You've Been Replaced

Twenty-Four #007

"Cloverfield"

Snapshots

"If you liked it then you should've put a ring on it..."

Twenty-Four #006

Sapporo has the grid and ease of New York City with the sweet custard charm of San Francisco. I rarely venture north of the JR Station but there's a great brewery where they make beers that surpass the national brands. Beers with full-on flavor, hops, and names like IPA, Vaizen, Pilsner, and Ale. Delicious.

To get there you need to take the subway to Kitanijuuyojou, or North 24th Block. This strip has ramen/udon restaurants, cafes, pachinkos, you name it. This is like 24 heaven; the number appears almost everywhere. I wandered around for a while, slipping on the ice, before meeting up with some teachers.

A word of advice; be wary of browsing a pet shop. I forget how sad it is to see young animals in cubbies separated from people, unable to be touched. They all looked so bored, lonely, and confused.

Down By The River

"Down by the river
I shot my baby..."

Twenty-Four #005

With this 24 sighting one would think that I eat at fast food restaurants all the time. In fact, I don’t. Not all the time. As you can see this number came from McDonald’s while Emma and I waited for apple pies. We ordered apple pies after our Big Macs. “Big Mac”robiotic.

I Want To Learn About The Internet Through Many Animals

Some of the best times I have in class is when students make little mistakes. I enjoy this mostly because I enjoy making mistakes.

There are moments when running flashcards gets a little monotonous. Usually I ask the kids what an English word means in Japanese (but not ‘hamburger’), they’ll tell me and I’ll try to pronounce it. Boy, do they get a kick out of that. I’ll even intentionally do it wrong, maybe say another word that sounds the same. Learning another language is not easy and I can only imagine what I sound like when I ask a grocery store employee if I’m buying the hard or soft tofu.

For instance, one word was ‘in’ and I said, “What does ‘in’ mean in Japanese?” “nani-nani no naka!” they said.

“Onaka?” I said and they busted out in laughter. Onaka means stomach.

My favorite mistake by a student was a simple noun switch, a mistake I certainly make when speaking the limited Japanese I know. I think that’s why I like it so much. The task was to take parceled out words that had been rearrange and put them into grammatical order. A student wrote his answer out as follows,

“I want to know about the internet through many animals.”

I have to say that I did laugh when I read this. Firstly because of the image and secondly I knew the student wouldn’t misconstrue my intention. I tried to explain to him what he wrote using hand gestures of computers, the desire to know, and getting to that knowledge through many animals. He didn’t see it. But that sentence has stuck with me.

There are smaller cases of miscommunication. Mostly on my part. Like this one:

One night Emma was making fish and chips and invited a bunch of us over.

“Could you grab ketchup* and some bread?” she asked me.

I said I would and wondered if she had vinegar and whether or not Balsamic was appropriate for fish and chips.

“I don’t but if you want some you can grab it. It’s su or o-su. They use it in sushi,” she said.

Afia and I went to the small grocery store near her house and quickly found the ketchup and the bread. The trouble was the vinegar. Though I had been armed with the pronunciation I was not well equipped for the spelling or written kanji. Afia and I scanned the middle aisle which was nothing but bottles of clear and yellow and brown liquids. Some showed pictures of salads, some depicted fish, some were just the painted calligraphy of kanji characters. There was one bottle, in both clear and brown, that showed sushi and had osusume (お勧め)　written below.

“This must be it,” I said to Afia. “It looks like vinegar, shows vinegar-esque food, and I see su here.” I bought the bottle, threw it in my obaasan-bike basket and rode it back to Emma’s.

“Did you get your vinegar?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, handing her the plastic bottle.

“David,” she said and laughed at me. “This is fish juice.”

“But the sign said o-su-something!”

“Did it say osusume?”

“Christ. Does that mean something other than vinegar?”

“Yeah,” she said. “It means ‘recommended’.”

Twenty-Four #004

It was Sunday the 20th, this October. Jared and I had just gotten off the bus after a short trip into Sapporo. We both felt the same spark. Moss Burger.

After ordering they gave us numbers. I think mine was 13 but Jared's was 24.

Thank you, Moss Burger!

Juliana Hatfield: This Lonely Love

In The Bedroom

It's cold. It's spoken in Celsius so I couldn't tell you. I'm wearing a knit cap, an undershirt, a button-down, and a wool sweater.

I was so busy running away from SF that I didn't see what was in front of me. Makes for many surprises.

Waking up in the morning is a surprise.

Yeah, I'd say pleasant until I have to pull on a cold shirt. Makes me thankful for the tie. I can knot off my body heat and keep it from seeping out the collar.

I like the morning coffee that the tea-ladies bring,

Today, for lunch, it was rice, a tofu and burger medley, some pickled spinach vegetables and an egg roll.

I mailed in my absentee ballot this evening. To ensure it got to the Registrar of Voters before the 4th I paid 1200 yen.

アカイリボン

"But, David," the animals said. "If you take the bus and go to school then we can't play Hide-The-Bundt-Cake!"

"But, you guys, I need to go and help my students and teachers. They need me."

"Awww," the animals sighed. "Maybe when you get home then?"

"Of course, my little friends. Of course."

October

Amy Under The Shiso Leaf

A few weeks ago Emma and I went out to a Japanese family-style dinner at Tonden, a restaurant down the street on Rte. 12. In the spirit of trying as many restaurants as possible before the snow walls us in, we parked our bikes out front and got a booth. The booths were tatami style and the place was brightly lit and comfortable. There were other patrons with big cast iron bowls of soup, empty beer mugs, wearing work clothes.

The menu was an array of sets; sobas, sashimis, sushis, soups, rices. I’m very fond of menus with pictures you generally know what you’re getting when you order. Occasionally what looks like a simple egg custard is a fishy and gelatinous soup. Or what appears to be cooked shrimp is actually raw and recently dearmored.

These meals were huge. I got the green soba with BBQ eel donburi. The egg on top of the rice and eel was new to me. The egg whites were foamy and cold, as if the egg had been lightly steamed.

Emma and I chatted, about schools, about teaching, about our students. She began picking through her bowl of sashimi and we talked about our apartments, winter supplies we still needed, about speaking Japanese. She uncoiled her shrimp and left it alone. I was watching her food as she picked at it and so was she. Suddenly we saw something. The talk stopped. Our eyes and mouths simultaneously grew wide. “Did you see that?” she asked.

“Uh… yeah,” I said.

The shrimp moved.

It curled its little spindly legs underneath itself. Protecting it’s already stripped underbelly. A quick and near-furtive movement to yank onto survival.

“Is it… still alive?” I asked.

“Christ, I have no idea,” Emma said. She poked at it with her chopstick.

“I thought they atleast flash boil those things. You know… to kill them. Are they still alive when you rip their tails off and the exofacialskeleton? Are they staring at you when you as you eat the bodies of their companions?” I asked.

“Oh my God, would you shut up? You’re freaking me out,” Emma said.

We both watched the shrimp for more signs of life as we both chatted about sashimi in general. I thought its pinkness suggested it had been boiled, slightly. I’ve had sashimi shrimp, its cold and fatty, the texture smooth and rich. Emma said that these types of shrimp are naturally pink. Their eyes are literal black beads followed by long and searching antennae. I watched those antennae fearful that they would move, that they would locate our emotions, the sympathies and fear that we tossed on that “dead” shrimp. It would sense our weakness and use that against us. To escape.

Emma said, “Take it away. I can’t look at it. Can we ask the waitress to take it away?”

“That would sound strange wouldn’t it?”

“I just can’t look at it anymore. It’s making me sick.”

I picked up the shrimp. There was some trouble. The body was slippery, the head kept slipping through the wooden sticks and the shrimp kept falling back into the bowl. Finally I caught it. It was limp inbetween my chopsticks. I placed it into an empty bowl and Emma covered it with another. We realized we made a small, spherical shaped coffin.

“I feel like we ought to give it a name,” I said.

“Yeah, it’s almost like a pet now we’ve been talking about it for so long,” Emma said.

Shrimpie, Emma suggested. How about Zombie Shrimp? I offered. Too literal, Emma said. It was a girl shrimp, I saw the leftover eggs under its skin. Okay, how about Paula, I said. No, no, no. Emma was right, there needed to be a better name, something that fit. Brenda the Ebi? Juanita? Isis?

“I know,” Emma said. “Amy Winehouse.”

And so we christened the undead, little sea creature and said a little prayer. Emma dropped a curl of daikon on the top of the bowl, followed by a shiso leaf. It looked pleasant in front of us while we tried to finish our meals. Though, it was challenging trying to keep the imagination from conjuring images of Amy’s antennae flicking in and out of the crack between the bowls. Pink strands searching for an oceanic home.

Explaining the new table decoration to the waitress was a little amusing. For us, atleast. Emma told her that we saw the shrimp move. At first the waitress suggested that it was a good sign of the foods freshness. “Food doesn’t move back home,” Emma said.

All in all, Amy Winehouse has becomes a pretty good story around here. Emma’s told her friends back in New Zealand and now I’m telling you. To think, earlier that morning, there was a little shrimp swimming in the sea that had no idea she would later that day be named for a fantastic, if not troubled, British siren.

The Full House House

Telling the students I’m from San Francisco is easier than telling them I lived in Oakland for 7 years. Lately, I’ve been drawing a map of the United States with an over-exagerrated east coast and a severely malnourished west coast. Michigan gets more land mass than it should and I leave off Alaska and Hawaii. I do mention that I grew up in Massachusetts and drove across the country (leaving out the tidbit that Sarah did most of the driving) where I landed in San Francisco at the age of 23.

Lies.

I landed in Berkeley at the age of 24.

Regardless, describing San Francisco is easier than incanting Oakland. I was in one class of 14 year olds where I did mention Oakland and I almost said, “You know, Tupac Shakur’s hometown?” I don’t think that would be enough.

When speaking of San Francisco I assume that the most recognizable landmark would be the Golden Gate Bridge; the spanning art-deco and red suspension bridge that connects San Francisco to… to… well, no one who doesn’t live in the Bay Area would know so why bother. But, it’s not. In class today I mentioned the Golden Gate Bridge but was met with blank stares until I said, “Okay, Full House? Do you know Full House? That show is set in San Francisco.”

Now, they know. Full House is in syndication here, dubbed in Japanese. And I could’ve guessed by the way some of the girls have their hair styled; side ponytails and oversized clips. The show is very popular. One student excitedly asked me after school, “You know Full House?” and I told him that the show started in America when I was his age, like 20 years ago.

Innocent adolescents, precocious pre-adolescents, foolish adults whose attentions orbit the children’s existence. Is this the message Japan is receiving about America? Unchallenged sitcom writing and a basic directing formula is shaping how the international community perceives us? Then again, I remember thinking the same thing as the show progressed beyond its first season. Sitcoms can be oversimplified and our lives are anything but. I really didn’t like this show; the adults weren’t mean enough, the kid actors had hyphenated names, and the situations were too cutesy. Blech. Made Family Ties look like The OC.



I’ve known people who’ve made pilgrimages to see the Full House house when they visit San Francisco. They mark their words with badges of honor. We all have interests that stir the pot of tastelessness, for sure. And, I believe, that picture of the steppe-like houses was popular before the show aired its intro. I guess you can only go to so many museums, walk the GG bridge, Baker Beach, North Beach, SoMa, cable cars, Union Square, Mission, Castro, etc. Why not stop and take a photo for a laugh while you’re in a beautiful scenic park. Or maybe out of complete seriousness. Whichevs.

I have mixed feelings for the people who live in those houses. If anyone really does. I sympathize with the way their house must be treated like a national landmark but, then again, it must have cost a bundle to purchase and then live the Tanner home lifestyle. If that’s their choice may the lords of syndication help them.

Okaasan Cooking

Last Friday I went to a cooking class with one of my JTEs. She invited me earlier in the week. “Would you like to go to a Korean cooking class on Friday with all my older women friends? They’re a lively bunch and like to drink beer.”

Older women and beer is a very entertaining concoction.

I met T-sensei in the Kinokuniya in Sapporo and we rushed-walked to a building I think may have been a library. We walking into a classroom that had a full kitchen with a giant mirror suspended above that reflected the countertop to rows of desks. There were about 12 mama-san ladies listening to the sensei.

T-sensei brought an extra apron for me. “Here,” she said, “wear this one.” She handed me a Miffy apron because “it matched my shirt.” This got a lot of laughs from the gals. Then we all gathered around the counter to watch sensei as she prepared a homestyle Korean meal.

I tried my best to follow along between the chopping techniques and ingredients that looked familiar but I didn’t know their names. The ladies were having a blast. Joking with each other, cheering each other on when they could flip the vegetable pancake with a flick of their wrist. All of this with the stomach grumbling smell of roasting sesame oil and simmering chicken soup.

The ending meal was a chicken and egg-drop soup served over rice and chicken with sides of spicy cucumber salad and the vegetable pancake. Amazingly tasty. It was so much fun spending outside school time with T-sensei, she’s a very cool and fun person.

Afterwards about ten of us went out for some beers and appetizers. One of the ladies insisted that I try sanma, an in-season fish that’s a Hokkaido specialty. The fish arrived on its side, eye staring up. I dug in with my chopsticks and she wasn’t kidding. It was delicious. I joked about how the face of the fish bothered me, looking up at me while I ate its body. The lady next to me, playing along, wrapped a piece of lettuce around the face of the fish and held it down with a potato. Perfect!

Boy, could these ladies drink. Everytime the server came over and asked if we wanted more drinks, all their hands rose and a giggly chorus of “Hai”s went with them. T-sensei and I talked about teaching and education. She’s very impassioned with what she does and desires so much to give these kids the best.

It was a great night. I had so much fun. Many of these ladies reminded me of my mother and her friends. They joked around in the same way, had fun in the same way.

Looking back I feel like I understood what everyone was saying though, in actuality, I didn’t. There’s something more than verbal language when you’re cutting loose with a group of people.

After A Day of School

Twenty-Four #003

My Yubinkyoku (Post Office) savings account book has 24 lines per page. 

I love the graphic on this. The inside has a holographic blue sticker with my hanko stamped underneath; a perfect braid of old-fashioned accounting, high-tech, and interesting design. Hokkaido is very green right now, if I were to drop this it would camouflage and be lost forever. 

I even use this to deposit and withdrawn yen. You stick the booklet into the machine and it knows almost everything about you. Then it prints new info onto the next line.

Yahoo! Fireworks.

I signed up with Yahoo!BB for internet access at the local Yamada Denki; a huge electronics school with seething fluorescent lights and a constant loop of their jaunty store jingle. The girl behind the counter put these manuals (all in Japanese) in a plastic bag and gave us all two packets of fireworks!

"Thanks for signing up with Yahoo! Use these in the meantime before your equipment arrives! ^_^"

Incredible. I haven't even used them yet, like everything I see or come across here, it's almost too precious to tear into and burn up.

Codename: Hunter

Yesterday, when I visited one of my schools for the first time, I was informed that they had a part for me already highlighted for the upcoming English Club's version of Snow White. I was to play the Hunter. I small role admittedly but a very important one as the Hunter is the man who tells Snow White to run away before he has to kill her.

My favorite line is the first I will utter: "Did you call me, Queen?"

I was asked if I had a costume for the role. Who brings hunting gear with them to Japan? But, I remembered my red vest and a faux rabbit skin, red plaid hat from Goorin Bros. Boy, was the English Club teacher shocked! In fact, I was too. Again, who brings hunting gear with them to Japan? I guess, I do.

Does the man in the above picture look like me? Cast your vote in the poll provided to the right.

Things I Miss #001: Nagamuko

I was putting away some clothes and I caught a glimpse of my futon which is gold and light brown in color. I thought it was Nagamuko playing in the sheets, curled up like a slug. I miss the little demon! Even when he attacked my ankles, didn't let me put papers away, kneaded me with his claws. He was still great to have around.

Crows As Big As Cats

The Ainu, the indigenous peoples of Hokkaido before the Japanese arrived, have a legend about the crow, an unmistakable “pest” on the island. These birds are massive. On the drive to my new apartment I saw three birds attacking a small garden of cherry tomatoes. One flew to the stone wall separating the property from the street, wrapped its black claws around the tomato and jabbed it with its stake like beak. There was something horrifying about these midnight-black beasts swarming this domestic garden. They were like vicious wraiths; appearing out of place among the Crayola flowers and vibrant green grasses and trees.

The Ainu legend goes a little something like this. During Creation, the devil wanted to take away from men what was good and promising in the world. So, when the sun was to rise, the devil decided to swallow it. But the Creator knew of the devil’s plans and created the crow to counter the devil’s intentions.

As the sun began to rise, the devil opened his big mouth and the crows that the Creator made flew down his throat, saving the earth and man.

Since then the crow has led an entitled life believing that men owe him gratitude. So they live off his food with an uncontrollable boldness.

These crows’ caws sound like people yelling in help or pain. They’re everywhere. I look out my window and there they are, skulking around like stray dogs, searching for food.

Someone I met last night told me that there have been cases where crows have attacked small children, taking out their eyes. He also said that, in recent years since hunting them has become legal, they have started building decoy nests to trick hunters. They also have learned how to put nuts on pedestrian crosswalks and wait for cars to drive over them. That way they don’t have to waste time and energy picking at nuts themselves.

They’re remarkable, admirable, but they wouldn’t know you believe that.

Here’s an amusing video about a new and harmless crow preventative.