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Friday, April 30, 2004
chicken fight
If you didn't think the above is funny, then bless your heart... your soul is more innocent than mine. And yes, it's a kids' manga (comic) about boxing. Really. I snapped the pic with my cellie last Monday while doing my sentaku (laundry) at Korean-Japanese owned coin laundromat. The family that owns it is coo and always greets me by name when I come. .:. I had an epiphany recently, which happened under the following circumstances: a goodbye party, being stuck in Osaka, a double shot Johnnie Walker Black Label in a lowballer glass, and being crashed out on a friend's couch for a late night nap before catching the early train home. The exact words of the epiphany as it came to my brain and it whispered: Garrett, you're starting to say "I really just don't care..." with a lot more frequency and ease than you should be comfortable with... Fast forward to 6:00 AM this morning and I'm walking home, rock'n my ballcap low over my eyes... it echoed again in my head when I saw this woman trip and fall, probably over her ridiculous high heels. Her stuff spilled all over the ground in front of me, and normally I'd help... but as the words of the epiphany were about to echo again in my head, I cranked up my MD player to blast Mobb Deep's Hell on Earth instead... Quiet as kept, I lay back and watch the world spin I hear thugs, claimin that they gonna rob the mobb When they see us, I tell you what black, here�s the issue it�s a package deal, you rob me, you take these missiles along with that/ i ain�t your average cat f**k rap, I�m tryin to make cream and that�s that Whatever it takes, however it gots to go down Four mics on stage or muthaf**kin four pound Speakers leakin out sound and n*ggaz leakin on the ground I could truly care less... (Translation for uninitiated:) Introverted and relaxed, I observe the world's progress. It has come to my attention that people say that will attempt to forcefully take what is mine. Very well... if you seek to deprive me of what is mine, I will respond with projectiles from my firearm. I am not the typical person you are used to. I don't care about rap; my concern is the generation of wealth, no matter the means or the circumstances - whether it be via music or a fully loaded firearm, faulty speakers or bleeding corpses. It is irrelevant. Maybe I'm just feeling surly... I shoulda helped the poor lady. But I didn't. Instead, I went to the 24-hour Family Mart and bought some anpan. Somehow breakfast seemed more important at the time. | (0) comments 
Tuesday, April 27, 2004
hi, i'm the entertainment
The job of teaching the English language here in Japan sometimes is as much about being the object of amusement as it about being a "teacher". Japanese people study English for a variety of reasons, but a high proportion of the students at most English schools aren't shy about the fact that they find meeting gaijin to be of all things... ...funny. I'm still dreading the day that my company will someday mandate that I wear a clown suit, completely with hat and red honkin' nose. I guess that wouldn't be so bad... the hat, that is. Case in point was a lesson a couple of days with a class that would be probably every geeky wonderbread asianophile's dream: -Ms. S, the fashion model -Ms. A, the high school student -Ms. M, the junior high school student All jokes about colored hair and uniforms aside, I'm usually not bothered at all by having to teach an all-female class - the main reason being that (sadly) the predominant number of strong English students we have are female. Insert your snide comments about the intelligence of men in the box below. The day's lesson happened to a simple application of "have", "like", and "want" such as "I don't have a dog. I like dogs. I want to have a dog." The class was practicing asking questions of each other when Ms. S, ambushed me with the question... Ms. S: "Garrett... you don't have a Japanese girlfriend. Do you like Japanese girls?" Me: "!?!" Ms. S. just gave me a big smile, with her impossibly white and straight teeth. The problem with this question is that in Japanese, people often use the words suki (often translated "like") and aishiteru (often translated "love") interchangeably to convey romantic interest. Hence the statement, I like you as a friend, but I don't love you is pretty damn confusing to a beginning Japanese student of English. And I sure as heck didn't have the time to give a dissertation to them about the difference in English... they wouldn't have understood anyways. In a matter of seconds, my brain quickly cranked out the possible outcomes to the question:
So what did I do? It should be obvious. As I sat there with a stupid look on face in awkward silence, my three students turned and started giggling with each other. I usually don't get flustered that often when I'm teaching, but they had done it and they were enjoying it. Evil. Lord, somebody cue the carnival music now... Lucky for me, Ms. M., the little junior higher, saved me further humiliation. Sorta. Ms. M: "You don't know? Teacher Garrett has a girlfriend in America." Whew. Nice one, kid. Save the teacher from embarassment! Ms. M: "...and he likes all Japan peoples, boys and girls." Uhhh... riiiiight. So now, I'm bisexual. Sometimes you just gotta cut your losses and run... Me: "Anywaaaaays... if could please turn to page blah blah in your textbook..." Yep... clown suit. That's what I should be wearing... .:. things ain't the same Some friends at work and I were recently talking about how hip.hop just isn't as good as it used to be. Maybe I'm starting to enter the sour old geezer stage of my musical tastes, but I find I just don't like a lot of the new stuff that comes out these days... like 90% of it all is just booty-shaking craaaaaaaaap. It's said that "keepin' it real" is such a trivial expression these days. And I ain't the only one that feels that way... Mr. Akito wrote a great summary of the current state of the art of hip.hop... read it. I was a fiend before I became a teen. I melt the microphone instead of cones of ice cream... | (0) comments
smashing hierarchies
People have often claimed that a big constraint here in Japan is the very structured nature of Japanese society... and to some degree, it's true. The importation of Confucian ethics from China has made Japanese culture very much reliant on the systems of hierarchy, AKA superior-inferior relationships: parent-child, teacher-son, boss-employee, older sibling-younger sibling, etc. So what allows people to break down some of these hierarchal barriers? Three words: Food. Booze. Karaoke. One of my bosses (the assistant head teacher at my school) a cool Asian Aussie guy named Adam, is being transferred, and we decided to hold a big 'ol staff party for him, both gaijin teachers and Japanese staff. The party was pretty much an almost 5 hour event of constant eating, drinking, and singing- even the 3 new teachers got into it. I really don't hang out regularly with people from work, with the exception of my friend Sel, so it was interesting to see how my co-workers are outside of work. Highlights of the night, in no order: -My branch manager (he's Japanese) singing the Backstreet Boys' song "Larger than Life" so well, I had to wonder if he sings it regularly... *shudder* -Everybody screaming the lyrics to Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger". -Adam (half-inebriated) warning people,"Don't call in sick tomorrow... or Imma AT (assistant trainer) yo azz!" (this makes completely no sense) -The 3 bottles of Spanish red wine I liberally consumed with a co-worker as I downed plates of kimchee fried rice -Russian Roulette Croquettes, where one out of 6 croquettes is filled with seriously spicy hot sauce. I lost. -One co-worker singing Enya and another remarking, "Hey, I lost my virginity to this song!" *shudder number 2* -Another co-worker singing Whitney Houston's "The Greatest Love of All" in a way that suggests what everybody thinks that song is really about. Hilarious stuff, but a bit tough on the wallet. Total bill for 20 people: about $40 US each. Ouch. Looks like I'll be eating a lot of noodles until payday... | (0) comments
Saturday, April 24, 2004
it happened fast
I'm by myself and in my favorite bar in Kobe... it's crowded. I'm not sure how I got there, but Mr. Y is there, pouring the drinks as usual. There's a glass of whiskey in my hand, but I don't feel drunk. Things are hazy, though. What I do notice are three foreigners at the far end of the bar, probably Americans. I hear them talking, in loud voices, in obnoxious English. They all look young, and their comments, mostly derogatory and racist remarks about Japan, reflect their lack of respect and class. The tallest is dressed in designer clothes; I dub him Backstreet Bastard. His two friends get the names Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. They all look like AF catalog model rejects. I don't like them; especially Backstreet Bastard... I don't have a firm reason, but then again, maybe I don't need one. They spoil the atmosphere of my favorite bar. Backstreet Bastard notices my maddog. As he walks by me toward the bathroom, he gives me a blatant bump with his shoulder. It's not subtle and I stare at him, eyes narrowing and I feel my jaw start to clench. We make unblinking eye contact. "What's wrong, you little Nip? You gonna do something?" The words come out in a sneer as he laughs, turning to high-five his friends, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Cocky. As his head turns back from his friends to look at me, I can feel the control inside me snap. I can tell he's about to throw a punch as his arm drifts back. My reaction is instanteous. Quickly hawking my throat, I spit in his eye and as he reflexively blinks, I throw a hard cross with my right hand that catches him square in the nose. A small pain shoots through my knuckles, but it's nothing compared to the pleasure I feel at the sensation of his cartilage snapping under my fist. Instead of calming me, the pleasure feeds my growing anger. My blood begins to pump and I can hear the throbbing in my head. thump. thump. Not content with just a single punch, I re-cock my right hand again half away, driving another shot into his face, like a piston. He's reeling backward now, but before I can land a third, I can feel somebody grab my right arm. It's his friends. Another hand flies out from the left, and I instinctively duck, but the punch still catches me above my left eye, opening a cut in my forehead. I spin counter-clockwise, using my left elbow to hit Tweedle Dum in the chest and break his hold on my arm. Being in-between two people trying to punch hurt you is a bad idea. Man, this is what I get for drinking alone. I grab the nearest object, a glass ashtray from the bar, with my right hand, which I crack into Tweedle Dee's face. The ashtray breaks, glass shattering everywhere. Tweedle Dee falls down, grabbing his face, his cries of pain muffled by his hands. Kinda like watching Jack Nicholson as the Joker in the finale of "Batman". Maybe he got glass from the ashtray in his eye? Like I care... my mind is already thinking of ideas to finish the job. I can feel the cut on my forehead bleeding now and it just makes me more angry. thump. thump. Backstreet Bastard and Tweedle Dum charge at me simultaneously and I immediately dash for the door. By now, the people in the bar are starting to crowd around, shouting... too bad nobody looks like they want to intervene on my behalf. I don't want to cause more damage to my favorite bar, so I run out the backdoor to the alley, knowing they'll follow. As I run out, I snatch with my right hand a three foot steel pipe that Y uses to bring down the shutters when he's closing the place. This is war in the concrete jungle and I'm gonna make sure I'm the monkey with the meanest stick in my hand. I hear Backstreet Bastard and Tweedle Dum right behind me, barely a couple feet. Good. About a couple yards away from the door I suddenly stop and pivot, swinging my fully extended arm out, pipe in hand, exactly at head-level. It'd probably be easy to duck the hit, except Tweedle Dum has failed to give himself ample distance to be able to stop in time and avoid it. I hit with the sweet spot of the pipe, the very end, right to the side of Tweedle Dum's big head. There's a loud thud, and the pipe is ringing in my hands as Tweedle Dum crumples to the ground, stunned. My heart starts pumping even faster. thump. thump. thump. Backstreet Bastard, complete with bloody nose, has closed the distance and lunges at me. I feel a flashback to high school kendo practice, where an enemy lunge is negated by a short and quick dodge backward. Once the dodge is completed and attacker is over-committed, there's an immediate short dash forward to counterattack - all within the space of less than 2 seconds. Bastard is surprised when his tackle misses the mark, my body not exactly where he guessed it to be. He's off balance and flailing. My little hop back has put me out of his reach of his armspan... and out of my normal armspan reach too. Except for my friend, mister steel pipe. Holding the pipe above my head in classic kendo jodan kamae (high guard position), I swing it down in an overhead blow. The pipe in my hand sails in a rainbow arc, at a diagonal angle, straight toward Backstreet Bastard. I'm yelling as he leans his head to my right, but it's too late. I catch the look of horror on his face and I feel my teeth grit, visible as my lips pull back in a grimace. The rage is swelling to a crescendo now and I throw the entire force of my body behind the hit. It lands perfectly between the point where his thick neck connects to his shoulder and there's a sickening crack as his collarbone snaps. My grimace is now a malevolent smile, putting the 'grin' in grimace. I exhale through my clenched teeth, my breath visible in the night air. Maybe it was unfair that I'm armed and they weren't. Like fair really matters in a 3v1 fight. thump. thump. thump. thump. In pain, Backstreet Bastard falls to his knees to the ground, bent over forward. His friends are nowhere in sight and he's clutching his broken collarbone with his right hand, while propping himself up with his left hand. With his head bent over, I feel suddenly inspired to be pretend I'm a kicker in the Superbowl. I imagine there's 3 seconds left on the clock and it's 50 yards out, team down by 2. Moving toward Backstreet Bastard's bent form, I make a big step, planting my left foot, and cocking back my right leg. My eyes are fixated on his head. I ain't gonna pull a Charlie Brown. 3, 2, 1... The worn black leather of my shoe drives into his face as I swing my leg up and twist my torso into the kick - I'm going for a big field goal. The force is excessive; the resistance to the hit wasn't as strong as I anticipated, and Backstreet Bastard's head violently jerks upward. Mid-pose, foot in air, I contemplate I must perhaps look to outside observers like one big, gay, Riverdance reject. But not just any Riverdance reject... I'm a Riverdance reject that has just sent about 3 or 4 of Backstreet Bastard's teeth flying into the gathered crowd, with a liberal splash of blood. Gooooooooooooooooooooooal The blood from the cut on my forehead now touches down into my mouth. It's salty and guess what... so am I. thump. thump. thump. thump. Backstreet Bastard is now fully laid out on the ground. Probably less than 5 minutes have past since everything started, but time isn't exactly a major concern at the moment. He's bleeding pretty bad from his mouth and his shoulder. My hand drops the pipe and in seconds, my mind is processing the events. Throughout my life, I've been taught to believe that violence and hurting others is wrong. That killing is wrong. But it doesn't matter now. All I can suddenly feel in the pit of my stomach is pain, my own pent-up sorrow and hurt. There's a dead feeling of broken dreams, lost hopes and it feeds the rage; the rage demands more. I should stop and walk away now; there's nothing left to fight. But I'm not going to. As I stare at Backstreet Bastard's face and my eyes narrow, I can see his face change... I see the faces of the your junior high and high school teachers telling me my schoolwork is mediocre while every brown-nosing classmate pulls an A+. I see the faces of whispering and pointing classmates when they see me, the geeky Chinese kid from the honors class, walking slowly in the hall. I see the faces of the rich kids who never worked for anything in their miserable lives and they're still ahead. I see my driver's ed teacher, with his racist comments and fat body, telling his stories about how he went to Vietnam and knows all about "my kind". I see the faces of the scholarship committee telling me the scholarship won't be awarded to me because I don't have 281 extra-curricular activities on my record like 'cheerleader' or 'president of the student body' or 'principal's pet'. I see the faces of the professors denying me a recommendation for the best internships because I don't fawn over their tenured, crusty egos during office hours. I see the faces of HR corporate whores saying during the interview that I'm a shoe-in for the job and never calling me back or returning my phone calls. I see the face of every soccer mom driving an SUV cutting me off in the lefthand lane on the freeway. I see the faces of the police officers giving me a speeding ticket when every car is going the same speed, but hey... my car's plates aren't from Oregon and I'm not white, so I must be criminal. I see the faces of every person who asked me if I spoke English or assumed I wasn't born in America. I see the faces of the people who gave Native Americans diseased blankets, who sold slaves, who passed the Chinese Exclusion Act, who put Japanese Americans in internment camps, who assassinated King and X, who murdered Vincent Chin, who looted Koreatown businesses in the riots, who adopt children from Asia and raise them to hate their own people. I see the faces of the doctors who told me my father would recover in a week and that life, of course, would go on. I suddenly see that life as I know (and have known it) has a face and today, right here and right now, it's Backstreet Bastard's. I'm starting to breathe even harder. thump. thump. thump. thump. thump. Resolve hardens to cruelty as I leap up into the air, purposely pulling my knees upward so I can drive my feet down into a full stomp on Backstreet Bastard's torso. I land squarely on his stretched out body and it gives way under the impact. I'm guessing I might have snapped a rib or two. I stomp into his groin, twisting my heel for effect, maybe because I don't want Backstreet Bastard to breed. My movements aren't graceful, but then again, they don?ft need to be. He's now groaning even louder, or maybe even sobbing, but I don't care. My hands are the instruments of my outrage, pounding his face, pounding the faces I see. My vengeful ephipany manufactures a violent euphoria. I want him to fight back, I want him to struggle... but the most he can do is to wave his arms around feebly. The meaning of his gestures are clear: please stop. There's blood everywhere. My mouth is alternating between yelling, shouting obscentities, laughing maniacally, and taking gasps of air. The crowd is shouting for me to stop, in English and Japanese. I can't hear them, though. I don't care. I don't want to hear them. There's not a shred of pity in me. A voice screams in my head... ...where was the pity for you? I should be sickened by what I'm doing, but the anger, the resentment is pouring out now. My reservoir has filled up for so long, that my hatred bursts opens the floodgates, an endless overflow, a torrent. There's no technique to my punching anymore. Just simple, animalistic, primal rage. I relish it, I indulge it. I want to be filmed as a Gorilla extra in Planet of the Apes. My hands begin to hurt from punching, so I pick up the metal pipe again. I pick up the pipe again because I want Backstreet Bastard to be intimately familar with my pain. I want his visage and body to be a symbol of my grief and my sadness. Blow by blow, hit by hit, I'm an artist of angst, etching my hurts into a fleshy canvas, and at the moment, symmetry and uniformity are not design goals. The savagery of my pipe-work merges with the rhythm of my blood pumping from my heart, the pounding echoing in my head. I swear my head is going to explode from the pressure. wack wack... wack wack. thump. thump. thump. thump. thump. Mercy has long departed. Compassion has long departed. The pit inside me yawns wider. wack wack... wack wack. wack wack... wack wack. thump. thump. thump. thump. thump. Is this me? I grip the pipe with two hands now. I switch to repeated overhead blows. wack wack... wack wack. wack wack... wack wack. wack wack... wack wack. thump. thump. thump. thump. thump. The feeling is surreal. Backstreet Bastard body has run out of blood. There's a lot of gray and white chunks now. wack... wack... wack... wack. thump. thump. thump. thump. thump. My arms start to tire and the soreness in my muscles is more acute. I stop swinging, but the pipe is still vibrating in my hands from the last blow. The ring is a high, sharp note... a comical contrast to the corpse in front of me. thump. thump. thump. thump. thump. My breathing is really ragged. Backstreet Bastard hasn't moved in awhile... not that it matters. I'm looking at his body, but there's not a man laying on the ground anymore. It's a performance piece to me; a pile of meat sauce to others. The physical fatigue of it all is starting to begin, and the madness that first seized me goes from a boil to a cold indifference. I stand up with the thought of looking to give similar treatment to Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, but everyone has disappeared. I turn to look around, but I can't see anything at all - no bar, no city, nothing. Just black. It's dark, and as the aggression inside me recedes, there's emptiness. I feel the gaping, hollow pit inside and I feel nothing now except dissatisfied. The pipe is still in my hand, too. But there's nothing else to hit with it. Nothing. The sound of police sirens snaps me out of my contemplating and I'm aware that maybe, I've done something wrong and probably illegal. But I don't feel guilty about it all... so I do what everybody does when they hear police sirens. I run. .:. akumu dake da yo Isn't it odd how what movies you fall asleep watching can influence your dreams? That's what I get for falling asleep watching Kill Bill Vol. 1 for a second time before bed. | (0) comments
Friday, April 23, 2004
random thoughts
mujo What's mujo? 
In the mental rotation: Life is short. I made a wallpaper out of the sakura picture I posted here as a sort of carthasis... yet I still feel half-purged lately. If you like it, feel free to DL a version in glorious 1600x1200 here. Bonus points if you know where the text is from... but by the file name, it should be obvious. .:. conflicted Recently, I've been faced with many difficult choices, mostly in regards to both my future, my job, my relationships, and my time here in Japan. I find I'm becoming paralyzed about making a firm decision - the stress is probably also in relation to the fact to what I mentioned above: life is short. Gotta get crack'n. Circumstances and people in my life are starting to put me into position where I must choose something, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. Maybe my feigned indifference is a defense mechanism. Mukashi, mukashi (long ago, long ago)... ...I used to be a decisive person. Honto? (Really?) Honto-da. (Really.) I think my decisiveness was at its peak in high school. During then, things were much more straightforward in life (go to UW, go to church, yada yada). Another big factor I suppose was my devotion to kendo at the time. Kendo training pretty much beat indecision out of me... when you're engaged in fighting somebody full-contact, one-on-one, with a weapon... you don't have the luxury of thinking a lot. In fact, you're conditioned to make fast decisions. Hey there, Vince! Would you mind dropping your guard and standing still while I think for a few minutes where would be the optimum place to hit your body with my sword? Since kendo / high school, the trials of college and post-college life have enshrined my once small peasant of indecisiveness in a vast castle of procrastination. From his new home, King Indecisiveness, regularly makes his presence felt in my life. Maybe it's because now, I see the world is less black and white terms, and they vast expanse of gray that I see, both in myself and the world... it's troubling. Lots of shades of gray. For me, discovering what my life is supposed to be specifically about is sorta like this analogy: I receive in the mail some keys to a room in my house where a machine is: super-duper-wonky-widget-version-Garrett's-Life. I walk into the room, see about over a hundred different levers, buttons, dials, and switches, all with descriptions written in vague descriptions like "thingie" and "other thingie". Taped to the chair in front of the machine is a handwritten note in English to me that reads: "Dear Garrett, Please use your device (super-duper-wonky-widget-version-Garrett's-Life). Feel free to manipulate the controls how you see fit, but be sure to help your fellow man via its operation and not cause pain, death, destruction or harm... as outlined in your general instruction manual, the Bible. When a manual specific to the operation of your own personal device is developed, rest assured, I will mail it to you too. Maybe. Thanks. Signed, The Guy Upstairs." Stupified, I just stare and make the choice that requires the least effort or risk: Do nothing. Choices, choices... I guess lately, I have doubts about my ability to make (good) choices. I wish the general operation of my life was a little bit less complicated... why can't the operation of my life be more like a Glock or something? Clip in, slide back, aim, pull the trigger... bang. .:. poetic? Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone. For the sad old earth must borrow it's mirth, But has trouble enough of it's own. The above is quote from the poem "Solitude", which I remember from "good 'ol" high school days, where daily subjects mostly revolved around dead people and the stuff they left that you, the ig'nant child, should know about. Being the anti-stereotypical Asian American person I was, my interests in high school tended to literature, history, and poetry... NOT math and science. Once, liking poetry was considered equivalent to wearing a pink tutu or being a hairdresser, but because of hip-hop / emceeing, I can breathe a sigh of relief that my manhood is safe. On a related note, according to this article posted by Doc Lot, being a poet is a ticket to an early grave. Joy. .:. gotcha A student told me recently they found my webpage with - what else? - Google. I wonder if he and others read this blog? To all my English students: My apologies for my frequent, casual, and completely brutal abuse of the English language. Native (Chinese American) son speaking in his native (Chinese American) tongue, here. haha. .:. movie-age I watched copies of MySassy Girl, Face/Off and best of all... Kill Bill Vol. 1 a few days ago. Thanks, Chong. Holla at me if you want anything from Japan. | (0) comments
Wednesday, April 21, 2004
shiawase?
I took a picture of this sign the other day with my cell phone while standing in the train on the way to work and it says, "shiawase?"... which means literally in Nihongo (Japanese): happy? Not a very wordy question, but what made me think the sign was interesting is that the top half of the sign is a mirror. In many Japanese trains, in the womens' train car, there are advertisements that are half mirrors, half sign. Before netizens of Bloglandia start to shout, "What was Garrett doing in the womens' train car?!?! SICKBASTARD!"... relax. The train car is only reserved for women during rush hour, so any other time, everybody rides it, OK? Anyways, it was an interesting thing to think about in the morning... it's a statement of a stupidly obviously fact that happiness remains an elusive thing for humanity. Part of (my) life as a person of faith means that I'm
Not a comprehensive list, but you get the idea. Reality is much more than the mere realm of our physical senses, and once we know "the truth", it isn't always easy to accept or like, even if it is the truth (think of the dichotomy of Neo's / Cypher's reactions in "The Matrix"). I know that life is more important than those things, and yet knowing what can't make me happy, doesn't translate directly into knowing what I know will make me happy: living a meaningful life that is according to whatever purpose God has for me. Vague, right? To quote the direct and insightful words of a guy I know on the subject of happiness / money / life... People think about making money all the time in this world, I think about how the world might be if money is not needed. I don't want to be a drone, a worker, a peon. I don't want clients, bosses, a dress code, a name tag, or business card. I don't want people to catagorize me by my job title, I want people to recognize me by my name. Everyone does things one way, get a diploma, find a job, work till they die. Stack up money and buy stuff. What does a diploma tell someone? It tells people that you were a great drone for 4 years of your life because everybody needs more drones. Wise words. Japan has been a lot of fun, and being a prophet of Babylon (American English Teacher) slaving away in the Japanese economy is fun, but I know I should be spending more time contemplating how God wants me to use these experiences. However, to be conscious about such things though, means thinking a lot about the future. And thinking a lot about the future... tends to make me shiawase ja nai and I'm still an architect. .:. 
On an unrelated note, I recently taught a special lesson about regional slang. My newest contribution to my Japanese students friendly English repertoire: sup. whoohooo! | (0) comments
Sunday, April 18, 2004
rain rain
go away come again another day There's some serious rain going on right now here in Japan... figures, it's my day off. Bye-bye plans for a quiet nature walk... *sigh* | (0) comments
edjamacated.
Been thinking a lot recently about the things God has been teaching me here in Japan. Of course coming to Japan has taught me a lot about Japanese people and Japanese culture, but the scope of learning has been a lot of internal things as well. My only problem is remembering what they are... bokuwa wasureppoi hito da. (I'm a forgetful person). Life really is the school of hard knocks, sometimes. At least mine is. And from my experience, God definitely ain't afraid to swing the lumber to beat some sense into you when you've gone stupid... | (0) comments
Friday, April 16, 2004
artsy-fartsy
Last Easter Weekend in pictures... plus gar-stylee haiku commentary. wh00t. 
but it's never too late to start over 
hip-hop music everywhere back to the streets 
spring is blossoming now moment's rest 
bathing now in the open sun your time is short 
no, but i like camo it's very cheap 
men of old wielded the bow fighting for glory 
in a bowl of curry i-ta-da-ki-mas 
a song i can relate to one son's angst 
trains going to home which one to catch? | (0) comments
Tuesday, April 13, 2004
yum yum yum
So I'm walking thru the Umeda area of Osaka and outside a fast food restaurant, I saw the picture below. After spotting this sign, I can only conclude that the meat crisis here in Japan (mad cow beef, bird flu, etc.) has reached a new level of desperation. Am I a little bit dyslexic, or is this sign just hilarious? I can hear the slogans already. ---> (cue corny announcer voice) Forget dangerous beef and chicken meat... he's not only your best friend and able to fetch, he's... ...YOUR LUNCH! MMMMMmmmmm... ---> (/corny announcer voice) For a country as modern and intelligent as Japan, the skilled use of English still is a ways off. After all, even if something is perfect grammar-wise, doesn't mean it's proof against sounding wacky. I suppose that's a part of the finer parts of "native usage". And probably the same reason my nihongo speaking skill-age sucks too. .:. Bonus cheap laugh: My warm-up conversation about foreign countries and travel with one of my English students. Her: "I like Australia. It has a lot of ugly culture!" Me: "Huh? Could you repeat that please?" (she looks really happy about insulting Australia) Her: "Yes, yes.. Australia has a lot of ugly culture!!!" Me: "What do you mean?" (the student is surprised) Her: "Chan-san, you are so smart... you don't know ugly culture?" Me: "Please tell me more..." Her: "You know... lots of cow, sheep, big farm..." The lightbulb in my brain starts to glow dimly. Me: "You mean agriculture?" Her: "Yes, yes... UGLY CULTURE!" Ah, the fun of being an English teacher... English really is a language of nonsense. .:. On a personal note, I'm actually feeling a lil kanashii (dictionary linkage for edjamacation), but that's OK... trying to muster some resistance to my grim and cynical nature. Thank God for laughter. Oh, and if anyone finds my brain, please mail it back. .:. random note: I've been reading more foreigner blogs (of bicultural English speaking people like me) here in Japan... I'm glad I'm not the only one. But I'm probably the only 4th generation Chinese American pastors's kid prodigal son with a shaved head and fondness for firearms born in Oakland and raised in Seattle who likes hip-hop... SO THERE. (Note my lame attempt at cementing my uniqueness is just as awkward as the previous sentence.) WARNING: Careful about the following links. If you dun like crass humor (I do, though), bizarre pictures (some OK, some... so wrong), or light-hearted misogynistic behavior (I only read about it doing it... really! heh.)... DO NOT CLICK ON THESE LINKS. People of internet land, you have been warned. I ain't responsible for the corruption of your kids. But check these blogs out... I'm not the only person that thinks life here in Japan is sometimes waaaay too wacky. As mentioned before, kindofcrap.com... hilarious writing (turns out him and his brothers... all G names. It's so familar, it's crazy). Some pictures from Kansai here on Wasabepasta... a lot of famous landmarks, like the Glico Man in Shinsaibashi, Kinkakuji, etc. Some Filipino view-age of life as non-white foreigner in Japan is at The Shout OUT. I wonder how many Asian American / Canadians / Aussies / Brits have blogs about life here in Japan. I'm curious, but not curious enough to do the work in finding out. That's probably why I'm a slacker... | (0) comments
Sunday, April 11, 2004
Iisutaa Omedeto
(Happy Easter) I'm really thankful that I have Sundays off nowadays. It's my first Sunday back here in Japan, I'm glad I didn't have to spend it working overtime or running more last minute errands. I suppose my personal goal for this Easter was to just take time out and reflect. .:. Easter is a special holiday for me, both in my life as person and as a Christian. I was baptized during Easter service in 1997, and my father's death was shortly before Easter in late March. The two events may seem completely unrelated, but they aren't. The happy and sad times that make up the whole of human existence, AKA life, have often been compared to the seasons which cycle everywhere all over the Earth in the natural world - spring, summer, autumn, winter. It's no coincidence that Christians have chosen to celebrate Easter in the spring, a season where people celebrate life. Nothing is more pivotal to the Christian faith than the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. The entire whole of Christianity hinges on the events now depicted in the film, The Passion, yet I wonder how often Christians are mindful that our life springs from death and that the cross so many of us wear around our necks was originally a symbol of a horrible, slow death before Christ's sacrifice. Can you imagine people wear gold or platinum necklaces of electric chairs around their necks? Of course not. BTW, West Coast rappers from Death Row Records don't count. .:. I woke up this morning early (7:50 is early for me) to get dressed, throw some gear in a backpack, and wait for a phonecall from Shiv. My math-challenged brain had calculated this time by the fact that the church I would be going to, Hiyodoridai Kobe Kyokai , would start services around 10:15... factor in about 15 minute walk to the train station (I wanted to strooooooooll), a 45 minute train ride, a 10 minute walk and stop to an ATM, a 25 minute bus ride, and another 15 minute walk to the church from the bus stop (another lil stroll). I arrived right on time. How un-Chinese of me. .:. One of my English students wisely asked me on Saturday night, "If Easter is such an important holiday to Christian people, why is it not as popular as Christmas? Why do people not take several days off for holiday or go to church?" It took a small bit of thinking on my part, but a little bit of reflection on both my own experiences and Western culture led me easily to an answer... The celebration of Christmas and the birth of Christ is happy occasion, because a gift is an easy thing to accept. It takes a miniscule amount of effort to accept a gift that has been given to you. You stretch out your hand, grab it, rip off the wrapping paper, and *bam*... there it is. It's yours. Christmas is a cute baby, starry nights, shepards & wisemen visiting, and angels singing. Easter, however, is different. Easter is an innocent being named Jesus, 100% man and 100% God, being beaten with rods, whipped like a criminal, and blooding dripping from his body as he has to haul the very instrument of his demise to a place with an upbeat name... "SKULL". Easter is blackened sky, shaking ground, rumbling thunder, and ripped curtains. Easter is angry mobs, an indifferent, oppressive government, and sneering upper class haters, privileged by virtue of collaboration with their occupiers. Easter is a father opening the floodgates of his wrath at everything that is wrong, all upon his only child, and angels weeping as they turn their faces from anguished pleas of a child fated from birth to death. I'm probably embellishing things a little bit, but the point is this: Easter forces humanity to acknowledge some uncomfortable spiritual realities: that we human beings, at our core, are corrupt, and that our redemption comes at heavy, heavy price - the death of the most innocent, most holy, most compassionate, and most guiltless man to ever set foot on the Earth. When we are forced to contemplate such an event, we feel both the weight of our own unrighteousness, and we feel the gravity of the love of the God who created us. Our contemplation forces us to a very uncomfortable decision: we must either reject the sacrifice of this man or we must reject ourselves Uncomfortable = unpopular holiday. How can we as people begin to fathom such an event and its ramifications? In a modern world, so restless and without peace, can the death and resurrection of Jesus empower people to have hope? .:. All these thoughts swirled around in my head as walked into the church in Hiyodoridai. I sat down inside the church, just in time to hear the first song being sung. Of course, it's in Japanese, but I recognize the tune... Because He lives... I can face tomorrow. Easter. It really is a special holiday. | (0) comments
Saturday, April 10, 2004
welcome back... now get back to work.
People say that one of the great comforts of life is a familar routine, and nothing characterizes working full-time here in Japan as routine. The word has a lot of negative connotations in modern English, but for me, it's not so bad. Like I said before, I can appreciate the simple benefit of knowing what to expect. Besides, it makes the little surprises all the more fun. Yeah. .:. On the otherhand, all surprises aren't good. A sample of unpleasant surprises that I've experienced past week: -getting an e-mail from my co-worker / friend Michelle that she has to return home to the UK because of a life-threatening sickness. Sad. =( -having the laptop die and refuse to boot up. I almost had a panic attack knowing all my Japan photos and writing is on the thing; luckily, it was only some sort of OS failure and I just re-installed WindowsXP. Lost some programs, but my data is still there. phew. -having the laptop die on the flight home from America to Japan. -having three noisy, obnoxious, LOUD little kids behind me for the entire 11 hour flight from America to Japan. -finding out that I left my tax forms back home in Seattle and that they weren't in my bag like I thought bleh. .:. On a happy note... yeah, Seattle. My last night, there was a small gathering of my friends at the Greenwood house for eating and playing games. We played this movie game (my team won) and we played some Texas Hold'em with the big-baller buy-in of $1 (I won that too). A lucky night... maybe I should have bought a lotto ticket too. Or maybe my friends just let me win? Ah, if only I could be a winner at the game of life as easily. Anyways, Texas Hold'em was really fun. Steph some of pictures, which can all be viewed here. My favorite picture... and I quote Steph: "Garrett - hoarding his winnings...the greedy miser. just kidding." I'm not the greatest poker player, especially when it comes to things like calculating odds (I leave that to my friend Forrest)... my strength as a card player comes from being able to read and guess what my friends are doing. As any great poker player will tell you, bluffing is a HUGE part of poker... and knowing when other people are bluffing will definitely save you some money. I've since spent my $10 winnings (about $1000 yen) on some nigiri-zushi for lunch here in Japan. Easy come, easy go. .:. Japanzine recently did a feature on weblogs of foreigners who are here in Japan. Some of them are pretty funny. Probably the best is one written by a guy named Galvin Chow. Really funny writing, and some in-your-face insights about life here in Japan... plus a lot of profanity and racy humor. Hilarious stuff, but not for the faint of heart. Kind of Crap Did I mention a lot of profanity? Yeah, some people might think it's low-brow, but I think it adds a lot to the personality of his site. Props to him. On a freaky note, he has an older brother named 'Garrick'. Garrick... Garrett. I suspect his parents must be Chinese American, because only Chinese American parents have such a talent for wacky names. On another side note, I had an uncle named 'Galvin' on my father's side. | (0) comments
Monday, April 05, 2004
what would you do, if I sang you a song...
Ryan and Siska's wedding was great... I was gonna do a write up about it, but I found Stone has already beat me to it. Cap on me! Check out Stone's photo-tastic entry right here. Did I mention I was the Scripture reader for the ceremony? Yeah, it's nice to have an easy job. =) Overall, it was a beautiful wedding. Lots of old friends and family, a fun slideshow/video by Chong, a touching wedding toast by Siska to her parents that had even my cynical eyes getting wet... good stuff. Picture of me and Shiv, courtesy of Monkey King Photography. | (0) comments
Friday, April 02, 2004
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in?scrip?tion (n-skrip-shun)n.
the facts.
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