NO NO GOD PLEASE NO YOU CAN'T MAKE ME YOU CAN'T MAKE ME YOU CAN'T MAKE ME DO THIS GO BACK TO THAT PLACE WITH THOSE LITTLE MONSTERS PLEASE I'LL DO ANYTHING JUST DON'T MAKE ME GO BACK PLEASE NO NO NO NO NO NO PLEASE GOD no noNO
Sigh...no way around it. I'll be back by next week. See ya then. *sigh*
UPDATE!!!!
...just kidding. Ha! Vacation rules.
Reader Mark Makino informs me (quite civilly, I might add) that the Landover Baptist link in my last entry is in fact parody. In retrospect it seems fairly obvious, but in my defense, all I'll say is that with hyper-religious types, it's often hard to tell.
Actually, no time to write an actual entry, but just wanted to inform my loyal fuckbot brigade that I'm takin' off on vacation starting tomorrow and won't be back till September. I may update sporadically till then, but let's not promise anything of which we're not certain. Either way, under no circumstances interpret this as an excuse NOT to visit my webpage every single day and keep my hit count up. You have been tasked; now DO YOUR JOB.
Come to think of it, never mind. Last time I asked you guys for something (or more specifically, gifts and adulation), I ended up getting the following in my inbox:
Yeah, so uh, never mind. Next time I ask you guys for something, just remind me that you are all stupid and I hate and fear you. At any rate, I'm off. Go live your lives, asspockets.
No real reason to write, other than a coupla high-la-ree-us links for y'all...first one comes from good ol' General Lockamy, and is containing much the Engrish of sexual hilariousness. It's a bit, uh, risque, but browse the English "features" section and you will find some of the greatest Engrish ever. Witness, now, those of you who are old enough that is, "an electric operated trieless sex machine".
Surprisingly, though, the best link of the day comes not from the always-reliable Lockamy, but from fellow Nagano Jet Marc Dano: Fellowship Baptist Creation Science Fair 2001". I don't know about you, but I find religious brainwashing to be absolutely hysterical. In this "science" fair we have a 8th-grade girl attempting to disprove evolution by having the rocks and water she put in a jar fail to come to life. Another project involves the prayer I'm sure many of you utter every night before bed, "Dear Lord, please allow the bacteria in Group A to unlock the antibiotic-resistant genes that You saw fit to give them at the time of Creation. Amen." But my favorite definitely has to be THIS one, which I cannot resist copying and pasting here:
2nd Place: "Women Were Designed For Homemaking"
Jonathan Goode (grade 7) applied findings from many fields of science to support his conclusion that God designed women for homemaking: physics shows that women have a lower center of gravity than men, making them more suited to carrying groceries and laundry baskets; biology shows that women were designed to carry un-born babies in their wombs and to feed born babies milk, making them the natural choice for child rearing; social sciences show that the wages for women workers are lower than for normal workers, meaning that they are unable to work as well and thus earn equal pay; and exegetics shows that God created Eve as a companion for Adam, not as a co-worker.
Oh, Bra-VO. I can only imagine the type of good Christian husband this silver medal winner is going to grow up to be: "Wife! Get back into the kitchen! Your God AND science compels you!!" Ten bucks says the little douchebag's own mom helped him on this project, too.
It has recently come to my attention that I may in fact not be the least productive member of my board of education, or at least not by much. Why do I say this? Because, as I type this, the old guy who works at the desk across from me is SLEEPING. Before that, he was reading the newspaper. For an HOUR. And when he eventually wakes up, he will probably read it for another hour. I guess I never had the time or the presence of mind to notice before but, having been in the office for about two weeks straight now, I've finally noticed that this is indeed about all he does. I can't believe I never realized this before. I've gotten used to just naturally assuming that I'm the least productive person in the immediate area, no matter where I go. I could walk into a graveyard and just to show me up there'd still be at least one really motivated corpse actively directing those worms on how to eat his body as efficiently as possible. But now, all of a sudden, I am met with this surprising new source of kinship, one that I find both validating, and threatening. On the one hand, this means I don't have to feel quite so bad when I choose to spend my work day filling my mouth with jam and then loudly playing the harmonica while everyone else is slaving away with real work. On the other, well, I just kind of assumed being the Office Slack-Off was MY predetermined role. This must be what it feels like when doves cry; but, painfully, there can only be one.
Now, whenever i look up from my desk at him, it feels like I'm staring at my own future. I try reading a Japanese novel in the office to appear industrious, and he reads Japanese novels in the office because...uh, well because he wants to, I guess. I use a computer so coworkers can at least imagine I'm doing work when they look at me and sigh; he uses a computer for what only I assume is work, until I glance the screen and see he is playing computerized game of Go. He does everything I do, except older. Actually, come to think of it, at just about every school I go to there's always some random octogenerian member of the staff whose only apparent job is to sit there and continue not to die. I never see them doing anything either, other than leafing through local appliance catalogs and starting random conversations with me in dialects I have no hope of understanding. So I'm beginning to think that in lieu of social security here, they just let old people continue to come to work for as long as they don't forget to. It doesn't appear to be such a bad arrangement. Still, when I reach that age, I fully plan on being dead.
You know, ever since coming here, I only seem to find similarities between myself and my students, and now, myself and old people. Never with people in between. That says SOMETHING, I know; but frankly, I'm too invalid and lazy to figure out just what.
As part of the year-long (and counting) Fuck Galvin Over program, I am one of the five out of roughly 40 JETs in the area that has been ordered to attend this team-teaching seminar for Japanese teachers of English (JTEs). We're supposed to be there to help, but after today as far as I can tell our only function is to sit there silently for the first half of the day and be ominously present to make JTEs feel really uncomfortable about their English ability in the second. Actually, I'd be lying if I said there wasn't anything learned today. For one, I can't tell if I'm starting to become mildly passionate about my work or else just belligerent and culturally intolerant. Either way, today I nearly got into shouting matches with a couple JTEs -- one for suggesting that we should not ask students even mildly difficult questions because 'the students will be embarassed if they can't answer', and another for bluntly stating that he would outright refuse to work with a JET that came all the way to Japan to be merely an 'Assistant' English Teacher (i.e., one that wouldn't teach his classes FOR him). See, the old Galvin would have easily blown that off, content to keep his own opinion to himself, whereas the current model desperately wishes to help them get over their crippling addiction to Stupid Pills. I still kinda see what they're saying, but Jesus Christ, people; clearly when they were handing out Common Sense Enemas you were off somewhere sucking pennies up into your butt like a vacuum.
Actually, perhaps the most interesting presentation today was by this Korean lady working as a tour guide in Japan. In truth, her speech had just slightly more than absolutely nothing to do with team-teaching, but it was a good speech nonetheless. The part I really related to, actually, was when she was talking about how Japanese people treat her differently not because she's a foreigner, but because she's not a WESTERN-looking foreigner. Now, I absolutely despise political correctness, and I HATE how some people are so quick to cry discrimination in response to any criticism of their character, but I can't say I don't think my experiences in Japan wouldn't be fairly different were I white. Now, that's got its good points and bad points, which I'll get to in a moment, but the point is there are definitely differences.
I'm sure you've heard how many foreigners in Japan are treated like celebrities, and in many ways it's true. People passing foreigners on the street will often point, stare, suddenly strike up conversations in broken English, take photographs, or just plain laugh. For a while this treatment is pretty flattering, or if nothing else amusing, but after a while you start to feel like an animal in a zoo. Even when I lived in Tokyo, perhaps the most cosmopolitan city in Japan, when walking around with caucasian friends a fair bit of Japanese pedestrians would do double-takes as if we were a bunch of orangutans freshly broken from our cages and attempting to wear clothes and walk upright just like real people. Of course, I only know this mostly from what friends tell me; that's the POINT -- I get none of this celebrity/zoo treatment simply because I'm Asian myself. In general, this is a pretty give/take situation: for every advantage, there is a disadvantage. Basically, the advantages boil down to being able to blend into a crowd, and unconsciously being perceived as somewhat less of an incompetent stooge than my white friends. Now, as for what I consider to be the big disadvantage, well, let me tell you about this one time at Mcdonald's, back when I was studying in Tokyo.
So, like I said, I was at McDonald's with a bunch of my cracker friends. We were all in the same line, and behind the register was an obviously new, very, very nervous employee. With every order she took from a foreigner, you could see as she got more and more jittery, waiting for the inevitable gaijin reaction of "I DON'T SPEAK JAPANESE LADY -- YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO TRY YOUR HORRIBLY INSUFFICIENT ENGLISH". Then, finally, it was my turn to order. After dealing with that seemingly endless line of whities, she was very relieved to see me, a fellow Japanese after all, with whom she could confidently speak her native language without fear of embarassing communication mishaps. Her composure returning, her fingers steadying, and her shoulders untensing, she confidently asked me, "What will be your order today?" "Cans mes have humbargar a prease" I more or less responded in Japanese, and the resultant look of shock and horror on her face is one that, I swear, has stuck with me ever since. Even now, whenever someone 'figures me out', so to speak, I actually feel BAD about it; like I disappointed, or betrayed them. It probably sounds like no big deal, but I believe I've actually developed something of a complex about it. For a while I was actually really sensitive about my pronunciation, simply because so many people, through no fault of their own, kept initially expecting it to be perfect, and seemed at least a little upset when it wasn't. I've come to really loathe that look of comprehension on people's faces when they they realize I'm not Japanese. It's stupid, but I feel bad that my language skills are not to the point where I can effectively fake being a native. And this is perhaps the only thing that makes me wish I looked more Western -- see, if I was a big goofy white guy, at least people would know what to expect, they are able to mentally prepare for the likely awkward exchange they are about to have. Things being what they are though, whenever I'm 'outed', I feel like I've played a really dirty trick on them, and, moreover, feel like a huge idiot.
Still, though, I have to say, I think the advantage of actually being able NOT to stand out in a crowd makes my situation ever so much better than that of most of my honky compatriots. Besides, there are those times when I DO manage to convince people I'm Japanese, which is always fun. Whether they're not really paying attention, or I'm just having a really "on" day pronunciation-wise, sometimes, even after I speak a few words of Japanese, people will just assume I have a really rare accent or something. And of course, this almost always leads to something amusing. Perhaps my favorite 'blending in' anecdote comes from this JET seminar a while back. I had just hopped into a cab a bunch of other foreigners had been riding in, and almost immediately the driver starts talking to me about how loud and strange foreigners are. Most Japanese males only communicate via a minimally varied series of grunts anyway, so I Unned my way through about five minutes of that conversation before it finally dawned on her and she asked "Uh...you're a foreigner, aren't you?", which I promptly answered with a cheerful "Haaaaai!" I don't believe she said another word for the entire rest of the ride.
I wasn't going to post about this, since it will almost certainly throw my mother into arguably justified (for once) fits, but well uh, guess who got hit by a car today? Oh, that's right. ME. For the six or so of you in the audience that have whipped out your Concerned Panties and are all set to twist them in a bunch, don't worry, I'm fine. I was passing by this parking lot on my bike ride home from work when suddenly a car pulled out. He didn't see me, my brakes didn't work, I yelled Oh JESUS FUCK
(direct quote), he hit my back tire, I somehow avoided all contact afterwards as my bike slammed to the ground. Now, I should mention that the car was going at most like one mile per hour; the force that hit me was pretty much equivalent to someone just running up and shoving me off my bike. I think my right knee mighta been grazed by his grill, but I'm experiencing no pain so even if it did it couldn't have been very hard.Anyway, I know I should have exchanged numbers or something, but quite frankly, I was more embarrassed and annoyed than anything else. I stayed two extra hours at work today, so rather than be concerned about my body I was mostly pissed I had been further delayed in getting home. I didn't appear to have any injuries aside from some mild brain-frazzle and there weren't even any noticeable scratches on my bike; so really, I just wanted the whole situation to go away, so I could go home and take a shower. Luckily, the guy that hit me seemed more than willing to comply. He just kinda got out, asked if I was all right, helped me pick my bike up, and almost as an afterthought, opened his car door again and asked if I had any injuries before we went on our separate ways. Regardless, he was a pretty old guy, so I can't imagine asking him to pay for any medical bills even if I had any. Plus, I don't really know the roadway laws here so for all I know it was my fault for, I don't know, not properly revering the elderly as I went flying to the pavement. Also, on the off-chance it escalated into some kind of lawsuit, I've heard that in Japanese courts being a foreigner is pretty much all the damning evidence the prosecution needs; so thanks but no thanks. And really, when you get right down to it, Americans sue too much and never take any personal responsibility for anything, and fuck if I'm adding to that. I mean yes, the driver should have looked before pulling out of the parking lot; but still, I'm the one on the bicycle meaning I'm the one who is potentially most fucked in the event of an accident. Yeah, I'm just about done in justifying my stupidity in not at least getting his phone number or something, but really, I didn't feel like dragging anything on longer than necessary (in non-Internet form).
So today, really, was just an annoying situation that's little more than amusing in retrospect. And I'm being pretty flippant about it, but really, alter the situation today just slightly and it coulda been plenty worse. For one, the street I was knocked into today IS perhaps the busiest street in my town, not that that's saying much. Still, I was maybe one red traffic light away from getting a little one-two punch. Or, had I been going just a little slower, I probably woulda had my knee sandwiched between his car and my bike; which I reckon, no matter how slow he was driving, would smart pretty handily. Either way, that moment where I realized that Oh God, he's actually going to hit me is stuck in my brain and probably will be for a little bit. One of those weird, frozen-in-time moments where you realize that you're pretty much fucked, and there's nothing you can do about it. It seems to go on forever, but you don't even have time to girlishly scream. Okay, much.
At any rate, to add ironic insult to apparent-lack-of-injury, later on my ride home my tire slipped into an indented part of the pavement. In regaining my balance I managed to smash the very same knee between my bike and a raised block of cement. My bike hadn't stopped skidding yet either, so even though my leg was caught the rest of my body moved foreward, stretching out my calf something fierce. Again, not anything major; just an annoyance. After that, I angrily closed my umbrella (holding that and riding one-handed was what was making me so unstable in the first place), laid it across the handlebars, and rode the rest of the way home in a huff, getting strange looks from passersby since I was getting soaked by the rain even though I quite clearly had a rather large umbrella in my possession. Fuck them, I say. Fuck them all.
At any rate, figures I get hit by a car and sustain no noticeable injury only to slip like a doofus 5 minutes later and strain the very same body part that probably should have been injured in the earlier accident. It's like that horrible movie Final Destination, on a much smaller, less stupid scale: my knee was MEANT to be injured in the car accident, but since it wasn't, it was doomed to be hurt later on. Or maybe I'm just reading too much into things. Still, I'm now sitting here, stroking my now-slightly-smarting lower leg, wondering if the car, cement block, or some hypochondriacal reaction to writing this entry is responsible. Hm, maybe I oughta reconsider that lawsuit, after all. I mean, then I could probably quit my job.
Scott Harris, if you didn't already have a baby, I would ask you to have mine. Thank you, sir, for what you have done for me. Thank you for the hours of enjoyment your gift will provide me. Thank you.
Well then, now that that's out of the way (I do so love opening entries with inside comments that only a handful of other people will get), welcome to Year Two of the Japan Journal, presumably the last (expression of shock!!) year of updates. You've probably noticed the new name, "...And I'll Form the Head", which for you English majory types out there, is just rife with layered meaning. For one, it perhaps may allude to my growing leadership skills; my ability to take charge of a classroom, or, 'form the head,' as it were. Secondly it sounds vaguely sexual which of course is 99% of the reason of everything I do. Or perhaps I've simply retitled it so because, if you believe Terry McMahon, I am a "geek elitist". Admittedly, that's probably true; but I still hate you, Terry, and hope your candidate sinks like a stone. What was I just saying about inside comments only a handful of people will get?
At any rate, I really shouldn't be wasting time writing this right now, but I am nothing if not avoiding responsibility. And I don't mean I'm wasting time simply because my life is so full of many exciting things to do; on my no, but at the moment I actually have something to write that I will get PAID for if successful. Y'see, I've received the opportunity to write something for a real, actual paper magazine, and if it's accepted it will be the first time something I've written has ever been published in professional printed form. It's for a magazine catering to foreigners in Japan, meaning it doesn't exactly have the hugest circulation or anything; but still, as you can probably guess I'm rather excited by the mere word "publication" (and well "paid"). Just think, my name, Galvin Bong Chow, set next to an article that isn't read from a computer screen or a flimsy college newspaper. I don't wanna jinx it by saying anything more, but uh, wish me luck, eh? At any rate, figures I'm putting off finishing an article with actual purpose to diddle away at something with none. Typical, really. Although, if my entire college career means anything, I'd say I work better under a swiftly-approaching deadline. Or should I say, that's the only way I work.
And now, to completely quash what little goodwill I've accrued -- it occurs to me that I do not take advantage of the naive, blindly adoring portion of my audience NEARLY enough, so I'd like to take a moment to yell at you all for being so useless. And lazy. Not to mention heartless. I mean, here I am, on the approximate one-year anniversary of coming to Japan, not to mention the one-year anniversary of starting this website, and what do I have to show for it in terms of gifts and adulation? NOTHING. Shouldn't you people be fighting to make me link buttons or garish yet aesthetically pleasing site banners? Why is no one sending in fan art, or painting lovingly-rendered portraits of me? Where's all the horrible boors of aspiring writers clamoring to write a guest contribution? How come no one's begging me add a PayPal donation button or Amazon.com wishlist link so I may receive monetary and material rewards for all the hard work I and my highly uneducated team of underage slaves put into this site? Come to think of it, I still frequently find myself in the undignified position of actually having to wipe my own ass, too, and I think something needs to be done about that as well. So get the lead out, people, and pamper me. You all OWE me, and you know it. Well, okay, Scott Harris is off the hook, but the rest of you, get back to work.