Reese Japankenberg

2009-03-26T03:25:00.000-07:00

Hell. Yes.

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

Karen O freaking rules

Osaka Weekend

2009-03-25T17:33:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-03-02T07:10:00.000-08:00

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

Been A While

2009-02-04T01:12:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-12-08T04:19:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-02T17:04:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-01T23:18:00.000-08:00

2008-12-01T07:37:00.001-08:00

Hey all,

This is one of the best songs I've heard in awhile, so check it out.

http://jp.youtube.com/watch?v=GziH8s7ksMo&eurl=http://minnesota.publicradio.org/display/web/2008/10/30/yeasayer/

New updates soon :)

Thanks for the enlightening post, Erin.

Reese smells...

2008-11-30T02:13:00.000-08:00

like poo.

A Break for Ants

2008-11-19T00:38:00.000-08:00

The other day I woke in a fit of melancholy. I had planned to rise early, exercise, eat a good breakfast, and spend the day exploring Ritsurin Park in Takamatsu--but I didn't. I rolled out of futon at about 1:00 PM, which, although still quite early for me, put a damper on my plans. The night before I had stayed up late, soaking in the precious few bars of Internet I could illegally conjure from some faraway place, standing deep in the corner of my tatami room and holding my laptop above my head. I talked for hours with friends and family from home--something I desperately needed--but then, for no reason at all, I forced myself, as tired as I was, to watch Robocop, of all God-awful, shit-stinking films.

OK, to be fair, the movie kicks ass (note the multiple-shotgun-blasts-to-the-torso-for-a-full-minute-straight scene), but I really didn't need it. I went to sleep around 3 AM and basically sealed my fate, a fate that found me curled up under a flowery comforter through the entire morning.

The whole ordeal put me in a touch of a bad mood and I spent the half-hour after waking getting ready, grumbling, and feeling empty, lonely, and out of touch with myself. Luckily, I still decided to make my way to the park because I wasn't about to spend yet another free day sullen and stuck naked to my plastic leather couch. I caught the next train into town.

I remembered my camera--a feat in itself--and upon entering the garden began to take enough pictures to make up for all those that I missed out on so far in my first three months in Japan. Here are a few of the good ones now:

A view of the central garden from one of the peaks

A view of the main bridge from one of the peaks

An obaasan watching ducks at the main pond

I walked around the edge of the landscape, scaling hills for a photo op or just to take a better look, and I was struck by how little the place moved me.

I had expected such pristine natural beauty to fill whatever emptiness with which I had woke, and I had expected my trip to the park to finally plant me firmly into Japan, to finally make me feel like I belong and live here. But, as I continued to walk, nothing happened. In fact, I began to feel even more lonely than I had before because I had nobody with whom to share in my Ritsurin experience. I needed someone there with me.

Perhaps all I really needed was to chill out, which I decided to do inside of a little island tea house. I ordered a macha tea, removed my sandals, and stepped into the dojo. I found an open spot on the tatami and fell into that most painful of Japanese kneeling positions so that fresh spasms ran freely through my entire body while I waited. An old, smiley woman in a yellow yukata brought out my set within seconds, complete with a miniature cake, and I enjoyed my snack the correct way, first turning the bowl to admire its craftsmanship, then drinking the tea in three sips, and finally, settling into the sweets.

Performing this little ritual actually helped me relax a bit, even in spite of the massive tour group that had gone by, the guide at its helm shrieking "My God, it's a gaijiin!" into a megaphone to the uproarious laughter of all. I passed through the rest of the tea house, admiring its interior and different views of the pond that surrounded it, and I eventually began skirting the park again.

I still felt out of it, even after the tea, and I had tired of taking photos, so I decided to sit down at a bench hugging a river or small pond that ran against the mountain at the south side of the park. I had brought a book along but I didn't feel like reading. Instead, I just sat there and stared into the water, thinking over the events of the last few months and why I felt so listless. Eventually, my eyes wandered down to the carefully groomed gravel path at my feet, and they began to follow some tiny ants who seemed to be wandering around somewhat aimlessly, as if for once in their entire existence as a species they finally got that ten-minute break and were just doing whatever the hell they wanted.

And with that, my mind shut off. I stopped thinking about all of the petty bullshit that constituted my insignificant life, I stopped analyzing every event that took place around me as if it "all meant something", and I just existed there in that moment, with those ants, and that gravel, and that little body of water. There was no industrial city to absorb me nor was that obnoxious tour around to distract me. I focused on nothing at all, and I finally experienced what I had so desperately craved since the last time it had happened over a year ago.

My life, I think, can be measured in these few implosive moments, where I cave in on the world instead of the world caving in on me. The last time was in Finland, at the Isokuru gorge, where I had been hiking with my brother and father but stopped long enough to really take in the scale of the granite bricks strewn haphazardly on either side of us, and of our relationships with each other, which had reached a crucial breaking point on that trip. The time before that was in Guatemala, at the peak of Volcán Tacamulco, where I cuddled with my close friends and watched the sun rise to meet us on top of the clouds, headphones cooing my favorite music into my ears like a perfect film soundtrack.

Sadly, though, as I grow older, now having reached the disparate age of 22, these moments come about less and less. I want to attribute this change to the further loss of naivete and childlike wonder, or maybe just to my further assumption into adulthood and all its new and suffocating responsibilities; I, however, cannot let myself do that because these reaffirmations of life are essential. In these moments I am reminded that I do exist and that my consciousness exists, yes, on a plane representative of the world around me, but more so deeply rooted in my self. I am reminded that I am completely unique, and really, how that is a good thing. I relearn to love myself because I am finally aware of myself and I like what I see, no matter how I imagine others perceive me.

Although I have had these moments before, this specific time in Ritsurin Park was the first where I came to the full realization of their profundity, their urgency in my life, and therefore the first time I vowed to search for them more often and let them take a further hold on whatever time I have left here on this Earth.

I barely remember that half an hour or so I spent on that bench. When those stubborn ants eventually fell back into their inherent life of toil, however, I eased out of that state, finally happy to be alone without really feeling alone at all. I realized that I wanted the people and passions I had built up around me but I no longer needed them.

I once again began my trek around the park, but I walked slower, and I tucked my camera away, and I remained open to the beauty of that place. I watched koi gasping for food, and I watched a spider threading silk into its web, without the fear that would have usually pricked at my insides.

When I decided I had my fill, I stepped out of that reality I had discovered in the park and back into the reality our race had fabricated out of things upon things upon things. The city swallowed me like a wave and its white noise invaded my every sense.

This time was different, though, and I walked slower and more deliberately than ever. I was able to push the sights,sounds, and smog out of my head, and I felt only roots, stretching from somewhere deep inside of Japan and even deeper inside the Earth, punching their way through the concrete rubble and tugging gently at my feet.

Serial Killers

2008-09-23T20:15:00.000-07:00

Hey all, just for a bit of light reading, here's a tiny little essay I wrote recently about my obsession with serial killers. Enjoy!

The other night a number of us were out at a bar in Takamatsu, and magically, the topic of conversation turned to serial killers. I felt instantly at home. I also felt that I would be able to wow the other six or seven people there with what I assumed was a vast knowledge of the greats, and I started to spout off a number of facts about serial killers in general, told them of Albert Fish’s history, etc. Everyone seemed a bit impressed, but then, as if God had reached down and swept his hand across my heart, each person in our group admitted their own subtle connection to serial killers.

One guy, Andrew, who was consequently made famous in England by making an ass of himself on American Idol, told us how for a costume party he went as a notorious British murderer who worked as a nursemaid so she could torture and kill infants. My other friend, Ciaran, told me how he became so obsessed with Charles Manson that he almost bought some of Manson’s drawings through an online auction. Even one of the girls, Holly, drunkenly slurred that she thought that Ted Bundy was hot. My jaw dropped. “I think Ted Bundy is hot!” I replied. I also learned of some of the most prolific serial killers in history, all of whom I had never even heard, like Coral Eugene Watts, who killed merely for sport by stabbing or strangling women quickly then leaving the scene so that by the time he was caught years after he began his career, he had killed possibly 80 women.

What I, and hopefully everyone reading this, can learn from this experience is that really, everyone is fucked in the head to a certain extent. Most people, whether they’d like to admit it or not, are secretly drawn to this oft-reviled part of our humanity because it represents something that they fear and respect at the same time. One wonders what it would be like to have no compassion for other humans, to be unable to feel anything unless he or she takes another’s life. A simple analogy is that feeling one gets while standing at the edge of a cliff or tall building. There is an immediate sense of terror that strikes, sending a nauseating tingle throughout one’s entire being. The immediate instinct is to step back to avoid confrontation with such a fear because such a fear is uncomfortable and causes us to come to terms with our own mortality. Still, one remains planted to that spot, teetering on the edge, strangely tempted to jump in spite of every bit of their common sense urging them to turn away.

Most, however, listen to their common sense and eventually leave that brief moment of animal lust that somehow overcomes them. They go back to safer, lower ground and ignore that inexplicable shame they feel for even considering what their body craved to do. They go back to their society, with its set of learned rules, and follow them as close as possible, occasionally breaking them through slightly lesser taboos by jacking off to pictures of rape, beating their children as a form of stress relief, or indulging for a night in a number of hard drugs. Others, like serial killers, do jump, and feel somehow relieved as they fall through that broad expanse of sky, sucking down that fresh, untouched air before breaking over the jagged rocks that wait for them below.

Teaching

2008-09-11T22:53:00.000-07:00

I've been teaching for the last couple of weeks, and I do have to admit, I enjoy it. The kids here are fantastic. In elementary and kindergarten they revel me like a God, and I probably could be one as far as they're concerned; most of them will never see or especially talk to another white foreigner until their adulthood, if then.

In one way, I find it harrowing to be in that position, to be a sole representative of western culture for these incredibly impressionable children, to have such an important responsibility. I have to make sure that this and future generations of the Japanese aren't left with a distaste for any westerner in general. If I am a bad model, they will only assume that every westerner is just like me--that's just what they do here. Even the teachers will assume like this. Because I am an American, If I were to arrive late to work frequently, all Americans would be lazy and tardy. If I were to get confused about instructions every day, even with the language barrier, all Americans would be idiots. I know that even with my own criticisms of Western culture, I have to be constantly aware of myself and my actions because no matter what, building a bridge has to be better than burning one.

In fact, on the other, more glorious hand of this responsibility is the sheer power I have over these children. In effect, as far as their perception goes, I am God, and Me damn it, I'm going abuse that. I'm going to be so fucking exciting and fun every single day that they'll only be able to assume that America is some sort of magical land filled with laughter and joy.

Some would consider it cruel to raise their hopes like that only to have them crushed when they meet a real American, some arrogant, pig-headed glutton with no respect for other cultures, but I say, so what? Shouldn't I at least give them some sort of positive expectation of us? Isn't it time that we raise the world's perception of us so that maybe we can have something to progress toward? Because, what I've learned through my conversations with non-Americans is that nobody on this planet really expects anything of us, and why should they? If the Earth were a virgin asshole, America in the last thirty years would be a huge, disease-ridden cock, raping that asshole over and over again--especially in the last, oh, eight years or so, which I predict will go down in history books (not our own, I'm sure) as one of the darkest periods in our country's short history.

What I find funny, and ultimately terrifying, is that most Americans seem comfortable in this pathetic global image because it means that they don't have to exert themselves. They can sit back and shut off that part of their brain that sets us apart from animals, that senses some sort of transcendental connection with humanity as a whole, that aches to live for and work toward bettering humankind and not just our individual situations. Selflessness, really, should be the core of our human situation because we can see how that one ideal more than any other beats instinct and truly separates us from other beings on this planet

What we're talking about here for much of the American population, then, is not just staleness but actual regression. Not only are many Americans fighting positive, progressive, global change, they are willing to turn back on 200 years of philosophy and say, "fuck everyone else, I'm the only thing that matters in this world." Sure, we've been doing that for years now, but I feel like the upcoming presidential election and its aftermath represent an agonizingly crucial moment for our country. No matter who is elected, the new president and his government need to make progressive political decisions that fight the backward way our country has been going if the U.S. wants to hold any sort of global respect and power in the next few decades. If not, we're fucked.

In the meantime, I'm going to give these Japanese schoolchildren the best show I can give them because the truth is, there are genuinely good Americans striving for progression that are lumped into the global perspective of "American", and although understandable, it frustrates me. And, hopefully, by raising the world's expectation of us, we will begin to strive to meet that expectation, so that when we do catastrophically fail in everything we do as a nation, something I am positive will continue to happen long into the future, at the very least it could come as a refreshing surprise rather than a reinforcement of the fact that the United States of America is one of the greatest political and economic monsters our world has ever known.

A Regular Week

2008-08-28T23:06:00.000-07:00

Today it rained like hell and I got stuck in it. i made the fifteen minute walk back to my apartment for lunch, and after I'd eaten, I stepped out of my door into a heavy downpour drifting in slow sheets across my body. I sighed. I walked back unprotected, not having purchased an umbrella or poncho yet, only to notice a large box of public umbrellas sitting right outside my school when I returned soaked through to the bone. Oh yeah, and it was still humid despite the precipitation so I could also feel sweat caking my skin. I guess it's just been one of those days. Oh, and I also decided to wear flip-flops today.

Even with this inconvenience, I still had a good week. Granted, I dealt with a bout of insomnia for a few nights and went through my days battling a nauseating fatigue, but I was time alone and away from other JETs, which gave me more opportunities to socialize with the other teachers at my school outside of the office.

One of the nights, my main go-to Ms. Noguchi took me out for a sushi and sashimi dinner and we had a blast. She and her husband are quite possibly the nicest people in the world and I was surprised to find how much they opened up outside of the workplace. We talked about everything we could think of and Ms. Noguchi graciously translated it all for her husband so he could be in on the conversation. Also, the food was incredible and they ordered a gigantic sampler plate for me so I definitely ate my fill.

The next day I went out to lunch with a number of my teachers to the best Udon joint in our area and we had a good time as well. Only one of the teachers spoke very broken English so I spent most of my time smiling and filling my mouth with noodles to avoid awkward questions--or what I assumer were questions--directed at me in Japanese. A funny thing about most of the people I've met here is they don't seem to realize that when you don't understand Japanese, at all, and they speak to you in Japanese, you have no idea what the hell they're saying. They don't attempt to speak to you any slower, nor use a keyword that you might just have a chance of understanding, nor do they throw in the occasional hand gesture to help the whole process along; instead, they just lean in closer and maybe start shouting or speaking even faster as if you were a mental retard. In those frustrating moments, I begin to wish that I could somehow convey to them that I'm more than happy just nodding along with my stupid grin and laughing when it seems that I'm supposed to laugh, or throwing in a "so, so, so, so, so" in agreement whenever I can decipher that an interesting point has been made, but I really do have to hand it to them for trying, however relentlessly, to make me feel included at all costs. The people in this country--or the teachers in my school at the very least--are extremely generous and go out of their way to make me feel welcome, which I'm realizing more and more is much better than being ostracized for being different no matter how frustrating the language barrier is.

Innywho, tonight is the last beer garden of the summer and quite possibly the last night of drunken debauchery I'll experience in awhile now that classes are beginning and we all have to make the transition back into professionalism. That may make my life a bit more boring and less worthy of blogosphere banter, but I'll continue to dig for amusing little anecdotes or stories in my daily life that you all might find interesting. Until then, peace bitches.

Festival Season

2008-08-17T17:29:00.000-07:00

For the last week or so I barely spent any time in my apartment or at work so I haven't been around my blog much. The Japanese graciously give their workers three extra days of vacation for the summer months, so a number of us took ours to go to festivals in Takamatsu and Tokushima, the latter of which is the largest on our island and one of the largest and most famous in Japan.

We prepared for the festivals by finding traditional clothing to wear. Most of the women bought yukatas, which are basically simplified versions of the kimono, similar to a robe, while most of us men bought jimbes, which are just a shirt and short combo. The men definitely lucked out - it's much easier to withstand the sweltering summer heat in a shirt and shorts.

On Wednesday night we stayed in Tak for their festival activities. They seemed unnaturally similar to the Minnesota State fair; there was a shit-ton of fried food, some music, and fireworks at the end. The rest of the night was a blur at best. We went to one bar for drinks; found our way to a karaoke bar; screamed our way through some Bowie, Talking Heads, and a surprisingly perfect rendition of California Dreamin' with the full four-part harmony and all; stumbled to another bar where I quickly passed out for two hours in a makeshift jail cell; and magically found my way home at eight or so the next morning, dragging my blacked-out Irish friend Ciaran along the whole time.

Thursday was a late start but we made it to Awa Doori, Tokushima's spectacle, where we immediately found ourselves lost among thousands of people dancing in organized groups surrounded by hundreds of thousands of spectators. By the end of the night, we had been invited to dance with one of the groups and made fools of ourselves trying to mimic the Japanese who have been doing their thing for centuries, but it was an amazing experience I'll never forget. We also got to play and talk with a number of random children and gaze longingly at some of the most beautiful women we'd seen, teasing us with their yukatas and kimonos and perfect figures, not to mention walk up to them like idiots and hope to God they spoke English so we could maybe get their numbers. Never worked.

We spent the rest of the weekend just bumming around, eating out, laughing quite a bit, and even explaining to one of our Japanese friends some of the most vile, unspeakable sexual acts known to man. This week will be a much needed rest and a chance to maybe ease myself back into professionalism, although professionalism right now for me is showing up for work and desperately clinging to anything I can find to do. My Japanese is not improving, but my ability to communicate without it is, so whatevs. Next weekend is a beach party, and I doubt that will be anything less than catastrophic, so I'll put something up about that as well.

My New Home

2008-08-04T21:05:00.001-07:00

I've finally settled down in Mure, a little town right outside of Takamatsu, and I'm loving it. I have a nice apartment, and although it's not huge, it's just the right size for one person to live. If one were looking for a way to describe it, I would say "quaint" might be the best adjective. I have a living area, a bedroom, an office, a kitchen/dining room, a toilet room, and a bathroom. The only thing that sucks about the place is that my predecessor left something, God knows what, to rot in the refrigerator for weeks before I got here, so now there's a constant, horrid odor that I can't seem to remove no matter what I do. Oh well, I guess.

Right now I'm at my school, "working", I guess you could call it. Basically, for the last five hours I've just been studying Japanese because there really isn't anything else to do. Summer vacation started right as I got here, so there aren't any classes to teach, and I suppose I could start preparing lesson plans, but really, I need to have the teachers here with me to do that and nobody's really here during the holidays. So, I guess I'll just study Japanese for the next month. At this rate I'll be fluent by Christmas.

We haven't been able to procure cell phones yet because we haven't received our alien registration cards, so I've mostly been hanging out all by my lonesome. But it's fine. I've been reading quite a bit and I take trips into different parts of Takamatsu almost every night for dinner or coffee or just to walk around. Japan is easily the best place I've been for walking around. The people are great here, always friendly and talking, and I can pass my time reading the terrible, terrible Japanese/English translations all over the signs and clothes. I also have a large balcony at my apartment, so I bought some plants and that keeps me busy for about five minutes out of the day.

I'd like to write something about the experience of being in Japan, but there are already a number of books on the subject, not to mention the film Lost in Translation that basically defines it, so I think I'll just leave it up to them. I guess there's just a lonely yet connected to everything kind of feeling, and I like it.

Next weekend a group of us will probably travel across Shikoku, our little island, to see one of Japan's largest festivals, so I'll definitely post something about that. Also, I'll get some pics of my apartment once my camera arrives and post those as well.

Tokyo

2008-07-28T03:47:00.000-07:00

Hey all,

Right now I'm in an incredible hotel in the heart of Tokyo, which is easily the most incredible city I've seen. At the 42nd floor there is a view of the city from all sides and you can't see where the city ends in any direction. And, I'm not talking about just the city, but the metropolitan, skyscraper part of the city stretches on forever. It's incredible. So far there has barely been any time to rest, but everything has been pretty fun. The other JET's here are OK. If you can imagine the stereotypical, socially dysfunctional anime freak, you've pretty much pictured about 90% of them. Luckily, however, everyone that will be teaching around my area seems great, and I'm practically in a band already with some of them. That makes me excited because I'm starting to understand how difficult it will be in my area without speaking any Japanese, but it also sounds like conversational Japanese will be easy and quick to learn now that I'm here. The food will also take some getting used to. Tonight we'll be going out to a karaoke bar, even though we're all dangerously exhausted, so wish me luck.

So Here I Go

2008-07-25T17:40:00.000-07:00

Hey all. I'm finally off to Japan, which means I'll be gone for quite a while. I could be sad about it, but I figure I'll just enjoy myself and keep looking forward. Right now I'm in Chicago just hanging out at a hotel, waiting until the morning when we catch our flight to Tokyo. Today we had a long orientation session, where we went through all the crap that we'll be doing for the next couple of days. It'll be hectic, but I'm excited. Some of the people here seem alright and I'm getting to know them, but none of that really matters since we'll all be separating to go to our different prefectures. Not much interesting has happened so far, but I'll write more once I get to see Tokyo. Wish me luck,

Reese