Ruby Tuesday/The Search for God

My posts have been uploaded late because the internet is being all weird about video.

Weekend recap as follows: Saturday a few others and I helped what’s-his-face celebrate his 24th birthday. We went to a yakiniku restaurant, which can best be explained as a kind of like do-it-yourself kebab without skewers. There are grills in the table, you order the meat and vegetables you want to grill, and cook your savories how you wish. Delicious. Then we went to a bar called Ing, based off of some Rolling Stones something or other. Lots of classic rock, blah blah blah. Not particularly my scene, in both the bar and classic rock sense, but again I was in an unfamiliar area at night, so I stuck with the crowd. No carrying anyone home this time, so overall it wasn't half bad.

On Sunday I went with Margaret to some International Center up in the mountains for the International Fest I mentioned in an earlier post. We learned about Serbia (from a Serbian man speaking Japanese. Augh!), how babies are made (with really cute pictures and what might have been free verse poetry), a little bit of traditional Korean dance, and something about people who made stuff with bamboo. I didn’t catch most of it, but apparently everything in Europe started with the Slavs. Who weren’t actually Slavs, by the way, but a lot of them had “slav” in their names, and so were dubbed Slavs. The Serbian/Slavian man presenting thought that was unfair. Also, the French claim to be the root of civilization. As do the Italians. My vote is for the Israelis, but it’s not my battle.

Then they showed a Senegalese film about FGM, which made me cry. I was the only dark face in the room/building/all of Kameoka, sitting on the front row, wiping my eyes. We saw one of the men from the taiko group there, and when I showed up at taiko yesterday he said something to me, mildly mocking, most likely, about crying during the film. Curse you, cinema, for your hold over my emotions!

I left early to walk down the mountain and catch a train. I left the Center at 3 p.m. to give myself two hours to get to Kyoto Assembly Church’s English service. I should have given myself four.

Walking that scary road down the mountain, like the places where the sidewalks ended and the mirrored curves began, took about 50 minutes. I also took a picture.

I watched the train I needed pull out of the station, a strangely ominous sight that would set the tone for the evening. I paid too much for a ticket because I couldn’t read the kanji on the screen, got on a train, and headed back into the main part of Kameoka. I had given myself a little extra time to get to where I needed to go, but when I discovered that I had forgotten to write train changes down on my map, I had to dash home and look them up on Hyperdia. And so it goes.

Scribble, dash, watch train I need pull out from station.

Buy ticket, take deep breaths.

Get on train to Kyoto. Arrive, get confused.

Call Margaret to ask about kanji for station I need.

Confusion.

Find station on map, buy ticket, realize will be 15 minutes late.

Confusion. Call Margaret to find platform I need.

Watch train I need pull out of station. Panic, almost leave and go sit by the river and drink coffee and journal my despair.

Get on next train. Realize I’m going to be thirty minutes late.

Get of train in Nihonjin area of Kyoto (where there aren’t other foreigners) and realize lost ticket and map. Ask station
attendants for help.

Realize lost map. Can remember directions (pretty simple) but have to find a way to cross the street and go north. Call Margaret.

Go north. Turn east at a street whose name I recognize from the map. Keep walking.


Keep walking.

Keep walking.

Keep walking.

Ask for directions.

Keep walking.

Keep walking.

Keep walking.

It is now 6:15. Turn back towards station, defeated.

Walk.

Walk.

Walk.

Walk.

Walk.

Return to Kameoka and break out a Chu-hai.

Why, God?

However, the good thing is that I got exercise and inadvertently convinced Margaret that she needed to accompany to church next week. I also managed to prove to the rest of the Kameokan crew (at another evening Nodame Cantabile vieweing that night) that Christians can get frustrated up to their ears and snappish without completely losing their religion. I did warn them by shouting, “I’m CRANKY!” when they walked in the door, so they thought my grumpy attitude was more amusing than anything else. How do I know? They told me.

I was sore yesterday and am sorer today. Even my arms are sore (from swinging while I walked? Heck if I now why). Taiko therefore was a little bit painful, but still a lot of fun. Phil, Margaret and I were there for the second week in a row while Liz and Paulette joined us for the first time. Just beating some drums. I did manage to get my thumbs under control, so congratulations to me. The Nihonjin at taiko are very friendly and genki, and since I have no other means of communication I resort to hamming. It's surprisingly cross-cultural. I think I might have gotten sincerely complimented on my taiko almost-skills, but I couldn’t quite tell. They never do it to our faces, just talk and point until they see us looking back. I got pointed at a couple of times, and they weren’t laughing so…Success? That or they were figuring out how to politely tell me to never come back.

Then Liz and I danced like goofs around the empty room, once the drums had been put away. The children laughed and the peasants rejoiced. I missed modern dance (Liz is a dance major, and totally could have spanked me if she had chosen), so I rented Step Up 2: The Streets when I got home. See review below.

I’ve already gotten into a terrible sleeping schedule of going to bed whenever the heck I want and getting up in time to shower and be mostly dressed when Margaret knocks on my door in the morning. This means I’m wiped for the whole day, then I go home and sleep with the windows open (since I’m too tired to go outside and enjoy the weather) until about 7. Then I wake up, eat something, and putter around until I'm sleepy again, which is usually around 2:00 a.m. Repeat. That’s going to stop really quickly when I start teaching and have to catch a bus at 7:09 in the morning. Curses, you mountain schools!

I laminated my pictures for my self-introduction today, and naturally the other members of my department had to expect. They laughed at the difference in height between pictures of the kids as children and now, asked me how old my dog was, and said it was very cool that my father is a pianist. They were extremely complimentary. My family, apparently, looks like it's made of movie stars, but guess who's ichi-ban kawai?

Grandma.

That's right, tell everyone you know. My grandmother is 97 years old, she'll be 98 in December, she can still drive for 20 miles on a clear day and is genki as can be. And the Japanese men I work with think she's cute. The number one cutest of the whole family, to be exact.

I can't top that, so I'll end here.

Movie Review: Step Up 2: The Streets
Acting: Better than I expected. Cassie should never open her mouth. Not to sing, not to speak. The awesome part is that they label her character in the movie as a triple threat (acting, singing, dancing), yet of all the lines delivered in the movie, hers are the least convincing. Also, she dances rarely and sings never. Shut up, Cassie. You’re only famous because you’re pretty. Even the corny, “Andie, you taught us that blah blah blah,” when all the crew shows up on the main character’s doorstep are more better. Maybe it’s because it was the only line some of them had in the whole hour and a half, so they put extra effort into it. Of course, since I was watching this on my computer, I pretty much skipped all the parts when people were talking, so this may not be the most accurate assessment.

Plot: Nobody gives a crap about street dancers having something to say. For real. The dancers might, and I might sympathize, but when it gets down to it, nobody considers b-boys and b-girls as a force to be reckoned with in the society. They do make for great selling points in commercials and music videos. Don’t get me wrong, I think they’re all light-years cooler than I am, and smart as whips (I guess, I don’t really know). However, what happens when the days of street dancing end? Mayhap I am being extra-harsh because of how the street dancing sense of community and purpose was presented, but so much of those, “Hey, listen!” speeches was complete and utter idealistic bull. Has anyone watched someone spinning on his or her head and thought, “Ah. I do indeed need to reassess my personal values,” or “Indeed, that portrayal of love hits close to home”? Speak up, people. Whatever; I dance for the money, bro!

Also, there was a nearly-disregarded subplot about the main character learning to do something like feel the music. She never really changed, so I’m pretty sure she never learned jack diddly. So much for dance school. Also, why the heck would any school reject a kid with perfectly white teeth but a slight need of dental work? The character of Smiles made no sense as an outcast.

Dancing: It’s why I rented the movie, of course. I got exactly what I wanted. The dancing is pretty amazing. That shirt-trick in the beginning could come in handy in the future. I’ll watch it again tonight, but just the good parts, a.k.a. the dance scenes and the credits, when they dance some more.

A two-fer for ye, ya lucky suckers!

Because it takes an hour to write everything down and only about 30 minutes to yammer at a screen and cut out the times when I trail into silence, I opted to yammer. Here yammereth I for eleven minutes, about the beaujazz I promised to talk about in the upcoming post. This is that post, so I talked. Also, I'm wiped. I'd hibernate if I hadn't committed to being social this weekend.

End notes:

• By the way, the people listening to my presentation were so uninterested in my lesson plan that when I asked for advice, they asked me where I got my shoes.
• Quick clarification: My pants were damp because I had washed them that morning and hung them up when I got home. I thought I would be in Kameoka for the night, but since I didn't know where I was I stuck with the large group. And gained some serious blackmail material. Success?
• Quick change from damp pants to Wed. morning conference talk, I know. It has been a long week. The video got cut off a little, but all you miss is me complaining about how boring Day Two was.
• When I'm at the BOE, I spend the whole day listening to people talk on the phone. That's how I got so skilled at the Japanese phone conversation. The person on the other end of the line, by the way, talks so fast that no one else could get a word in edgewise, so all in all there's no harm done.
  

Weekday News, Summertime Blues

No blues, actually. It just rhymed, and the song was stuck in my head.

I got my gaijinkomadinkarinkytech (Alien Registration Card), which meant I could finally, after two visits/six hours in SoftBank, I could get a cell phone! After being told yes, we could get keitais without gaijin cards, then no, we needed credit cards, then yes, we could get them, then no, you really do need your g-card, we were rather frustrated with SoftBank. We kind of had a relationship with the guy who worked there, since we spent so much dang time with him. I think he got depressed every time our foreign faces darkened the store doors. So, on the third visit and after another three hours of waiting for some faxes to go through, we got keitais. Mine might be the coolest thing ever. It’s not quite on iPhone level, I admit, because it’s not a touch screen (but there is a touch pad), but it has so many gadgets that I don’t quite know where to start. Plus, the manual’s all in Japanese, so it’s a bit hard to figure everything out.

Also, after a couple hours this last time around a very tan man strolled in, Asian but not Japanese. Preface: The Japanese in my neck of the woods understand English like Oklahomans understand Spanish. We may have had it in class, can understand the Taco Bell Chihuahua, pick out a few words here or there, but most people don’t understand what the heck is being said when Spanish is spoken at a normal level. The Japanese, if English is spoken slowly, can understand some simple words and phrases. If spoken with an accent, with slang, or quickly, there’s a 95% chance that they won’t get the jist of what’s going on. Ergo, we talked about how precious the SoftBank employee was with his pinstripes and lost expression right in front of his face. He gave absolutely no sign of understanding; he definitely would have blushed.

Me to Kim, softly but not whispering: Hello, Gorgeous Arms.

Kim, looking around: Huh?

Me: Look how tan he is!

Kim: Oh, I know. That’s a beautiful color.

Me: He really does have gorgeous arms. He’s kind of cute.

Margaret: True

Kim, turning back around: He really is.

Man turns around, awkward meeting of eyes, smiles a little.

Me: He might have understood that.

Kim: I don’t think he could hear us, though.

Man to SoftBank Employee: Excuse me, do you speak English?

Me: Crap.

Kim asked where he was from (Nepal), I asked what he was doing in Japan (working as a rafting guide on the Hozugawa) and Margaret laughed at us. Now I want to go rafting. And no, it’s not to stalk the cute Nepalese guy. I simply enjoy the wonders of the great outdoors. And beautiful tan man arms.

Question: Why is public nudity a sign that one has a healthy body image? Public baths have been around for ages, yes I know. The Japanese version, or onsen, is one big way that Nihonjin socialize (fear not, those who are concerned. The men and women are separated). I get that. What I don’t get is the emails from JET members advertising onsen trips with lines like “a liberating experience for those who aren’t used to naked time.” “Bring a small towel for covering up while out of the pools if you are the shy type.” As in, if you can’t do the onsen, you have body issues. There’s a distinct superiority, as though those who can bath with others in the nude and not cover up with towels are just that much more liberated and comfortable. It reminds me of a kindergartener who, after learning how to skip, called me. “Hey, Ms. Laurel, look! Am I doing a really, really good job?” What was I supposed to say? I could only answer in the affirmative.

Sure, kindergarteners need someone to tell them that it’s okay to have self-confidence. I am not a kindergartener. I don’t feel the need to prove that I’m comfortable with my body by lounging about with my humps exposed. I figured that not feeling the need to lose weight, despite being surrounded by women on whom a size 0 would seem loose, was a pretty good indicator. However, I feel like if I give an honest excuse, such as, “I just don’t want to,” the onsen-lovers will interpret it as a result of a sadly Puritan upbringing. It was rather amusing, actually, to here why some wouldn’t go the last time around. “Oh, I have no problem being naked. I used to go every week the last time I was here. I’ve just been sick for the past few days.” Note that my excuse of the cloud passing over the moon (Memoirs of a Geisha, anyone?) was totally legit but not much better. Oh well. Never fear, fellow Puritans. I’ll keep my lady business to myself without qualms.

Alright, folks. It’s time for Weekend in a Nutshell. Let’s do this.

Friday: I hibernated. I do it sometimes, when I’ve been away from my residence with a lot of social activity. I don’t answer my phone, I don’t contact the outside world, I just stay at home and do whatever the heck I feel like doing. I might have Skyped my family. Was that Friday? I don’t remember; I hibernated both Thursday and Friday nights, and the activities were much the same.

Saturday: After a lazy morning, Margaret and I went to find out what the heck we could see on the side of a hill from the window at work. It’s something that looks like a mini Washington Monument, but it’s all by its lonesome. After a long, long hike up frustratingly shallow steps and an awkward transition to the type of steps that require lunges, we reached the monument. Something something Peace something. Good job us, take some pictures, follow the red posts up the hill. Shrines, something something, foxes, something, pigeon with a tag on its leg and no fear, observation deck at the top of the mountain. Gorgeous view of Kameoka, which is mostly in a valley (save for half my schools, apparently). The castle ruins are in the tree area in the middle of the city.

I ate a delicious nutritious mango that afternoon, and am paying for it now. My lips itch like crazy.

That evening all of the Kameokan JETs (save Kim, who was in Osaka) went to Kyoto to see Daimonji, which signals the end of Obon. The spirits are dumb, so they need fires in the shape of kanji on the side of a mountain to guide them home. The spirits can read, but they can’t get back to the spirit world…Basically it was an excuse for a bunch of JETs to meet up, exchange contact information, and be loud together. The whole affair is to sit on the river bank, talk until the fire is lit after dark, take some pictures, and then leave. No music, no ceremony, just an “Ooh!” when the fire gets lit, and then leave. After the fire had mostly burned out on the mountain, group of 17 or so went to a Mexican restaurant in Kyoto (not the same. Good, but not the same), stayed out really late, and we were running to the last trains home.

Yesterday: More Nodame! It’s all about music students, the two main characters are pianists, and it makes me miss playing the piano so much it hurts. Itchy fingers. Oh, Grieg! Ah, Rachmaninoff! Ach, Beethoven! Come home for Christmas or buy a good keyboard? It’s a tough decision.

Also, beforehand I snapped this awesome picture of Hot Pants-san in Seiyu. His girlfriend’s shorts were longer than his. What a fox, ne?

Wrote this last Monday—Busy week this week; here’s what will be in the upcoming entry:

Monday: Taiko drumming. I’m not sure if I’m watching or participating, but I’m going.
Tuesday: Conference for all Kyoto JETs during the day. Party at night, ya’ll. Hey!
Wednesday: More conference, calligraphy class at night. Woot!
Thursday: Work, then hibernate because I’ve been all social-ed out. New bike!
Friday: It's happening right now. I'll let you know
Saturday: Allow Margaret to guilt me out of being an antisocial poop and begin cycle again.

Well, that’s my week in a nutshell, both past and future. By the way, I love comments more than I love lamp. So, comment. All ya’ll. Ja ne!