How do Japanese end up with crap teeth?!

I went to the dentist on Saturday.  For the first time in 18 months.  I was in total trepidation, but I was going out of necessity.  Why trepidation?  One needs only to look at Japanese teeth– in fact the first person to welcome me to Futatsui at the North Akita airport had precisely five teeth, one of which was black, and one of which was silver.  Since then I’ve heard medieval horror stories of Japanese dentists trying to pick magic stones out from between your gums and whatnot (happened to a nearby ALT, actually).  So, fear is at least a logical conclusion.

What I experienced was completely different, though.  The guy and his assistants spoke English, took two really quick X-rays of my mouth and diagnosed my problem by showing me my plaque under a microscope.  I learned more about my mouth there then I did with all those years of orthodontics and American dentists sucking their teeth at you while your mouth is full of metal implements.

Japan has an overflowing supply of dentists, but you’d think the good ones like this one would help raise the quality a bit, so that Japanese could keep a few more of their teeth.  Or, at least keep them the original color.

Last week I also taught my 6th graders for the first time.  By this, I mean I had to teach Naoki.  In a classroom setting.  This was almost as scary as the dentist.  Not just Naoki, but that entire grade of students had been vyying for my attention since I first arrived.  I already knew most of them by name without having taught them.  The lesson actually went really well, though.  And, aside from Naoki sticking my name in the “Sunday, Monday, Tuesday” song at table tennis the next day, there were no real drawbacks.  And now I know my name sounds like a weekday.

I also have a new toy that has provided me minutes of entertainment.  A little rubber mukade (centipede) I found at Bullfrog.  I call him Mu-chan.  Japanese are instinctively afraid of mukade and their poisonous bite, but aside from some small ones that look like wooly worms, none live in Akita– and even then you really only find mukade in Southern Japan, in summer.  Despite this, a well placed Mu-chan still scares the crap out of some people.  All the necessary apologizing afterwards is worth it, and it’s usually followed by the surprised person saying, “Hey, let’s try this on #$%&.

Internationalization is in the eye of the beholder.

Since When Did I Become A Teacher?

It’s been an interesting week back so far– and only three days into it no less.  I had a kindergarten visit on Monday that went well, the kids weren’t fighting over me or trying to rip me apart like they did in the Spring.  This time my only horrible mistake was to agree to a snowball fight, which quickly turned into a 6 vs. 1 Battle Royale.  I threw gently at first, after all, they’re five year olds.  But it soon became evident that gentle just wasn’t gonna cut it, and I learned that if I put a little more umph behind the snowball it would actually knock the kids down, which would make the battle 4 or 5 vs. 1.  I can handle that.

In other news– on Tuesday the only reliable Japanese English Teacher at my base school (ironically enough) got sick and went AWOL suddenly.  The other two JTE’s had no idea what to do, and historically their interactions with the 1st year students (or almost any students for that matter) have been met with disaster.  I had a vague idea about what we were doing, but didn’t know exactly what the teacher was planning.

In the end, I got pushed into doing the class on my own– which included introducing new material and reviewing what we did last semester.  I was lucky to have the P.E. teacher gestapo the class for the first few minutes, just to be sure I had control before heading off and leaving me on my lonesome trying to explain “at” to a bunch of 12 year olds.

I had hoped that would be it, but it turns out the English teacher is still out today with a fever, and I’ve done three more solo classes today.  I gotta say it went pretty well– there were no huge disasters and the kids seemed to be getting my crap Japanese explanations of English grammar.  I also taught one class on application of the grammar I taught yesterday, and the kids were producing solid answers.

Tomorrow is another day, another school.  I’ll be glad to put the ‘Assistant’ back in ‘Assistant Language Teacher’ for awhile.

School Nurse Snicker-pwned.

I would like to sound off my support to my imported tin of ‘Cream of Tartar’– I made some beastly delicious snickerdoodles last night, even though my oven singed quite a few of them– those things are good.  I brought some into school this morning for between period brunch, and the school nurse started giving me lip about my somewhat burnt cookies.

“YOU made those?  They’re burnt- they look horrible.”

In true Andy fashion I commanded her to eat one, to which she asked if they’d make her stomach hurt and compromised enough to eat half of one.  She then had the “reaction.”

The reaction is a common enough thing in Japan– seeing as it’s on TV.  On every channel.  Every night.  A Japanese person sticks some food in their mouth and then commences to display their best version of a facial orgasm of pure joy.

She subsequently apologized and gave me some omiyage she had stored up.  The omiyage appears to be stale bread.  It’s ornately wrapped though.  Still, I think I got the shallow end of this intercultural exchange.

On Home

People always start off trying to explain “home” as a place.  It seems to make enough sense.  You say “home” and you think “house.”  A walls, a roof, a floor… central heating, the whole shabang.

Moving around so much since high school has made me beg to differ.  Home is not a place or an object.  Home is people.  Moms and dads, Kaytis and cats, grandparents in town or in the sticks, Warrens, Jamisons, Corys, Lans, Terrys, Naokis, Masahiros, Keikos… you get the idea.

Since I was born I’ve lived in countless houses, dorms and hostels.  If I were to randomly walk into any of them now– I probably wouldn’t feel like I’m home.  If I were to walk into most of them now, I’d either get arrested for trespassing, or at least leave some current occupant confused and horrified.

BUT- if I were to go and be with any of the people above, I would be comfortable and at peace.  I could sit, and listen, and talk, and not have to worry about what’s being thought of me or where I stand.  That is home.

Walls can stop the wind and a ceiling can stop the rain.  Central heat is a nice perk, but in the end it’s just a fancy fire.  But I carry home with me in my memories and in the moment.  Who I am, who I’ve been with, and who I’ll see.

No wall can do that.

Culture Shock

Glad to hear from Kathleen’s blog that there has yet to be snow in Akita– I’ve been kicking myself for the past 2 weeks knowing I forgot to put my turbo powered Golf Cart in the garage.  Weather.com says things are still above freezing too!  No 8-hour snow shoveling marathon like last year!  At least, let’s hope so.  I’m already glad I took the train– last year I couldn’t even find my car in the airport cuz, well, it was buried under two weeks of snow!  I DON’T want to have to dig out my “Kamakuruma” again.  Ever.

Going abroad always makes you more acute to noticing things back home that you didn’t notice before– two weeks being home has made the “obesity” problem facing the U.S. much more understandable– and highlighted plenty of other differences that strike me as odd:

-it is almost impossible to escape fried stuff.  It’s EVERYWHERE.  Even next to healthy stuff, fried or sugar coated crud is usually within an arms reach to try and lure you away.  It’s sickening.

-vegetable juice isn’t as delicious here… and it seems to be lacking in stuff.  The label on even a small can of Japanese veggie juice is usually packed with all sorts of goodness.

-folks seem to like dissing table tennis… at least until they play, then they give in to the addiction.  Stores carry crappy pre-fabricated rackets and even Wal-Mart, the largest one in the country, sells balls the wrong side.  The TT snob in me is offended.

-the community seems less close, but that naturally comes when you drive everywhere, go out to shop, and engage only in superficial small talk.

But being home is far from all complaints.  I’m with my famliy.  I’m with people who won’t ceaselessly barrage me with compliments about my utensil skills.  I’m in a place where I don’t have to huddle in one heated room.  I can buy OLIVES!  And Reese’s Pieces!  And use a real oven!

My New Year’s Resolution this year was to do something to my hair.  I’ve been swearing I would give it a good shave since October– but just never had the time.  So, two days ago I sat down and let my sister cut me down to size.  I gotta say, I like the new look.