Let The Moving Begin!

Tomorrow a sort of March Madness hits Gokase. Tomorrow is Saturday and I'll be working. Tomorrow I'll be helping several of my neighbors move out and several new neighbors move in.

Back in late September, I moved from Takachiho to Gokase. I actually wanted to move from the moment I set foot in my apartment in Takachiho in early August, but for whatever reason(s), I had to wait until September 29th to officially move to Gokase. In any case, starting about a week or so before the moving date, my supervisor kept asking me what time I was going to move. And, to his frustration, I kept telling him that I had no clue.

Around that time, I also decided to start bringing some of my belongings from Takachiho to Gokase on an almost daily basis, so that by the time the 29th came along, mostly just bigger items, such as the washing machine and a shelving unit, remained. By moving things gradually and with my supervisor's help, the move was anything but a headache.

It turns out that my supervisor kept asking me what time I would be moving because my neighbors were planning to help with the move. So I guess I sort of ruined the party. But I was so new here, I felt uncomfortable asking for help from, well, strangers.

Anyway, fast forward back to the present.

As I've mentioned before, most of the teachers and staff in my little town live in teacher/staff housing. So the new teachers can't move in until the "old" teachers move out. In order to apply a method to the madness, an "official" document has been created listing the move-out dates and times of all those who are moving.

I'm really not looking forward to helping out, truth be told. I mean, I'm glad to help, because it's important to make the new teachers feel as at home here as my neighbors made me feel when I moved in. (They were and still are really so very nice!) But I guess I'd prefer to limit my participation in all the moving in and moving out to one or two cases, rather than being volunteered for each and every move (from the sound of it).

Yeah. So lucky me. I get to wake up early tomorrow to help out. And on Sunday, too. Joy, joy.

One, Two, Three -- Ichi, Ni, San

I've had a driver's license (or learner's permit at least) since I was about 16, or maybe even 15. I've driven cars in America, Canada, England, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Holland, Slovenia, Croatia, and Italy, and probably a couple of other countries that I'm forgetting about (Belgium? Poland?). I've also driven a moped in Greece. And I've been driving in Japan for the past 8 months or so.

I've had or have driver's licenses issued from California, Ohio, Vermont, and South Carolina, but I've never had a driver's license issued from a foreign country. I once lived in Germany for more than two years and was supposed to get a German license after my first year there, but I chose not to.

(Actually, at the end of my first stay in Germany, which lasted for one year, I applied for a German license. At the time, from what I remember, the process was incredibly simple. I just showed them my California license, filled out some paperwork, and was told to come back in a few weeks. But when the time came to pick up my license and pay the amazingly low fee of something like the equivalent of $10 (or was it 5?), I decided against it. I thought to myself something like, "I'm never going to need the license so why should I give up the money?" Big mistake. I regret that decision to this day. But that's life.)

I've been pulled over by the police several times in Germany (and even once just a few minutes after driving across the the border from Austria into Slovenia) for various, mostly random reasons (such as sobriety checks and, believe it or not, "suspicious" behavior), they never issued me a citation, asked to see my International Driver's License (which I sometimes had and other times [in violation of the law?] did not have), or questioned why I didn't have a German license. I simply presented my California license every time, spoke English despite the fact that I'm fluent in German, and played dumb. Lucky for me, that worked like a charm.

Despite all my years and my range of driving experience, come August 5, 2008 I'll need to have a Japanese Driver's License. At least, if I want to stay within the law that is. Which I probably do, considering that I'll most certainly lose my job if I get in trouble with the law over here.

I know that passing the driving test in Europe (or at least in Germany and Austria) is no picnic and that failing once, twice, or even three or more times is not uncommon. But folks, that test is nothing at all compared to the test I will have to take over here.

Have a look (and a laugh) for yourself (as excerpted from http://miyazakiajet.com/msg dated August 25, 2006):

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Preparing for the Driving Test

Driving for the test involves elaborate rituals that you need to rehearse thoroughly. It is not an assessment of whether or not you can drive. Many people fail the first time they take the test and failure is almost guaranteed unless you study with a driving teacher. Most driving teachers don’t speak English, but you can bring a friend to sit in the back seat and translate. Everyone should practice at least two or three hours with a teacher (the Driving Test Center recommends 5 hours). Some teachers will take you to a local driving course. Others will take you to the actual driving course. You pay extra to rent time on the real course, as stated above.

Before the day of the test, it is recommended to spend at least an hour driving on the actual course. Reserve a practice time, bring your own vehicle and pay the course fee with special “stamps” purchased at a local government office. There are two possible driving courses and the morning you apply for a license you will be informed one hour before the test of which course you should follow. You are allowed to walk the course route to practice and memorize it. If you pass the test on your first try (it can happen) there are fees to pay and paperwork to finish before your license is issued. If you fail the test, the examiners expect you to do more practice with a driving teacher. The examiners know all the teachers in the area so lying is not advised. After you practice, you have to go back to the Driving Test Center on a different day at the appropriate time to take the test. Please pay 2,400 yen again.

Things to know

Before entering the car: Look right and say “migi ok”. Look left and say “hidari ok”.

After entering the car (assuming automatic transmission): Adjust the rear view mirror. Check before closing the door. Adjust the seat. Fasten the safety belt. Put your foot on the brake. Start the car. Put the car in drive. Release the emergency brake. Turn on the right signal to turn out. Look behind your left shoulder; say “ichi”. Look in the rear view mirror; say “ni”.Look behind your right shoulder; say “san”. You may drive forward.

Driving the course: Stay one meter from the left curb or white line. If you are in the right lane or make a right turn, drive 50 cm from the center line. Never drive over white dot in the center of the intersections. Before braking, hit the brake three times to blink the lights and say “ichi, ni, san”. On left turns, look over your left shoulder to check for bicyclists and scooters, and say “makigomi check.”

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Of course, in reality, no one goes through all those ridiculous rituals. Except when they have to take the driving test.

Wish me luck.

Welcome to Japan

Welcome to Japan. Where baseball is king. Or is it?

Last night, my baseball team, the "Bombers" (in Japanese [katakana] our name is actually "Bonbaazu" and according to our jerseys we are the "Bombs") had a farewell party for the five members of the team who are being traded ... err ... transferred. (Four of the five hardly ever played, so our talent pool isn't exactly being depleted. But in amateur baseball, every body [and everybody] counts, so we'll have to hope that most of the new teachers can at least stand somewhere on a baseball field and blend in to some degree.)

The party included a short awards "ceremony," if you will. And all of the players were given a four-page summary of last year's season, including box scores from our tournament games and pitching and batting statistics. (For whatever reason, I was the only player not included in the stats.)

While I sat in the restaurant, I couldn't help but think how strange it was that we didn't give out the awards and review the season at a party at the end of the season. We played our last game in October, but waited until March 25, five months later, to pass out awards and review the season? That's weird.

But here's the craziest thing (or, as they say in German, der Hammer) about our gathering: Even though the party started at 7:00 p.m., no one turned on the TV that was in our little party room. "Why should anyone turn on the TV?" you ask? Two words: Opening Day. (Or, if you prefer: Daisuke Matsuzaka.)

Yes, last night, at 7:00 p.m., just as our baseball(!) party was getting started, the first game of the MLB season (Red Sox vs. A's) was also getting under way, just up the street in a place called Tokyo, and no one bothered to turn on the TV! What a bummer!

Now, I do have to admit that I didn't notice the TV until around 9:00 p.m. or so. And even then, I kept silent. But around 9:45, when we were getting ready to leave, when I saw the restaurant's main TV on but not tuned to baseball (even though the owner is a baseball fan, go figure!), I finally had to say something. So in my broken Japanese I asked the owner to please switch to the game.

When the game finally appeared on the screen, the left fielder was catching the last out of the top of the ninth inning. We just missed the tying home run by a couple of minutes. The score was now 4-4 and the A's were coming to bat in the bottom of the ninth. At least we didn't miss all of the excitement.

I figured the game must be on cable, so I'd have to stay at the restaurant if I wanted to watch the rest of it. But one of the players told me that the game was being broadcast on NHK, so I could watch the game at home. Cool.

I got a ride home and switched on the TV right away. Game still tied. Still bottom of the ninth. Runner on first. Buck hits a fly ball to deepest center field, two outs. Ellis grounds out, three outs. We're headed to extras.

The Red Sox come up to bat. Lugo reaches on an infield single/error. Pedroia bunts him to second, one out. Youkilis comes up to hit. First pitch: Strike, looking. Second pitch: Ball one. Third pitch: Fouled off for strike two. The next pitch? The next pitch? The next pitch?

I never did get to see the next pitch. And neither did anyone else watching the game on the same channel. Because just like that, at 10:22 p.m., with a 1-2 count (2-1 over here) on Youkilis, of the Boston Red Sox, that is of the Dice-K/Okajima/"World" Champion Boston Red Sox, for crying out loud(!), on Opening Day, live from the Tokyo Dome, in our very own back yard, the network switched to ... drum roll please ... commercials. A ton of commercials. And when the commercials were finally over, a program that wasn't baseball came on.

So I was forced to follow the rest of the game on ESPN's Gamecast. So I missed one of the highlights of the game, i.e., "Manny being Manny" as #24 stood at home plate admiring his home run that wasn't a home run.

And I thought to myself how appropriate it was that Youkilis was the batter when NHK switched away from the game. Why? Well, think about it.

1) What do the fans yell when Youkilis comes up? That's right: "Youuuuuuuuuuuk." Which rhymes with "booooooooooo." Which is exactly what I wanted to scream at the TV.

And ...

2) Mofidy (misspeak?) Youkilis' name a bit and what do you get? Right again: You kill us! Yes, NHK, you kill us!

True story.

Welcome to Japan.

Don't Forget to Bow on Your Way Out

Today was a usual walk-to-school-with-Moto day. Except for one thing: Today was the last time we'll be walking to school together.

Why? Well, even though Moto isn't changing schools, he is changing jobs, sort of. See, he's becoming a "hausumasuta," one of the six teachers who live in the dormitory. (I need to write about them someday soon.) Which means he has to move. And for whatever reason, he has decided to take "nenkyu" tomorrow and Friday to do so. So today was our last walk together. (Which also means today will be the last time we both appear in the picture I take every morning in the same spot on the way to school.)

I'm not sure why Moto is taking nenkyu to move. I mean, he's basically only moving about a mile down the road. I can't imagine it will be very difficult or time-consuming for him and his wife to move everything from their apartment to their new place in the dorm.

Why can't they move their stuff after school? Why can't they move their stuff this weekend? Heck, Moto's wife is a stay-at-home mother, so why can't she start bringing things over to their new place as I write this, for instance? Well, I think there is one answer to all of my questions: This is Japan.

A while back, probably around January or so (I never saw it so I don't know for sure when), the principal sent a "wish list" around. Teachers were supposed to indicate on the form such things as what club they would like to be in charge of, as well as if they were interested in being a homeroom teacher or hausumasuta, for instance. For whatever reason, Moto checked "yes" under hausumasuta. But I know that as the weeks passed, his desire to take on the job wavered. And from what I understand, his wife was not always keen on moving to the dorm, either.

But when the time came to make up his mind, Moto agreed to the move, reluctantly or not. Actually, if you ask me, Moto had no choice. The same day the teachers got called in to see the principal to find out where they were being transferred to, Moto got called in to find out he was being "offered" the new job/responsibility. (For a split second, when I heard Moto's named called, I was confused: "Huh, Moto's being transferred? What the ...? Oh, I get it, he's the new hausumasuta." And in the next split second, I was rather relieved: "That must mean no more teachers are being transferred. Whew! 'Bonzai' made the cut. He's staying! Cool!")

Moto told me that, when the time eventually came, he would have the opportunity to turn down the "offer." But, naturally, he accepted.

If you haven't figured out by now how things work over here, let me remind you: This is the military. There is no such thing as an offer. To survive over here, you simply do as you're told.

And be sure to say thank you.

And don't forget to bow on your way out.

Why Changing Your Routine is a Good Thing

As you know by now, if you've been reading my blog, I walk to school just about every day. And I usually walk with Moto. And we usually set out from out apartment building around 7:35 a.m.

Well, this morning I got an SMS from Moto telling me he wasn't able to join me today. So I decided to take my time getting ready for school. I didn't leave for work until about 8 a.m., which still left me plenty of time to arrive at school by 8:30.

About half-way to school, I caught up to three elderly ladies also walking along the street. They were each carrying a case that I thought held a badminton racket. I figured that meant they were walking to the G-Park, the sports facility that is across the street from school. I also figured that when I reached the beginning of the shortcut I take to school, they would continue to walk straight.

Just before I reached the point where I cross the street to start up the hill to school I greeted the ladies with a friendly "ohayo gozaimasu" and passed them. But when I got to the crosswalk, I had to wait a few seconds for the traffic to pass (no one ever stops for pedestrians, primarily because there are so few walkers that no one ever expects to have to stop for them). That allowed the ladies to catch back up to me.

One of them then started a conversation with me. I didn't quite understand everything she said and I'm sure the Japanese I replied with wasn't perfect, but the two of us were able to communicate, which was nice. Of course, our entire conversation consisted only of small chit-chat, but that was irrelevant. The important thing for me was to practice my Japanese, so I asked or said just about anything that popped into my head.

It turns out the cases the ladies were carrying held golf clubs, not badminton rackets. But I'm not talking golf golf, I'm talking some kind of croquet-style golf. (The field, or whatever you call it, is just down the hill from school.) And the ladies practice their sport twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Anyway, it's cool that I met these ladies and maybe I'll try to meet them again on Thursday, to practice more Japanese. Thanks for the message, Moto! Ironically, that made my day!

Blah Blah Blah

Why do some teachers who sit near me have to suck air through their teeth several times a minute? Are they trying to drive me crazy? (If so, it's working!)

Why is it that so many parents who drive around here don't have their children in safety seats or even buckled up? Do they want to see for themselves what happens to a child who flies through a windshield?

Why do a couple teachers at my school still have electric blankets wrapped around their bodies when it's really not that cold any more (at least not today -- it was freezing yesterday)? Let me guess: The official day when you put your blanket away until next winter must not have arrived yet.

What am I and the other teachers going to be doing for the next two weeks that is so important that we have to come to school as usual? The junior-high-school kids went home yesterday and the high-schoolers go home tomorrow. The students will be on vacation until April 8, but we teachers have to continue to come here and pretend to do work.

Why do some teachers insist on dragging their feet or taking those choppy-choppy steps whenever they walk around the building? Are they that starved for attention? Or are they just trying to annoy me?

Why does one teacher, who just so happens to be a foot-dragging, blanket-wearer, not know how to blow her nose? Does she think it's cool to sniffle, sniffle, sniffle all day long?

Why do some people I work with not think I understand any Japanese, even after I have a simple conversation with them and I'm the one asking some of the questions?

By the way, despite these rants, I really love my job and am having the time of my life on this adventure. I just think it's important to show you that there are also some really annoying things that I have to deal with on a daily basis. Just like everyone else in the world, right? And a lot of the issues have nothing to do with understanding a different culture.

Oh, and now for some words of wisdom:

When you are one of eleven speakers, try to limit your speech to about three minutes. If you talk for ten minutes, no one is going to be listening to you. Instead, they will just be dreading the fact that 10 x 11 = Two hours of boring speeches.

And when writing a message on a baseball, make sure you leave room for everyone else. Thanks.

The Day of the Dreaded(?) Phone Call

March 19 has probably been circled on many a teacher's calendar here in Miyazaki Prefecture. Why, you ask? Well, because today is the day that teachers (and staff members!) find out if and where (within the prefecture) they are being transferred.

In Japan, as I've mentioned before here on my blog, individuals are not as important as the group. So, for instance, when you start a career as a teacher, you do not get to choose where you work or how long you stay there. Instead, those decisions are made by a higher authority, someone at the Prefectural Board of Education, I suppose.

From what I understand, the average "lifespan" of a teacher at any one school is roughly 3-5 years. But I know of some teachers who have been transferred after just one or two years, and I've also met a couple teachers who have lasted about ten years in one location. So I think it's safe to say that no one's job is safe.

How do the teachers find out if they are being transferred? First, the teachers all gather in the main teachers' room. Then, the principal, from his office just down the hallway, calls one of the vice-principals on the phone. The vice-principal, in turn, announces the name of a teacher, and the teacher then goes to see the principal. About 2 or 3 minutes later, the teacher comes back and announces to the rest of the crowd where he or she has been transferred.



Even though supposedly no one knows ahead of time if they are being transferred or not, from what I hear through the grapevine, it is possible to request and receive a transfer. But for the most part, I think it is true that no one knows. Nevertheless, I only detected a sense of shock from one teacher. He has only been here for two years, so he seemed rather surprised to hear his name called. So were the other teachers, as the crowd started buzzing just after his name was called.

At least two of the other teachers seemed a bit surprised when their name was called, but just about every teacher on the list got up and left the teachers' room so quickly as soon as his or her name was announced, you almost had to believe that they either didn't mind leaving or had actually hoped to be sent on their way.

Oh, and get this: The teachers who transfer only have about 10 days to move and get settled in at their new location. No joke. And if those teachers take a day off from school to pack or move or whatever, they have to take nenkyu, which means they have to use one or more of their paid vacation days. Again, no joke. Which basically means that they are forced to move, but they have to do so on their own time. Did I mention in an earlier blog that the Japanese like to torture themselves?

Think of all the implications of such an unexpected move: Quickly clean out your desk. Start packing immediately. Sell or get rid of whatever you don't feel like moving. Say goodbye to everyone. Possibly move out as early as this Sunday. Go to your new location. Find a new apartment. Get set up in your new apartment. Go to your new school. Meet all the other teachers. Start working there on Tuesday, April 1.

But besides the teachers being affected, think about the students. Perhaps their favorite teacher is leaving so they are sad. Or maybe it's a teacher they hate who is leaving, so they're happy. Or maybe the new teachers aren't nearly as nice or talented or understanding or whatever.

What if the teacher who is leaving is the basketball coach? Will one of the new teachers take over the coaching duties? What if the teacher who is leaving is the only one in the school who teaches sign language (after school on Thursdays)? Will someone take over for him or will you have to pick up a new hobby?

And what about the teachers like me who are staying? One of the best things about my job is my supervisor, and I already dread the day when the phone rings and his name is called. He's supposedly staying at least two more years, but who knows? Heck, I want him to stay here as long as I'm here. Otherwise, I'll have to figure out a way to follow him to his next location. Life here just won't be the same for me once he's gone.

And what about the group dynamics of teachers moving around so often? For instance, what happens to my baseball team, now that our #1 catcher has been transferred? I guess the #2 guy has to step up. Or will one of the new teachers be a great catcher and be able to replace him? At least our #1 pitcher (and cleanup hitter!) is staying, thank goodness! ("Bonzai," as I like to call him, is a damn good baseball player and a hell of a guy, too. I've barely gotten to know him and would have been pretty upset had he gotten the call. So, yes, that was me giving him a subtle yet obvious high-five and hug after the final name was called.)

I've asked some of my teacher friends here why they get moved around so often. None of them could give me a concrete answer to my question, but they all think the whole idea behind moving people around primarily has to do with preventing people from getting lazy. In a way, I can understand that, sure. It's part of the reason why there are term limits for politicians, too, right?

But what if I really like where I live and work? What if I am a ski fanatic, like small towns in the middle of nowhere, always wanted to work at a secondary school, enjoy working with most of my colleagues, love my neighbors, have few to no discipline problems with the students, have invested time and energy into starting a baseball team, and have finally found the workplace of my dreams, right here in Gokase? Why do I have to leave, after only three years?

Two words: Japanese tradition.

Updated blog... Road to Nowhere

After my visit to the chiropractor, I took a ride back to the "Road to Nowhere." Remember that story? I wrote about that back on November 19. I've updated the story with four new pictures.

A trip to see the chiropractor

Saturday morning I drove to Takachiho to see a chiropractor. A fellow JET (Gracias, Eto!) recommended him months ago, and luckily I remembered the doc's name. I went to see him primarily because I was hoping he could help me get rid of my chilblains or whatever it is that's irritating my fingers and toes.

The first time I saw a chiropractor was about two or three years ago, while I was living in South Carolina. Back then, I had no special reason for going in for treatment. But I figured I had nothing to lose. And it made sense to me that having my body checked out by a doctor could only be beneficial.

I felt good about the initial treatment I received in SC and ended up going back to that chiropractor for further "adjustments" every few months or so. At about 35 bucks a pop (as in "visit," not as in, hee hee, "each of the sounds coming from my back and neck"!), I considered the money well spent. Especially since I had no health insurance at the time.

I figured my experience at the chiropractor's in Japan would be about the same as my experience in SC. Boy was I wrong!

What an amazing setup this guy had! The doc briefly examined my fingers and toes and then prescribed 17 minutes of electrotherapy(!). So I lay down on a bed, a couple of nurses (yes, nurses!) hooked me up to a machine, and before I knew it I felt this odd electric stimulation in my arms (I didn't really feel any stimulation in my legs). Cool.

Next, I headed on over to one of the massage beds. Wow, that was really something! How should I describe that? Hmmm... I guess it was kind of as if my body was a package going for a ride on a rolling conveyor system at a UPS sorting plant, only the rolls kept changing sizes. That treatment lasted for about 10 minutes and was rather relaxing.

After that, the doc finally got to the "adjustment" bit: I lay face down on a bench, and then the doc massaged my back and neck before going to work on me, crunching here and twisting there. After a few minutes, my session was over. And when I stood back up, my fingers and toes were miraculously cured!

Not! Even today, more than 48 hours after my appointment, I still have redness in my fingers and toes. But I tell you, my toes aren't nearly as irritated. And I'm a bit more confident now that my "problem" will go away soon.

Oh, and perhaps the greatest thing about the visit was the price: 870 yen (roughly $8.50/EUR 5.50)! What's more: Subsequent treatments will only cost 460 yen! (Last week when I visited the doctor who prescribed that cream for me, I paid about 1500 yen for the privilege of seeing the doc and 770 for three 20g tubes of Hirudoid cream.) "How so?", you ask?

Well, Mr. President, I'm glad you asked. The low price is due to something called "health insurance for all," and comes in the form of a little credit-card sized card I carry with me. Insurance covers 70%, while I pay the remaining 30%. What an amazing concept. I seem to remember that those Europeans over there in Europe, you know, that far-away land across the Ata-lantic Ocean -- no, no, not the one to our left, the one to our right -- have the same type of system in place. If it works for them, don't you think it can work for us?

It's Time for Graduation -- Yes, In March

The Japanese fiscal year starts on April 1. So does the school year. Which means that graduation is in March.

I got my first taste of Japanese-style graduation not at my school but rather at Takachiho High School, located about 10 miles east of Gokase. Why? Well, according to a guy I spoke to on graduation day at my school, every high school in my prefecture, Miyazaki prefecture, holds its graduation ceremony on March 1. Except for my school. My school always has its commencement ceremony on March 3. I'm not sure why my school goes by a slightly different schedule, but I guess the reason must have something to do with the fact that my school is the only "secondary school" (combined junior and senior high school) in the prefecture.

Anyway, since March 1 happened to fall on a Saturday this year, I had the day off. So I went to Takachiho to see what graduation was like. Graduation was held at the school, in the gymnasium. The graduating class consisted of approximately 200 students. (By the way, high schools in Japan typically have students in grades 10-12, but they are considered to be in grades 1-3.)

One of the main differences between graduation in Japan and graduation in America is that here everyone in attendance will end up going through the ritual of standing up, bowing, listening to someone talk for anywhere from a couple seconds to several minutes, bowing again, and sitting back down at least once. How many times you have to do that depends on whether or not you are a graduating senior, a fellow student, a member of the staff, a VIP, or a guest.

At one point during the ceremony, the students stood up and sat back down so many times within a couple of minutes, I had the feeling they were actually at basic training, being yelled at by their drill instructor: "ON YOUR FEET!" (Not everyone stands up at the same time.) "WHAT THE ...?! SIT BACK DOWN! NOW, LET'S TRY THAT AGAIN! ON YOUR FEET!" Up and down, up and down they go(!), forced to go through the drill several times, until they get it just right. Except here at graduation, there's no drill instructor, just some guy at the microphone. And here there's no yelling, just some quiet commands.

Another thing that one notices at a graduation in Japan is that almost everyone in attendance who is dressed up in a suit and tie is wearing tennis shoes, slippers, or just socks. That is of course due to the fact that you can't wear your outdoor shoes inside the gym. I find that style rather amusing, but by now I've gotten used to the fashion. So when I dress up, I don't bother to wear formal shoes, because as soon as I get indoors, I'll have to switch to slippers. (How do you like those bright blue shoes I'm wearing with my suit?)

Another thing I noticed right away about graduation was the priority given to males. In Takachiho, for instance, the boys who weren't graduating sat in front of the girls who weren't graduating. (At least in Gokase, the girls sat on the left and the boys sat on the right.) And when the seniors marched into the gym, the boys came in first, followed by the girls. The boys also went onstage first to receive their diplomas, at least in Gokase that is. (At Takachiho High School, only six students, each one representing a homeroom, went onstage to accept the diplomas for the rest of the students. And can guess how many of those reps were girls? Wrong. Not zero. But just one.) And there were far more male VIPs than female VIPs. (In Gokase, about 19 male VIPs were introduced before the first female VIP was introduced, and there were only about 5 females among the 50 or so VIPs.) Even the yearbook gives priority to the boys, with their pages coming before the girls' pages (at least in Gokase).

Here a several other notes about graduation in Japan, as least based on the two ceremonies I witnessed:

At least one member of the audience, a parent, addresses the students.

For whatever reason, each diploma is numbered and the numbers are read to the audience. (The numbers correspond to the number of students who have graduated in the history of the school up to that point.)

All the boring speeches come after the students receive their diplomas, not before.

Several songs are sung, not just the school's alma mater.

After graduation, it's tradition to toss the seniors into the air, one by one. The male seniors, that is.

The "Gokase Effect" and Opening Doors

This morning, like just nearly every morning, one of the first things I did after waking up (around 7:15 a.m.) was to check the outdoor temperature. I slid open the kitchen window and was happy to see the thermometer displaying a whopping 12 degrees C (about 54 F). What a relief! For the greater part of the winter, the temperature has been hovering a lot closer to 0 in the morning. When I told Moto one day last week as we started our walk to school that the temperature was 6, he said, "Before I came to Gokase, 6 degrees was really cold. Now 6 degrees is really warm!" Well, Moto, I guess you can call that the "Gokase Effect."

As we approached the school today, we saw another teacher, Mr. N., walking to school. He is one of the teachers who lives in the apartment building that is just a stone's throw away from school. Today was the second time I'd seen him walking to school, but I suspect he does so rather often. Moto mentioned to me that Mr. N. had spent some time (2 or 3 years?) in Holland and, as a result, has become fairly ecologically-aware. Moto told me another way Mr. N. tries to help out the environment: At lunchtime, he drinks his milk out of a plastic cup that he brings along, rather than using the straw that comes with the milk carton, as almost everyone else does. (When I drink the milk, I just open up the carton and drink away. Why the milk company attaches straws to the cartons is beyond me. Such waste!)

Talking about Mr. N. with Moto led to a brief discussion of the importance that learning English has for the Japanese. Without English, the Japanese are stuck on their little island. With English, they can travel the world. Which reminds me of a saying I've heard about Dominican (and Cuban?) baseball players: "You can't walk off the island." If the Dominican baseball players want to find out what the rest of the world is like, they have to swing the bat. If the Japanese want to find out what the rest of the world is like, they have to learn English.

Which brings me back to me learning Japanese. I'm certainly spending time trying to learn the language, but I'm not progressing as fast as I want to. But I guess I'm doing great for someone who pretty much knew no Japanese before he came here. And I've only been here about seven months. So I have to be patient. But it's not much fun when you usually barely understand what's going on around you.

Right now, for instance, some of the kids from my school are making short presentations. I listened to one of them and was able to follow along a bit because of the overheads he used. But all I got was the gist. Don't ask me why everyone was laughing.

The other day I met an American guy named Byron. He used to be a JET like me, here in Gokase. He's an amazing character. He plays the sanshin (an Okinawan guitar) and is basically fluent in Japanese. He reminded me of myself when I'm in Germany or Austria, at least as far as speaking the local language goes. You simply get so much more out of living abroad if you speak the local language. So I yearn for the day when I, too, am fluent in Japanese. Think of how many doors being fluent in Japanese will open up for me...

Speaking of opening doors, when I got to school today, the sliding doors at the main entrance were shut, as usual, despite the fact that this is probably the warmest day of the year. When I walked in, I decided to slide them all the way open. I'm happy to report that 2 hours later they are still wide open.

My next door-related goal is to get the other teachers to leave the sliding doors to the teachers' room open, but that will take more work. I'm all for closing doors when it's cold, but it's not cold any more. And there is so much foot traffic coming and going, it would make a lot more sense to just leave the doors open all the time, as they are in the summer. Besides, so many teachers and students close the doors without even looking to see if anyone else is about to pass through. So just as one person closes the doors, another one is inevitably opening them. It's pretty ridiculous, especially since you can see right through the doors.

What's worse is when a teacher closes a door in your face, almost as if he or she is trying to spite you. I was flabbergasted when a teacher did just that to me a couple weeks ago. She was approaching the main entrance just before me. We even greeted each other with the ol' "ohayo gozaimasu" ("good morning"). She slid the door open, walked in, and slid the door shut. I was about 2 seconds behind her.

The same goes for when the teachers are on their way to lunch. One by one, it seems, they go out the door, each one of them closing it behind them, only for the next person to repeat the process.

You might think that the teachers are so obsessed with keeping the main doors closed around here because the heaters are running and they are trying to keep the warmth inside. If that's the case, how come most of the other doors all over the school are almost always wide open?

By the way, I don't feel bad about bailing on those presentations I mentioned earlier. Because more and more teachers are showing up in the teachers' office. Even though the presentations are still going on. As a matter of fact, the entire day's schedule is filled with presentations of some sort or other. Perhaps I should get back to studying Japanese.

Add a new word to your vocabulary: chilblains.

Over here, they call it both shimoyake and, mistakenly, frostbite. But it's actually chilblains.

For several months now, probably since the beginning of winter, my fingers and toes have been suffering. During this time, my fingers and toes have usually been a bright red or a nasty-looking blue, and occasionally they feel like they are on fire. The skin on my fingers has also been rather dry, and my fingers have sometimes been slightly swollen.

I've had this condition before, but never to this degree. The other times it's happened, I thought there was some sort of tie-in to the fact that I was doing a lot of swimming in public pools at the time. I figured I must be allergic to chlorine or the chemicals in the swimming pools or whatever. The condition never lasted very long and didn't seem to have anything to do with the weather.

So this time, when my condition started, I also thought perhaps the ol' chlorine allergy was kicking in again, especially since I was swimming once or twice a week at the time. So for a while, I quit swimming. But that had no noticeable effect on my skin's condition.

My next hypothesis was that perhaps a pair of my shoes that I wore rather often was at fault regarding the condition of my toes. I figured that maybe the shoes were old and perhaps crawling with nasty bacteria or something. So I bought a new pair of shoes. But that also failed to cure the condition of my toes.

Could it be the socks I was wearing? Were they irritating my skin? To find out, I did a little (unscientific) experiment. Last week for about three days, I wore a sock on my right foot and went without a sock on my left foot. Oddly, both feet felt great. So that experiment didn't solve my problem, either.

Of course, even if I had discovered that my shoes or socks were the culprit regarding my toes, how would that explain my red fingers?

Is it really the cold weather that's causing the problem? That doesn't make much sense to me, because as cold as it is here, I've lived in much colder places and never had such trouble with my fingers and toes. And I almost always wear gloves outside. And I've been wearing two or three pairs of socks at once to keep my toes warm.

Nevertheless, I've been patiently waiting for the weather to warm up to see if my problem will slowly go away as the temperatures rise. But that's not happening fast enough.

So I finally went to see a doctor yesterday. First, a nurse scraped some skin off my toes and examined it under a microscope to look for signs of mold. Negative on that. Then, the doctor came in and looked at my fingers and toes. Within two seconds he said, "shimoyake."

Several weeks ago, I showed my hands to a junior-high-school student. Within two seconds, he said the same thing: shimoyake. And after I got back from the hospital yesterday, I showed my hands to Moto. He also immediately said, "shimoyake."

I don't get it. If I showed you my fingers and my toes, would you say, without hesitation, "chilblains?" Would you immediately think the redness was caused by the cold? Or would you wonder if I burned my skin, or were allergic to something, or was bitten by an insect, or touched poison oak, or ...? How can everyone here come to the same instant conclusion? Is shimoyake a bizarre Japanese disease that everyone gets at some point in their life?

For now, I'm using a cream that the doctor prescribed. But I'm also going to go see a chiropractor. And I'm thinking about getting a massage. And perhaps I'll even give acupuncture a shot. After all, the cream is just a remedy. I want to find a cure.

Why the Japanese like to suffer, reason #7156

On my walk to school this morning, Moto told me about an annual ritual that we will be involved in some time in April or May (he's not sure of the exact date). He said that all of the residents of my little town, Gokase, are going to be flushing the sewer that day with water coming out of fire hoses. For about 3 or 4 hours. Rain or shine (it rained on them last year)! On one of our days off! Supposedly, if the sewer isn't cleaned, the water won't flow properly. And if the water doesn't flow properly, we will have way too many mosquitoes. Yeah, sure. I buy that. I think I'm going to be sick that day. Or maybe I'll actually participate this year, just to say, "Been there, done that." But count me out next year. And the following year. And the following year. And the following year...