Friday, December 16, 2005
Free Tech Support
Providing tech support to my mother is an experience akin to repeatedly stabbing myself in the eye with a rusty Exacto knife.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Ohashi
Chris and I had so much fun at dinner with Eiko-san and Aizawa-San and Masako-san.
We went to Ohashi Restaurant, which is a lovely, luminous upscale restaurant--probably one of the best ones in Misawa. The Aizawas seemed to like it very much. Everyone was dressed so nicely, and I noticed that Aizawa-san is an elegant dresser in a very old-fashioned way. He was wearing a cravat, which made him look very distinguished, in that way that old British dudes are, too. Everyone was quite shocked to see me wearing makeup and with my hair done (including me).
Poor Masako-san hardly got a chance to eat, though, because she was translating all the time. I think after Christmas, I will call her up and take her to lunch, just the two of us.
I learned a little more about my Kimono Sensei and her family, which was great. They learned a bit about me, too and stories about my mother's adventures in Tokyo were a good source of laughs.
12.17.05 eta: All of Us at Ohashi!
We went to Ohashi Restaurant, which is a lovely, luminous upscale restaurant--probably one of the best ones in Misawa. The Aizawas seemed to like it very much. Everyone was dressed so nicely, and I noticed that Aizawa-san is an elegant dresser in a very old-fashioned way. He was wearing a cravat, which made him look very distinguished, in that way that old British dudes are, too. Everyone was quite shocked to see me wearing makeup and with my hair done (including me).
Poor Masako-san hardly got a chance to eat, though, because she was translating all the time. I think after Christmas, I will call her up and take her to lunch, just the two of us.
I learned a little more about my Kimono Sensei and her family, which was great. They learned a bit about me, too and stories about my mother's adventures in Tokyo were a good source of laughs.
12.17.05 eta: All of Us at Ohashi!
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Forgiveness (and a Sort of Tangent)
Eiko-san is back in town. We are going to be having dinner with her tomorrow 12/15.
I will have my kitsuke lesson on Saturday 12/17. I will be learning how to do men's kimono (which is much easier than women's). I'm looking forward to both events.
I have to disagree with Sly that forgiveness is just mental. It is also emotional. You make a conscious decision to let go of old feelings and if you do it wholeheartedly, there's definitely an emotional release. A person to whom I did a grave injustice forgave me for it long ago. That gift still makes me weep, although it took me a number of years to realize just how precious that forgiveness was/is. I have forgiven some injustices done to me, too, although I have to admit that I still have a running "shit list" with a few names currently on it. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!
One of the things I don't like about Japanese culture (lest you think I'm a crazed Nipponophile) is the unwillingness to admit a wrong and offer sincere apologies, possibly letting a chance for forgiveness/healing/resolution slip by. Oh, you could get a "boilerplate" apology, because that's what is expected in polite society, but you wouldn't get a real apology.
Lest you think I am unfair, there's stuff for which the US needs to apologize, too.
Anyway, in some situations, kata-ized behavior won't cut it, you need to offer a sincere apology.
A prime example of this is Yasukini Shrine. How the Japanese Tweak the Chinese
No, the Japanese really cannot figure out why this would upset anybody or why they need to offer an sincere apology.
We visited Yaskuni, three times. The first time, we went and toured, and there wasn't much of a problem, I did have a slight run-in with an older man, but nothing frightening. The second time, not much of anything, just a vague uneasiness. The third time, though, there were people selling shirts along the lines of "expel the foreign devils", not the tongue-in-cheek-ones offered for sale by retailers like thinkgeek, but far right propaganda and the like, and pretty hateful at that. My mom--my friendly, curious mom, who sincerely believes everyone can --and should be-- friends, started to wander over...but Chris was able to read enough of the text on the shirts and signs to realize what was going on and steer Mom away. We didn't tell my mom about it, although my cousin Matthew asked why we hurried by and we briefly explained the situation. Chris and I were both frightened and saddened.
Don't get me wrong, architecturally, it's a beautiful shrine. Philosophically, it is a horror--there are convincted war criminals (Class A War Criminals, some of them) literally deified within that shrine. While we were not disrespectful in our behavior at the Yasukuni, we did not pay any respects, say any prayers, nor make any donations (for temple upkeep, etc) at this shrine, like we did the others.
I will say I did see something touching during one of the visits. A frail, hunched elderly man (probably a former WWII soldier) was pushed in a wheelchair up to the steps of the shrine, where he slowly and painfully made his way up the stairs to pay his respects. It looked like an such an ordeal, and it made me think of the veterans I had seen in DC, who came to pay respects at various monuments, primarily The Wall. No matter who you are or what service you are in, it hurts deeply to lose a comrade, a wingman, a brother-in-arms.
Well, part of me was touched, another part was furious anyone would worship at a place that had enshrined a man who was a Nazi supporter and who ordered the strike on Pearl Harbor (that would be Hideki Tojo). I decided to go with the idea that he wasn't doing that and was praying for his lost companions, for whom he cared about and missed. Maybe we can --and should be -- humane.
I will have my kitsuke lesson on Saturday 12/17. I will be learning how to do men's kimono (which is much easier than women's). I'm looking forward to both events.
I have to disagree with Sly that forgiveness is just mental. It is also emotional. You make a conscious decision to let go of old feelings and if you do it wholeheartedly, there's definitely an emotional release. A person to whom I did a grave injustice forgave me for it long ago. That gift still makes me weep, although it took me a number of years to realize just how precious that forgiveness was/is. I have forgiven some injustices done to me, too, although I have to admit that I still have a running "shit list" with a few names currently on it. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!
One of the things I don't like about Japanese culture (lest you think I'm a crazed Nipponophile) is the unwillingness to admit a wrong and offer sincere apologies, possibly letting a chance for forgiveness/healing/resolution slip by. Oh, you could get a "boilerplate" apology, because that's what is expected in polite society, but you wouldn't get a real apology.
Lest you think I am unfair, there's stuff for which the US needs to apologize, too.
Anyway, in some situations, kata-ized behavior won't cut it, you need to offer a sincere apology.
A prime example of this is Yasukini Shrine. How the Japanese Tweak the Chinese
No, the Japanese really cannot figure out why this would upset anybody or why they need to offer an sincere apology.
We visited Yaskuni, three times. The first time, we went and toured, and there wasn't much of a problem, I did have a slight run-in with an older man, but nothing frightening. The second time, not much of anything, just a vague uneasiness. The third time, though, there were people selling shirts along the lines of "expel the foreign devils", not the tongue-in-cheek-ones offered for sale by retailers like thinkgeek, but far right propaganda and the like, and pretty hateful at that. My mom--my friendly, curious mom, who sincerely believes everyone can --and should be-- friends, started to wander over...but Chris was able to read enough of the text on the shirts and signs to realize what was going on and steer Mom away. We didn't tell my mom about it, although my cousin Matthew asked why we hurried by and we briefly explained the situation. Chris and I were both frightened and saddened.
Don't get me wrong, architecturally, it's a beautiful shrine. Philosophically, it is a horror--there are convincted war criminals (Class A War Criminals, some of them) literally deified within that shrine. While we were not disrespectful in our behavior at the Yasukuni, we did not pay any respects, say any prayers, nor make any donations (for temple upkeep, etc) at this shrine, like we did the others.
I will say I did see something touching during one of the visits. A frail, hunched elderly man (probably a former WWII soldier) was pushed in a wheelchair up to the steps of the shrine, where he slowly and painfully made his way up the stairs to pay his respects. It looked like an such an ordeal, and it made me think of the veterans I had seen in DC, who came to pay respects at various monuments, primarily The Wall. No matter who you are or what service you are in, it hurts deeply to lose a comrade, a wingman, a brother-in-arms.
Well, part of me was touched, another part was furious anyone would worship at a place that had enshrined a man who was a Nazi supporter and who ordered the strike on Pearl Harbor (that would be Hideki Tojo). I decided to go with the idea that he wasn't doing that and was praying for his lost companions, for whom he cared about and missed. Maybe we can --and should be -- humane.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Against Winter
Against Winter
The truth is dark under your eyelids.
What are you going to do about it?
The birds are silent; there's no one to ask.
All day long you'll squint at the gray sky.
When the wind blows you'll shiver like straw.
A meek little lamb you grew your wool
Till they came after you with huge shears.
Flies hovered over open mouth,
Then they, too, flew off like the leaves,
The bare branches reached after them in vain.
Winter coming. Like the last heroic soldier
Of a defeated army, you'll stay at your post,
Head bared to the first snow flake.
Till a neighbor comes to yell at you,
You're crazier than the weather, Charlie.
--Charles Simic
The truth is dark under your eyelids.
What are you going to do about it?
The birds are silent; there's no one to ask.
All day long you'll squint at the gray sky.
When the wind blows you'll shiver like straw.
A meek little lamb you grew your wool
Till they came after you with huge shears.
Flies hovered over open mouth,
Then they, too, flew off like the leaves,
The bare branches reached after them in vain.
Winter coming. Like the last heroic soldier
Of a defeated army, you'll stay at your post,
Head bared to the first snow flake.
Till a neighbor comes to yell at you,
You're crazier than the weather, Charlie.
--Charles Simic
Monday, December 12, 2005
Bananas!
Thx to KK for providing this morning's content, with an email saying my husband had made the news...
Banana Boy Escapes Again!
Banana Boy Escapes Again!
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Sundaze
What is it about Sundays that fill me with an unspeakable dread? It's still the weekend right? But everything is overshadowed by 'Ugh, tomorrow is work!" which ruins an otherwise enjoyable day off.
Stateside, I mostly stayed home on Sundays-to clean, do the wash, get ready for the week. I wasn't averse to going out. Here, I am. I don't like trying to deal with the madding crowd on Sundays. The Japanese work six days a week-- Sunday is the one day everyone is off, so the roads, shops, and the mall are always a zoo.
Don't feel too badly for the folks, though, Japan has a veritable buttload of national holidays, I think it comes out to something like three a month, I swear. In addition, everything pretty much shuts down during August for the week of Obon (dates vary) and in December/January for The Emperor's Birthday, New Years and probably something else I am forgetting. (many places are closed Dec 23 - Jan 1).
Stateside, I mostly stayed home on Sundays-to clean, do the wash, get ready for the week. I wasn't averse to going out. Here, I am. I don't like trying to deal with the madding crowd on Sundays. The Japanese work six days a week-- Sunday is the one day everyone is off, so the roads, shops, and the mall are always a zoo.
Don't feel too badly for the folks, though, Japan has a veritable buttload of national holidays, I think it comes out to something like three a month, I swear. In addition, everything pretty much shuts down during August for the week of Obon (dates vary) and in December/January for The Emperor's Birthday, New Years and probably something else I am forgetting. (many places are closed Dec 23 - Jan 1).
Saturday, December 10, 2005
The Louie Story
This is a family chestnut, originally written about 10 years ago. I think the restaurant mentioned here is still in business, but the antagonist in the story has probably passed on. If he was a relative of yours, I'm sure he wasn't quite like I portray him-please indulge the vagaries of a memory from childhood.
The Louie Story
Christmases where money was tight (which happened often), my family called “Thin Christmases.” As in, “You remember Christmas ’78? That one was a little thin.” Such holidays were hard on my mother, because the effort to provide the perfect holiday often brought her to the breaking point.
This story starts with a Christmas tree-- or rather without one. In the seventies, unemployment in Buffalo was rampant and my father had long been jobless. By December, it was a struggle to find money for anything, let alone for gifts and decorations. When my brother (age five) and I (age seven) began to fret about not having a tree, were told we would get one. We stopped worrying. Our parents always came through. So when the day finally came to get a tree, we would get a tree, come Hell or high water. We didn’t go to Hell, but we did run into the devil.
Most of the trees in our town had already been sold. We stopped at every stand, but the remaining trees were brown or ugly or expensive.
Mom didn’t want to go far out of town for a tree. The closest place left was Louie's Restaurant on Sheridan Drive in Tonawanda. Louie had sold trees for years and always had lovely ones, even late into December.
We went to Louie’s. The place, ringed in twinkling lights and frosted with meringue drifts of snow, was the stuff of fairy tales. A picture-book forest greeted us; the lot was full of deep green, incense-fragrant, painfully perfect trees. My brother and I were bouncing around the inside of Mom’s decrepit black Ford. “Look, the lights! Look, the trees! Let us OUT!" Mom barely got the car parked as Bill and I tumbled out. Mom followed, less enthusiastic.
"Help youse guys?"
It was Louie. He was short, with receding hair and a big nose. I knew it was Louie because of his greasy, red satin jacket-- his name was embroidered on the front.
How could someone so horrid have such good trees?
"Help youse guys?"
"Just looking." said Mom. Bill and I peered into a tree’s bristly depths, looking for a bird nests. A nest was a twiggy sales clincher.
"Nice tree," said Louie, looking like Lucifer.
My brother and I scuttled closer to Mom.
"Just looking," Mom was wearing an old booger-green parka with a hood trimmed in wretched fake fur, gone all clumpy from wear. The parka had been mended several times. Mom looked tired.
"This one?" Billy found a tree. It had a beautiful, perfect wedge shape. It had a bird’s nest. It had a cheery red pricetag announcing $65.00
"What an eye the little guy’s got! Nicest tree on the lot! You’ll take it!" exclaimed Louie. My brother and I recoiled, expecting Louie to offer up a poisoned apple, a la Snow White.
"Can't afford it." stated Mom.
“Awwww.” Our parents had sadly explained “budgets” several times. There would be other trees, ones we could buy. So we said “Awwww” and let it go.
Louie did not. "The kids really like it.”
"My children understand." Mom said softly.
"Look, Lady, it’s Christmas. Your kids..."
“Look, Louie, I have thirty-five dollars.”
Louie obviously didn't believe her. "You wouldn't buy your kids the tree they want?"
My brother and I were baffled. Why would Louie think Mom had more than thirty-five dollars?
Maybe Louie needed budgets explained to him.
“You think I just fell off the turnip truck?”
“Then please show me something I can afford.”
Suddenly, Louie began waving his hands and looking more and more like the Devil himself, what with that red jacket and all. The tail end of the long conversation was burned indelibly onto my young mind:
"Look, I have thirty-five dollars. I’m not lying. If you really want to sell me that tree, you’ll have to do it for thirty-five or I have to go somewhere else.”
Louie was not prepared for what happened next (neither were we).
"Ah, you're too goddamn cheap to buy it for your kids. . ."
That was it. My mother wanted to buy that tree for us more than anything. Suddenly, Mom’s ratty old parka was a queen’s ermine-trimmed velvet cape and our mother looked regal and fierce and beautiful.
"You can take your tree," said our elegant mother in a royally glacial tone,
"AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS!"
Louie was expecting to be told “I’ll take it,” not told to shove the tree up his nether region. He went ballistic! His face turned as red as his jacket. It would have been no surprise had he sprouted horns and a tail!
My brother and I, shocked by our mother’s use of an expletive, were unable to move! Our mother NEVER cussed! We thought it was Armageddon. We waited for the Four Horsemen of the Parking Lot Apocalypse to appear. We were paralyzed, looking like two codfish with our mouths open in great, round "O's!" Surely, in revenge, that devil Louie would grab us and take us to Hell (a frozen lot full of ugly trees, no doubt)!
Before Louie could do so, Mom hurled us like snow-suited shot-puts into the backseat of the car. She got in, slammed into gear, and we went fishtailing towards home.
My brother and I began to cry.
"Don't cry, we’ll find a tree. I promise." Mom said, tearing up.
Our mother misunderstood our reaction. We weren’t upset about the tree. We had just realized that even at Christmas, people were mean, even to our mother…and maybe we were upset about the tree – but just a little.
Then, despite her tears, Mom giggled.
"What are you laughing at?" I asked.
"Boy, did he get mad." she snickered.
In awe, I said "You told Louie to shove his tree up his a--"
"Et, et..." Mom shushed me. "I shouldn't have said that to him, it wasn’t nice and it's Christmas." She choked back another laugh. The more Mom thought about Louie’s reaction, the funnier it got. I believe she looked at the confrontation scoreboard style:
Connie: 1 - Louie: 0
"He was mean!" said my brother.
"Some people are like that, even at Christmas. We'll go find someone nice to buy a tree from."
Eventually we found a stand where a man let Mom have a nice tree for twenty dollars, which was less than what was written on the price tag. It wasn't perfect like Louie's, but when the man said "Merry Christmas," we knew he meant it.
A few days after Christmas, Mom took a leisurely drive past Louie's lot. The tree was still there.
Connie: 2 - Louie: 0
This story starts with a Christmas tree-- or rather without one. In the seventies, unemployment in Buffalo was rampant and my father had long been jobless. By December, it was a struggle to find money for anything, let alone for gifts and decorations. When my brother (age five) and I (age seven) began to fret about not having a tree, were told we would get one. We stopped worrying. Our parents always came through. So when the day finally came to get a tree, we would get a tree, come Hell or high water. We didn’t go to Hell, but we did run into the devil.
Most of the trees in our town had already been sold. We stopped at every stand, but the remaining trees were brown or ugly or expensive.
Mom didn’t want to go far out of town for a tree. The closest place left was Louie's Restaurant on Sheridan Drive in Tonawanda. Louie had sold trees for years and always had lovely ones, even late into December.
We went to Louie’s. The place, ringed in twinkling lights and frosted with meringue drifts of snow, was the stuff of fairy tales. A picture-book forest greeted us; the lot was full of deep green, incense-fragrant, painfully perfect trees. My brother and I were bouncing around the inside of Mom’s decrepit black Ford. “Look, the lights! Look, the trees! Let us OUT!" Mom barely got the car parked as Bill and I tumbled out. Mom followed, less enthusiastic.
"Help youse guys?"
It was Louie. He was short, with receding hair and a big nose. I knew it was Louie because of his greasy, red satin jacket-- his name was embroidered on the front.
How could someone so horrid have such good trees?
"Help youse guys?"
"Just looking." said Mom. Bill and I peered into a tree’s bristly depths, looking for a bird nests. A nest was a twiggy sales clincher.
"Nice tree," said Louie, looking like Lucifer.
My brother and I scuttled closer to Mom.
"Just looking," Mom was wearing an old booger-green parka with a hood trimmed in wretched fake fur, gone all clumpy from wear. The parka had been mended several times. Mom looked tired.
"This one?" Billy found a tree. It had a beautiful, perfect wedge shape. It had a bird’s nest. It had a cheery red pricetag announcing $65.00
"What an eye the little guy’s got! Nicest tree on the lot! You’ll take it!" exclaimed Louie. My brother and I recoiled, expecting Louie to offer up a poisoned apple, a la Snow White.
"Can't afford it." stated Mom.
“Awwww.” Our parents had sadly explained “budgets” several times. There would be other trees, ones we could buy. So we said “Awwww” and let it go.
Louie did not. "The kids really like it.”
"My children understand." Mom said softly.
"Look, Lady, it’s Christmas. Your kids..."
“Look, Louie, I have thirty-five dollars.”
Louie obviously didn't believe her. "You wouldn't buy your kids the tree they want?"
My brother and I were baffled. Why would Louie think Mom had more than thirty-five dollars?
Maybe Louie needed budgets explained to him.
“You think I just fell off the turnip truck?”
“Then please show me something I can afford.”
Suddenly, Louie began waving his hands and looking more and more like the Devil himself, what with that red jacket and all. The tail end of the long conversation was burned indelibly onto my young mind:
"Look, I have thirty-five dollars. I’m not lying. If you really want to sell me that tree, you’ll have to do it for thirty-five or I have to go somewhere else.”
Louie was not prepared for what happened next (neither were we).
"Ah, you're too goddamn cheap to buy it for your kids. . ."
That was it. My mother wanted to buy that tree for us more than anything. Suddenly, Mom’s ratty old parka was a queen’s ermine-trimmed velvet cape and our mother looked regal and fierce and beautiful.
"You can take your tree," said our elegant mother in a royally glacial tone,
"AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS!"
Louie was expecting to be told “I’ll take it,” not told to shove the tree up his nether region. He went ballistic! His face turned as red as his jacket. It would have been no surprise had he sprouted horns and a tail!
My brother and I, shocked by our mother’s use of an expletive, were unable to move! Our mother NEVER cussed! We thought it was Armageddon. We waited for the Four Horsemen of the Parking Lot Apocalypse to appear. We were paralyzed, looking like two codfish with our mouths open in great, round "O's!" Surely, in revenge, that devil Louie would grab us and take us to Hell (a frozen lot full of ugly trees, no doubt)!
Before Louie could do so, Mom hurled us like snow-suited shot-puts into the backseat of the car. She got in, slammed into gear, and we went fishtailing towards home.
My brother and I began to cry.
"Don't cry, we’ll find a tree. I promise." Mom said, tearing up.
Our mother misunderstood our reaction. We weren’t upset about the tree. We had just realized that even at Christmas, people were mean, even to our mother…and maybe we were upset about the tree – but just a little.
Then, despite her tears, Mom giggled.
"What are you laughing at?" I asked.
"Boy, did he get mad." she snickered.
In awe, I said "You told Louie to shove his tree up his a--"
"Et, et..." Mom shushed me. "I shouldn't have said that to him, it wasn’t nice and it's Christmas." She choked back another laugh. The more Mom thought about Louie’s reaction, the funnier it got. I believe she looked at the confrontation scoreboard style:
Connie: 1 - Louie: 0
"He was mean!" said my brother.
"Some people are like that, even at Christmas. We'll go find someone nice to buy a tree from."
Eventually we found a stand where a man let Mom have a nice tree for twenty dollars, which was less than what was written on the price tag. It wasn't perfect like Louie's, but when the man said "Merry Christmas," we knew he meant it.
A few days after Christmas, Mom took a leisurely drive past Louie's lot. The tree was still there.
Connie: 2 - Louie: 0
Friday, December 09, 2005
Watashi (me)
おなめがジョデイーです。
わたしのしゅじぇあんがクリスです。
わたちがｱﾒﾘｶじんです、メリランドから。
６．２００３に日本えいきまして。
さくらさんがわたしたちのともだちです。
さくらさん輪２００２に日本えいきまして。
さくらさんわｱﾒﾘｶじんです。
手も、さくらさんのおかあさんわにほんじんです。
さくらさんわしんせつですときいれいです。
わたしわさくらさんをすけです。
わたしたちわみさわしすんでいます。
にっぽんのせいかつわたのしです。
日本人がしんせつです。
わたしがにほんごべんきょます。
にほんごわむずかいしです。
ても、おもしろいです。
わたしもきつけべんきょます。
わたしのきつけせんせいごえいこさんです。
えいこさんわ“きもののおばあちゃんです”！
えいこさんわにほんじんですがあきたしすんでいます。
きつけわたのしですよ！ても、わたしわじょずありません。
わたしの日本語がじょずありません！
Oname ga Jodi desu. Watashi no Shujean ga Chris desu.
Watashitachi ga Americajin desu,
June, 2003 ni
Sakura-san ga watashitachi no tomodachi desu.
Sakura-san 2002 ni
Sakara-san wa Americajin desu.
Temo, Sakura-san no Okasan wa Nihonjin desu.
Sakura-san wa shinsetsu to kireii desu.
Watashi wa Sakura wo suke desu.
Ima watashitachi wa misawshi sunde imasu.
Nihonjin ga shinsetsu desu.
Watashi ga Nihongo benkyoshimasu.
Nihongo wa muzukaishi desu.
Temo, omoshiroi desu.
Watashi mo Kitsuke benkyoshimasu.
Watashi no Kitsuke Sensei ga Eiko-san desu.
Eiko-san wa “Kimono no Obaachan desu”!
Eiko-san wa Nihonjin desu ga Akitashi sunde imasu.
Kitsuke wa tanoshi desu yo! Temo, Watashi wa jozu arimasen.
Watashi no Nihongo ga jozu arimasen.
My name is Jodi. My husband is Chris.
We are American and we come from
We arrived in
Sakura is American, but her mother is Japanese.
Sakura is kind and beautiful. We like her a lot.
Right now, we are living in
Life in
I study Japanese. Japanese is difficult but interesting.
I also study Kitsuke (kimono dressing).
My teacher is Mrs. Eiko. She is my “Kimono Granny.”
Mrs. Eiko is Japanese and lives in
Kitsuke is fun but I am not very skillful.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Late
Well, I went to bed at about 1:30am this morning. I woke up at 6am, and I was still loaded!
So I went back to sleep until 7am. Then Chris woke up and was pretty mad, because he had only fallen asleep about 5 hours ago. So we slept in til 8:30 and rolled into work at 9:30.
I had to stay late at work in order to take care of some stuff, so I got to see Kelly, who looked exhausted. Poor guy. Leaving at 7:20pm made the 8 hours at work seem extra long, but that's how it goes. Had dinner on base and got home at almost 8:30, and took out the trash, updated the blog and that's probably about the extent of my evening.
I wish it would really snow.
So I went back to sleep until 7am. Then Chris woke up and was pretty mad, because he had only fallen asleep about 5 hours ago. So we slept in til 8:30 and rolled into work at 9:30.
I had to stay late at work in order to take care of some stuff, so I got to see Kelly, who looked exhausted. Poor guy. Leaving at 7:20pm made the 8 hours at work seem extra long, but that's how it goes. Had dinner on base and got home at almost 8:30, and took out the trash, updated the blog and that's probably about the extent of my evening.
I wish it would really snow.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Puri-Kura
Sly and I went to the mall today! We had a nice dinner and then went and did a little shopping.
After that, we stopped at two Puri-Kura. A couple of Japanese girls had to help us figure out the second booth's controls. It was pretty easy after we got rolling.
Then we went to my house and proceeded to antagonize our livers by drinking 3 (THREE) bottles of wine!
Three bottles (of good stuff, too)!
Duhhhhhhh...
We're sober in this shot!
Who's DRUNK?
The last picture of the evening (self-taken at about 1am)
After that, we stopped at two Puri-Kura. A couple of Japanese girls had to help us figure out the second booth's controls. It was pretty easy after we got rolling.
Then we went to my house and proceeded to antagonize our livers by drinking 3 (THREE) bottles of wine!
Three bottles (of good stuff, too)!
Duhhhhhhh...
We're sober in this shot!
Who's DRUNK?
The last picture of the evening (self-taken at about 1am)Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Speakers
I put up some more of the outdoor Xmas decorations. All I need are a few big bows and I'm done.
The bigger, black speakers are the ones from the old set. The small silver ones are the upgrades.
One more card arrived in the mail today, as did a gift for Chris.
Chris upgraded the surround sound system. He got a terrific deal on the equipment, too.
We got it for under about 300 dollars. It retailed at one store for $1,000. The reason for the deep discount is that we bought a display model. Looking at the pictures, you would never be able to tell the equipment was a display. It was packed back into the box with all the original packaging and everything!
Chris upgraded the surround sound system. He got a terrific deal on the equipment, too.
We got it for under about 300 dollars. It retailed at one store for $1,000. The reason for the deep discount is that we bought a display model. Looking at the pictures, you would never be able to tell the equipment was a display. It was packed back into the box with all the original packaging and everything!
The bigger, black speakers are the ones from the old set. The small silver ones are the upgrades.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Flannel
I invested in some top-of-the-line flannel sheets. After one night of sleeping on them, I have no qualms remaining about the price I paid for those sheets. Oh, talk about heaven. They are fuzzy and warm and now it is even harder to get out of bed in the mornings. I have discovered something to live by--don't buy cheap sheets. Spend the money. It's worth it and with proper care, the sheets will last for years.
It has been cold and raining-almost-snowing all day today. A good day to stay inside and nest. I made a spiced apple pie and three batches of fudge today. The house smells wonderful. It felt good to be domestic. I like baking in general, but I like it even more around the holidays.
I have most of the Christmas decor up but not the tree (this weekend for that). The outside stuff has to wait until it stops raining/slushing/whatevering outside. Also today, our first Xmas card arrived, as did our first Xmas gift.
The big kerosene heater that heats the living/dining room and kitchen has been acting up. I wonder if I need to notify Miyuki-san that the heater's gone retarded.
Worked through my remaing KUMON sheets, but I'm not sure if I want to throw in the towel or keep fighting the not-so-good fight. I guess I'll wait and see.
Sly is supposed to come over Wednesday night and we are going drink wine and get silly. Actually, all we will probably get is hung-over, but that's okay, too.
It has been cold and raining-almost-snowing all day today. A good day to stay inside and nest. I made a spiced apple pie and three batches of fudge today. The house smells wonderful. It felt good to be domestic. I like baking in general, but I like it even more around the holidays.
I have most of the Christmas decor up but not the tree (this weekend for that). The outside stuff has to wait until it stops raining/slushing/whatevering outside. Also today, our first Xmas card arrived, as did our first Xmas gift.
The big kerosene heater that heats the living/dining room and kitchen has been acting up. I wonder if I need to notify Miyuki-san that the heater's gone retarded.
Worked through my remaing KUMON sheets, but I'm not sure if I want to throw in the towel or keep fighting the not-so-good fight. I guess I'll wait and see.
Sly is supposed to come over Wednesday night and we are going drink wine and get silly. Actually, all we will probably get is hung-over, but that's okay, too.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Saturday, December 03, 2005
Signs
Signs That It Is Winter In Misawa
There's snow:
Don't be fooled by this weak showing. By end of January, there will be another 125+ inches of the stuff.
There's a phone call from Sly.
The bugs that have invaded the house all spring, summer and fall are gone--outside, because
it's warmer out there than in the house. Then the icicles invade.
Japanese Girls' skirts go from just below crotch level to slightly above mid-thigh.
The Japanese get out their snow tires. For their bicycles.
The Japanese put coats on...their pet dogs.
Young Japanese men put on British-style mufflers (scarves) that wrap around their skinny necks about three thousand times, so it looks like they're wearing a turban that slipped down.
Old Japanese men start using their own bathrooms for fear their chin-chins (that's the Japanese kids' word for "pee pee") will freeze solid and fall off. (Summer returns and they go back to publicly peeing all over the place)
The smell of kerosene in the morning.
The smell of kerosene in the afternoon.
The smell of kerosene in the evening.
The sudden attack of fear you get at work when you think you may have left your kersosene heater on and have probably burned down the house.
You have 35 people over to your house, so that all the body heat actually makes it comfortable inside.
The wind picks up...it picks up small children, the elderly and some makes of Japenese cars and blows them all through the neighborhood.
In the morning, the plastic steering wheel of the car is so cold, your hands freeze to it.
You can't fathom why a country that can improve on anything has never thought to improve on their houses--by INSULATING them.
You realize you don't need to carry your driver's license to drive, you need to carry your
driver's license because it indicates what gender you are. Otherwise, you can't tell because you're always numb from the cold.
The floor is so cold that the cat has learned to levitate.
You can see your breath. Inside the house.
The purpose of a hot bath is not to cleanse you or relax you. It's so you can thaw out your internal organs.
The water heater doesn't kick on immediately, so the first gush of water is "cold as butt" (which is infinitely chillier than "cold as ice").
You are wearing your winter clothes. All of them. At once. In the house. With the "heat" on.
Going to the bathroom is like an extended Arctic expedition, complete with frostbite.
The bathroom is so cold, your kintamas pull themselves up into your throat.
My deodorant, which is kept in the bathroom, turned into frozen stick of aluminum powder. Trying to apply the stuff resulted in two discoveries:
Living in Buffalo, NY (me) and Colorado Springs, CO (Chris) didn't prepare us at all for this. Living in Miami, FL (Sly)...well, we won't even go there.
There's snow:
Don't be fooled by this weak showing. By end of January, there will be another 125+ inches of the stuff.
There's a phone call from Sly.
The bugs that have invaded the house all spring, summer and fall are gone--outside, because
it's warmer out there than in the house. Then the icicles invade.
Japanese Girls' skirts go from just below crotch level to slightly above mid-thigh.
The Japanese get out their snow tires. For their bicycles.
The Japanese put coats on...their pet dogs.
Young Japanese men put on British-style mufflers (scarves) that wrap around their skinny necks about three thousand times, so it looks like they're wearing a turban that slipped down.
Old Japanese men start using their own bathrooms for fear their chin-chins (that's the Japanese kids' word for "pee pee") will freeze solid and fall off. (Summer returns and they go back to publicly peeing all over the place)
The smell of kerosene in the morning.
The smell of kerosene in the afternoon.
The smell of kerosene in the evening.
The sudden attack of fear you get at work when you think you may have left your kersosene heater on and have probably burned down the house.
You have 35 people over to your house, so that all the body heat actually makes it comfortable inside.
The wind picks up...it picks up small children, the elderly and some makes of Japenese cars and blows them all through the neighborhood.
In the morning, the plastic steering wheel of the car is so cold, your hands freeze to it.
You can't fathom why a country that can improve on anything has never thought to improve on their houses--by INSULATING them.
You realize you don't need to carry your driver's license to drive, you need to carry your
driver's license because it indicates what gender you are. Otherwise, you can't tell because you're always numb from the cold.
The floor is so cold that the cat has learned to levitate.
You can see your breath. Inside the house.
The purpose of a hot bath is not to cleanse you or relax you. It's so you can thaw out your internal organs.
The water heater doesn't kick on immediately, so the first gush of water is "cold as butt" (which is infinitely chillier than "cold as ice").
You are wearing your winter clothes. All of them. At once. In the house. With the "heat" on.
Going to the bathroom is like an extended Arctic expedition, complete with frostbite.
The bathroom is so cold, your kintamas pull themselves up into your throat.
My deodorant, which is kept in the bathroom, turned into frozen stick of aluminum powder. Trying to apply the stuff resulted in two discoveries:
- Armpits are sensitive, especially to cold (sticks of deodorant)
- When cold, armpits will try to burrow into your collarbones for warmth (uncomfortable)
Living in Buffalo, NY (me) and Colorado Springs, CO (Chris) didn't prepare us at all for this. Living in Miami, FL (Sly)...well, we won't even go there.
Friday, December 02, 2005
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
KUMON
Kumon is an after-school/tutoring programme here in Japan. It's like Sylvan in the US.
It also happens to be how I am attempting to learn Japanese. Mostly, it's worksheets and lots of them and I'm getting more and more frustrated with the lack of availibility of real, formal, classroom schooling. I've been here a year and a half, and while the six months that I have been doing KUMON have definitely improved my reading and writing skills, I can't carry on a conversation worth fuckall.
Chris, of course, is brilliant, he's wired for language, where I am only wired for neurosis.
80 dollars a month for worksheets that are 10 years old and no private, structured class instruction is beginning to seem less and less worth it. Sitting in an area the size of my living room filled with 20 kids and 4 teachers wouldn't be so bad if I could get some peace and quiet so I could focus (the kids are well-behaved, they're just kids). An added bonus would be to get an undistracted teacher for 15 seconds; the instructors are constantly multitasking, and they miss a lot of my mistakes when they correct my worksheets. Part of me is gleeful about getting away with it, part of me is pissed off by it.
There's also the FYYDSE (Fuck You You Don't Speak English) Syndrome as I call it. I go around with the teachers about how to correctly pronounce American English words; the Japanese instructors try to get me to say them Japanese-style, which chaps my ass to no end. Correct my Japanese all you want, but don't you tell me I'm not saying an AE word correctly, because I'm not fucking taking English diction from a person whose culture produced a car whose name they can't correctly pronounce (the "Corrolla" in case you were wondering).
In addition to practicing reading and writing Japanese, and practicing being pissed off about being told how to speak my native tongue, I am also practicing my passive-agressive abilities, although the Japanese will ALWAYS win there, they're the masters of it.
Short story is they don't bother to date my homework anymore (they used to) when they set it up for me; so if I drop it (and invarabiably I do) it gets all goofed up and out of order and that screws up the progression of the lessons and I have an huge attack of Bitchy. So what do I do? I don't write my start and finish time on the sheets, which screws them up, because their "grading" and progression track is based on how long it takes me to do a worksheet, combined with the number of errors I make.
I got a little note on my last batch of corrections "Please remember to fill in your time" but I did notice that they wrote the dates on my worksheet. I also got a rejoinder not to miss the next class, which of course ALSO pissed me off and made me turn into a 7 year old and the 7 year old Baka Gaijin says "YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!" and now everyone knows damn well that I WON'T be showing up for class.
Chris hates when I act like this because he gets caught in the middle but ask me if I care.
"Baka Gaijin, do you care?"
"Oh, hell no."
It also happens to be how I am attempting to learn Japanese. Mostly, it's worksheets and lots of them and I'm getting more and more frustrated with the lack of availibility of real, formal, classroom schooling. I've been here a year and a half, and while the six months that I have been doing KUMON have definitely improved my reading and writing skills, I can't carry on a conversation worth fuckall.
Chris, of course, is brilliant, he's wired for language, where I am only wired for neurosis.
80 dollars a month for worksheets that are 10 years old and no private, structured class instruction is beginning to seem less and less worth it. Sitting in an area the size of my living room filled with 20 kids and 4 teachers wouldn't be so bad if I could get some peace and quiet so I could focus (the kids are well-behaved, they're just kids). An added bonus would be to get an undistracted teacher for 15 seconds; the instructors are constantly multitasking, and they miss a lot of my mistakes when they correct my worksheets. Part of me is gleeful about getting away with it, part of me is pissed off by it.
There's also the FYYDSE (Fuck You You Don't Speak English) Syndrome as I call it. I go around with the teachers about how to correctly pronounce American English words; the Japanese instructors try to get me to say them Japanese-style, which chaps my ass to no end. Correct my Japanese all you want, but don't you tell me I'm not saying an AE word correctly, because I'm not fucking taking English diction from a person whose culture produced a car whose name they can't correctly pronounce (the "Corrolla" in case you were wondering).
In addition to practicing reading and writing Japanese, and practicing being pissed off about being told how to speak my native tongue, I am also practicing my passive-agressive abilities, although the Japanese will ALWAYS win there, they're the masters of it.
Short story is they don't bother to date my homework anymore (they used to) when they set it up for me; so if I drop it (and invarabiably I do) it gets all goofed up and out of order and that screws up the progression of the lessons and I have an huge attack of Bitchy. So what do I do? I don't write my start and finish time on the sheets, which screws them up, because their "grading" and progression track is based on how long it takes me to do a worksheet, combined with the number of errors I make.
I got a little note on my last batch of corrections "Please remember to fill in your time" but I did notice that they wrote the dates on my worksheet. I also got a rejoinder not to miss the next class, which of course ALSO pissed me off and made me turn into a 7 year old and the 7 year old Baka Gaijin says "YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!" and now everyone knows damn well that I WON'T be showing up for class.
Chris hates when I act like this because he gets caught in the middle but ask me if I care.
"Baka Gaijin, do you care?"
"Oh, hell no."
Monday, November 28, 2005
Bummer
There's always this sense of being letdown after a big event has passed. A bit of bummer, isn't it? I'm glad my T'day was a success and I am a bit glad that it is over but part of me is a bit like "Isn't there more?"
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Knitting!
Back when I stopped updating hissyknit, Susann posted a comment to this blog, asking to see knitting stuff. Hallo Susann! Heir sind meine projekts! All completed in the month of November.
Juli
Moda Dea Fake Fur
Red Heart Black Acrylic
Size 8 needles
Karen
Puppy Brand Mohair (Japanese brand)
Size 8 needles
Rocky
Some Japanese Yarn
Hat done on size 8 circulars
Mittens done on 8 straights
Bear was done on whatever
The bear was a great way to
use up the leftover yarn!
Chubby Bear
Generic Japanese heathered grey wool
Size 7 needles
If you want him, email me!
Iris
Cambria Yarn (Japanese brand)
Size 8 needles
Jaytee
Plymouth Acrylic/Wool Mix
Size 7 needles
Ginormous Hat!
I am not sure what happened!
Roadkill
Fake Fur of some sort
Size 10 needles
Yours if you want it! Email me!
Lettuce
Berocco Zen Ribbon Yarn
Lovely drop stitch
Size 11 needles
Needs a neck! Email me to claim.
JuliModa Dea Fake Fur
Red Heart Black Acrylic
Size 8 needles
KarenPuppy Brand Mohair (Japanese brand)
Size 8 needles
RockySome Japanese Yarn
Hat done on size 8 circulars
Mittens done on 8 straights
Bear was done on whatever
The bear was a great way to
use up the leftover yarn!
Chubby BearGeneric Japanese heathered grey wool
Size 7 needles
If you want him, email me!
IrisCambria Yarn (Japanese brand)
Size 8 needles
JayteePlymouth Acrylic/Wool Mix
Size 7 needles
Ginormous Hat!
I am not sure what happened!
RoadkillFake Fur of some sort
Size 10 needles
Yours if you want it! Email me!
LettuceBerocco Zen Ribbon Yarn
Lovely drop stitch
Size 11 needles
Needs a neck! Email me to claim.
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