Great Teacher Annazuka

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2010-01-26T00:09:00.001+09:00

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hahaha a goatse joke; I'm hilarious!

Yeop

2010-01-14T01:15:00.003+09:00

I was gonna do NaNoWriMo and bang out 50K words about My Tokyo Experience, but I got distracted. Here's what I came up with. Note that this completely unedited, and that names have been changed:

We are sitting, absolutely rapt, listening to his story.
“So I put my hand down there...” My friend Lee is telling the story, and as he says this, he gestures towards an invisible crotch, “...and there's something I didn't expect.”
“Tiny penis,” I say knowingly.
“Vagina?” asks my friend Drew.
Lee doesn't even blink. He has committed to telling this tale of woe. “No, I went to take down his Calvin Klein boxer briefs, and there's...a pad.”
We don't react. Finally, my friend Gemma asks, “a maxi pad?”
“Yeah.”
We don't react again for a few seconds, before breaking into cruel, helpless laughter.
“What did you do?”
“I don't know,” Lee admits sheepishly. “I was really drunk, so I just...I don't know, I gave him a handjob and went home. And now I can't go back to that bar again. Which sucks, 'cause it was a really nice bar.”

Welcome to love in Tokyo. The women are conniving and infantilized, the men have hugely overinflated senses of both entitlement and inferiority, and those who are looking for a meaningful connection often are left texting in tears on the subway platform. This is the kind of thing that we are now used to.

When I left Canada for Tokyo, I had never had a one-night stand, had never made the first move in my life, and didn't know how to do so. The usual yellow fever infecting most Asian transplants was not an issue for me; Japanese men looked like asexual vampires who had stuck their fingers in light sockets- a maximum weight of one hundred pounds, hair that rose in magnificent waves about a foot above their heads, and a fondness for plaid lumberjack shirts that had died elsewhere in the world about the time that Kurt Cobain embodied the phrase “nice shot.” I was beyond awkward.

It changed, and the first date process would often go something like this:

Shibuya is one of those places in Tokyo that is synonymous with, well, Tokyo. You can go down there any time and see hordes of people: street performers, drunk chicks, yamamba, salarymen, droves and droves of gap-jawed tourists- why on earth can't white people close their mouths when they walk around?- housewives, homeless people, gothic lolitas like eroticized cupcakes, and everything in between. It is a confusing hodge-podge of neon and voices and curry smells, where you can buy just about anything, drink in any kind of establishment (including, but not limited to, bars where they lock you in a jail cell and force you to stir your drink with cheerful glistening vibrators), and make passionate love in a dungeon, or a Hello Kitty nightmare, for a mere five thousand yen an hour.

I fucking hate Shibuya.

First of all, you can't walk anywhere. There are too many people. Try to take a man-sized step in any direction and you'll run up against some knob with a camera and likely bump your nose. If you're wearing high heels, it's almost a certainty that you'll get the heel stuck in the wheels of some businessman's rolling suitcase, or stub your toes against a crossdresser's cape. It might sound exciting to you, but trust me, it's a nuisance, and after a year in Tokyo I've completely lost my joy of context.

The second bad thing about Shibuya is looking at the other white people. Whenever I see a closely-huddled knot of lumpy, camera-toting people in “LOOKING FOR A JAPANESE GIRLFRIEND” t-shirts, I get this uncontrollable urge to vomit. Or cry. I try to avoid walking anywhere near them so that people don't assume I'm part of their group. I'm convinced that half of them don't even leave the station; they stand in front and snap pictures for hours whilst catching flies in their yawning, cavernous traps. Not that there are flies in Shibuya; it's too inorganic. They take pictures of the SHIBUYA 109 sign, the video billboards, and I'm sure they do their best to get a shot of Hachiko. Of course, Hachiko can never be seen for the piles of soused homeless people and bored-looking Japanese girls in three-inch skirts waiting for their emotionally-detached boyfriends with Flock of Seagulls hairdos that surround it. But the tourists try, they do.

The third thing I hate about Shibuya is that every time I go there, I get drunk, and then I go to Don Quijote and go shopping and buy loads of incredibly stupid things that I don't even half need. For example, my last intoxicated retail adventure netted me a twenty-dollar bottle of green nail polish (I already own six bottles of a similar shade), a packet of coconut incense (bad choice) and an oversized hot pink gangsta hoodie made of a fabric halfway between “towel” and “Muppet.” Not that it isn't a great little hoodie- warm as fuck!- but come on, self. Was that really necessary?

Therefore, I wasn't happy to be in Shibuya that Sunday night. I was stuffed into my First Date Jeans and my First Date Top- black, plunging neckline, long enough to hide my thighs- and a pair of First Date Shoes that were giving me a pair of wicked First Date Blisters. I had checked my makeup four times and even attempted to blow-dry my hair before giving up in abject, frustrated apathy. Despite these all being the same First Date Accoutrements that I had employed on the past eight unpleasant first dates I'd had this year, I had some inkling that they might work this time. Wishful thinking, I know.

His face was average, his body was average, he made the same amount of money I did, and within about three minutes I realized that we had the typical things in common: a fondness for shows like Family Guy, an enjoyment of Judd Apatow productions, and the stagnant commonality of all Tokyo denizens, a hatred for riding the trains. He took me to a typical bar: 300 yen per draft beer, stuffed to the gills with foreigners, that he bragged he had “discovered” months before and that I had been to no less than six times already.

Two beers down, he pops the typical question: “So...are you seeing anyone else?”

I eyed him suspiciously over the rim of my beer glass. “Well,” I said, praying that I wouldn't lose the bet I'd had with myself, “Not really, no. Why? Are you?”

He shuffled and smiled and his Adam's apple bobbed, and I mouthed the words into my beer as he said them out loud: “Um...kind of.”

Which kind of?

It came out, as many of these stoies do, in a semi-patronizing, dismissive tone, and it's difficult for me to remember which iteration of the tale was offered to me by this iteration of the man, so I offer you the following in lieu. Circle the options you find juiciest. “Yeah, she's Japanese. We've been together/ engaged/ sleeping together and seeing other people- well, I see other people, she doesn't/ married for (choose whatever length of time you like; I've heard them all). I mean, it's not a big deal or anything.”

Stupid me, I have to ask the question they expect. It's part of the dance. “Um, does she know?”

“Well...”

The women never know.

At this point in the conversation, I usually light a cigarette. If the guy doesn't smoke, it might drive him away. If he does, his wife or girlfriend or love slave probably doesn't, and he'll disapprove of me. All foreign men who date Japanese women develop a Madonna/Whore complex towards foreign women, with the gaijinettes making up ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the “whore” category. We're too difficult, too demanding, too selfish, too independent, and thoroughly too good at communicating our actual feelings.

I stubbed out my cigarette and looked into his mild, bland eyes. “So what are you doing here, exactly, then?”

There is no answer to this question. The best of the lot will shrug and say something like “I like you,” or “you're pretty,” or “I don't know, I just feel trapped”. These are the men who you can charmingly bid goodnight. A few will apologize later and you can be friends with them.

The worst of the lot, however, will immediately begin bitching and moaning about how their Japanese love interest wants commitment. Babies babies wedding babies wedding babies. Or “she's too busy and I never see her.” Or both.

(My favorite response, “fuck off, none of your business,” I got only once. I kissed him on the forehead before storming off. It was the most honest reply I had or still have ever received.)

So which one was this guy? “Well, you know, she works a lot...and sometimes it's hard because...like...she has all these expectations...but I'm just not ready for a commitment.”

It is here that I smiled prettily, made up a kindergarten teaching appointment for early the next morning, and left him standing at the train station after dodging an awkward attempt to take my hand.

On my way home, I don't read. My entertainment of choice is staring out the windows of the Yamanote while my iPod blasts Ani Difranco and death metal in equal quantities.

This is the Gaijin Love Connection. You want them. They want you. Somewhere along the line, though, normal behavior and typical connections from person to person get lost in a sea of neon and false eyelashes and crushing work schedules and inconvenient train lines. So we drift, a group of educated, fairly ballsy individuals, from chance to chance to fleeting hope. Usually, we fall.

The infamous "Why I Hate Japan Right Now" post

2010-01-14T00:57:00.003+09:00

Firts of all, I am stunned down to the bottoms of my 700 yen Seiyu zebra-print pajama bottoms that apparently that post is one of the top results for googling "I Hate Japan."

http://greatteacherannazuka.blogspot.com/2009/05/why-i-hate-japan-right-now.html

I just googled the phrase myself, and it does not appear on the first page of search results, so who knows?

Anyways, the post has apparently been adopted as a source of catharsis for some and a source of contention for others. I mean, sort of...but let's be honest, not that many people read this blog and five comments is well a big fuckin' deal for me.

I feel the need to do some damage control. Surprisingly, I understand, given the amount of bitching and hatred that seeps through my posts, but I feel like I need to make something clear once and for all:

I DO NOT HATE JAPAN.

I do not hate Japan I do not hate Japan I do I do I do believe in spooks, kind of.

Since the post is dividing the massive amout of internet readership I get (read: three of my friends IRL and the occasional Facebook sraggler), I have listed ten things I love and ten things I despise about this country. All of the forthcoming are 100% what I adore and what I dislike; you are welcome to draw your own goddamn conclusions based on what you consider to be depth and levity in the following:

THINGS I LOVE ABOUT JAPAN:

1. The scenery in Ishikawa prefecture.
2. Umeboshi
3. The fact that when you buy tampons, the drugstore employee wraps the box in a protective paper bag and then bungs it in a larger plastic sack, thereby preventing you from public shame and general uncomfortableness.
4. The Christmas lights.
5. My shower is a clothes dryer!
6. The inexplicable, yet very welcome popularity of otherwise largely-defunct iconic '60s designer Mary Quant.
7. Vending machines and conbini.
8. Kimono
9. 24 beer sources.
10. I bought a 3d T-Rex puzzle at Muji!

THINGS I CAN'T STAND ABOUT JAPAN:

1. Train people.
2. Being shoved for no reason and with no forthcoming apology.
3. Mayonnaise
4. Indirectness (I am blunt to a fault, you fat ugly stupid crotch pig).
5. Inflexibility
6. The inconsistency of how ones pays on public buses.
7. Going on a date with a foreign guy who is married to a Japanese girl, and NEVER TELLS YOU...well, not soon enough.
8. Every time I buy shoes, they die in about a week.
9. Japanese beer all tastes the same after a while.
10. Too many smokers.

As an anonymous (MAN THE FUCK UP PEOPLE; sign your goddamn names, eh?) commenter pointed out on the post in question, no country is perfect.

Japan is not my favourite country of residence, but it's the only one I got. So while I hate it sometimes, I also enjoy it sometimes. Keep that in mind in the future.

Feminism, Tokyo-Style

2010-01-03T07:10:00.003+09:00

QUIET OLD MAN STUDENT:

"I think vegetarians are very peaceful people. My wife used to throw dishes at me every day, but now she is a vegetarian and much more quiet."

"Men in Japan are very weak and the women are very aggressive. They are becoming more like women from the West now because they have jobs, so they are becoming MORE aggressive."

"You are from America and you came to Japan, so of course you are too strong for Japanese men."

You did not come from my womb

2009-11-20T00:49:00.002+09:00

One of my troublesome 3-year-olds has started calling me "okaasan." Yes, this IS right before she grabs my tits.

1. Your mom is outside the classroom, staring daggers at me through the plate glass window. If you cannot tell which of us gave birth to you, please refer to the following checklist:

Does the woman have a mullet?
Is the woman Japanese?
Does the woman bear a strong resemblance to an angry hedgehog?

If you have checked "yes" to ay of these questions, congratulations! I am not your mom!

2. Dude, your twin sister doesn't have the same maternal identity issues.

3. ...okay, don't stop, it's cute.

Blood in the Boardroom

2009-11-20T00:46:00.003+09:00

I told the kid that if he kept running, he would hurt himself.

He stuck his tongue out and kept running.

What do you know, he tripped and bumped his face and his nose started gushing blood!

Despite tissue packets being even more rampant than swine flu in Tokyo, guess what ended up staunching his sanguinous nostril waterfall?

If you guessed "GTA's nice sweater from Zara that was soooo not on sale," you're right.

A Serious Post

2009-11-20T00:40:00.004+09:00

Guys, I have become mildly worried about some of the comments on this blog (for people reading this on Facebook, my "notes" are published from http://greatteacherannazuka.blogspot.com ).

Obviously, I understand the need for catharsis. Japan drives me batshit 99999.999999% of the time. Not always bad batshit, but it's easy to carry on a persistant, low-grade infection of frustration when you can't read what's written, can't understand what you hear, can't fit your tits in any top, and can't eat the food 80% of the time. That's one of the reason I started this blog, besides the fact that my kids are so cute that it hurts and I love mochi so much I want to marry it.

However, I would like to state that the staff here at Great Teacher Annazuka (myself, this can of beer, and Carl, this adorable stuffed penguin I bought at Daiso) neither support nor claim any responsibility for any and all comments left in response to posts on this blog.

gozaimaaaaaaaaaaassssu....

Best lesson ever?

2009-10-15T23:28:00.001+09:00

GTA: "Okay, who knows what 'to dispose of' means?"
STUDENT 1: "I know. It's when you throw someone out."
GTA: "SomeONE?"
STUDENT 1: "Oh! Oh, no!" *laughs* "SomeTHING!"
STUDENT 2: "But if it is a dead body, then you are still correct."

I guess I'm actually the pervert

2009-10-15T23:26:00.003+09:00

In my 11/12-year olds class:

GIRL 1: NIPPLE!
GTA: What did you say?
GIRL 1: *points*
GTA: Oh...hippo. Not nippo, honey.

Two minutes later...

GIRL2: FUCK!!!!!!!!!
GTA: WHAT?!
GIRL2: Fokk?
GTA: Young lady--
GL2: *points*
GT: Oh. Fox. FOX.

I am mad, bad, and dangerous to know.

SeXXXy

2009-10-10T00:49:00.003+09:00

One of my four-year-olds is very taken with me. She always crawls into my lap and, when we play Color Touch, likes to stroke my hair and cry, "Yellow!"

(Maybe I should get a new colorist...)

Today, I learned just HOW taken she is with me. She slid on the floor into my lap and wrapped her arms around me with a giggle. "Awwww," I crooned, "I love you, too!"

As she looked into my face and smiled, she started patting my breasts.

"No, honey."

Thoughtfully, as I disengaged her little hands, she snaked her arm out suddenly, grabbed my left nipple, and yanked it.

That's right, a four-year-old Japanese girl gave me a titty twister.

She did not get any points.

Student Quotes

2009-10-08T13:45:00.004+09:00

GTA: "My friend is having a baby!"
STUDENT: "What kind of baby is she going to have?"
GTA: "Errr...you mean, is it a boy or a girl?"
STUDENT: "No." *absolute silence*

...well, I guess it's one of the following, then:

1. Human
2. Caucasian
3. Made of delicious baby meats
4. Not on fire

TYPHOON, MY ASS

2009-10-08T13:42:00.002+09:00

This isn't the first time we've been told a typhoon was coming, and it's not the first time we've been told a typhoon was coming and then nothing bleeding happened.

I'm just the tiniest bit bitter (bit bitter! that's fun to say!) because I would have liked a day off to do crap. I have a friend visiting this weekend and piles of decorative stuff lying around that I haven't put up in my four months or so of living in this apartment.

But mostly, I'm sorry that I've lived here just shy of a year and I STILL can't say that I've been through a typhoon, dammit!

Kitsune Udon

2009-10-05T22:48:00.004+09:00

I love kitsune udon. It is delicious.

I'm too lazy to find a picture, but it is as such:

Udon noodles

Broth (I know this is probably fish dashi-based, but I try to close my eyes to it)

A big ol' sheet of aburage, which is that thin, sweet tofu you find surrounding the rice in inarizushi.

Typical Japanese noodle house toppings, like green onion, fishcake, seaweed, and occasionally a scattering of tempura batter- without the tofu, and just the tempura, it becomes tanuki udon, because nothing says "RACCOON DOG WITH GIANT MAGICAL BALLS" like pieces of fried batter.

So, okay, kitsune udon is a pretty normal thing. Most noodle houses have it. Sometimes izakaya have it. It is cheap, filling, and relatively vegetarian, and it tastes like awesomeness.

Japanese people like to talk about food. When I tell my students I've been travelling, they immediately ask, "How about the food?" immediately followed by "What did you eat?" It can be boring, but sometimes it sparks interesting discussions about the passage of culture between east and west, or changing tastes in the younger generation, or the popularity of certain cuisines and how it relates to social trends. Or they just sit there listing foods they like while the other students nod and smile, which at least kills time with boring fuckers.

Eventually, they ask me, "What's your favourite Japanese food?" I always answer, "kitsune udon." Their reaction never fails to surprise me.

They SHIT THEMSELVES LAUGHING. They clap their hands and lean back and their teeth positively glow with saliva (and the metal crap used to stick their teeth back in their heads). They tear up and giggle and go "EEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHH?????" like it's going out of style.

Not once have I received an explanation for ths behaviour. One of my Japanese friends told me "well, kitsune udon is really inexpensive," and gave me a confused look.

Maybe I'm the asshole here.

Again with this?

2009-07-27T16:13:00.003+09:00

STUDENT: "Koreans are very resentful of the Japanese."
GTA: "Oh, because of the occupation?"
STUDENT: "No! No occupation...Japan and Korea were ONE."
GTA: .......
STUDENT: "Korea did not have any schools or any roads before Japan helped them! I don't understand why they aren't more grateful."

Welp...I have a clue....

Fashion! Turrrrrrrrrrrrn to the reft!

2009-07-27T16:11:00.000+09:00

A brief trip to the Omotesando Softbank yesterday inspired the following.

AN OPEN LETTER TO JAPANESE PEOPLE:

Congratulations! You are known worldwide for your fashion sense. The
innovative nature of Japanese sartorialism is globally lauded, often
copied by Western designers (only to ring particularly hollow), lusted
after by legions of fashionistas everywhere, and may have caused Gwen
Stefani to completely lose her fucking mind. This really is something
that you should be proud of, and, in my opinion, it is something you
rightly deserve.

For example, I went into a boutique in Shinjuku station a couple of
months ago and there was a woman with a tree on her head. Just an
ordinary saleswoman, walking around casually adjusting things and
yelling "IRASSHAIMASEEEEEEE" at inanimate objects, but she had a tree
on her head. A fairly large one. And I think it was made of Tinker
Toys. My point being, she actually looked GOOD. If I put a tree on my
head, I would look like a fluffypagan at Burning Man. (That would be
"not so good.")

Despite this, I think you need a few pointers. Bear with me, and think
about heeding the following advice:

1. If it it 95 degrees out (close to 40, that is), then you should not
be wearing a sweatshirt and Doc Martens.

2. Pockets hanging out from the legs of your hotpants do not look
good. Also- and I'm not sure- but I think it must make it really hard
to put shit in your pockets.

3. Those snap-closure elbow-to-wrist gauntlets do nothing for your
arms. Moreover, if you MUST, pick a fabric that does not look like
upholstery. Unless you are a superhero with couch powers or your name
is Ottoman Chesterfield, upholstery gauntlets are strange.

4. If you cannot lift your bag without your boyfriend lending you a
hand, you need a smaller bag. Possibly with fewer keychains on it.

5. You have a choice: either you can wear foot-tall spike heels, or
you can walk like a geisha. Doing both will result in a symptom I like
to call Velociraptor Legs, in which your knees lock and your thighs
eventually grow a horrible frontal curve. I am not kidding about this.

6. YOU ARE NOT FOUR YEARS OLD STOP DRESSING LIKE IT.

7. Attention J-trannies! If you weigh 300 pounds and cannot remove
your 5 o'clock shadow, please do not dress Gothic Lolita! You make
Sailor Bubba look demure and feminine.

8. Actually, if you weigh 300 pounds, don't dress gothloli regardless of gender.

9. WEAR SHOES THAT FUCKING FIT, YOU IDIOTS.

10. If you wear false eyelashes (and I would, if I didn't wear
glasses), please try not to glue them several millimeters above your
actual eyelashes. It is creepy.

11. You may not be a yamamba. Ever.
11a. No, I'm not kidding. For the love of christ, stop.

12. Another issue with hotpants: please don't wear them if your
individual thighs are three times wider that your torso. I am not
kidding. You look like that kangaroo chick from Titan A.E.

I seriously just made a Titan A.E. reference? I quit.

Hell no, we WILL go.

2009-07-01T17:31:00.002+09:00

Company policy dictates that if we leave a school during our shift in order to get something to eat, we should ask the staff first.

It's never been a problem before today, but when we asked if we could make our habitual run to the konbini, we were shot down with the typical buck-toothed, two-faced "Ohhhh, so sorry..."

No.

FUCK no.

We're at the school with no lessons; I'm sure my coworkers who read this blog know the school in question.

DO NOT ACCEPT THIS. Fight the system.

Indeed.

2009-06-27T22:57:00.001+09:00

As a synaesthete, I'm extremely sensitive to a lot of stimuli, particularly color. I was pretty excited when I learned that synaesthesia isn't just me being crazy, but a legitimate meical issue. Sadly, it's become as trendy as bisexuality and Asperger's, but fuck those people.

Today, one of my favourite kids curled up in the corner of our room with the saddest face I've ever seen. I was worried.

GTA: "Hey, 'Kengo', are you okay?"
KENGO: .......
GTA: "Kengo...how are you?"
KENGO: (looking up at me with a very miserable expression) Today, I no colors.

I get you, kid. I get you.

Some people just don't get it

2009-06-09T00:27:00.001+09:00

STUDENT: "We had an exchange student once. He wasn't a normal American....he was kind of darker!"

Prepositions

2009-06-09T00:21:00.003+09:00

I taught prepositions to SmartEvil Class last Saturday. They were far too easy- in, on, under- whereas my kids rolled their eyes and screamed, "IT'S TO LEFT OF WINDOW!" which I did my bets to correct. That's difficult, considering how advanced the little weirdos are.

I tried to play it up by placing our cushions in weird places. I plopped one on my head and asked, "Where's the cushion?"

My quietest student piped up with, "It's on the Anna-teacher!"

I gave her ten points for that. She responded by hopping around in a delighted circle.

My next rundown of prepositions involved the students, and shoving the cushion in their arms or under their butts. At one point, I shoved it onto Little H's head and asked him, "Hey, H----, where's the cushion?"

He proudly answered, "It's on the H----!"

Even though the grammar wasn't perfect, I went to give him extra points, but he stopped me by tugging on my skirt.

Screwing up his eyes in determination, he said, "Chigao...it's on the ME!"

He got extra stickers.

Noun + Color

2009-06-09T00:11:00.004+09:00

My smartest kids- who are, for the record, so wild that fellow teachers I've never met know who I am because my kids are a cautionary tale- had to learn color adjectives in conjunction with classroom nouns. I actually taught this lesson a week early because they are too fucking smart for the material I have to teach them, so last class I snuck in an extra review of previous material. Naturally, they blazed through it in a matter of seconds and then, as usual, demanded we play hangman. I allowed this because my company- and this is just my opinion- does not bother emphasizing spelling to the extent that I believe is necessary. And I am a fucking hardass. Especially with smart kids.

So, here we were:

"Blue crayon!"
"Green paper!"
"Yellow pencil!"

My kids being smarter than me, they came up with the following:

"Light orange and black eraser!"
"Chartreuse basket!"
"Black and white soccer ball!"
(after being shown a picture of a school building) "American school?" *raspberry*

The best, however, was yet to come.

One of my students in SmartEvil Class is not Japanese. I'm fairly certain that he has a Cambodian name, but I'm not positive. The kid and his parents speak fluent Japanese, so I never really thought about the issue. Sometimes the other kids give him minor amounts of shit- for example, screaming "KURO!!!!!!!!!!!!!" at him, or scrubbing his hands for him during cleanup time while everyone laugh hysterically as "H"'s hands don't get any less brown.

I love this kid because he is brilliant and because he is a spastic little weirdo. He likes to teach me karate moves and scream "NINJA TEACHAAAAAH!" He also likes it when I clock him in the head with my shoe.

Anyways, during the color + noun lesson, he skipped ahead of the others and identified me.

Pointing, Little H said, "WHITE TEACHER!"

I was laughing so hard, Little H's mother got worried.

Dear god.

White teacher.

I gave him five extra points for that.

Hell, he got the structure, didn't he?

Shiro no Akuma dessho?

2009-05-27T17:33:00.001+09:00

My friend G (blondie) was on a train recently when an old woman called her a "white-haired devil."

Then she added, "They're unnatural!"

For fuck's sake, woman, you're talking to yourself. Who has the real problem here?

My Students Are Good At English

2009-05-19T23:48:00.003+09:00

STUDENT ONE: "What do you think about working mothers?"

STUDENT TWO: "I'm very attracted to them."

. . . . . .

STUDENT: "My friend was so happy when she got tan. I guess she wants to be a black person, because she like R&B music."

Si Se Puede

2009-05-19T23:47:00.001+09:00

Today, one of my four-year-olds followed me around chanting "BLACK MAN! BLACK MAN! BLACK MAN!" and smacking my ass.

I am a white woman.

My new favourite student

2009-05-14T00:52:00.002+09:00

(male) STUDENT: "I think animal testing is necessary."

GTA: "Even for cosmetics?"

STUDENT: *deadpan* "No, because I don't wear cosmetics."

....

STUDENT: "Cosmetics are necessary for some people, though. Like my wife."

....

GTA: "Name three things that are in your house."

STUDENT: "Any three things?"

GTA: "Yeah."

STUDENT: "Okay. I have three goldfish."

Yaaaay

2009-05-13T03:30:00.001+09:00

Kid grabbed my tit today. Guess it was just a matter of time.

Hey-ho, let's go.

Why I Hate Japan Right Now

2009-05-13T03:21:00.004+09:00

Okay, so here's what happened:

I've been looking for an apartment since the end of March. Instead of going through Sakura House (not a good company to deal with) or any of the usual foreigner channels, I took my friend up on his offer to introduce me to his real estate agent, a formidable and wonderful woman who I will refer to as "Ikuko".

Ikuko, my friend "Steve", and I pounded the pavement for a day, and I found a beautiful apartment in Shin-Okubo, which is the Korean part of town. It was within walking distance from Shinjuku and two stops away from my friends in Takadanobaba. In short, perfect.

In the twenty hours between then and my return to the office the next day, the apartment had been rented. Ikuko did some sleuthing and found another unit in the same building- not as good of a view, on a lower floor, and slightly less unique than the original apartment, but still quite good. I decided to snatch it up.

Three days later, Ikukp called me: the owners were "uncomfortable" renting to foreigners. May I reiterate that this place is in the KOREAN part of town?

The search started again. I must have walked all over Tokyo. I even went looking two days before my kidney infection put me in the hospital for a week. I found a new place in Ogikubo: not as great as the one in Shin-Okubo, but still pretty good. Great location. Tatami mats. An affordable 2DK. Nearly everything I wanted.

Ikukp called me two days after I told her I'd take the place: oh, now they need a Japanese emergency contact, instead of Steve (who speaks perfect Japanese). And not just any Japanese emergency contact- a coworker.

Okay.

So, I had one Japanese coworker I felt I knew well enough to ask for this- my friend "Yuka". I asked her and received a fawning affirmative reply within minutes. All right, set to go! Right? Right???

Weird things started happening. Ikuko would call me, looking for Yuka, or call me into the office to talk about how hard it was to reach Yuka. Meanwhile, my moving date got pushed up by several weeks due to my hospitalization. The whole time, Yuka assured me that everything was fine, even though Ikuko kept telling me that Yuka refused to take any calls and had called HER yelling. Apparently, she was offended that she was asked to give my guarantor company such violently personal information such as the name of her hometown and the phone number of our work's head office. I know, I know, it's like being raped, huh?

Yet, we pressed on. I left for Abu Dhabi, assured that everything would be okay. Ikuko hadn't mentioned anything about Yuka in a few days, and we'd gone over all the necessary documents with no mention of hitches, so while I wasn't exactly feeling confident, I was comforted that things might happen properly.

Oh, and I should mention that I canceled my guesthouse contract and set up my moveout date during this time.

I got back into Tokyo and the next day, Ikuko called with great news: she had convinced the management company to accept Steve as my emergency contact, instead of ephemeral Yua. She did say that she had left Yuka's name on the official paperwork just in case she did come through, as Yuka'd be a more conventional and acceptable contact, being Japanese. Okay, I said.

Last Saturday, less than 24 hours before I was to sign the contract and move in, Ikuko called. The housing company had dropped me and refused the contract.

It seems that Yuka had sent them a multiple-page fax detailing her fees for translation and English teaching services, threatening noncompliance if they weren't paid. I'm not entirely sure what she expected to accomplish with that, nor what in hell she could have meant by doing so, but the management company was so offended and so freaked out that they refused to deal with me if it meant dealing with her.

Ikuko left for vacation the next day, and she won't be back until the seventeenth. I lose my right to live in my guesthouse a week after that.

So now, I don't know what to do. The timing is such that I'm fucked for Tokyo City Apartments and Tokyo Rent, since I work twice as much as usual this week.

I am out of time, I don't feel well enough yet to be dealing with any of this, and I'm fucking tired.

Racism is a beautiful thing.

Note: I have not seen the offending faxed materials, nor have I witnessed any of the alleged yelling. I do not claim that either detail is one-sided; I am merely reporting the facts as I know them.

Today sucks

2009-04-29T02:58:00.002+09:00

My favourite school director is switching schools. That is not fun. Not at all.

Men in this country are scary ungood- and those are the foreigners.

I'm flying to Abu Dhabi tomorrow and oh, my goodness, I am so happy to be going there. Expect more updates if Blogspot isn't blocked in the UAE.

A Japanese Hospital Extravangaza! Part One: Showa Hospital is fucking horrible,

2009-04-23T00:09:00.002+09:00

I. Am. Sick.

I first realized that I was sick on Friday. No, not last Friday- the one before that. While at work, I started having weird lower back and stomach pain. It wasn't horrible- I've had worse menstrual cramps- so I shrugged it off and went on with my day.

By the time I got back to my home station, I was feeling pretty rank. Woozily, I picked up some food and beer. Of note at this point was that I hadn't had any appetite for about five days.

My friend Adam and I were hanging out and drinking the beer, and while I wasn't in great shape, I'd felt worse. Strangely, though, I wasn't all that interested in my beer.

Somewhere around 1 AM, Adam went to the bathroom, and I laid down. Suddenly, it seemed very, very significant, this dull ache. I started breathing hard. What the fuck was going on? Was this the world's most painful unreleased fart? Appendicitis? The Birth of Our New Lord and Savior?

Adam took one look at me and gave me his patented Disapproving Dad™ look. "You need to go to the hospital."

"No way."

"Yes, you do."

"FUCK IT."

He waited ten seconds.

"Oh, god, can you just google 'appendicitis' for me?"

Adam called the hospital instead. A true gentleman, he came with me in the ambulance. Yes, he brought his beer.

With Adam acting as my faithful translator, we managed to have the following conversation with the ambulance guy:

ADAM: [Japanese] She's having pain in her lower back...
AMBULANCE GUY: So it's a stomachache?
ADAM: [English] Do you have a stomachache?
GTA: No, not really, I think it's in my kidneys.
ADAM: [Japanese] She thinks it's her kidneys.
AMBULANCE GUY: Ah! So a headache, then...
ADAM: [English] Do you have a headache?
ANNA: Are you on fucking crack?
ADAM: [Japanese] She doesn't have a headache, it's her lower back. Where her kidneys are.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

After about twenty minutes of discussion, the driver and the Ambulance Guy brokered some kind of deal, and we FINALLY left for the hospital. When I asked if maybe I could lie on my side instead of my back, I was apologized to and told it was not possible. I lay on my poor, throbbing back the entire trip to the hospital, trying not to cry and clutching my ancient stuffed rabbit, which Adam had thoughtfully thrown in my purse on our way out. He had his own comfort animal: the rest of his beer.

Upon arrival, I was rolled into a room and the same round of questions began again. Stomachache? No. Headache? No. Pregnant? Decidedly not. Jesus fucking christ. Between Adam and I, using a skillful combination of Japanese, English, whining (mine), interpretive dance, and emphatic pointing, we managed to convince the staff that there was something internally wrong in the lower back region.

Then came the inevitable pounding: "Does this hurt?" No, you're punching my fucking shoulder. "Does this hurt?" That's a scapula, numbnuts. "Does this hurt?" That's my ARMPIT. What fucking madness do you expect to find lurking beneath my armpit? They finally- and literally- hit upon the problem. "Oh," the doc said thoughtfully, "There seems to be something wrong with your kidneys."

UN-GUUUHHHH??!?!? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. Fuckhead! [GTA note: Sorry, I'm still pissed. You'll see why later.]

They wanted pee, so I went to give them pee. It was then that I noticed that I was peeing blood.

I handed them my bloody pee, finally scared into silence.

Then came the ultrasound, which I desperately tried to watch. The second they realized my interest, however, they pushed a little curtain between me and the screen! Bastards! I am a SCIENTIST, which they probably couldn't tell from my skanky tank top and leopard-print pajama pants. Then again, the nurse took my pulse using a Nightmare Before Christmas watch, so maybe they were just a mean bunch.

After about three hours of poking and prodding, I was finally told that I had kidney stones. Kidney stones that would pass in a day or two. Embarrassed, I started gathering things. Adam tried to ask what might have caused it, but either he didn't understand the answer or the doctor didn't understand the question, because there was a moment of mutual confusion before an older doctor, who had been watching the proceedings with crossed arms and incurable bitchface, rolled his eyes and said dramatically, in perfect English, "It could be ANY NUMBER OF THINGS. Diet. Environment. Activity. It's not really important."

Oh, okay. Thank you for speaking English NOW, cockmonkey.

The cheerful nurse handed me my prescription. "Now, when you take this medicine..." She stopped delicately, blushed, then turned to the computer and consulted it before writing something down on a prescription pad and showing it to Adam.

Adam started laughing.

"What?"

"She's not gonna like this..." he told the nurse.

Oh, god. "What?" I gasped, horrified.

With a nasty grin, Adam showed me what was written on the paper:

SUPPOSITORY

"Oh, hell no. Are they out of their fucking minds? Do they think I'm going to-- Adam, don't you dare translate this!-- ask them if there's anything else!"

A flurry of cheerful opposition hit me. This was stronger, it would work faster, it was better for me, yaddah yaddah. By this point, it was four AM, and I just didn't care anymore. "Fine. What is it?"

"They said it's a painkiller?"

"JUST a painkiller."

He checked. "Yep."

"I'm not taking it. I can get kancho at work for free."

I checked out, Adam asked when I could drink again- two days- and we limped home. Despite my fear of fisting myself, I figured that the nightmare was over, and that in a few days I'd be free and clear, both literally and figuratively.

Little did I know that the ordeal was just beginning...

Students Are Always a Good Time

2009-04-08T00:29:00.001+09:00

"I like to see the rape blossom. Do you understand, or are you scared now?"

I love dirty old men

2009-03-24T09:32:00.002+09:00

Two weeks ago, I had a very taciturn, grouchy student. One thing I've noticed about older male students is that they are either very enthusiastic, or quiet as fuck because they're exhausted. That's fair, as many of them have just come from their ball-busting workdays. I'm pretty good at drawing people out with talk, but this guy resisted my every effort.

He asked me a question that's very popular amongst students- what surprised me when I first came to Japan?- and I decided to see if I could at least shock a giggle out of him. With a grin, I informed him that I had seen a soapland* and, surprise surprise, the window had been open and I had seen just EVERYTHING! (This story is not true, of course. I've never seen a soapland with windows, let alone one on the ground floor of a building.)

He did indeed howl with surprised laughter, and started talking. Oh, he told me many things. Where to find the infamous used panty vendors. Techniques for molesting girls on the train. Websites where Japanese high school girls advertise their services and older businessmen acquiesce. All the stuff you hear about Japan, but say "naaaaaah" to, basically.

Was he having a laugh at my expense? Is he getting off on explaining this to someone he considers to be demure and wide-eyed? Maybe. Maybe not. All I know is that he now requests me every week, and I always look forward to seeing him and hearing his latest stories of perversion. It's the kind of conversation I dream about: fun, interesting, and nasty as hell. You should see the note sheets I write for this guy.

* For those who don't know what a soapland is, this post is awesome.

Students Are Just Ducky

2009-03-24T09:29:00.003+09:00

"I think Korean people are like animals because they are so ungrateful for what we did for them. When Japan occupied Korea, we made so many improvements and made their culture better. We did the same thing in Taiwan and they are still grateful today. This is why I think Japanese people don't like Koreans."

Out All Night

2009-03-24T08:48:00.003+09:00

So, like, at the end of January or beginning of February- can't remember exactly when- I did my first Tokyo all-nighter.

I'd had the opportunity about a billion times, but usually didn't bother for several reasons. For example, I have a bad habit of drunken flouncing. Also, dislike of being face-raped by Eurotrash in nightclubs. Also, Roppongi is annoying at night and don't let anyone try to convince you that it's not.

So, at the bar one night with four friends, I realized that I had to jet or I'd miss the last train. When one of the guys told me they were going to stay out all night, I paused and thought: hey, I don't even have to be AWAKE until noon tomorrow, let alone at work. Why the fuck not?

After being unceremoniously kicked out of our favourite bar, we went to am-pm for more libations. [A quick note here: I'm sure this point is beyond belaboured, but Japanese convenience stores are wonderful. You can walk in to buy a pack of gum and walk out with a four-course hot meal, a bottle of gin, and a spanking new necktie. Seriously. They have neckties and pantyhose and socks and enough cosmetics to spackle even the most paint-obsessed Harajuku fashion queen. I've seen button-down shirts there. Naturally, it's so that if you spend all night drinking and doing various drinking-related activities, you can cover up the stink of a long evening with some new duds. Of course, the fact that you're barfing on the train cannot be hidden, but...] One of my friends made it his mission to high-five any and all passers-by. Now, this was a pretty interesting social experiment: about half the intended high-five returnees ducked away without even looking. This was more expected behaviour. As for the other fifty percent, I'd say about two-thirds were enthusiastic and amused, and the remaining third slapped, but grouchily. Grouchy high-fiving. Who knew?

We decided to konbini crawl (exactly like a pub crawl) from Kabukicho in Shinjuku over to Shibuya. That's probably a long walk even when one isn't intoxicated. As it was, it took us about five hours. On the way, we had the following adventures:

- Walking by a gas station, we saw a pickup truck. Since we were drunk, this was very exciting, and we spent about twenty minutes arguing with the guy and trying to get him to give us a ride, but he refused to take all four of us. Yes, that's right, he would only take three, and since I was the only girl, I decided to take drunken umbrage and decided he was a sexist pig. But seriously, why only three?

- Skipping through Shibuya in the rain, singing the same three parts of "Don't Stop Believin'" at the top of our lungs. Unfortunately, this is how I lost one of my favourite earrings...

- Snuggle party on the steps of some random train station near Shibuya, a snuggle party that was broken up by an elderly rent-a-cop, who made some very polite, yet very aggrieved gestures that suggested that we take our snuggling elsewhere. Cue my dramatic "CHEESE IT, IT'S THE COPS!" followed by slipping and falling backwards. Despite the fact that I fell onto my back, I managed to hurt my finger. Because I am a talent.

- Melon daiquiri in a can: much better than you think. Much, much better. Too good, in fact.

- I found out that if you have one drunken male friend, he will need to pee every so often. If you have three drunken male friends, they will need to pee almost CONSTANTLY. Were they marking their territory, or did the constant drizzle inspire their constant dribble? This is a very serious anthropological question.

- I came back into myself when I realized I was in McDonald's (a big no-no for me), sitting in the smoking section- and I realized there WAS a smoking section, in one of those HOLY SHIT I LIVE IN JAPAN moments- and that is was seven in the morning.

Yes, I did make it into work on time, but I wasn't exactly...chipper.

I should maybe probably update this thing

2009-03-24T08:39:00.004+09:00

...although, as far as I know, here's who reads this blog:

1. Me

2. My ex-boyfriend, because we're tight, yo. Also, I think he has a lot of free time. 'Sup, Ilya?

3. Maybe God, because I have to assume God is paying attention to SOMETHING. It certainly is not preventing beatdowns over his hometown, that's for sure. Oh, wait, that's Jesus. Is God from the Middle East, too? I mean, we don't know for sure that God is Jewish, because it's passed down matrilineally. So Jesus's mom is probably Middle Eastern. You know, Galadriel.

Okay, I'm done.

Well, tits to that

2009-01-19T21:37:00.002+09:00

A couple weeks ago, I made a joke to my friend about fighting a Japanese woman in a bar: "What is she gonna do, titless me to death?"

Well, sirs, I have received my karmic comeuppance.

I popped into a professional hair care supplier to buy hair dye and developer. The cashier spoke a little English, and she complimented my bag and choice of colour. Pleased, I bent to collect my shopping bags, when she goes, "Oohhhh!"

I straightened up, and she made the universal gesture of Hey Look Titties. "Very big!!! I like!!"

"Uh...arigatou gozaimasu."

Then I totally fucked her on the French nails display.

Nah, I'm messing with you. But STILL.

A Taste of Home

2009-01-19T21:32:00.002+09:00

I've been a little depressed lately, so when I got a chance to go to Nissin, the international grocery store, I spent way too much money. Still, here's what I bagged:

1. Nonfat milk
2. Canadian Vanilla Maple tea (a Celestial Seasonings specialty flavour that as far as I know is only sold in Canada)
3. Guinness cheddar
4. Greek yogurt
5. Kalamata olives
6. HUMMUS!!!!!!! (Granted, hummus in a box. But still. Hummus.)
7. Patak's curry in a jar
8. Tom Yum Goong soup mix
9. Jalapenos
10. Dorset cereal
11. Pita bread

Thank you, Nissin. That was $80 well-spent.

Tales of Grossness

2008-12-22T05:42:00.004+09:00

So, I learned something new last night.

When a nice young Japanese man shows you how to get on the absolute last train to take you home, it's apparently standard procedure for his friend to reach out and cup your right tit.

Golly, the culture here sure is fascinating!

My last kids' classes of the year went okay. My last group, which is the rowdiest, actually warmed my cold little heart. Favourite Student got so annoyed with his classmate's whining that he snagged the flashcards from me and started teaching the words to the bratty kid himself. I love that kid.

Don't fuck up in Japan

2008-12-19T01:37:00.003+09:00

Seriously, don't. These are some of the things you will have to do for committing a grievous infraction, like being seven minutes late or teaching the wrong part of a lesson first:

1. Write apology letters. In triplicate.

2. Be brought in for an exquisitely torturous scolding.

3. Have to stuff packs of tissues with flyers.

4. Bow a lot, which might fuck up your neck.

Chikan-ery

2008-11-28T01:14:00.003+09:00

I was on the train, on my way to work, when he sat down next to me.

He was a bleach-blond Japanese guy, with a protruding jaw and and a typical Uniqlo furry-hooded jacket. I was deeply engrossed in my iPod and book when he tapped me on the arm.

GTA: *sighing, removing earbuds* Hai?

GUY: *inscrutable Japanese*

GTA: Wakarimasen.

GUY: Where you from?

GTA: New York.

GUY: What...you do?

GTA: I'm an English teacher.

GUY: eeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeh?

GTA: Eigo no sensei.

GUY: Ah! High school?

GTA: Iie, eikaiwa no sensei.

GUY: What station you get off?

GTA: *lying* Kichijoji.

GUY: You are Italian?

GTA: Um, no...

Guy performs his mating dance, which consists of bending his fingers backwards in a disturbing fashion. Despite GTA's shrieks of protest, he keeps showing her.

GTA: Okay, okay, I'm impressed! Stop!

GUY: *strokes own fingers* Bone!

GTA: ...yes.

Guy takes GTA's hand and tries to make her replicate his double-jointedness. She demurs, whch is a nice way of syaing "homie don't play that."

Guy is undaunted. He takes his own hand and strokes GTA's cheek reverently.

GTA leaps up, stammers a goobye, and runs the fuck out of the train just as it reaches Kichijoji.

I Fucking Love My Job

2008-11-28T01:11:00.002+09:00

Seriously, I do.

Yesterday, I was in Ginza for the fancy-schmancy private lessons. Not only can I check my Facebook from work, but the people are cool, AND I have no supervisor. Hard to hate that.

Today, not only did I meet another teacher who was seriously cool, but I had several awesome lessons. I love it when students get in and just want to talk, instead of having to deal with the dumbass textbooks.

Granted, I'm new, but I am not complaining one little bit.

Children Are Kinky

2008-11-26T12:34:00.002+09:00

I didn't even teach a kid's class yesterday, but they managed to amuse (and mildly horrify) me nontheless.

After arriving at work, I sat down to eat my delicious and thoughtfully-prepared konbini sammich when a little boy ran into the teacher's room.

"Hi!" I said brightly. "What's your name?"

He furrowed brow and stared at me, then looked down at my feet. "Purple!" he shrieked, pointing at my suede Jeffrey Campbell thankyouverymuch shoes.

"Good job, that's right! Purple!" I held my hand up. "High five!"

The child declined my offer of a high-five in favour of getting down and licking my left shoe.

I used to know a couple guys who'd pay for that kind of treatment. Why the hell am I working here?

Racism is alive and well

2008-11-23T21:24:00.004+09:00

Today's Thanksgiving activity included a colouring page. Along with TG standards such as turkey and sweet potatoes (which the kids, being Japanese, coloured purple), a family was depicted on the page. Your average nice, loving, non-denominational family.

I watched the kids carefully, doing my best to elicit some English words from them. ("What's this? A turkey? YEAH GOOD JOB DUDE HIGH FIVE YOU RULE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!")

One kid grabbed a crayon out of the box and started chuckling to himself. As I glanced at his colouring page, I saw that he'd coloured the family....BROWN. The horror!

As the other kids noticed, they, too, became mired in giggliness. Once the original li'l racist noticed, he switched from a brown to a black crayon, causing the other children to go into leg-kicking paroxysms on hysteria.

Finally, in an attempt to rectify what he clearly viewed as a perversion of reality, the kid started covering up the printed family's ochre/onyx taint with a white crayon.

All this time, I had to resist using a yellow crayon on my own Thanksgiving colouring.

This is why English teachers drink.

What I'm Thankful For

2008-11-21T13:22:00.004+09:00

Reading a Thanksgiving story aloud to kids under the age of ten has a few unexpected bonuses. Names have been changed to protect the generally innocent.

GTA: *pointing to pictures in book* Where's the turkey?

GAGGLE OF CHILDREN (GAC): There! There! Turkey! *assorted turkey noises*

GT: Great job! Where's the...corn?

GAC: CORNCORNCORNCORNCORN!!!!
Japanese children love corn. Actually, all of Japan loves corn to a frightening degree, but let's not get into that right now.

GTA: Wow, good job, everyone! Okay...Ken, can you find another food in this picture?

Ken studies the picture solemnly for a minute, before breaking out into a wicked grin. He points to something on the page.

KEN: BABY!

Sure enough, he's touching a smiling baby, who was sitting innocently at the table and totally unaware that it was on the menu.

GTA: What? Babies aren't food!

KEN: Haha, baby!

GTA: Okay, everyone, repeat after me: babies aren't food.

GAC: BABIES AREN'T FOOD!!!!

I'm a good influence, after all.

The Facetiously-Answered Questions! (That's FAQ, people)

2008-08-11T16:18:00.005+09:00

Updated when and where I see fit.

When do you start?
November.

Cool; what company do you work for?
I don't think it's a good idea to come out and say that. If my company was really invested in finding this blog, I'm sure they could. I haven't actually started yet, so all I have to say is YAAAAAY FOR [MY COMPANY]!

Fine, loser. Where are you going to be working? Can you at least tell me that?
Kanto.

WHERE in Kanto?
Dunno yet.

GOD!
Well, sor-reeeee.

So, you were an English major? Or Asian Studies?
Physical anthro and history double-major.

Way to use those areas of expertise.
Hey, if someone dies in the apartment next door, I'll be able to figure out how. Then I'll get really famous and have a TV show called "SUPER CRIME-STOP GAIJIN!" where I solve mysteries and then do really inexplicable ads for sandwiches.

Wow, I would totally watch that.
Of course you would.

Was it hard getting the eikaiwa job?
Kind of. There was a lot of preparation involved- I spent hours reading about others peoples' interview experiences and the various "Dos and Don'ts" lists that invariably followed them. A lot of forum-reading and logging in major hours at eslcafe. I also made a really shitty poster about different jobs that may or may not have had a picture of a Nazi on it.

Seriously?
Well, no...it just kind of looked like one.

How many places did you interview at?
In terms of companies, three. In terms of countries, four.

Can you tell me about your interview experience with ______?
I'm only equipped to discuss the details of three major eikaiwa: AEON, ECC, and Berlitz. If you ask about one of them, I can be more specific, but I'll be happy to give general tips to anyone who asks.

I heard this thing about NOVA and--
I know as much about NOVA as any uninformed observer. Please don't ask me about it; all I can do is point you to a handful of helpful articles. I do not teach for them and I don't know anyone who has. This may change once I'm fully entrenched in the eikaiwa world.

What does your blog name mean?
Back in the Dark Ages (1998-9ish) when I actually read manga, one that I liked was Great Teacher Onizuka.

....and?
Sorry, Blogger fucked up. Anyways, the plot of GTO is about a guy who becomes a teacher in order to shag underaged girls, but eventually ends up helping kids instead through his wacky "street" methods. My name is Anna. I felt punny.

So you're gonna nampa.
NO, dammit.

What does "nampa" mean?
Extrapolate from the context.

You're a poop.
Well, I can't argue with that one.

"To die will be a very great adventure." J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

2008-08-11T15:55:00.004+09:00

The thing I hear most from other people about this whole "going to Japan to teach English" thing is, "Oh, I wish I could do something like that." Being the persistently-helpful asshole I am, I immediately offer a laundry list of people and companies to contact, only to be met with a whole slew of excuses: need to save money, don't want to break up with my boyfriend, can't abandon my pet goldfish, etc.

Well, there's always a reason not to do something. Me, I only have reasons to go to Japan. Let me explain:

I was born in the US and lived most of my life there, but went to Canada for university. In my second year, my parents decide out of the blue to pack up our shit and move to Abu Dhabi, a fairly esoteric choice. What's a girl to do straight out of school when she can't even flop at Mom and Dad's and work a shitty temp job?

I'm no weeaboo. Sure, I had an anime period when I was in eighth grade or so, but I don't really watch the stuff. I do still listen to J-Rock, but everything I like is hopelessly outdated (I like to pretend Malice Mizer never folded), and every time I hear Gwen Stefani squeal about Harajuku, I feel vaguely ill. I don't speak Japanese. I don't cosplay. I don't even eat fish.

You might very well be asking, then, "why Japan?" Well, Steve- I can call you Steve, can't I?- I love Japanese history and culture. It's fascinating. I have an anthropological interest in sex workers, and Japan is nothing if not a neon candyland of crazy poon. I'm also very interested in geisha. And Shintoism. And trains. And very small trees. And going to the store and buying a small luxury item and having it wrapped in no less than three bags, plus tissue paper. Maybe I'm not the average eikaiwa drone; I don't really know. All I know is that Japan feels right for me, right for now.

I'm leaving for Japan at the end of October, and until that point, I'm in limbo. I figured that, in between puttering around the US-Canada border and selling my old possessions on eBay in order to make beer money, I might as well do something vaguely constructive. Hence, this blog. Vamonos.

Test post

2008-08-11T15:37:00.000+09:00

zoop zoop BOINK squeep!