screamed and saw death flash before my eyes. Death was moving fast, baby.
But as it turns out I lived on to tell the tale. We all met up at Family Mart, and chatted with our new biker friends. We soon discover that they are part of a motorcycle club called the Boozefighters. Which we should clearly have already been familiar with. Shame on us. This is the oldest bike club in America, founded by WWII vets in 1946. In fact, we are told, Marlon Brando starred in a film about the Boozefighters, which we have undoubtedly seen. Hmm. Not my generation, buddies, I'm thinking at the middle-aged biker dudes. But I don't let on. Oh, Marlon Brando, yes, we nod enthusiastically as if we`ve all seen the film. Where's mom with her bizarre knowledge of 50-60s movies' hotties when you need her? Probably drinking tea on a dojo floor with a group anti-nuclear weapons Buddhist priests on their way to a large non-violent rally somewhere on another billion mile Peace Walk in the American South, I muse.
I blink my way back to the here and now. Tonight, the Boozies tell us, only about 25 of them are riding. Shucks, we`ve never ridden motorcycles?! We can join them!!! Sweeeet! An evening of Harley riding with the famous Boozefighters (who are all very nice and not at all scary fellows, some young newbies but many middle-aged expats who married while in the military on Okinawa and never left). The next step: Big Daddy himself is called over to Family Mart to supervise/approve our joining the group. Now, Big Daddy is the leader of the pack, and fully awe-inspiring. A giant, booming, bronzed biker in his 60s, with a wild white beard and the biggest, shiniest Harley I've ever seen. I believe that "The Original Wild Ones" was written across his leather jacket.
Big Daddy decides we`re an ok lot, and after a short detour to a mountain race track, we continued on with them to Kin, a city surrounded by military bases. You would never know you weren't in America, if it weren't for the Taco Rice stand up the street. Kin is basically the American South incarnate. What made the journey from mountain race-track to Kin really exciting was that it was now night, and we had to cut across the mountain top to get to the highway. The path was about 3 feet wide and lined with high brush. Our entourage of 25 Harleys wound and zigzagged their way along the jungle route, like a multi-culti drunken midnight safari that got lost at sea, but was washed up on an Okinawan mountain.
Previous to our departure, I had changed drivers to ride with Smurf: a small, wiry fellow who had been riding for 35 years and who I judged to be a safer bet than Hot Wheels from NC, if I wanted to come out of this adventure alive. I was right. Unfortunately, I did not remember to pee before we left, and I almost popped a leak on the very long journey to follow. Our arrival in Kin was without exception magnificent: Smurf rode his Harley right into a pool bar blaring country music and filled with good southern boys, and got all of their attention with a final rev of the engine. Following up on the spectacular entrance, I performed a stunning dismount. My dismount was a mix between falling (due to my watery leg muscles, which had been clenched in terror for the last half hour of light-speed travel on the highway) and jumping (the idea being that the fast I got off, the less time there would be for anyone to glimpse my underwear since I was wearing the cursed skirt). Recovering from a shaky landing, I sway back and forth, searching for my land legs. I blink out at the crowd from under the rim of my over-large helmet and my bushel of wind-blown hair, which is thrusting wildly in every direction known to man. Keep in mind, I am wearing Hot Wheels` oversized leather jacket, which hangs about 4 inches past each hand, and is so long that it pretty much covers my skirt, giving me the appearance of a bare-legged biker chick from Hell.
Bladder a-bursting, I skip the introductions and totter for the toilet.
Thanks for the rides, Jason, Smurf, and Chris! Perhaps someday, I'll ride again with the Boozefighters!
1. The large and cumbersome bag of recently purchased pineapple products on my arm
2. The short skirt I happen to have donned for our stroll in the sunny Okinawa breeze
Ah, but this stops me for a mere moment. I heap my purchases into Amy's arms and hop on board behind a fellow North Carolinian, who is wearing a confederate flag skullcap, a worn leather jacket, and some very offensive stickers on his helmet. Here, put this on! He grins and hands me a helmet that is about 5 times larger than my head. I am in the midst of attempting to tighten the strap under my chin (safety first, children!) when with a mighty rev of the engine and the fear of God in at least one of our hearts, we screech away from the sidewalk, burning rubber and riding like the devil is on our heels. I hang on for dear life, already regretting my decision to live a little. Where did that every get anyone, really?
Now, I don't know how many of you have ever ridden a motorcycle, or if so, a giant Harley with a Boozefighter-maniac at its wheel. Handles. Whatever. Well, I have. Let me say that this was my first time on a motorcycle.Completely terrifying, and yet utterly exhilarating.
My fellow Carolinian roared and raced me around Nago City for a good 10 minutes, whizzing and winding in and out of traffic lanes and taking precarious curves at breakneck speed (from my point of view). The moment we had started up, my ill-suited helmet had slipped off my head from behind and was now hanging around my neck by the ill-adjusted strap, choking me and flying behind me in the wind as I screamed and saw death flash before my eyes. Death was moving fast, baby.
But as it turns out I lived on to tell the tale. We all met up at Family Mart, and chatted with our new biker friends. We soon discover that they are part of a motorcycle club called the Boozefighters. Which we should clearly have already been familiar with. Shame on us. This is the oldest bike club in America, founded by WWII vets in 1946. In fact, we are told, Marlon Brando starred in a film about the Boozefighters, which we have undoubtedly seen. Hmm. Not my generation, buddies, I'm thinking at the middle-aged biker dudes. But I don't let on. Oh, Marlon Brando, yes, we nod enthusiastically as if we`ve all seen the film. Where's mom with her bizarre knowledge of 50-60s movies' hotties when you need her? Probably drinking tea on a dojo floor with a group anti-nuclear weapons Buddhist priests on their way to a large non-violent rally somewhere on another billion mile Peace Walk in the American South, I muse.
I blink my way back to the here and now. Tonight, the Boozies tell us, only about 25 of them are riding. Shucks, we`ve never ridden motorcycles?! We can join them!!! Sweeeet! An evening of Harley riding with the famous Boozefighters (who are all very nice and not at all scary fellows, some young newbies but many middle-aged expats who married while in the military on Okinawa and never left). The next step: Big Daddy himself is called over to Family Mart to supervise/approve our joining the group. Now, Big Daddy is the leader of the pack, and fully awe-inspiring. A giant, booming, bronzed biker in his 60s, with a wild white beard and the biggest, shiniest Harley I've ever seen. I believe that "The Original Wild Ones" was written across his leather jacket.
Big Daddy decides we`re an ok lot, and after a short detour to a mountain race track, we continued on with them to Kin, a city surrounded by military bases. You would never know you weren't in America, if it weren't for the Taco Rice stand up the street. Kin is basically the American South incarnate. What made the journey from mountain race-track to Kin really exciting was that it was now night, and we had to cut across the mountain top to get to the highway. The path was about 3 feet wide and lined with high brush. Our entourage of 25 Harleys wound and zigzagged their way along the jungle route, like a multi-culti drunken midnight safari that got lost at sea, but was washed up on an Okinawan mountain.
Previous to our departure, I had changed drivers to ride with Smurf: a small, wiry fellow who had been riding for 35 years and who I judged to be a safer bet than Hot Wheels from NC, if I wanted to come out of this adventure alive. I was right. Unfortunately, I did not remember to pee before we left, and I almost popped a leak on the very long journey to follow. Our arrival in Kin was without exception magnificent: Smurf rode his Harley right into a pool bar blaring country music and filled with good southern boys, and got all of their attention with a final rev of the engine. Following up on the spectacular entrance, I performed a stunning dismount. My dismount was a mix between falling (due to my watery leg muscles, which had been clenched in terror for the last half hour of light-speed travel on the highway) and jumping (the idea being that the fast I got off, the less time there would be for anyone to glimpse my underwear since I was wearing the cursed skirt). Recovering from a shaky landing, I sway back and forth, searching for my land legs. I blink out at the crowd from under the rim of my over-large helmet and my bushel of wind-blown hair, which is thrusting wildly in every direction known to man. Keep in mind, I am wearing Hot Wheels` oversized leather jacket, which hangs about 4 inches past each hand, and is so long that it pretty much covers my skirt, giving me the appearance of a bare-legged biker chick from Hell.
Bladder a-bursting, I skip the introductions and totter for the toilet.
Thanks for the rides, Jason, Smurf, and Chris! Perhaps someday, I'll ride again with the Boozefighters!
Monday, November 20, 2006
Pineapples
holy crap,
eBlogger just gave me the new option of changing font as well as font size on my blog!
changing font color has clearly also been added as an option. sorry Caitwin, your vision may NEVER recover now!
Ah, no reason to get over-zealous though. What was I doing here (besides avoiding writing my Statement of Purpose for graduate school?) Yes.....
The Nago Pineapple Park
eBlogger just gave me the new option of changing font as well as font size on my blog!
changing font color has clearly also been added as an option. sorry Caitwin, your vision may NEVER recover now!
Ah, no reason to get over-zealous though. What was I doing here (besides avoiding writing my Statement of Purpose for graduate school?) Yes.....
PINEAPPLES!!!!
The Nago Pineapple Park
I recently journeyed to the distant city of Nago (you've heard that line before, haven't you? Over time it may have become apparent that many of my bestest buddies dwell in the Northern Reaches of my island and I am repeatedly drawn to them and their tatami). There were many plans for the weekend: hikes, waterfalls, pineapple parks. 
The park was as far as we got, but boy was it Good Fun. Check it out! To the left you see our descent into the Jungle of Pineapple Park. Automated Pineapple carts escort you along tracks through the undergrowth for a measly 500 yen, as an automated voice tells you many a thing about pineapples, most of which you never dared dream that you wanted to know. The entire experience was heavily reminiscent of Jurassic Park, and made me crave orange juice and yogurt Popsicles (a reference to be understood by 2 people only).
Occasionally, we would spy a fellow Pineapple cart through the dense undergrowth. I felt that the best course of action at such times was to wave frantically with one hand and snap dozens of photos with the other. Slick and Chrissy kept their cool and listened to the pineapple lady's spiel instead. After the journey through the jungle/pineapple fields, the cart let you off at the pineapple winery. Here, you can look at where they produce pineapple wine through glass panes, but unfortunately you cant really get too much info on the actual process. Then you enter the TASTING ROOMS. These rooms are where the pineapple park hopes that a tourist, by shoving as many free samples of pineapple products into their stomach as they want, will be convinced to buy something.
The park was as far as we got, but boy was it Good Fun. Check it out! To the left you see our descent into the Jungle of Pineapple Park. Automated Pineapple carts escort you along tracks through the undergrowth for a measly 500 yen, as an automated voice tells you many a thing about pineapples, most of which you never dared dream that you wanted to know. The entire experience was heavily reminiscent of Jurassic Park, and made me crave orange juice and yogurt Popsicles (a reference to be understood by 2 people only).
Occasionally, we would spy a fellow Pineapple cart through the dense undergrowth. I felt that the best course of action at such times was to wave frantically with one hand and snap dozens of photos with the other. Slick and Chrissy kept their cool and listened to the pineapple lady's spiel instead. After the journey through the jungle/pineapple fields, the cart let you off at the pineapple winery. Here, you can look at where they produce pineapple wine through glass panes, but unfortunately you cant really get too much info on the actual process. Then you enter the TASTING ROOMS. These rooms are where the pineapple park hopes that a tourist, by shoving as many free samples of pineapple products into their stomach as they want, will be convinced to buy something. Right, well it worked with me.
First you walk the gauntlet of Pineapple Wines. If you can still see straight upon emerging, you will head for the pineapple cakes (if you cant see straight, you might misdirect yourself to the lady with the Goya Juice... i don't know how much the goya lobbyists are paying the pineapple plant for this woman to be stationed there but seeing as her product probably kills at least 10 tourists a day, it must be quite a hefty sum). Not only pineapple cakes: pineapple breads, pineapple cookies, pineapple chocolate, pineapple crackers, pineapple jelly, pineapple jello, pineapple pie, pickled pineapple.
And thats all there is to know about shrimp.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
"I LOVE OKINAWA... WE LOVE OKINAWA!"
Yes, "I LOVE OKINAWA, WE LOVE OKINAWA!" was our cheer. This lovely Sunday morning, I hopped in the car with a self-diagnosed "lanky Brit" named Yvonne and zipped an hour up north to Malibu Beach, to participate in the last O.C.E.A.N. Okinawa Beach Cleanup of 2006! Our fellow newbie JET, Jenna-from-Hawaii, is always actively trying to get other JETs to come to beach cleanups... which they never do because they are always too hungover. Shame on YOU ALL! Of the many who promised, but Joyce, Yvonne, Jaimee and Jess came through! Please, give us more free hotdogs!!!!!
After a heart-filled group cheer (one more time? "I LOVE OKINAWA, WE LOVE OKINAWA!") we set out for 1.5 hours of cruising the beach with our tongs, gloves, trash bags and good company. After that, about 25 volunteers rejoiced with hotdogs, beers, and new-found feelings of Good Doing. Next time, fellow JETers, next time.
Monday, November 13, 2006
渡名喜村 (Tonaki Island)
For those of you who haven't figured it out already (mom:-) you can see a bigger version of a picture by clicking on the tiny one.
Sunset over Tonaki Island from the top of one of its two mountains. It was a cloudy day, but a sudden break in the clouds gave us a glimpse of the sunset!
This past 3-day weekend I spent visiting "Tonaki Jon": a fellow JET who lives on the small island of Tonaki, a 2-hour ferry ride from the port in Naha on the main island. Despite the short distance, the contrast between Jon's island life and my own is severe.
Below, a shot of the inhabited area of Tonaki as well as the port, taken from the top of one of the island's 2 mountains.
Whereas Ginowan is basically a city that blurs into a giant metropol on either side, stretching from Naha to Okinawa city along highway 58, Tonaki has a population of (almost!) 500 people. Jon teaches at the only school on the island, where he has a total of 47 students, ages 5-15. When it comes time to go to high school, the kids have to seperate from their families and move to the mainland. 
Every MWF morning at 6.30 the citizens of Tonaki gather for community stretching and... sweeping. There are friendly barrels filled with straw brooms lining the islands dirt roads. 
Everyone knows Jon. Most of the obaachans (little old ladies) on the island are desperately worried about his immediate survival, in fact. It seems a man alone is not capable of living long in Japan. So every few days, Jon finds homemade meals sitting on his doorstep, left by the Good Fairies of Tonaki. Sometimes, he even finds his shoes (which, in a rush, he left in a disarray heaped before his door) nicely straighted upon his return.
Above and left: this is what the "main street" of Jon's island looks like... actually they all look identical except that the main street has cute little night-lights along the sides.
Jon has his own traditional Japanese style house, as well as a large garden with papaya trees and a hechima vineyard. Hechima is loofa: Okinawans eat this vegetable instead of washing themselves with it like we do. I think it's actually quite tasty, though Amy Sherman has some serious complaints about it. かめ- かめ-! Amy.
LEFT: Jon holds one of Tonaki's many butterflies for one of his young students to inspect. She is feeding it a flower (coming in from the left!)
Tonaki is a beautiful little island. There are deserted beaches, 2 mountains (both of which we hiked) and a lot of interesting flaura. The first day when we were out on the beach, we ran into 2 of Jon's students with their mother and baby sister. They immediately invited on their lunch-time outting to the top of mountain #1. As we rambled along, the mother gave us a detailed lesson on the wildlife of Tonaki (she was a true expert!) and told us stories of how she used to play in these very same spots when she was a girl. At the top of the mountain, she pointed out plants and explained how her grandmother had known how to eat the (poisonous) fruit... though young people are losing the knowledge nowadays. At the top of the mountain, she made us grass reed bracelets like she had done with her friends in her youth. Jon tried to teach his little student how to reproduce the bracelet... this failure was turned to success by becoming an engagement ring for the 2 year old.
If you are a gaijin and hungry on Tonaki, all you have to do is leave your house and wander around aimlessly. Within a very few minutes, some islander will approach you offering a free meal. This happened to us at least twice.
The most interesting part of my visit to Tonaki was the Nighttime Spear Fishing expedition. For a full review of this sport, please read the article on Jons blog. Jon had already told me about his underwater adventures before I came to Tonaki, and despite my intense fear of water, I was determined to venture forth and conquer! Just as I had suspected, the experience turned out to be the most terrifying thing Id ever done (with the exception of 24 hours in 2001 that I spent with Crazy Henriette, the German autobahn, the Dutch police, that seedy nighttime wharf and sleeping in our broken down car in the middle of crack-ville of Amesterdam... I can tell you more about that in person if you so desire). In the middle of the night, Jon donned wis wetsuit and I (lacking a wetsuit) donned several layers of clothing. We also donned snorkels and big flippers on our footsies. Jons extremely friendly teacher, Nigo-sensei, picked us up and drove us out to the furthest point of the island. We parked the car and walked up the rocky beach by moonlight. We waded out into the ocean. Each adventurer was armed with an underwater flashlight. Jon and Sensei were armed with harpoon-like fish spears as well (you could both hold and cock them using only one hand and a rubber device, leaving the other hand free for the flashlight). I had passed up on the spear, knowing full-well that I would be dedicating all of my attention to not completely freaking out under-water in a choral reef in the middle of the night. Not to mention figuring out how to use the snorkel, which I had never used before. In fact, it occurred to me and I watched Sensei give a wave goodbye, and contemplated with a heavy heart the significance of his last words of friendly advice (`dont touch the dangerous fish`) I hadnt really EVER swam with my head underwater... Id certainly never had my eyes open underwater... and the longest I had kept myself afloat at all in the last 6 years had probably been the 5 minute Swim Test that Id had to pass to graduate from college.
Here is a foto of an Okinawan coral reef... I didn't take it, nor is it the one where I was, but it's just to give you an idea, incase you've never been underwater like me!
Wow, underwater life sure is cool. Being a land dweller, I never think about what the underwater world is like. I imagine it being mucky gray water and some sand and that's about it. WROOOOONG. The Discovery Channel had it right on this one. Plants, coral, fish everywhere, bright colors, clear water. The thing that freaked me out the most was the perspective change... even though we never left waters in which I could stand, underwater it looked like it was about 15 ft deep! I didn't believe that I could touch the bottom if I wanted to so kept trying to reassure myself. Well, actually I had to stand up every 10 minutes or so to stop from completely freaking out and hyperventilating, just because I was underwater. Luckily staying afloat was no problem, since those flipper things basically turn you into a fish. Don't have to do any work at all!
It was about all I could do to trail around after Jon and his flashlight beam, as he darted around like a merman with his triton, jabbing at fish right and left. He kept pointing out really interesting things to me that were cool but mostly just freaked me out more... like this huge spikey purple critter stuff to the side of a rock, or this puffer fish that he found sleeping, and very kindly poked at for a good while so that it would puff up for me... he caught 2 fish. I was in charge of holding the dead fish bag, since I wasn't hunting myself. I couldn't make myself watch the little fishies die, though I knew we would eat them and they wouldn't go to waste. I wasn't a very good dead-fish-bag-holder, in the end. After an hour, it was starting to get really cold in the water, and I'd about reached my absolute no freakout limit with the water business. We headed home to warm showers! The next day, Nigo sensei brought us sashimi, made with the very fishies we'd caught, and I must say, it was delicious. I am on my way to becoming a fan of sashimi (raw fish), though I had quite a bit of trouble downing it when I first arrived here.
The next day, we hiked mountain number 2 with Nigo sensei and his family. This was a longer and more strenuous hike (since we'd actually cheated and drove up mountain #1 the day before). But it sure was worth it... at the end we saw a very nice view of Tonaki and even some sunset. We also played with Nigo sensei's children, who are cool lil chittins. I'll tell ya, those Tonaki kids sure know how to count to 10 in English. If there's one thing they can aaaaaaall do, it's count to 10. 
That evening, we decided to have another go at night fishing... this time without getting wet. We grabbed Jon's fishing pole and mosied down to the peer. Apparently fishing at night is really popular on small islands where there is nothing else to do. There were 5 fishing poles already set up on the peer (they attach these glow in the dark things to the ends of the stick at night so they can see them move if they're bitten). 
However, after a while we decided that the five poles all belonged to this one fellow who'd just laid down on the concrete and was happily snoring away, waiting for a fish to bite. We spent most of our fishing time discussing how the Tonakan would know if he caught a fish, and never got an answer. He didn't catch any and neither did we, but it was good fun all the same. Here is me fishing, another first!
Bye, Tonaki!
Sunset over Tonaki Island from the top of one of its two mountains. It was a cloudy day, but a sudden break in the clouds gave us a glimpse of the sunset!
This past 3-day weekend I spent visiting "Tonaki Jon": a fellow JET who lives on the small island of Tonaki, a 2-hour ferry ride from the port in Naha on the main island. Despite the short distance, the contrast between Jon's island life and my own is severe.
Below, a shot of the inhabited area of Tonaki as well as the port, taken from the top of one of the island's 2 mountains.
Whereas Ginowan is basically a city that blurs into a giant metropol on either side, stretching from Naha to Okinawa city along highway 58, Tonaki has a population of (almost!) 500 people. Jon teaches at the only school on the island, where he has a total of 47 students, ages 5-15. When it comes time to go to high school, the kids have to seperate from their families and move to the mainland. 
Every MWF morning at 6.30 the citizens of Tonaki gather for community stretching and... sweeping. There are friendly barrels filled with straw brooms lining the islands dirt roads. 
Everyone knows Jon. Most of the obaachans (little old ladies) on the island are desperately worried about his immediate survival, in fact. It seems a man alone is not capable of living long in Japan. So every few days, Jon finds homemade meals sitting on his doorstep, left by the Good Fairies of Tonaki. Sometimes, he even finds his shoes (which, in a rush, he left in a disarray heaped before his door) nicely straighted upon his return. Above and left: this is what the "main street" of Jon's island looks like... actually they all look identical except that the main street has cute little night-lights along the sides.
Jon has his own traditional Japanese style house, as well as a large garden with papaya trees and a hechima vineyard. Hechima is loofa: Okinawans eat this vegetable instead of washing themselves with it like we do. I think it's actually quite tasty, though Amy Sherman has some serious complaints about it. かめ- かめ-! Amy.
LEFT: Jon holds one of Tonaki's many butterflies for one of his young students to inspect. She is feeding it a flower (coming in from the left!)Tonaki is a beautiful little island. There are deserted beaches, 2 mountains (both of which we hiked) and a lot of interesting flaura. The first day when we were out on the beach, we ran into 2 of Jon's students with their mother and baby sister. They immediately invited on their lunch-time outting to the top of mountain #1. As we rambled along, the mother gave us a detailed lesson on the wildlife of Tonaki (she was a true expert!) and told us stories of how she used to play in these very same spots when she was a girl. At the top of the mountain, she pointed out plants and explained how her grandmother had known how to eat the (poisonous) fruit... though young people are losing the knowledge nowadays. At the top of the mountain, she made us grass reed bracelets like she had done with her friends in her youth. Jon tried to teach his little student how to reproduce the bracelet... this failure was turned to success by becoming an engagement ring for the 2 year old.
If you are a gaijin and hungry on Tonaki, all you have to do is leave your house and wander around aimlessly. Within a very few minutes, some islander will approach you offering a free meal. This happened to us at least twice.
The most interesting part of my visit to Tonaki was the Nighttime Spear Fishing expedition. For a full review of this sport, please read the article on Jons blog. Jon had already told me about his underwater adventures before I came to Tonaki, and despite my intense fear of water, I was determined to venture forth and conquer! Just as I had suspected, the experience turned out to be the most terrifying thing Id ever done (with the exception of 24 hours in 2001 that I spent with Crazy Henriette, the German autobahn, the Dutch police, that seedy nighttime wharf and sleeping in our broken down car in the middle of crack-ville of Amesterdam... I can tell you more about that in person if you so desire). In the middle of the night, Jon donned wis wetsuit and I (lacking a wetsuit) donned several layers of clothing. We also donned snorkels and big flippers on our footsies. Jons extremely friendly teacher, Nigo-sensei, picked us up and drove us out to the furthest point of the island. We parked the car and walked up the rocky beach by moonlight. We waded out into the ocean. Each adventurer was armed with an underwater flashlight. Jon and Sensei were armed with harpoon-like fish spears as well (you could both hold and cock them using only one hand and a rubber device, leaving the other hand free for the flashlight). I had passed up on the spear, knowing full-well that I would be dedicating all of my attention to not completely freaking out under-water in a choral reef in the middle of the night. Not to mention figuring out how to use the snorkel, which I had never used before. In fact, it occurred to me and I watched Sensei give a wave goodbye, and contemplated with a heavy heart the significance of his last words of friendly advice (`dont touch the dangerous fish`) I hadnt really EVER swam with my head underwater... Id certainly never had my eyes open underwater... and the longest I had kept myself afloat at all in the last 6 years had probably been the 5 minute Swim Test that Id had to pass to graduate from college.
Here is a foto of an Okinawan coral reef... I didn't take it, nor is it the one where I was, but it's just to give you an idea, incase you've never been underwater like me! Wow, underwater life sure is cool. Being a land dweller, I never think about what the underwater world is like. I imagine it being mucky gray water and some sand and that's about it. WROOOOONG. The Discovery Channel had it right on this one. Plants, coral, fish everywhere, bright colors, clear water. The thing that freaked me out the most was the perspective change... even though we never left waters in which I could stand, underwater it looked like it was about 15 ft deep! I didn't believe that I could touch the bottom if I wanted to so kept trying to reassure myself. Well, actually I had to stand up every 10 minutes or so to stop from completely freaking out and hyperventilating, just because I was underwater. Luckily staying afloat was no problem, since those flipper things basically turn you into a fish. Don't have to do any work at all!
It was about all I could do to trail around after Jon and his flashlight beam, as he darted around like a merman with his triton, jabbing at fish right and left. He kept pointing out really interesting things to me that were cool but mostly just freaked me out more... like this huge spikey purple critter stuff to the side of a rock, or this puffer fish that he found sleeping, and very kindly poked at for a good while so that it would puff up for me... he caught 2 fish. I was in charge of holding the dead fish bag, since I wasn't hunting myself. I couldn't make myself watch the little fishies die, though I knew we would eat them and they wouldn't go to waste. I wasn't a very good dead-fish-bag-holder, in the end. After an hour, it was starting to get really cold in the water, and I'd about reached my absolute no freakout limit with the water business. We headed home to warm showers! The next day, Nigo sensei brought us sashimi, made with the very fishies we'd caught, and I must say, it was delicious. I am on my way to becoming a fan of sashimi (raw fish), though I had quite a bit of trouble downing it when I first arrived here.
The next day, we hiked mountain number 2 with Nigo sensei and his family. This was a longer and more strenuous hike (since we'd actually cheated and drove up mountain #1 the day before). But it sure was worth it... at the end we saw a very nice view of Tonaki and even some sunset. We also played with Nigo sensei's children, who are cool lil chittins. I'll tell ya, those Tonaki kids sure know how to count to 10 in English. If there's one thing they can aaaaaaall do, it's count to 10. 
That evening, we decided to have another go at night fishing... this time without getting wet. We grabbed Jon's fishing pole and mosied down to the peer. Apparently fishing at night is really popular on small islands where there is nothing else to do. There were 5 fishing poles already set up on the peer (they attach these glow in the dark things to the ends of the stick at night so they can see them move if they're bitten). 
However, after a while we decided that the five poles all belonged to this one fellow who'd just laid down on the concrete and was happily snoring away, waiting for a fish to bite. We spent most of our fishing time discussing how the Tonakan would know if he caught a fish, and never got an answer. He didn't catch any and neither did we, but it was good fun all the same. Here is me fishing, another first!Bye, Tonaki!
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Naha Nishi English Camp
Go Team! On Thursday I volunteered at Nahanishi (aka, smart kids' school) English camp. I taught 4 hour-long classes to groups of 20 students each, on the subject of my choice. Which was American Thanksgiving. I was giving them the watered down version of Thanksgiving, but you will all be proud to know that I did manage to get the words religious minority, and genocide onto their vocab sheet, tucked away somewhere between mashed potatoes and squash.The difference between these students and my own students was simply amazing. Stunning. Earth-shattering. These kids all sat in the front of the class, and listened. They all wrote "Ms. Joyce's class" across the top of their handout when they got it. They took notes on their own. They understood what I was saying and could ask questions in English. They were so well-trained that all I had to do was begin to point at the flashcard stuck to the board and they all shouted "CRANBERRY SAUCE!!!!" as if their very lives depended on the stuff. Above is a picture of me after class with the Nahanishi dance team (my favorites out of the crowd). They took a liking to me because I told them about my step-sister dancing for Mariah Carey, and they thought it was SUGE!
At the end of the day, they presented the volunteers each with a bouquet of flowers... sniffle. It was a good day. On the ride home I mentally compared my own students to Naha Nishi's and decided that despite their short-comings, I still love my Ginowan kiddies most. For one, they could whoop those Naha Nishi softies' asses any day in a fight, and though they may not know how to study, when offered candy my kids are a LOT faster at crossword puzzles.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Just Another Day at School
Dear Blog,
short rundown on today. First class, Monday morning (3-5). Tally: all but 3 students sleeping. Confiscated 2 projectiles of notible size in 1-4; my second class (one in flight), and made bet with myself as to how big the pool of drool on Shogei's handout would become if I refrained from awakening him for the entire period. Didn't win because my Japanese teacher woke him up first.
During the first 5 minutes of my third class today (3-3), I watched 2 boys directly in front of me tie up a third boy with a large roll of tape, while my Japanese sensei attempted to call roll. They were quite loud, shouting and laughing good naturedly (I quite like these 2 boys, they ask lots of questions and are pretty good at English. One even calls me his oneechan, older sister). The third boy had allowed (most unwisely) his hands to be strapped to his elbows and chest in the beginning, making him helpless. I watched on silently (not doing anything to stop it because, well, that seems to be the way it works here) as the other 2 firmly taped him to his chair and then wrapped his head vertically to his elbows (looked most uncomfortable and probably stuck ferociously to his hair), then to the chair, then began wrapping up his neck. The teacher finally cut in at this point, since the victim was clearly about to have trouble breathing. He had to be unwrapped, and the state of the tape on his head and neck created quite the obstacle towards this objective. This activity probably cut 10 minutes out of all 40 students learning time in 3rd period. Fascinating how the system works here. Never run out of excitement in this joint.
Oh, to add to the previous posts' list of things kids like to do during class: lift hand weights. a number of the older boys keep weights in the classroom and just do curls throughout class, or have these hand strengthening thingies (don't know what they're called but you squeeze them) and work with those. Teachers never seem to say anything.
Cheers!
Joyce Tea-chaaa
short rundown on today. First class, Monday morning (3-5). Tally: all but 3 students sleeping. Confiscated 2 projectiles of notible size in 1-4; my second class (one in flight), and made bet with myself as to how big the pool of drool on Shogei's handout would become if I refrained from awakening him for the entire period. Didn't win because my Japanese teacher woke him up first.
During the first 5 minutes of my third class today (3-3), I watched 2 boys directly in front of me tie up a third boy with a large roll of tape, while my Japanese sensei attempted to call roll. They were quite loud, shouting and laughing good naturedly (I quite like these 2 boys, they ask lots of questions and are pretty good at English. One even calls me his oneechan, older sister). The third boy had allowed (most unwisely) his hands to be strapped to his elbows and chest in the beginning, making him helpless. I watched on silently (not doing anything to stop it because, well, that seems to be the way it works here) as the other 2 firmly taped him to his chair and then wrapped his head vertically to his elbows (looked most uncomfortable and probably stuck ferociously to his hair), then to the chair, then began wrapping up his neck. The teacher finally cut in at this point, since the victim was clearly about to have trouble breathing. He had to be unwrapped, and the state of the tape on his head and neck created quite the obstacle towards this objective. This activity probably cut 10 minutes out of all 40 students learning time in 3rd period. Fascinating how the system works here. Never run out of excitement in this joint.
Oh, to add to the previous posts' list of things kids like to do during class: lift hand weights. a number of the older boys keep weights in the classroom and just do curls throughout class, or have these hand strengthening thingies (don't know what they're called but you squeeze them) and work with those. Teachers never seem to say anything.
Cheers!
Joyce Tea-chaaa
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Birthday Madness
Well, it wasn't really my birthday that was mad, as the title of this blog entry might imply. My bday happened to fall on the same day as the annual Okinawa JET Halloween party. Which was madness. This picture above is my birthday dinner, which my wonderful friends (in the picture) took me out to, at a Mexican restaurant here (in Okinawan, such places are actually run by Mexicans, as opposed to the mainland). Wow, it was really fantastic to eat cheese again after many months of no cheese. Update on me and cheese: my Japanese friend Yuki, who is married to a marine and pregnant, just let it drop in conversation last week that the US army gives her free CHEESE from the American stores on base, as part of the package deal for being pregnant. Apparently, as much cheese of various sorts as she wants, none of which she wants, because she doesn't know how to eat cheese, so I will shortly be receiving rations of said cheese. SUGOI! Where was I? Right, my bday. After the happy bday meal, we proceeded to don our costumes (those of us not already dressed to impress) and bused our merry way over to Paul and Mikes, a Canadian bar on Kokusaidori in Naha run by ex-JETs who liked Okinawa so much that they never left. There, we met about a bijillion other JETs and partied like there was no tomorrow. Ah, but there was a tomorrow, full of futatsuyoi. Here, a sampling of fotos!
Nancy and Yvonne are the nuns from hell!
Andy, Jaimee, Dave and Alisa were all very well dressed.
Robyn (the nurse) did Abi's makeup and hair for him.
Amy, Jenny, and Christina all made their own costumes and won best group prize for female superheros!
Cat in the Hat won best female costume! There's Christina too.
Juli from Hawaii was the world's cutest Goya Girl. goya is a very bitter vegetable that they eat here on okinawa.
Michael is Scottish. Doesn't he exude that quality?
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