Hell. Yes.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TGxBTsmuRIk


Karen O freaking rules

Osaka Weekend

Hey all,

Sorry I haven't written for so long. I have been reserving this blog for those moments I have in Japan where I feel suddenly inspired and feel the need to write something expositional, but I realize that's stupid. Those moments don't happen very often, so that means updates to my blog don't happen very often, which ultimately, means people stop checking my blog at all. So I decided to update my blog with random goings-on in-between those epic moments, which will hopefully keep people entertained enough to keep reading. Also, I'm sitting at work during spring break with absolutely nothing to do, which means blog time.

Last weekend, Gregg, Lindsay, Danny, Erin, and I decided to head to Osaka, Japan's second-largest city, to catch a sumo tournament. After arriving, we went to the zoo (for which I forgot my camera, naturally) and saw every animal on a blitz tour before it closed. It was probably the most horrifying zoo I've seen and the conditions those animals were kept in is only too reflective of Japanese culture's general lack of compassion toward them. That's all I will say about that so as not to depress anyone. Plus I don't have any pictures.

The first picture I took, actually, was afterward in the subway station. I saw this cross-dressing furry couple and couldn't resist.

Later that night, we went out to eat the first supposedly real Mexican food Erin and I had eaten in Japan. It wasn't U.S. quality, let me tell you, but it was good enough.

Then we hit the bars. We went to The Hub, a crappy excuse for a British pub, and then walked around for a bit in the aptly-named America Town until we came across a little basement bar called Pink Elephant. Great atmosphere. Pretty fish.

Next, we decided to finish the night at a club, so we headed to the Twice Music Cafe. The party just happened to feature some kickass DJs, two of which harnessed the Power Glove and Gameboy to create Nintendo-sampled techno music, or as I like to call it, Nintechno. They even featured a little dance number for the Mario theme, with two girls dressed as koopas. It was the kawaiiest.

The next day was sumo day, but we had plenty of time to spend in the afternoon before the match, so Erin and I did what any normal people would have done: we went to a cat cafe. It was called the Cafe With Many Cats and many cats there were. It cost about $6 U.S. to play with the 15 or so cats for an hour, but it was worth it.

After we were zenned-out via cat petting, we went to the sumo tournament. It was an amazing cultural experience and fun to watch. Before the main event, all of the wrestlers came out for some sort of ritual, during which they get into a circle, or something. It was especially fun watching the yokozuna (champion) trounce the competition.

After the tournament we met up with Ciaran and Adam, ate, and spent a good hour searching for a bar with teddy bears and beer. I'm sure you understand why we spent so much time looking. Eventually, we met up with Dave and his father, who was visiting, did some more barhopping, and eventually called it a pretty early night.

Overall, the trip was amazing and with the Nintechno, cat cafe, and sumo, probably one of the most culture-packed weekends I've had in Japan so far. If only we could have found that teddy bear bar...

Please Answer...

I'm Reese, Shoo-ba-doo ba-doo ba-doo!

Been A While

Updates to this blog have been a long time coming, but for some reason my dedication to the creative aspect of my hobbies has recently withered away. This statement is not to say that I have lost interest in music or literature altogether; it’s just that lately, I tend to sit down to listen to music or read a novel rather than write or play guitar. These little breaks are necessary from time to time, I know, but after a while I tend to reach a point where the good music and literature I take in makes me sick with the desire to be actively writing once again, in both fields. I now need to escape this creative slump and I thought I might do so through this blog entry, of all ironically inartistic means.

I will start with my trip to India, which although not necessarily life-changing, did act as a sort of revelation to or restatement of the large changes already present in my life since I left the U.S. The trip was incredible overall, and even with constant obstacles to my full engagement in the culture and experience around me I feel as though I was able to enjoy my time there and learn from my surroundings. My fondest memories of the trip come not from the traditional tourist-trap sights about which most tend to rave, but rather, the unique experiences one could not have on a guided tour around India and only through real, active travel.

In Jaipur, we met and befriended two Indian rickshaw drivers who took us around the city and clued us in to their own experience living there, later inviting us to go out with their friends who may or may not have been involved in the hierarchy of some sort of illegal trade. Also in Jaipur, we were able to visit my friend working at a prep school where we watched the Indian students perform traditional music and elaborate, choreographed dance numbers, culminating in a surreal performance of Mamma Mia—that’s right, the Abba musical. In Delhi, one of my favorite university professors took us to perhaps the New Year’s party in all of India, where we danced, ate, drank, and met people from all over South Asia and the Middle East, business-types who were together worth billions and of a class of people I had never seen. In Goa, we followed a group of Israeli hippies deep into a forest where we joined them in a drum circle at the base of a massive tree overhanging a cliff, and later, my friend and I rented out sport mopeds and cruised up and down the southwestern coast, into areas no tourists ever went.

We were able to see things that wouldn’t be possible anywhere else on Earth, like a back-alley crowded with cats, dogs, pigs, cows, monkeys, camels, elephants, cars, bicycles, rickshaws, people shitting and pissing against the walls, and women in full wedding dress with brass tabernacles balanced on their heads; a Hindu religious performance in front of the most regarded ashram in Rishikesh, enveloped by torches and guarded by a great marble Shiva meditating in the Ganges; and masses of religious people easing themselves in that same river, to bathe in perhaps the holiest—and most polluted—waters in the world.

Sure, there were thefts, and knees lacerated to the bone, and a number of other near death experiences around every corner, but I feel that those too were part of what defined my trip. Without those things, I wouldn’t laugh out loud at my work desk and attract nervous, uncertain stares every time I think about how reckless our journey really was. I wouldn’t have any stories I could relate in gory detail whenever somebody trying to be polite and feigning interest asks me about my trip, not really expecting such a graphic and detailed answer. At some later point in my life, I would regret never really living, even at the risk of personal safety, when I had the chance.

Perhaps the most revelatory experiences from India, though, were those that weaved their way in and out of those major ones listed above, experiences that are little things representative of a former habitual lifestyle of indulgence that had much to do with my severe depression about a year ago. Some of these old habits came back in India, and even though I had distanced myself from that lifestyle enough to control them, I found that I just flat-out did not enjoy them as much as I once did. I realized that I had outgrown certain indulgences of my past and that bad habits did not have a place in my new lifestyle. So, while halfway through my trip, I made a few decisions of which I am quite proud. I stopped overeating just for the sake of it and I even quit smoking cigarettes, for a couple of examples. I recognized the new found control I had over my life.

I returned to Japan energized and satisfied with my experience. That brief visit to my old lifestyle, though, may have reawakened different and worse habits, ones that are not necessarily tangible but instead arise in cynical patterns of thought or a tendency toward extreme laziness. These mental habits are perhaps the most destructive, and lately I have found myself slipping back into them for no reason at all. I was suddenly faced with new challenges for the future, for my relationship, and for myself, but instead of applying a logical and positive frame of mind to these challenges I seemed to go right back to the negativity I thought I had left with my old lifestyle. In the last few weeks I had been thinking myself into a hole and I hadn’t been accomplishing anything that way. I had started back on that familiar road that can only lead to depression.

But here’s the cool part. Like with smoking, I am beginning to realize that this constant pessimism is just one of those old, stupid habits that I simply do not need anymore. I may have used it in the past as some sort of defense mechanism, a way to protect myself from the problems I was facing at any given moment by creating new ones for which to focus my worry, but what I can’t deny is that right now I am so infinitely happy, so much so that I can not only address those issues that face me day to day, but I can look at the problems I may or may not face in the future and become excited for the challenges they will bring. I can create new habits within my new lifestyle that can only aid in sustaining that happiness.

So today, in a Japanese junior high classroom, choking down the remnants of an indiscernible school lunch and trying to shut out the maudlin, synthesized music pouring from the speakers directly above my head, I pondered all of these above observations and had a moment similar to the one in my previous blog about Ritsurin-Koen. I decided that I would throw out those old, distracting mental habits and learn to embrace the present rather than worry about the future. I decided to live. I mean, sure, there may be a few bruises, cuts, or near-death experiences along the way, but at least I’m in Japan, where even the slightest of injuries would require a dramatic visit from every Japanese person I know, a detailed description of the cause of injury in writing and sent to every single one of my superiors, and possibly two or more doctor visits, each more inexplicable and unjustified than the next.

I have always thought that watching children color is one of the most intriguing things ever and this is definitely reflected in my elementary school lessons. Almost every time I get to teach to first or second graders I take the opportunity to incorporate some activity where the children can color because I know that most kids loves to color--I still do, for Christ's sake--and because I'll get to watch them and learn more about them that way.

My younger students know no discernible English; they can fumble through the morning greeting, kind of, and they know some of the animals and fruits, but that's about it. I still know no discernible Japanese even since I started studying. Coloring, though, gives me a glimpse into their personalities that I can't get through our broken verbal mis-communication.

There are the kids who just scribble one solid color over the entire picture with no concern for aesthetic, which tells me that, unless they are consciously breaching post-modernism, they couldn't give a shit about coloring. They likely see no benefit from coloring and they find it a hindrance, an addition to their already heavy heap of boredom. Chances are they don't really enjoy school too much and they are making a statement through their blatant disregard of artistic values and authority. I like these kids. They will probably be the ones cocking off in class by high school. Maybe they'll never make it to a university and just go straight into work. They are intelligent but don't care about systematic learning. Rather, they have street smarts and will use those to their benefit later in life.

Then there are those up the next wrung, who color within the lines for the most part, though still scribbling, and maybe choose one or two colors. These are the ones I worry about most. To me, they are either trying and just suck that bad at coloring, or they don't care but still try for the most part because they fear authority. These kids are doomed to lives of normalcy, always wavering somewhere below or around average, never really striving but never really aware that there is something to strive for; they'll work some sort of "office job" and get metaphorically butt-fucked by some fatheaded boss who, really, can garner no respect so stomps around on mediocre colorers because they will never stand up to him. They'll never really think about the meaning of life. They'll watch American Idol or some Japanese equivalent religiously, and they'll go out on weekends with friends and talk about their hair or sports or cars or American Idol. They'll own a lot of pets.

Next are the children at the opposite end of the spectrum, those that color pictures so pristine at such a young age they should just skip elementary school altogether. These kids use as many colors as possible and their technique is flawless. They bold the lines of the shapes they are coloring, and then they hold the pencil sideways and with constant, unwavering pressure, lightly sweep to fill. Not only that, these kids shade. They understand shadow, and that certain parts of the object should be darker or lighter depending on point of view. They understand that beauty isn't it the eye of the beholder, it's in fucking perfection and they will be damned if that's not what they're going to strive for. Some will achieve true perfection in doing what they really love to the best of their abilities through the rest of their lives, no matter what place that deems them in society. Most, though, will achieve it in a different, sadder kind of way, with a phenomenal salary, 2.5 kids, and a stake in moderate to conservative politics. They'll die thinking they're happy.

These three major groups basically sum up most of the kids in all of my classes. There was one particular method that struck me, however, one that I only saw a boy with down's syndrome use. He bolded the edge of the shapes like those children in the above category, but instead of a light shade to fill, one that was softer and more appeasing, he mashed the lead into that paper, filling the shape with a single, vibrant color, one that attacked the eye and demanded attention. He stayed completely within the lines, which was impressive on its own, but what really startled me about his coloring was the fact that I use that exact method when I color.

Now, before any of you reading this get ahead of yourselves, this post isn't leading up to some climactic message about some sort of self-fulfilling change. In fact, I had no idea where it was going when I first started writing it. Most would expect this last observation to turn into some quasi-sweet but mostly arrogant peal about my supposed similarity to this mentally disabled person, how he and I can see the "simple" magic in things because we use bright colors. But none of that would be true and it would be insulting to people with down's syndrome everywhere to liken them to myself. I like coloring and I wanted to write about it. So, sorry if you were expecting a beautiful, hope-inspired moral found in an often overlooked event in everyday life. Chances are I'm just retarded.

Random Japanese Student Quotes

Here are some random things I've heard since I got here.


On a worksheet using "I like..." sentences

"I like dogs"
"I like sushi and sashimi"
"You are nothing, adoration man"


A girl in my Junior High, in broken, giggling English

"Are you trying to pick me up?"


A question in the middle of class at an elementary school

Girl: "Do you have a girlfriend?"
Me (lying for no reason): "Uhh...yes."
Girl: Bursts into tears


Bombardment of questions after "I like..." lesson in third grade

Student 1: "Do you like ass?"
Me: "What?"
Student 1: "Do you like ass?"
Student 2: "Yes, Mr. Reese. Do you like ass?"
Me: "Sorry, I don't understand."
Teacher: "Do you like ass, Mr. Reese? Do you like ass?"
Me (beginning to hyperventilate): "Uhh..."
Teacher: "Like, the world. Ass. Do you like ass?"
Me: "Oh, Earth, you mean Earth. Yes, I do like the Earth."


The old ladies in my English conversation class


Woman: "My husband, he is teacher. He works at special school."
Other women: Agreeing noises
Woman: "He works at school for the dumb."
Me: "The dumb..."
Woman: "Yes. The dumb and the retards."
Other women: Agreeing noises.
Woman: "The dumb and the blind and the retards."
Me: "Oh, okay."


Almost every elementary school child every day that I am here, translated from Japanese

"You have boobs."

Blah