Journal

 

Thursday
Nov122015

Ah, Progress!

   Above is what Mount Kawara (香春岳) of Tagawa City (田川市) used to look like before Nihon Cement (now Taiheiyō Cement) shaved layer after layer off the top trying to get at its limestone.

   When I first visited Tagawa some twenty years ago, the right half of Kawara-dake had already been stripped down to about a third its original height, leaving a sheer cliff of stark white limestone on the left. Today that has also been mined. Now that's progress!

Wednesday
Nov112015

Chapman Kindergarten

Three-thirty in the morning and I’m wide awake. I thought I had this jetlag licked. Apparently not.

So, . . .

My older son Eoghan kicked and screamed yesterday morning: he did NOT want to go to kindergarten. He was adamant and couldn’t be coaxed or forced out the front door no matter what I tried. After a while my wife gave in and told him to go back to bed and rest.

 

“But no books. No toys. No TV.”

Rather than try to deal with it further, I went out with his younger brother, Liam, to a park that is located just outside the school grounds.

When Liam and I arrived at the park, everything—the swings, the slides, the tire, the lawns—was covered with dew. Living as long as I have in the southwest of Japan where it is seldom foggy, I had forgotten all about dew. I had even forgotten the word “dew” and wouldn’t have remembered it if it weren’t for a young girl of about three or four who called out to her mother and told what the swings were covered with.

“You don’t want to sit down on the swing,” I told Liam. “They’re covered with dew, with water. If you sit down on it, you’ll end up with a soggy bottom.

About forty minutes later, my wife showed up with Eoghan. The boy looked genuinely happy to be there.

“What happened?” I asked.

“He had to poo.”

“Aah.”

Eoghan, standing at the edge of the playground, was about to step in when he stopped himself and suddenly remember: “Oh, I gotta go to school!”

He then ran off towards the school’s doors, my wife chasing after him.

 

Now the funny thing about kindergarten here—and I don’t know if it just Chapman, or all the kindergartens in the Portland Public School system, or all of them in the States—but the daily routine is highly regimented. There are, for starters, quite a few musts: You MUST drop your child off at school between 7:55 and 8:00. If you are ten minutes late, you MUST report to the school office and bring a note to the teacher! You must pick your child up at exactly 2:15! And so on.

My son’s kindergarten back in Japan is, by comparison, in a state of virtual anarchy. Arrival and dismissal times are not clearly defined: you may drop your child off between 8:30 and 9:30. And there is no need to notify the school if you’re late. You can alternate between commuting by school bus and bringing your child on foot or by bicycle, as you please. You may even change the bus stop at which your child gets off as my son often requests. And once at school, the kids spend most of their time playing in the schoolyard and roaming about in the classroom, rather than engaged in structured lessons.

Another big difference, though, is the rituals that mark the day. The kids at my son’s Buddhist school go to school in their formal school attire. Once at school, they remove their street shoes, place them in a cubbyhole, and change into their indoor shoes. Then, they progress to their classrooms where they put their bags into another cubbyhole, hang their water bottles on the appropriate rack and change into their play clothes. For the next hour or so they are allowed to run around, play in the mud, get unbelievably filthy, catch insects, and so on. They are, for the most part, free to do as they like, though there are some controlled activities, such as practice for the school summer festival and the autumn field day.

When lunchtime comes around, they spread their furoshiki out, pray to the Buddha, and then eat. School lunch is served about two or three times a week. On the other days, the children bring their own bentō.

 

Later that night when Eoghan and I were lying in bed, I asked him how his day had been. Unfortunately, I didn’t get many answers. He had fun, that much was clear.

While he didn’t have many answers for me, he certainly had a lot of questions: What does this mean? What does that mean? What is this? What is that? Whenever I explained something it was like a powerful light coming on in his brain: “Ah! So that’s what that was all about!!!”

 

Tomorrow, er, today will be his third day at Chapman. This weekend we’ll have three days off, thanks to the Labor Day weekend, which will provide all of us a much-needed rest for all of us.

But for now, it’s back to sleep!

 

 

4 September 2015, Portland, Oregon

Monday
Nov092015

Local Warming

   It was so warm yesterday--27℃--that my wife and I decided to take the boys to the beach. Only three weeks earlier we had done the very same thing, thinking it would probably be our last visit of the year. Thanks to global warming, or perhaps local warming, it wasn't. And, it may possibly won't be our last.

   According to the news, the arrival of the autumn hews, what the Japanese call kōyō (紅葉, lit. "red leaves"), is now fifteen days later than it used to be fifty years ago. Thanks to this warming trend, we are now able to come to the beach eight months of the year, something that is both pleasant and terrifying at the same time. 

   Better late than never.

Wednesday
Oct212015

Then again . . .

A student raises her hand and asks me what 'show up' means.

"To show up," I explain "means to arrive or come or appear."

"A~h . . ." After chewing on it for a moment, she gives me a peevish look and grumbles, "Didn't we do this before?"

By "this", she means the worksheet I have given her. It's a page from a textbook I've been putting together and trying out in various classes to find any mistakes or poorly worded sentences.

"Possibly," I tell her. "Then again, if you're so smart, why are you having to ask me what 'show up' means for the second time?"

"Ah, solly . . ."

 

Thursday
Oct082015

Portlandia - The Count

I was in Portland for the first half of September. This is the tally after my first week there. (I have included the corresponding numbers after a week back in Japan.)
Fatsos riding Rascals
11ーAs with obese children, this affluent neighborhood doesn’t seem to have very many super-obese people. Fat people abound, but the fire-up-the-forklift type were not as common as I had expected. I suppose that if I were to go out to the suburbs, the case would be different.
0--Obesity just isn't as huge a problem in Japan. I did count three very overweight women during the past week.
Old Ladies Peering over the Steering Wheel of Massive Jalopies
1ーOnly saw one. Also, I only came across one car that was broken down on the side of the road. I take this as a sign that the economy has recovered considerably. 
0ーFew old ladies drive here and there are even fewer massive cars from the 70s and 80s here.
Men in Navy Suits with White Shirts and Red Ties
0ーDidn’t see many people wearing the full regalia of the businessman.
0ーLots of men in suits, though.
The Use of the Words:
"Craft(ed)"
2ーSubway’s hand-crafted foot-longs” (Seems this word is finally dying out. Thank God.)
“Artisan"
             7ーbread, coffee roastery, artisanal wine, Blue Diamond Artisan Nut Thins, Trader Joe’s Artisan Bread, Artisan Carpets, and so on. (This word is still going strong, but not as prevalent as I had expected.)
TV Commercials for Medicine/Pharmaceuticals
1 (Haven’t watched much TV) The one commercial I saw was for a drug for Crone’s Disease. The warning at the end of the commercial was almost as long as the bit praising the benefits of the drug.
0ーHaven't watched TV. In general, you won't find commercials for prescription drugs on TV here.
Obese Children
17 (Far fewer than expected. Must be all the amphetamines the kids are hopped up on, that or the fact that we are staying in a reasonably affluent neighborhood.)  There were quite a few at the Wings & Waves Water Park in McMinville, but considering how expensive the place was, they were probably not getting children from the lower echelons of society that tend to be more overweight. The same goes with the Children’s Museum.)
0ーKids are definitely getting bigger, both horizontally and vertically, but childhood obesity isn't a problem yet.
Nutters Talking to Himself
8
1ーjust saw one. I think the old guy was drunk.
Bums with Signs
15; popular places are Powell's and Salt and Straw; some people seem to be camped out at a particular place with their handwritten on cardboard sign.
0ーSee below.
Homeless People 
148 (Have lost count; hit the mother load at Couch Park and the North Park Blocks)
2ーI asked my wife if she had seen any homeless people. She thought about it a while and replied that she had seen an old man digging cans out of the garbage. Even the bums here are industrious.
Smokers
     17; surprisingly few smokers, many of them have been homeless; haven’t seen anyone smoking inside, even in bars, something I have liked.
A handfulーFar fewer than I had expected
Cops on Bikes
4
0ーNo cops on bikes, horses, Segways, etc.
Cops on Horesback
3
High-end Sports Cars 
 2, Mazerati, Tesla
A fewーDidn't really pay attention to cars when I got back to Japan.
Asked for Money
        1ー"Sir, can you help me? Could you give some money for food?"
0ーIt's rare to see panhandlers in Japan. I think I've only seen one in my 23 years here and that was in Ōsaka which doesn't really count.
Unappreciated Buskers
8
0ーThere are an awful lot of street musicians here but unlike America they don't do it for money so much as exposure.
New Slang/Words
1
“Amazeballs"
“Epic" is being overused on TV.
Cultural Refrences/Terms I don't Get
Too many to keep track of . . . Such as “Line”, “Data”, LTE, Fantasy Football, . . . 
People Referring to Church/God
0ーThis ain’t the South and this ain’t the ‘burbs.
0ーAlmost no one talks about their faith here
People with Face Tattoos
0 (Seems everyone—men, women, young and old—has sleeves of tattoos here. Many tattooed necks and body piercing, but no tattooed faces . . .yet.)
0ーHave only seen one person with tatts so far.
Men with Prospector Beards
35ーThis fad is still going strong, much to the chagrin of Messrs. Schick and Gillette. (Should have also counted men with wild mustaches, but it’s too late. My survey is done.)
1ーAnd he's a friend.
Men with Wild Mustaches
2ーShould have started counting this sooner.
0ー
Men with Hoops in their Earlobes
7
2 or 3ー
Women with Shaved Heads
5ーMany, many, many lesbians in town. They seem far more prevalent/visible than gay men.
0ー
Strangers Talking to me on the Train (telling me much too much about their lives) 
2
0ーHardly anyone will talk to you here.
People I Know Eating Burgers in Front of Me.
4ーYou know who you are.
0ーBurgers are rather popular right now, just not in my immediate family.
Doggy Bags
2ーStopped keeping track of this. I don’t think there has been any meal I have been able to completely finish so far. The servings are HUGE.
0ー
Unpalatable Cocktails
6
Good Cocktails
6 (Taught the bartender how to make three of these; went to Trader Vic’s for the other two; Matador had an alright margarita) 50/50 is pretty lousy odds for a town that considers itself a Food/Beverage Mecca. 
0ーHaven't been out drinking
Microbrew
8
Pyramid Curve Ball Blonde Ale, not bad
       Big Leaf Maple by Anchor, not bad
Something Cream Ale, pretty damn good
FIVO Hoppy, so so
Stone IPA, so so
Noble Scot by Portland Brewing, so so
Proletariat (Red Ale) by Lompoc Brewing, great name, not bad
Widmer Hefeweizen, and oldie but goodie.
1ーI had an Oktoberfest brew yesterday that hit the spot.)
Getting Barked at by People in Service Industry 
2
My Type-ish (not a knockout, but I wouldn't kick her out of bed for eating crackers)
        6
?ーFar too many to count.
Knockout
0
?ーFar too many to count.
The words “literally”, “like”, “basically”, “actually”, etc.
        2 (Haven’t really been keeping count. Girl at restaurant yesterday said “like” like every like two or three words and it was like super annoying like . . . I was like, Stop saying like! You sound like, like an idiot.)
Squirrel!
        13 (May be the same one I’m seeing; quite a few around the main synagogue in NW. Jewish squirrels?)
0ーNone.
Hypodermic Needles, probably used for drugs
4
Headshops
3ーMary Jane’s Glassware
Medicinal Marijuana Shops
6ーCanabliss, Mind Rite, Oregon Weedery. I suggested to my 85-year-old mother that she might put herb on her Bucket List, but she wasn’t interested.
The Smell of Pot in the Air
1ーOn 23rd
Vending Machines
3ー(one was empty, none are outside)

 

Monday
Oct052015

How many more mass shootings will it take for the US to act?

 

You'd think it would only take one, but the NRA, and other gun-rights advocatesーread shills for the gun industryーhave got politicians by the balls. I mean, the things the guys say defending the indefensible.


"More guns make us safe."

 "More laws will only affect the law-abiding people."

"This is a mental health issue."

"Don't politicize this!"

"Guns don't kill people . . ."


Malarkey!

I've thought a lot about this, and the only way I see the US moving forward on it is by first getting money out of politics. Public financing of all elections, period, and overturning rulings such as Citizens United that have warped the election process.

The public at large is for sweeping gun control. Even members of the NRA support many of the proposals put forth after Newtown, but politicians from both parties, yes, but more significantly among "right-to-life/right-to-kill" Republicans, were, and still are, afraid to touch it.

Profiles in Cowardice

Thursday
Sep172015

Voice of America

 

  A friend asked me, "How could anyone vote for a guy with an accent like that? He sounds like Rodney Dangerfield under the influence..."

  The guy in question is Bernie Sanders.

  To be honest, I don't mind the way Bernie sounds. I think a populist needs to have a unique voice like his, one that lends the speaker the air of a back alley pugilist. The voice of Democratice Senator Sherrod Brown of Ohio fits the role perfectly.          

  I may have mentioned this before, but I usually "listen" to the news via podcasts, rather than "watch" it, and I often find myself asking, "Do I really want to listen to that voice for the next four years?"

  No disrepect to Democratic favorite, Hillary Clinton, but her voice grates on my nerves. And the woman couldn't deliver a punchline even if her life depended on it. (David Brooks made a funny comment last week that Hillary will be coming out with a plan in a week's time to be more spontaneous.)

  Jindal sounds like he has his mouth full o' grits whenever he talks. How could the Chinese ever negotiate with him? "Mr. President?" Mumble, mumble. "Mr. President?" Munch, munch. "Mr. President?" Yes? "Are you finished eating?"

  Rubio sounds like the student body president of an all-boy Christian high school who mistakenly put his chastity ring on his tiny weenie.

  Cruz's voice has all the appeal of a table saw stuck grinding away on a rusty nail.

  Donald Trump's voice is both annoying and entertaining at the same time. It's your fiftieth hit of meth when you know deep in your heart that you should just put the pipe down and get some goddamn sleep for once.

  Perry sounds too much like W. Thank God the Lord spoke to this Christian soldier loud enough that he finally got the hint and stepped out of the race. "Guess I shouldn' a tried runnin' again. Oops."

  Lindsey Graham? Oh, dear, no.

  Santorum sounds like he was just shown a photo of three adults have inappropriate sexual contact with each other and doesn't know whether to be titilated or disgusted by it all.

  Christie should be at the end of a counter at a sports bar in Jersey, wearing a Joe Namath jersey, a Bud Lite in his meaty hand, rather than on a debate stage.

  Rand Paul has a dry whiny voice; he sounds like he'd scream "Uncle" even before the titty-twister commenced. And you expect him to look into Putin's eyes and . . . "Uncle!"

 

  I could go on and on and on. 

 

Friday
Aug072015

Average Annual Salary

   More depressing stats from one of my favorite websites of late, Heikin Nenshū Labo. This shows the trend in average salaries in Japan between the years 1995 and 2013. 

   In 1995, the average yearly salary for a "salaryman" in Japan was ¥4,570,000. The average salary peaked in 1997 at ¥4.67 million, but has fallen ever since. In 2009, the average salary was only ¥4.06 million, due to the recession that followed the "Lehman Brothers Shock" and stock market crash of 2008. Growth in salaries has been anemic in the years since. 

   Looking at this chart, I am curious to know, one, what the average salary was during the bubble years of the late 1980s, and, two, whether salaries have increased in 2014 and 2015. I would also like to know how "salaryman" is defined.

   In 2013, the average male salaryman earned ¥5,110,000, compared to an average of only ¥2,720,000 for women.

   This graph shows the average salary for men (blue) and women (red) according to age. 

   Doda has a pretty good breakdown of income according to age. The average fortynine-year-old man in Japan earns ¥6,830,000. 46% of those men earn more than seven million yen. Only 13% of men and 5% of women in their late forties earn more than a ten million yen a year. 

   At Career Connection, you can get information on the average salary paid by a particular company and read reviews by people who are working or have worked for the company. Nomura Securities, for example, pays workers in their forties an average of ¥16,240,000 a year. Not bad. TEPCO pays its forty-year-old employees an average of ¥12,170,000.

Wednesday
Jul012015

Four Burners

Pat was driving, and as we passed the turnoff for a shopping center she invited us to picture a four-burner stove. 

“Gas or electric?” Hugh asked, and she said that it didn’t matter. 

This was not a real stove but a symbolic one, used to prove a point at a management seminar she’d once attended. “One burner represents your family, one is your friends, the third is your health, and the fourth is your work.” The gist, she said, was that in order to be successful you have to cut off one of your burners. And in order to be really successful you have to cut off two.

Pat has her own business, a good one that’s allowing her to retire at fifty-five. She owns three houses, and two cars, but, even without the stuff, she seems like a genuinely happy person. And that alone constitutes success.

I asked which two burners she had cut off, and she said that the first to go had been family. After that, she switched off her health. “How about you?”

I thought for a moment, and said that I’d cut off my friends. “It’s nothing to be proud of, but after meeting Hugh I quit making an effort.” 

“And what else?” she asked.

“Health, I guess.”

Hugh’s answer was work.

“And?”

“Just work,” he said.

 

From "Laugh, Kookaburra" by David Sedaris, printed in The New Yorker

 

   I normally don’t read Sederis for mind-bending existential content, but his short story “Laugh, Kookaburra” had me thinking about life changes I have made over the past ten years and the “burners” I have turned off or down.

   Shortly before I remarried, my fiancée would take me over to her parents’ home in the suburbs on Sundays and lock me up in their washitsu, forcing me to write for five or six hours straight. I had a good idea for a book that just needed to be written down, but I was having a devil of a time making any progress on it.

   Being locked up in that Japanese room for hours on end was torture at first. Whenever I would try to venture out of the room, my girlfriend, who kept guard over me in the adjacent room, would turn me around, shove me back in and say, “Two more hours!”

   “Two more? Can’t I have a drink of something or a smoke?”

   “No!”

   So back in I would go, and kneel down on the tatami only to stare for minutes on end at the empty white page on my MacBook, the cursor flash-flash-flashing as if to taunt me: “You got nothing. And you used to think you had what it took to be a writer! Hah! You got nothing!"

   But it worked. After a few weeks, I started to get into the groove and before I knew it I was writing almost every day, usually in the morning, but sometimes at night until I had finished Rokuban. And when I finished Rokuban, I did a major overhaul of A Woman’s Nails and finished that. Then went on to the next work, and the next.

   Where just completing a novel had once seemed like an insurmountable task, now I was faced with a new challenge: how to sell the novels I was now finishing.

   The improved productivity came partially from turning down one of those four burners: friends. I seldom go out for drinks or dinner anymore. If I do, it’s usually by myself. I used to hate being alone, but nowadays it doesn’t bother me in the least. Sometimes I prefer it as I can get stuff done while I’m eating.

 

 

   More later . . . 

 

 

Tuesday
Jun162015

Where it all goes

   I had the girls in one of my classes make mini presentations today, the purpose of which was to learn how to present data. One student gave a short presentation on how the typical Japanese student spent her money. It contained some surprises.

   As you can see from the chart, the two largest expenses are social (drinking, dating, hanging out with friends) and food. The third largest expense was clothing and beauty products. 

   What struck me as somewhat odd was that rent accounted for only 4% of their expenses the same as the phone bill.

   I'm not sure how the data was collected or who was asked, but I assume that the reason rent does not amount to much is because the average student even if he is living alone does not pay for his own rent. His parents do. Such is the rough life of the typical student in Japan.

   My own experience couldn't have been more different. 

   In my second year of college, three of my friends and I shared a two-bedroom two-bath apartment in La Jolla just north of San Diego. The rent was $800, which came to $200 each. At the time I had a "part-time" job, working 32-plus hours a week (M-Th, swing shift) at the La Jolla Cove Hotel, a real dive, that paid about four bucks an hour. I took home about a hundred dollars a week, half of which went for rent and the remaining half I had to somehow feed and clothe myself with. It was no day at the beach, let me tell you. 

 

   According to the Department of Industrial Relations, the minimum wage in California in the early 80s was $3.35 an hour. In 1988, it was raised to $4.25.

   I remember taking the job, one, because of the location--it was just a few blocks down the street from the apartment--and, two, because I thought the pay and work schedule were pretty good.

   One of the interesting things about the job was that in an age when computers were starting to take off, the hotel continued to do everything in completely analog fashion.

   We had several large boards measuring about a two and a half feet by two feet on which all the bookings were recorded. If someone called to reserve a room we would first have to ask when and how long the guest intended to stay and in what kind of room. The usual questions? But, then we would have to go over these boards and see if there was an availabilty. It would sometimes take five minutes just to confirm whether a room was available or not. If we had a room and the price was right, the guest would reserve it which consisted of my physically writing down the guest's name on the board. Surprisingly, there weren't many mistakes. Guests weren't always happy with the room they got, but we seldom forgot a reservation.

Tuesday
Jun022015

Child Soldiers

Dad giving the one-finger salutThere was an awful report on the BBC this morning about child soldiers fighting in Syria's civil war. Unimaginable the horror these young boys are experiencing.

But then, . . .

It occurred to me that my own grandfather was sent to the front in WWI at the tender age of 16 where he would fire a massive cannon, making minced meat of the enemy.

His son, my father, joined the Navy at the age of 17, just a few years after WWII. He would later re-enlist in the Marines and get sent off to Korea. (Obviously, I wouldn't be around today if he had been one of the more than thirty-three thousand Americans who died there.)

One of the themes of Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse 5 is that WWII was fought by boys. The oft-forgot subtitle of that novel was The Children's Crusade: A Duty-Dance with Death.

Seems, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Tuesday
Jun022015

The Joy of Writing

So, the lecture went sumfin like this:

I've been asked to speak about the "Joy of Writing" but, to be honest, it ain't fun. It's work. It can be satisfying at times, but for the most part it's not.

So, instead of that, I'm going to teach you How to Write. Or at least I'm going to try.

There's a saying in English: Those who can, do; those who can't, teach. Sadly, it's often the truth. There are professors of English who couldn't string a proper sentence together in English. There are teachers of business who have never run a successful business. (If they could, they probably wouldn't be teaching, would they?)

Most of your writing teachers will show you how to put a paragraph together. They'll make you draw these silly diagrams like Amway marketing schemes. I don't know who taught them to teach like that. Well, you can forget about all that.

First off, on the piece of paper you've been given I want you to write about something we all have: family. Tell me about your family.

(I give them a few minutes to write and then tell them to stop writing.)

How many of you began with the sentence "My family is . . ."?

(Out of the twenty or so girls in the class 16 of them raise their hand. The remaining four or five, have written a variation of "There are . . . people in my family.")

I understand why you do this. It's the first thing that pops in your head. You're thinking "Watashi-no kazoku-wa . . ."

Well, stop that. It's boring. Nobody wants to read what you've just written.

So, Rule One: Don't just give facts or makes lists. Be creative. Be different!

Rule Two: Tell me a story and through that story, include the information you want to convey. 

For example, I just wrote this before coming here:

(Reading.)

"One day when I came home from kindergarten, there was a newborn baby in my mother’s arms. 

“'Say hello to your new sister,'" my mother said.

I was only five at the time and wouldn't know where babies came from for at least another ten years. By coincidence, our new living room furniture arrived from Ethan Allen on the same day as my mother’s return from the hospital. She was sitting on the new sofa holding the baby. I looked at the baby. I looked at the furniture--the sofa, the recliner, the ottomans, the coffee tables, the side tables, the . . . For all I knew, my eighth sister had come with the furniture."

Now, that's not the best writing in the world, but, one, it tells a story that you (hopefully) want to hear more of, and, two, it includes information: I have eight sisters, the eighth sister is five years younger than me, and so on. (For the record, I have nine sisters, and three brothers.)

Now start writing again.

(Ten minutes later, I tell them to stop writing.On the white board, I have written 1st, 2nd, and 3rd person; past, present, and future tenses.)

How many of you wrote in the 1st person, present tense?

(Most of them.)

How many of you wrote in the 1st person, past tense?

(The rest.)

Just because you are writing about yourself, doesn't mean you have to write in the first person. 

Rule Three: Break the rules. 

Rule Four: Rewrite, rewrite, rewrite. Read what you have written, find the mistakes, correct them, change the sentences, make them better, make them funnier or more interesting. Even famous writers such as Murakami Haruki spend more time rewriting their novels than they do writing them. You should, too.

I give them a few minutes to read what they have read to their partner.

One last point I'd like to make is that if you really want to write well, you'll have to do it a lot. And I mean A LOT. Practice really does make perfect. It's the same with sports, or a musical instrument. No one sits down at the piano for the first time and plays Chopin.

Also, read A LOT. Learn from the masters.

I gotta run. 


Thursday
May282015

The Kindy Bus

I took my son, Yu-kun to kindergarten this morning and managed to arrive at the very same time as one of the school busses.

The kids all clamored out of the bus and were herded by two teacher to the main gate of the school where they put their hands together, bowed deeply, and shouted in unison: "Hotoke-sama, ohayō-gozaimasu! Enchō-sensei, hayō-gozaimasu!" (Good morning, Buddha! Good morning, Mr. Principal!)

It was my first time to see this, and I must say it was adorable.

Yu-kun also takes the school bus from time to time depending on the weather and my wife's energy level. (He rode it yesterday but ended up vomiting all over himself and had to be sent back home.)

The “pink bus”[1] usually doesn’t come rolling into our neighborhood until a few minutes after nine in the morning.

When the bus comes to a full stop, one of the teacher hops out, grabs the kids and throws them in like sacks of recyclables. Once on board, the kid is then free to sit wherever he or she likes. Yu-kun sometimes sits in the very front next to the driver, sometimes in the middle near a girl he likes, and sometimes in the very back like yesterday (which may be the reason why he threw up).

The kids are usually dressed in a variety of uniforms. Some wear the whole get-up with the silly Good Ship Lollypop hats and all, while others wear their colored class caps. Some are in their play clothes, a few in smocks, and fewer still wear their school blazers. Anything goes really and that’s fine by us.

A year and a half ago, my wife and I were considering four different kindergartens. Two were Christian, one Buddhist, and a fourth was run by what appeared to be remnants of the Japanese Imperial Army’s South Pacific Division.

It was this fourth kindergarten that initially appealed to us. The kids were said to be drilled daily and given lots of chances to exercise and play sports outside, something that offered us the possibility that our son would come home every afternoon dead tired.

Well, in the end, that school didn’t want us. (So, to the hell with them!) We went for the free-for-all Buddhist kindy, instead.

I think we made the right choice.

The other morning, I happened to see the bus for the Fascist kindergarten. Although it pulls up at the very same place where Yu-kun usually catches his own bus, the similarity stopped there. For one, all the kids were wearing the same outfit with the same hats, the same thermoses hanging from their left side. When they got in the bus, they did so in an orderly fashion, the first child going all the way to the back, the second child following after and sitting in the next seat. The bus was filled from the back to the front and I wouldn’t be surprised if the children filed out of the bus in the same orderly manner. Once seated, the kids sat quietly. It was at the same time both impressive and horrifying.

 


[1] I still have no idea why it is called the “pink bus” because nothing on it is pink. Every time Yu-kun says, “Oh, the pink bus!” I scan it from bumper to bumper to try and figure out how on earth he can tell it’s the pink bus and not the “yellow bus” which is actually yellow.

Wednesday
May272015

Boz

Spoiler Alert: Boz don' look like this anymore.

  Boz Scaggs will be in town again this June. Every time one of these stars from yesteryear comes to tour Japan, my first thought is: Is he short of cash?

 

Fart of mine~♪
Can't keep this gas from passing
Stop flatulating!

Who's done the cutting?
Fart of mine~♪
Oh what's the use in trying?
No one can stop you now (Toot!)


   Sorry, I couldn't help myself.

Monday
May252015

Hikawa Maru

   The other day when I was writing about the value of ¥100 in 1946, I remembered visiting the Hikawa Maru which is permanently berthed at Yamashita Park in Yokohama. One of the things that struck me was the cost of a transpacific voyage at the time of the ship’s completion:

   “Leaving Kōbe,” a sign on the ship reads, “Hikawa Maru picked up passengers and cargoes at a number of other Japanese ports, and entered the Port of Yokohama. From Yokohama, the ship began the 13-day transpacific trip directly to Seattle. At the time of Hikawa Maru’s completion, the one-way first-class fare from Yokohama to Seattle was about ¥500. In 1930, a new recruit joining NYK Line directly from college would have earned ¥70 a month, and could have buil[t] a house for ¥1,000. Thus, we can see that luxurious first-class travel by sea was special, available to only a handful of privileged individuals.”

   The Hikawa Maru had 35 First Class cabins, with a capacity of 76 people. The price, as indicated above, was about five hundred yen, or US$250. There were also 23 “Tourist Class” cabins, accommodating 69 passengers--tickets for the one-way voyage were $125 (about ¥250)--and 25 Third Class cabins that had a capacity of 138. Third Class tickets sold for $55~75 (¥110~140).

 

 

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