Reposted: Mt. Tsukuba from December 2010

A couple of months ago I climbed Mt. Tsukuba (筑波山）with some friends and coworkers. The mountain is pretty well-known in Japan. It has two peaks, Nyotai-san 877 m (2,877 ft) and Nantai-san 871 m (2,858 ft). Apparently, housed within these two peaks are divinities, one male and the other female.

There's a legend about these two peaks. Apparently, thousands of years ago a deity came down to earth and needed a place to spend the night. First he asked Mt. Fuji, offering to bless the mountain if it provided him with lodgings. But with it's perfect shape and majestic height, Mt. Fuji was too proud and arrogant and said it didn't need the deity's blessings.
Humble Mt. Tsukuba, on the other hand, gladly offered the deity a place for the night, as well as food and water. According to Wikipedia, "Today, Mt. Fuji is a cold, lonely, and barren mountain, while Mt. Tsukuba bursts with vegetation, and is filled with colors as the seasons change." So basically, Fuji was jerk and now it's cold and barren... hilaaarious.

Anyway, Mt. Tsukuba is also kind of interesting because it's not part of a mountain range. It's stands alone in the middle of farms and rice fields, so you have a pretty fantastic 360 degree view from the peaks.

And that's really all I have to say about that.

However, at the base of Mt. Tsukuba there is a shrine. As we were descending from the mountain we came across a large crowd of people at the shrine. People, young and old, were standing below a stage holding empty plastic bags or other receptacles. They seemed pretty excited about something, but I couldn't see anything except for a couple of dudes on the stage wearing some sort shiny robes (probably cause shinto shrine people do stuff like that). Then we noticed there was a mountain of cardboard boxes stacked behind them. What on earth could be in those boxes?

That was when we realized that a large number of children, who until now we had been unable to see, were up at the front of crowd chanting, "Choudai, choudai! Choudai, choudai!" (ちょうだい、ちょうだい meaning roughly, "give me give me!") By our large powers of intellect we deduced that whatever these desperate children were screaming for, it must be whatever was in those cardboard boxes. I know, call it a long shot. But for some strange reason, we just had an intuition that it must be in those boxes. Hoping we were right, we stuck around to find out.

After much waiting and anticipation, the men in shiny robes multiplied in number and began tearing open the boxes. What is it? What it is!? The masses began to close in tighter, swarming around the stage with hunger and fierce determination in their eyes. Plastic bags rose above our heads. What was going to happen? What?! Suddenly, it began to rain. Screaming, shoving, kicking, the hordes began scrambling to catch. What was it they were catching? Why... it was... something white, and small. Bam! My companion got was slammed in the face by a small but very hard and round disk of mochi (Japanese rice cake). THIS is what people were waiting for? I couldn't believe it. But then, the sound and the size of the rain changed. Thousands of cup of noodles, and packets of instant ramen rained down upon our heads- the weather gods in their shiny robes hurling them with all their might- a vengeful look of pleasure in their eyes. One man had obviously played himself some professional baseball back in the day- because he was definitely trying to hurt someone. I almost got swallowed up in the sea crowd.

Bucket Potato!!

So, today I was teaching some kids how to order foods like barbecue ribs, pork chops, grilled chicken, all those things that they don't eat here in Japan and that these kids probably won't ever eat unless they go abroad, and by the time they actually go abroad, they won't remember this lesson anyway...you know, stuff like that.

So, I'm flashing them the cards one by one. The kids are sounding out the words, trying to read them out loud together. I am painfully doing my best to correct their pronunciation.

I show them a card. "Ok, what's this?"

"FRYY-DO PO-TAY-TO!"

"Uhh, nope. French fries!"

"French po-TAY-to!" they cry in the heat of battle.

"French FRIES!" I repeat.

"French FRY-do!" they call back in a triumphant chorus.

"Um.........ok, close enough."

(I flash a new card)

"Roasto beefu!"

I correct them. "Roast beef."

"Roast beef!" they parrot back.

"Wow, nice one!"

I flash a new card.

"What's this?"

They tell me knowingly, with little smirks on their faces, "Sarada."

"Nooo, that's Japanese. In English, it's SALAD!" (Seriously, in Japanese, salad is called "sarada.")

They muster up some more strength, and then try again. "Salada!"

"SAAA-LID." I draw the word out, slowly.

"SaaalEEEEda." Oh dear god, they sound Spanish now.

"SAAA-lid." I make my body droop as I say the "-lid," emphasizing the intonation in a softer tone at the end.

"Saaaally," they say softly, their bodies drooping to the floor.

"Heh. Um, ok."

(new card)

"What's this?"

"uh-???"

"Let's read it...what's this?"

"uh-???"

"bbbb-....." I prompt them.

"buhhhhh...." they moan.

I give them a little more. "Bayy-..."

They give it back. "Bayyyy....."

"BAH-KEH-TO PO-TAY-TO!"

All movement stops. The room is quiet. Everyone is looking at me, but I'm looking at 9-year-old Ayaka, my mouth frozen in a perfect "o" of surprise.

They watch me. They wonder.

I'm thinking in my head.... "bah-ked potato? neh-ked potato? naked potato? Uaghhh...no."

They look at Ayaka, the source of that.... whatever you'd call it, for some answers.

Finally, I burst. "Bwahhahahahhahahah!"

The kids take their cue, "bwahahahahahahha!"

Ayaka's relieved. She laughs and smiles. We're all crying with laughter, but it's time to turn off the waterworks.

"Haha, ok, that's funny. Anyway, listen. BAY-KT potato!"

"BUCKET POTATO!" they cry in unison.

"Hahahha. Um, no. Listen again. BAYYYKT potato!"

"Baaaaaaayyyykt potato."

"YES!"

The small kid in the back jumps up in delight, "BAH-KEH-TO PO-TAY-TOOO!!!" He raises his fist and does a little dance.

"....no."

"Bwahahahhaha," the room explodes in a sing-song chatter. "Bucket potato, bucket potato, bucket potatoooooo!!!"

Alright, that's it. I stand up. I approach the whiteboard and pick up a marker. I draw. A little here, a little there.

Ahh... a bucket potato.

They roar in what I accept as approval. "Bwahahahhahh!"

I chuckle and mentally pat myself on the back. Oh you're a clever one, you are...

"Ok, next card! What's this?"

"BUCKET beanzu!" they answer decidedly.

Oh crap... no.

"Baked beans!" I cry out to the masses."It's Baked beans!" But they only continue to torment me.

"BAH-KEH-TO BEANZU! BAH-KEH-TO BEANZU! BAH-KEH-TO BEANZUUUU..."

Oh dear, oh dear. What have I done...?

--------

30 minutes and a few hair-graying games later...

"Ok," I tell them. "Time to go! Cushions over there, line up at the door!"

"Wazzzzzzaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!" Cushions, children and stuffed elephants are flying everywhere.

"Ok, Nami, are you ready to order?"

"I'd like the roasto beefu ando za bucket beanzu."

"Ok, Nami... seriously."

"I'd like the roast beef and the the bucket beans."

I point to the picture of beans.

"Very close. But, what is this in English, Nami?"

"Ehhh to, bah---k---?

"baked..."

"Aahhh! Ahhh! Baked beanzu!"

"Oy, ok, good job. See y-"

"SEEE YOUUUUUUUU!" A stampede of children tramples me in the doorway.

"...next week."

Monkey Mako Chan

I seriously had a breakthrough with my private kid student yesterday. This kid has had me cradling my head and wondering how the hell I'm supposed to teach him anything if he doesn't want to be taught. After he threw the flashcards in my face and told me to go away (in Japanese, of course), I threw those flashcards in the back of my closet. I stopped trying to make him repeat things. I pretty much gave up and just decided to have fun and play with him. I just talked to him, mostly in English, a few Japanese words sprinkled in if he really didn't understand. But he almost never spoke a single English word. I felt like I was wasting his mother's money. I was a fake, a liar. I wasn't a real teacher. Sure, I can teach kids at my school. But that's different. They provide materials, lesson plans, a classroom, Japanese staff to help you enforce the rules. I had no experience in making my own lesson plans, and this kid didn't want them anyway. So, I chased him with stuffed turtles and caterpillars and let him throw plastic apples at me. I performed a play for him where I jumped on a futon pretending to be a monkey jumping on the bed. I fell on my head and I cried for my mama. Then I pretended to be mama, calling the doctor and telling them,"no more monkeys jumping on the bed!" Mako just sat there and laughed his head off while I threw away my dignity, his mother watching the whole thing.


But then something changed, Mako started to trust me. We became friends. I regained my confidence and starting getting more creative ideas. I slowly incorporated interesting ways of learning without him ever realizing it. I bought those plastic capsules filled with little sponges shaped like animals. You put them in hot water and watch them grow. We decided if they were fish, or turtles, or sharks, or starfish. I bought a big fuzzy dice at Tokyu Hands and some pieces of colored felt. I sewed a different colored square of felt on each side of the dice. I counted to three, he threw the dice at me, we looked to see what color and then we ran to find something that was the same color. This whole time he almost never repeated ANYTHING. But slowly, something was changing.




Yesterday, I came into his bedroom bracing myself for more plastic apple abuse, but something was different. Mako-chan suddenly wanted to learn something. We matched foam ABC letters to the letters on a mat, and he repeated A B C D E and F. We threw the dice around and he repeated all the colors as he touched them. We collected everything we could find that was yellow. Then we sat down on his floor and had a snack. We ate mango jelly and drank green tea his mother had brought upstairs on a tray. I felt like I was on a playdate, only I was 25 and he was 3. Recently I had been trying to get him used to hearing and answering the question "Do you like___?" So, I asked him, do you like mango jelly? Instead of answering in Japanese "Un, suki da yo," like he usually does, he said, "Yes!" and gave me a thumbs up. Wow, I thought, progress!

I rubbed my tummy and asked, "Is it yummy?" He nodded, "Yes!" Then he couldn't open his package of crackers and commanded me to open it, "akete!" I pretended not to understand. I made a motion like I was opening something and questioned "Open, Mako? Open?" He nodded and said, "Open!" I said... "Open, please?" He repeated, "OPEN PLEASE!" Well, how about that. I finally got him to say please. And then I opened it for him. Well, my work here is done, I thought.

But then, something even better happened. It was almost time to go and his mother had come up to collect our dirty dishes. I was cleaning up the plastic food toys that littered the floor. There should be seven french fries but I counted only four. I asked Mako, "Mako, where are the french fries? French fries please!" He raced to retrieve them from under the sofa and brought them to me. Trust me, he had never obeyed a request like this before. I said, "Thank you," and he repeated, "THANK YOU!" I laughed. Hmm.. maybe this was the the chance I'd been waiting for. I handed the fries to his mother and said, "Here you are." She said, "Thank you." I motioned for her to hand the fries to her son and say "Here you are." She did, and I can't believe what happened next. Mako said "Thank you," and then he passed them to me and said, "Here you are!" I was literally about to cry with happiness. For months, I couldn't even get him to say, "Thank you," and now he was saying, "here you are." This was too much progress for one lesson. I was sure he would soon be bored, I was ready to stop there and take the progress I could get. But then, Mako tells his mother he wants to do it AGAIN. Doubtful, I ask him, "One more time?" He says, "One more!" I hand the fries to his mother, we do our little conversation, she hands them to Mako, he says his lines perfectly, he passes them to me again, and we continue like this for maybe 7 rounds. Here you are. Thank you! gobble gobble gobble. Here you are. Thank you! gobble gobble gobble. Mako loved every minute of it. And so did I!

Now, I can't wait for next Monday.

A set of Very Hungry Caterpillar-themed cards
we sometimes "play" with

Oh. Hello again.

Apologies for the long absence. You know, busy with moving and worrying about earthquakes and radiation and whether all those people up in Northern Japan are okay. I just saw pictures taken by some friends who went to volunteer for a few days over the weekend. The piles of rubble are insane- as high as the houses sitting next to them. I would have liked to volunteer as well, but I noticed there were only men in the group that went up North. Apparently they thought clearing rubble was too hard for someone like me. (Yeah, fair enough, they're probably right.)

Anyway, the aftershocks finally stopped about a month or so ago. Every so often we still get an earthquake, but it's a small one. I don't even know what's happening with the nuclear power plant anymore. I haven't turned on my TV in a long time and frankly, I like it this way. I was tired of being nervous all the time. I just needed to get on with life.

Apparently, so did everyone else. Life in Tokyo seems business as usual. People are out and about shopping and eating and all those things they do.

Personally, things are pretty good right now in my corner. Being a newly single foreigner in Japan, I am excited to have the freedom and the independence to really get to know this place better than ever. I no longer have a Japanese guy I can depend on for help with translation, question asking, buying electronic appliances, etc. It can be scary to approach someone and try to explain something in Japanese because you never know what new word they're going to say that might trip you up, or whether or not they're going to panic and tell you they can't help you because they don't speak English, even though you're trying you hardest to speak THEIR language. Sometimes I just can't stand the awkwardness. I'm sure I make it awkward as well, but when we're both awkward about the fact that I'm not Japanese and my Japanese isn't perfect, it's just painful sometimes. But, in the past couple of weeks I've done a bunch of things that I have seriously put off for months and months because I was lacking confidence about my Japanese ability. Finally, I think I'm gaining some confidence in that regard.

1. I went to a hair salon and got a haircut using only Japanese. Granted, the haircut sucked afterward, but at least I got some Japanese practice. Now I know that just because the salon is close to my apartment, that doesn't mean I should go there. Seriously, this girl just didn't care. She parted it to the side, whacked off a couple of inches and said she was done. I mean, I know I told her to just cut it and then do what she thought was appropriate. Back in America they would put some layers in without even asking you, make it look nice. It wasn't until the next day that I discovered the worst part. If you don't get the part lined up exactly as she had it, then strands of hair fall on the wrong side and look at least an inch or two longer than the rest of my hair. I had to fix this with my craft scissors in the bathroom.

2. I went to the Suginami City Office and finally asked them why my recent health insurance bill had appeared to double, and whether it would continue at this rate. They did explain, and I mostly understood. There were a few points I didn't quite get, but I'm gonna chalk that up more to my atrocious math skills rather than any lack in my Japanese ability. Anyway, I was relieved to find out that everything made (relatively) perfect sense and from now on I'll be charged at the normal monthly rate. Thank heavenly goodness.

3. I called my landlord yesterday and asked if he could do anything about my clogged sink in my bathroom. It's been clogged since a week after I moved in. That was about four months ago. Right now, as I write this blog post, there's a dude in my bathroom fixing it. Truth is, I could have emailed the company that helped me get this apartment (they speak English) and they could have called the landlord for me and translated. But why not cut out the middleman? I've been studying this language for 3 years now. It's time to frickin use it! And now, use it I have.

Earth: a salon where the hairstylists don't give a crap

Life is also good because this weekend was especially fun-filled and relaxing. I did all my usual favorite things- studied Japanese in a coffee shop, sang karaoke for two hours by myself belting out Madonna, Michael Jackson, Weezer, Lady Gaga, and more. They didn't have Fiona Apple's "Criminal" anymore. Apparently her popularity has waned in Japan. I'm pretty upset about that one. That was seriously my best karaoke song.

Anyway, after that I went to the neighborhood Sento (public bath house) and took a nice long soak. Super relaxing. I was also surprised to see a girl with tattoos in there. She wasn't kicked out, in fact, no one paid her any attention. Usually these kinds of places, particularly Onsen- that is, natural hot spring- would strictly forbid people with tattoos from entering. Once upon a time the only people with tattoos were the Yakuza (mafia). However, I'm guessing since my neighborhood is famous for having lots of tattoo-adorned, thrift-store-clothed, guitar-toting young people, the most popular neighborhood sento has adopted a lax policy towards tattoos. No tattoos, no customers...

The other highlights of my weekend included seeing a Paul Klee exhibit at the MOMAT (The National Museum of Modern Art, Tokyo) and then going to a pop idol group concert. The exhibition was really interesting. I always knew Paul Klee was famous because we briefly studied him in art history class in college, but I never gave him much notice. It turns out... we have a lot in common. He loves yellow, orange and green, too! Every time I stood next to a painting, someone said something like, "Oh, you match the painting!!" I swear I had no intention in matching his color palette when I was dressing that morning. I did get a lot of enjoyment out of his colors though.

Below is a photo I took of a postcard of my favorite painting in the show. Then, below that is one of my paintings from my junior year in college, during my western phase. Note the abundance of yellow and orange in both images.

Paul Klee, 1922

Caitlin Stewart, copyright 2005

As for the pop idol concert, well it started with the visit to the art museum. I went to the museum with a few friends and acquaintances. One girl mentioned that she was going to her cousin's concert that evening. She explained that her cousin was in a teen pop idol group called Paspo (ぱすぽ), which is short for the English word "passport." The group consists of 10 girls all in their teens. Their costumes and songs have a bit of an airline theme to it, meaning they push suitcases around stage for a few seconds at the beginning and then salute the audience a lot. Some are short and cute, some are tall and model-esque. All are skinny, with long pony tails, short skirts, and high voices. I never expected to attend something like this, but my friend suddenly realized her other friend wasn't going to make it and she needed an extra person to take the ticket. That's how I found myself accepting an invitation to a teen idol concert. After a second's thought, I figured, well, I never made it to a Hanson concert when I was 10 years old, now's my chance to see what this sort of event is like. I had no idea what I was in for.

In America, one would expect to see an audience largely made up of young pre-teen or teenage girls, desperate to grow up beautiful and popular like their idols. But this concert was totally unexpected. I'd say 98% of the audience was male. On top of that, probably half of those males were over 30, perhaps even in their 4os or 50s. They knew all the lyrics and dance moves by heart. Some of them had obviously practiced together at home, or in the park. (On any given Sunday afternoon you can often simultaneously see dozens of various groups practicing dance moves, singing in a circle, or playing an instrument in Yoyogi park-perhaps I've seen some of these guys on a Sunday afternoon, faithfully practicing their Paspo dance moves). Anyway, there was one group of about 10 young guys (they looked about 15 years old) at the back of the concert hall with a huge pile of glow-sticks on the floor (backup, in case the sticks ran out out of juice). They held glow-sticks in each hand and did synchronized dances while singing along. The sticks made it feel a bit like a rave or something. What's more, everyone else in the audience was holding glow-sticks, too. Each girl in the pop group has a designated color- ie. pink, yellow, red, green. Our friend's cousin was the blue girl. So we wore blue glow-stick bracelets in support of our friend's cousin. Everyone in the audience held a different colored glow-stick depending on which girl was their favorite.




To be honest, the fact that there was so much importance placed on the idea of which girl was most popular, and that the entire audience was male, suggested to me that this whole thing was less about the music and more about fetish-izing the girls. I mean.. half the time the girls weren't even singing. They would put one of the more popular girls out on stage by herself and she would dance to a song by herself. The crowd loved it, but honestly it's apparent these girls aren't really dancers. It was mostly a lot of jazz hands and simple, easy cheerleader moves. No flips or anything fancy like that. At the end of the show, they announced that anyone who bought a CD could line up to meet and take a picture with their favorite girl. Each time a girl was requested, they would announce it over the loudspeaker and she would run to greet her fan and laugh at his jokes and give him a hug and take a picture with him. Some girls were called up over and over again, like 20 times, while others (including our friends cousin) got called over only two or three times. It was a big popularity contest. According to our friend, the manager is pretty mean to them, as well. I just can't imagine the terrible pressure and distorted self-image that weighs upon these young girls.

But there I go, trying to bring my feminist ideals into a teen idol pop concert. It was a fun experience though, no doubt about that. I especially enjoyed it when that group of boys lent us some glow-sticks and we tried to follow their synchronized dance moves. I can't say I'll ever attend another event like this, especially as my ticket was free this time, but I valued the cultural experience. Only in Japan, eh?

Get ready for take off, it's PASPO!

Bad Man On Plane

So I'm sitting on a plane from Japan to New York. The guy next to me is some overweight American guy and by the window is his Asian girlfriend. Thankfully, I have the aisle seat, but the cute baby I admired earlier at the gate is now screaming bloody murder. And only two measly rows ahead of me. I accept the fact that I will not be sleeping on this flight. Time to watch some movies.

It soon becomes clear that my headphone jack is irretrievably broken, meaning that I have 12 hours and 45 minutes to NOT watch movies or TV. Well, that's great. Apparently Delta doesn't bother to maintain their equipment. An announcement overhead informs me that if I am interested in signing up with the Delta Airlines sky miles program, I should contact a flight attendant. Well contact this Delta.

I recall my experience on an American Airlines flight where I could choose from a menu of movies from my own personal TV on the back of the seat in front of me. And oh, how well it worked, too. On this flight, I have to lean out into the aisle and squint my eyes to see the screen all the way in the front of the cabin. At least now, it doesn't matter. I wouldn't be able to hear it anyway.

This is what they DIDN'T have on my Delta flight.

I politely ask the guy next to me if his headphone jack is working properly.

"Cause, uh, mine doesn't seem to be working." That baby releases a deathly scream that makes the hairs on my neck stand up. Talk about foreshadowing.

"Let me see. Yeah it's working."

"Oh, okay. So I guess it's just mine then."

"Yep, guess so."

"Hmm... this sucks. I wonder what I should do."

"You should tell them. Maybe they can fix it."

"Yeah, okay. I guess I'll do that."

The happiest flight attendant I've ever met conveniently comes sashaying down the aisle with her drink cart.

"Hey baby, what kin I git for you?"

"I'll have ginger ale, please."

"Okay, honey... one ginger ale, coming right up. There you go sweetie."

"Thank you."

"OH, you're SO welcome honey!" she says in a deep, appropriately honeyed voice. She seems overly pleased that I've bothered to thank her. Even though I overheard all three in the row ahead say exactly the same thing. I wonder if she'll be as pleasant at the end of the flight as she is now.

"By the way, my headphone jack doesn't seem to be working. Is there anything we can do about it?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, honey. There's really not much we can do."

"Are there any other seats available?"

"Well, not unless you wanna sit in the middle?"

"Ah, I see. Okay, I'll stay here then. Thanks anyway."

"Sorry, sweetie pie," she purrs over blood curdling baby shrieks. She glides away.

Oh. This is not good.

I turn to the guy next to me. "Sorry, I was wondering... do you think you're gonna watch any movies?"

"Well, yeah I mean I don't want to say I'm not, cause if there's something good, I definitely wanna watch. Sorry."

"Oh. Okay..."

"You know what I mean?"

"Yeah, sure, I understand."

Jerk.

I pull out a book and start reading as the baby continues to wail in despair. Yes, baby, I know.
This is seriously going to be the longest flight ever.

Here's Delta.. the worst airline I've ever flown...

I'm working on my laptop hours later, studying some Japanese, when I feel something slither into my lap. I peer down in the darkness. The guy next to me is grabbing my hand, yet he seems to be asleep.

I pick up the vile, ghastly thing and put it back where it belongs. His eyes never opening for a second. Okay, no one has to know.

Tap tap tap, I'm typing away. Tap tap ta--What the?

That beast's got his elbow all up in my space and he's still asleep. I don't even understand how he can sleep through all that crying and shrieking anyway. I give a good shove and make sure that revolting limb withdraws into it's hole.

"So," I think, "the jerk told me I couldn't use his headphone jack and now he and his lady friend are out cold. Two movies have played already and yet not one of us in aisle 27 has been able to enjoy them. Unbelievable."

I start typing again. Though, I continue to deal with the advances, ever increasing in frequency. It attacks, I thwack, it retreats. It worms it's way back, I smack, it recedes. Elbow-wrestling is on it's way to becoming a regular in-flight pastime. As I'm fighting to the death, for the right to some peace and a bit of space, super-happy flight attendant is cooing down the aisle.

"Would you like some water, honey?"

"Yes, please."

"Would you like some water, baby?"

"Yes, thanks."

"Would you like some water, sugar baby?"

"Um.... no?" Can't she see I'm busy? I search her eyes for any possible recognition of what I'm going through.

"Ok, sugar." And she's gone.

Man, it is like way past my bedtime.


I try typing with my left hand, using my right to keep that repugnant creature at bay. Tap tap tap, bam! Take that you repulsive creep. I stop typing. I sit. I watch, ready to block it's next move. I see it coming. Those horrid hairy arms uncrossing, the left one raising up in the air and reaching it's peak, and then it's coming, sailing down around my head. I freeze in terror, unsure, unable to react. And then...

Oh no you did not!

He has actually put his arm around me. It is resting on my shoulder, the hand like a spider on my back. He has a vulgar grin on his face. I do not like that face. Does he think I'm his girlfriend, or is something super scary going on here? And why won't he just wake up already? I mean, is he used to getting battered in his sleep? I don't even want to know what kind of relationship those two have. She seems all sweet and innocent, but who knows...

Well, it's time to send the beast running. I pick it gingerly off my backside and throw it back in his chest. My sleep-stunned opponent falls back in befuddled confusion. He turns the other way, with his over-sized rear facing me. Finally, now I can get some work done.

I'm in the zone. Tap tap tap. I am so productive. Tap tap. I'm gonna be quite the Japanese expert when I get off this airplane. Oh yeah, this is great, maybe it's--

That thing has come back for more. And this time it's enveloped me in both furry limbs, it's head nestled in the crook of my neck. Oh god, help me. Now it's attempting to lace it's digits in mine. This can not go on.

"Hello, excuse me.." I'm tapping on his arm.

"Hello? Um... please wake up." The tapping gets desperate.

"PLEASE. Come on. WAKE UP."

He snorts and a long, groaning, "Huh?" escapes his mouth. His eyes open for the first time in what seems a century.

"Excuse me, you're..."

"OH GOD!" The man recoils from my side-- as if I'm the one being a creeper.

"Um, yeah... wrong direction."

"Sorry. I, uh, I thought you were her," he stutters, jabbing his thumb in that general direction.

"Yeah, I see that. Whatever. Don't worry about it."

The girlfriend wakes up. "What's going on?" she demands.

"Well, I thought she was you."

"What!?"

"Nevermind, let's go back to sleep." He burrows his face deep into her inadequate bosom.

So they're really not gonna watch a single movie? Okay, fine. Time for justice buddy. I fish out my headphones from the seat pocket and insert them into his headphone jack. Looks like a good one is just starting. Too bad they'll miss it...

What don't you like about your job?

I know that learning or teaching a foreign language is a situation that naturally results in misunderstandings and awkwardness, but seriously people, today was something else:


4:30pm

Me: Wow, Fusae, that was great. Ask me another question using the grammar structure, "What don't you like about..."

Fusae: Okay. What don't you like about your job?

Me: Um... geez. Okay, ask me about my neighborhood.



7:25pm

Student: My parents had flower arrangement marriage.

Me: Um, sorry?

S: Ahh, my parents had arrangement marriage.

Me: Arrangement?

S: Ahh, I mean arranged marriage. My parents had an arranged marriage.

Me: Ahh, ok... Wow, really? That was pretty common in Japan in the past, right?

S: Yes. I have arranged marriage, too.

Me: Oh........ Wow, really? That's.... so interesting.

S: Yes. What do you think about arranged marriages?

Me: What do I think? Oh, gosh.. I dunno. I mean, it's so different from my culture. It's, well, interesting. So... uh... do you have any siblings?


8:23pm

female student: What is your personality? Are you outgoing?

male student: Well, when I meet new people I am usually shy. But, sometimes when I meet people I am outgoing.

fs: How about you Ken, are you outgoing?

Ken: Yes.

fs: Really, why do you think so?

Ken: I like to go outside. I like to play sports and traveling.

fs: ehh????

male student: ehh????????

Me: Um, do you like to meet people, Ken?

Ken: No.



9:15pm

So, I was tired of explaining to students that it is NOT okay to sit there like a dead fish while someone else is talking. How many times do I have to tell them that eye contact is important, and so is verbal response, whether it be a simple laugh or an "oh really?" This time, I didn't even bother with my speech. I came up with another solution. I liken it to when an audience is watching a live talk show. At certain designated moments, a flashing sign that reads "applause" tells people when to put their hands together.

Tonight, the usual male, intermediate-level students in their 30s sat around the table with their their mouths hanging open and their eyes focused on the carpet as Yoko the 40-something spoke under her breath-- literally, in a whisper, about her family. Her eyes, too, were focused on the carpet.

Me: How about you guys, are you more like your mother, or your father?

Yoko: I'm more like my mother.

Male student 1: dead fish

Yoko: Because my dad doesn't care about other people.

Male student 2: dead fish dead fish


Exasperated, I snatch my piece of scrap paper and scrawl at the bottom in BIG letters:

REALLY? OH YEAH? WOW!

The students look at me expectantly. Any chance to get me talking is an even better chance to let them be silent. Good thing they're in a conversation class, right?

I point to the word REALLY?

Male student 1: Oh really?

Yoko: Yes. And he's very selfish.

Male student 2: speaking of fish, this one is DEAD

Male student 1: and this fish has up and died all over again


10 minutes later...


Male Student 1: I've run 10 marathons.

Yoko: dead fish

(I point to Wow!)

Yoko: Wow!

Male student 1: Yes.

(I point to Really?)

Yoko: Really? Where?

Male Student 1: In Japan.

Yoko: ...

(I point to Oh yeah?)

Yoko: Oh yeah? Where in Japan?

Male Student 1: Near Tokyo.

Yoko: ...dead...............................................fish.

Male student 2: dead fish that was eaten so long ago by other fish that they, too, have also died

(I point to Really?)

Yoko: Really?

Male student 2: maybe he's actually dead?

Bon Bon Bon!

This summer break I went on a 5 day trip to Nagano prefecture. It's located Northwest of Tokyo prefecture (see above map for more detail). I've been to the prefecture before but that was to a different area. Anyway, the first few days I went to Matsumoto. It took about five hours by bus to get there. I don't remember much of that city, but here is the one thing I really do remember: the Matsumoto city theme song that was blasted on repeat for over 5 hours from speakers that hung from light posts around the city streets. ( Note to reader: I don't know why everything seems to be in five's in this blog post, but I will try to continue this trend now that I've noticed it.)




"Bon bon Matsumoto Bon Bon Bon. Bon Bon Matsumoto Bon Bon Bon."

So simple. So pure. So genius.

It's my fifth new favorite song and it will never leave my head, at least not for the next five months. For your own amazing experience of the Matsumoto Bon Bon festival, watch this video below. (Watch it five times if you please.)




After the festival, I remember seeing a castle that I assume was called Matsumoto Castle. I climbed to the top, I think there was probably a beautiful view. Mostly I waited in the dark unlit interior of the castle behind a long snake of people, as I waited to climb the dozens (or maybe there were five?) of identically steep and narrow staircases up to the top. I also remember going to a hot spring on a roof with an amazing view of the city and the mountains surrounding it. I was naked on the roof of a building. I have no idea if people could see me, but I guess in Japan they don't care about those things. Apparently I took pictures, more than five. (Are you sick of it yet?)




After Matsumoto, I went to Kamikouchi. It didn't take five hours to get there. It took one and a half. I stayed in a Japanese style inn (called a ryokan) with the traditional tatami mat floors. People wore the casual kimono (actually called yukata) and slippers around the place and took advantage of the free hot spring. I'm just crazy about hot springs- they are super relaxing. There is nothing like scrubbing every inch of your body clean and then soaking in a hot tub of water. There was also another private onsen you could use for free. They had to drive you to it cause it was in a cave. A cave I tell you! How cool is that?

But seriously, Kamikouchi is a beautiful place. It's situated in a gorgeous river valley among the something-something Alps (in case you couldn't tell, I can't remember which Alps because just about every mountain range in Japan is called "the blabbity blabbity Alps"). The river's water was so clean and clear you could see right through to the bottom and it was a gorgeous green color. It was also extremely misty, which made everything very mystical and mysterious. The weather was also extremely cool. We were able to sleep with our windows open to let the cool breeze in at night. It was quite a relief from living in Tokyo, where the heat is simply brutal.


Also, where else can one eat an ice cream cone, in the rain, while hiking in the mountains? Yes, there was a souvenir shop selling ice cream. I couldn't help myself. And it wasn't raining until I stepped outside of the shop with my freshly bought cone. Call it bad timing, or denial of iffy looking clouds in the sky. Either way, I felt a bit ridiculous, but also really enjoyed my ice cream.

The other exciting part was eating at a restaurant where I watched the staff pulling fish out the river, sticking them on skewers in one, big, violent thrust, then ripping out their organs, and putting them on an open fire to cook. A good while later at my table, a delicious set lunch of grilled fish, rice, Japanese pickles, miso soup, and other assorted goodies was set before me. I was told I could eat the entire fish-- head, tail, fins and all. You could even eat the eyes, the bones, the teeth! Oh my! My companion just bit right into the head and ate that whole darn fish in a few gulps. Craziness! I managed to eat everything, but the head. It was a mighty delicious fish, though. I've never had fresher.

I Actually Write like... http://www.richardclegg.org/write/

I actually write like
a moonstruck lunatic possibly actually wearing a straightjacket

I Actually Write Like Analyze your writing!

Is THIS what I look like?

I do not understand the Japanese custom of ooohing and ahhhing over people right to their faces. I went with a Japanese friend to hear his friend perform at a live house. The crowd was not your bubbly giggly crowd by any means, but as soon as he introduced me to a couple of his friends, the girls turned into cooing, squealing old ladies. It was nuts, I tell you!

"kawaaiiiiii!! Ningyou mitai ne! sugoiii kawaiiiii!"
{translation: cuuuuuute! She looks like a doll! SOOOO adorable!!" }

For one, I was a bit offended to be compared to the likes of something I find rather creepy (see photo above). But also, couldn't they have waited for me to go buy a drink or something, before making me want to die of embarrassment? And they didn't stop. I'd say thank you and hope that would be the end of it. The conversation might wander off for a bit, and then there would be a lull and "OOOOHH KAWAIIIII!!!" It would start all over again. Maybe they were just trying to be nice. Maybe they had nothing else to say. But holy geez! Just cause I have pasty white skin, blue eyes, and hair that isn't black? Get over it!

I mean, if I was back in the U.S. and I met someone from a foreign country--actually, if I met anyone really-- and I was to ooh and ahh over them like that they would probably smack me, or put me in an insane asylum, or maybe just call me a freak. Either way, it's not something we consider normal.

To make matters worse, one of the girls found out that she knew my roommate, who is also Japanese. Later that night she was text messaging my roommate, letting her know she had met me and that I was super cuuuuuuute and looked like a doll. What's with this doll stuff? I'm a human, okay? If you wanna call someone a doll, do it behind their back.

It's been suggested I sell my recipes to McDonalds...

The hamburgers have gotten out of control...





Yes, this is what I did on my day off. And yes, I plan to do it again.

Who is William Gibson?

So I just heard about this website, forgive me if it's totally old news, I live in Japan.... so sue me. Anyways, you plug in a sample of your writing, hit a button, and the site analyzes your writing to tell you which famous author you write like. It said I write like William Gibson. Too bad I've never heard of him. But according to Amazon.com he is a science fiction writer. Already I am displeased. Here is a list of some of his titles: Neuromancer, Johnny Mnemonic, Pattern Recognition, Count Zero, Burning Chrome... I can honestly say I've never been less interested in reading someone's books before.

The sample of writing I used was simply a blog post from this very same blog. Imagine that! Who knew this was a science fiction blog!

Anyway, here's where you can find out who you write like:

http://iwl.me/

I write like
William Gibson

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

26 Year-old learns to ride bike

There's this group of islands in the south of Japan, called the Izu Islands. Considered part of Tokyo, they are actually managed by the Tokyo government, but it takes over 9 hours by ferry to reach them. One island that goes by the name of Nijima, though not a particularly spectacular island, has become extremely favored by the foreigners in my circle of friends and acquaintances. Perhaps it can be attributed to the fact that this place is pretty much the exact opposite of touristy. There is one hotel, there are 2 supermarkets, literally no convenience stores (seriously, what a shocker in Japan!), one bakery, one pizza shop, one tiny history museum, and two hot springs. There are two beaches, one littered with blocks of concrete, the other littered with surfers battling the terrifying waves that crash you into large rocks that batter your shins and trap your feet so that when a wave comes you fall flat on your face. I obviously thoroughly enjoyed my 10-minute water-treading session.




Really, I enjoyed my trip there-- both of my trips there, actually. Considering my raving review above of the island, you must be wondering why I bothered to go back there again. Well, I could say that it was nice and relaxing, that I enjoyed camping out, lying on the beach, cooking food on a grill outside, and riding a bicycle to town to buy food or go to the hot spring. Yeah those things were nice the first time, but the second year was like.. um hey, didn't I do this last year?

Okay, so maybe I'm not the tiny, quiet island-type. Or maybe I like variety and I don't really enjoy visiting the same place twice. I've never been a huge fan of visiting the same museum, restaurant, or park more than a few times. It gets old quickly. Actually, I can't stand walking the same seven-minute route to the train station every day. Anyway, I got a little bored my second time around visiting this island.

However! This trip did have it's highlights, or highlight... I should say. On this island, I taught my 26 year old friend to ride a bicycle. Yes, I know what you're thinking. 26 years old and he didn't know how to ride a bicycle? I don't know why. Ask his parents. What normal parent doesn't teach their child how to ride a bicycle? Nevertheless, this guy had literally never set foot, or perhaps I should say bottom, on a bicycle before. I must add though that he never really seemed like the outdoorsy type.

Now, here's where I should mention that if you stay on this island it's pretty much impossible to get around without a bicycle. I mean, sure if you want to walk, go right on ahead. That's what this guy had to do the first time he visited Nijima. His friends all rented bikes and took like 15, 20 minutes to get to town to buy food or visit the hot spring. He had to walk. You can imagine how long it took. I'm sure it was not a pretty sight. From what I gather, he mostly ended up sitting alone at the campsite while everyone else happily rode their bicycles and frolicked around in their bathing suits in the hot spring with a gorgeous sunset view.

This time around, it was insisted that he learn to finally ride a bike. Two of his friends agreed to teach him. The three rented their bikes, took them to a parking lot, and let the learning begin. Evidently it did not go so well, as about a half an hour later I rode by to find the guy alone in the parking lot rather disheveled and sweaty.

My offer to try teaching him was quickly rebuffed with "I can't," or "I'm too old," or "I look like an idiot," and so on. I set to riding my own bike around the lot, quietly trying to figure out exactly what I was doing when I rode a bike. Eventually, I tried to explain: push down hard on the pedal with one foot and get the bike moving. Keep good posture so as to stay balanced, and as quickly as possible, get that other foot on it's pedal. You want to start pedaling immediately and not slow down. If you lose momentum, you lose your balance. But the guy was so sure that if he put that second foot up on it's pedal, he would fall. He would get the bike going and I would cry, "Yes! That's it! Now get that other foot up and keep going, don't stop!" and then that foot would hit the ground. "Aw, come on. Don't put your foot down. You had it!"

"No. I was going to fall," he insisted. "I'm never going to be able to do this. You can go. I'm sorry for wasting your time."




We went on like this for probably an hour and I realized literally the only thing keeping him from being able to ride that bike was his fear of falling.

"Don't be silly. Where are you going to fall to? The ground isn't that far away. You might get a little scrape or bruise, but that's nothing. When you get that urge to put your foot down, resist. Don't do it. Instead, just keep pedaling!"

And then thirty, maybe forty minutes later... oh my god. I swear there was music playing in my head, like when a kid finally makes that home run in some feel-good family movie. He just did it. He rode that damn bicycle. It was a miracle.

And that was, seriously, the highlight of my trip. Seeing this grown man overcome his fear and learn to ride a bicycle at age 26, that was just super inspiring. I felt all warm and fuzzy inside.

You can go ahead and say, "Aww," now (or puke, whatever you prefer).

My MacDonarudo.

This is what happens when you unleash me in a room with small children and plenty of free time...I start asking what kinds of food they like:

Do you like candy?
Do like strawberries?
Do you like hamburgers?

and then suddenly I'm asking them if they like cat watermelon hamburgers or, better yet...television, watermelon, zebra hamburgers.




I think I've stumbled upon new artistic subject matter. yeah?

Am I Invisible?

You know the stereotype that Japanese people bow a lot? Well, it's not a stereotype. It's true. It's very common to bow to any one you are parting ways with. However, it's usually in formal or business situations. Shop clerks and restaurant staff always bow to customers, employees will bow to co-workers or bosses. I think, perhaps, it's especially important to do it for someone who is superior to you in age, social standing, or position in the company. Depending on their degree of importance, you have to adjust the change the angle degree of the bow. If they are a lot more important than you, you should bow really low. Anyways, I don't know much about it because I'm never really in a situation where I need to know this. Since I'm a foreigner, no one expects me to bow. Right now I'm focusing on the language, not the customs. One thing at a time.

Anyway, I remember noticing a ridiculous amount of bowing one time on the bullet train from Tokyo to somewhere far, maybe Nara. There were these female train staff in their fancy matching uniforms that made them look like flight attendants. They were walking up and down the aisles, passing from car to car for no apparent reason that I could glean. Every single time they exited a car they would open the door, turn around to face the people in the car and give a low bow before going out the door. If there was a group of them, each one would stop and give a bow before exiting. It seemed like these girls were stopping and bowing and going in and out of doors every 10 minutes. All I could think is, no one notices their bowing except me, the foreigner, and I certainly don't care if they bow to me or not. Is anyone really going to be offended if they exit the train car without bowing first? I know I may be missing something culturally, but I just found it rather excessive--to the point of being quite funny.

Another thing I've noticed is that people often bow when they get off trains and part ways with someone. The other night when I was on my way home from work, there weren't any seats so I was standing in the the middle area near the doors. There was a group of people standing a few feet away from me. As the train doors opened, most of the group got off the train and one of the remaining members was saying her deeply polite "goodbyes" and "thank yous" and "you've worked hard's" (Sayonara, arigatou gozaimashita, otsukaresama desu.. etc) to these people who must have been in a higher position than her, maybe even her bosses, but I don't know.

As she was spewing this ridiculous string of intensely polite greetings, she was rapidly bobbing her top-half up and down, up and down, so devotedly, so eagerly, that she failed to notice my presence about a foot or two away. Suddenly, mid-bow, her head landed right on my shoulder. I moved away, quite surprised and she didn't even seem to notice. She continued right on bowing. I couldn't help but laugh. I had just been bowed on!

And for a treat, here's a funny picture I found of Obama bowing to Emperor Akihito last November. It looks pretty funny cause the two are supposed to be in equal standing--both world leaders, and yet the Emperor is giving a very shallow bow and Obama is bowing like a lowly servant. It's also pretty funny that he's shaking hands at the same time. People don't usually shake hands in Japan--unless they are greeting foreigners and they are aware of the custom. I kind of love that he did that, though. So very hilarious..

The Cutest

This is a Japanese TV ad campaign for beans that is running right now. It seems to be a national phenomenon. Fuzzy plush bean dog toys, bean dog mugs, notebooks, pencils, are being sold in gift shops all over. And I love it! In fact, I've had an image of one of these things as my blog picture for like over a year and I never knew what it was.

The idea is someone's about to sit down and eat their meal when a bean starts talking to them. Th e bean is super cute and has ears, so it kinda looks like a litte dog. Hence the name, bean dog. The bean dog tells them some random disturbing bit of trivia, such as "a kangaroo's pouch is really stinky," or "a flamingo's mother's milk is red." The person is so disgusted they can't finish their food. I'm not sure how this makes someone want to eat more beans, but I find these bean dogs cute and hilarious.

And now, please watch for yourself. There are about 14 versions. Most are in Japanese with English subtitles, one is in English, and one is in Spanish. I personally recommend watching them all.

http://www.youtube.com/profile?gl=US&user=mameshibavideos

Thank Heaven for 7-11

So one day I decide to go running in my neighborhood. I know it's Winter but it's a particularly sunny day and it can feel quite warm in the middle of the afternoon.

I start running along a dirt path that runs beside one of the many canal/stream whatever things that run across the city. I run for about 20 minutes, I realize I need to pee. No problem, the dirt path intersects with many streets. All I have to do is find a convenience store. Sure enough, there's a 7-11.

I pass a young, female employee mopping the floor. When I get to the restroom, there's a little handwritten note taped to the door. It's mostly in Kanji characters which I can't make out the meaning of. The only word I know is "Key," or "lock." Okay, I think, one school I work at has a handwritten note on the bathroom door that tells you how to work the lock properly. Unconcerned, I go in and lock the door.

When it's time to leave, I try to open door. The lock won't turn. Still calm, I alternate between wriggling the knob and knocking on the door.

Someone comes to the door and cries, "Ehhh?! Okyakusama!?!" (Ehhh is a typical Japanese noise of surprise. Okyakusama means customer or guest.) I hear a sigh of resignation. She knows I'm stuck in here. She's also probably wondering why I stupidly didn't read the note on the door. The young employee frantically tries to open the door. She goes to get some keys. She tries every one. None of them work. She asks me to try unlocking the door from the inside. I tell her I can't. She asks me another question, but she's obviously panicking and it's causing her to speak so quickly I can't understand her. I try to answer, but it soon becomes apparent to her that I'm not Japanese. This is where she really freaks out.

She goes to get the manager, crying something about a foreigner stuck in the bathroom. He also tries the keys. He tries telling me to unlock it from the inside. Well, duh.. don't you guys think I 've already tried that? I don't immediately respond because I'm trying to work out what to say in my head.

This is when he panics. He asks me questions in ridiculously fast Japanese. I start to panic, too, because I just can't understand him. I want to tell him that I can speak Japanese, but he needs to speak slowly and use simpler words. However, I can't seem to remember any of the tons of vocabulary I've studied over the past 2 years.


This continues for about a half hour: shaking the door, yelling in unintelligible Japanese, and trying different keys. Finally, I understand something they say: they are going to call a locksmith. I try to tell them I understand. However, it usually seems to be the case that once a Japanese person realizes you are foreign, their mind becomes literally unable to comprehend that you might understand Japanese.

They come back and tell me, in Japanese, that the locksmith can't come for another hour and a half. I tell them, in perfect Japanese, that I understand. But they don't hear it. I can hear them trying to figure out how to say it in English. They're panicking again. I tell them it's fine, I understand. I'll wait. Don't worry. Of course, I'm pretty upset that I have to be in here another hour and a half, but I'll do it. I'll wait. What choice do I have?

They abandon me to contemplate my imprisoned state in solitude. I close the lid on the toilet and sit down. I'm sweaty and red-faced from my run. I survey the items on the shelf above my head. Toilet paper rolls, spray bottles of cleaner. I remember it kind of smelled when I first came in, but now I seem to have gotten used to it.

Just as I've rested my head against the cold, tile wall, I hear in very broken English:

"heh-ro? Eh...you ..... ehhh... shouldo...ehhh...wait? ehhh, wait one...ehhh...ando....thirty."

Um.. I'm guessing she's trying to tell me to wait for an hour and a half. I try to reconfirm this in Japanese, since her English is obviously not too awesome.

"Hai. Ichi jikan han. Wakarimashita. Arigatou gozaimasu." (Yes. One hour and a half. I understand, thank you.)

She's so surprised that I've answered in Japanese. She half asks, half wonders aloud to herself , "Wait, you can't speak English?"

"No. I mean, Yes. I can speak English," I correct her, in English. But she has already run away to break this devastating news to her superiors. Now how they are supposed to communicate with me?

Eventually she comes back with another girl and they continue trying to open the door. They keep lamenting in Japanese, "An hour and a half? What should we do?"

The new girl asks the first girl if I'm alright. The first girl replies a little too casually and disdainfully for my liking, "I dunno. She's a foreigner. She can't speak English OR Japanese."

The other girl asks, "Really? Where is she from?"

"I dunno. Probably Europe or something."

I attempt to say in Japanese that actually, "I'm American," thank you very much. But they have completely given up on trying to communicate with me.

"Oh, too bad." They walk away.


What the hell am I going to do for an hour and a half, in a 7-11 bathroom? I don't have anything on me, but a key. No cell phone, nothing. I think about asking if they would slide me a pen and some paper, or maybe a magazine, through a little hole in the door, but no one comes back. I wait. I try sleeping with my head propped against the wall.

When the locksmith comes, he can't get the door open. He's banging on it, using some metal tools to try to force it open, fumbling with more keys. Finally, he brings out something so noisy and terrifying that it makes me cower in the corner, as far away from the door as possible. I cover my ears. Fire-y orange spastic sparks shoot everywhere. The door swings open and I peek out. Wearing a gray jumpsuit uniform, the locksmith looks at me, stifling a chuckle as he motions for me to come out. I hop over his mountain of tools and escape like a scared little animal.

Mid-escape, I run into the manager. He awkwardly asks me in Japanese if I'm ok. Yeah, I say, sorry for not speaking Japanese so well, and not being able to read kanji. He gives a simple apology and leaves me standing there, wondering where my free stuff is. Shouldn't I at least get a complimentary bottle of water? Geez. I slink past the register on my way out, avoiding the smirking faces of the young employees behind the counter.

2 hours and 20 minutes after I left my house for a run, I slowly crawl back home, defeated. I feel somehow this is a definitive low point.

The groping hands return...

The next time it happens, I am looking for my children who have magically disappeared. The mothers are all happily chatting away on the plastic orange sofa in the lobby. I begin my search through the myriad of classrooms. Eventually I hear the telltale sound of giggles. I enter to find five little girls hiding under a table. Cute.

"Ok, kids. Let's go! Time to start!"

They crawl out, one by one. I say hello to the first sweet little girl, who always behaves impeccably:

"Hello, Sehwa! How are you?"
"I'M FINE!"
"Good! High five!"

One missed high five and a little hand lands on my pillowy chest. A wide mischievous grin spreads across her face. She reaches out again.

"No, Sehwa. Don't touch!"

Her frown turns upside down:

"No ja nai!" (Ja nai is Japanese, basically equivalent to "not," so having a negative meaning)

She reaches out again and attempts to pat and prod. More giggles ensue. The other girls have extracted themselves from their hiding place and now see what's going on out here. They want in.

10 little hands are groping and grabbing and chasing me around the classroom. And they won't stop that giggling!

"No! No! No! Stop!" I run out of the room. The mothers look at me, startled.

"Uhhh." I can't think how to tell them in simple English that their children are sex fiends. Didn't these mothers ever tell their children NOT to touch people in naughty places?