December 4-9 in 2015

These entries are getting further and further apart, and I don’t like it. It reflects poorly on my mental state. Which, as my readers are by now aware, is not so great to begin with. Still, this diary is the last thing I’ve stuck with since coming to Japan, and it means something that I come back to it even after I leave it over and over. I suppose this makes me fine 50’s husband material.
On the 4th, I went to buy that treadmill. However, first, I ate dinner at that Indian place that I like. Which was nice. On arriving at the electronics store, I made a realization: it was more of a treadmill balance beam. It needed about an extra foot of width in order to be comfortable, and this meant that it was an unwise investment. So, instead of spending US$300/$400, I went to Plasse and spend US$200 in clothes. As Daniel says, “There is no bad weather, only bad clothes.” Oh those stoic Swedes.
Saturday, the fifth, I got up and ran some errands to prep for the homestay/kimono experience. I won’t explain the details of what that was as I’ll be giving them in a moment. I bought liquor to make flaming B-52’s, as well as shot glasses as gifts. I also made up my penultimate bag of Michigan Cherries. Furthermore, a dozen sweets from Miyanojo. Then, it was time to pack (as it turns out, far, FAR, over pack) and head out. The drive was about thirty minutes through the mountains. Once you’re out of Miyanojo proper, it’s a single road that takes you right to Izumi. It’s a testament to my inability to get it up to do anything that I haven’t been there before. I arrived early and had some trouble finding the parking area. Or, rather, I found it right off the bat, convinced myself that it was the wrong one, parked in a muddy field, re-re-re-re-rechecked Facebook (whose posts seemed to be totally different than the ones I remembered having read on my laptop) and returned to my initial parking spot in time to see other gaijin arrive.
Many faces I recognized, a few I didn’t, but it turned out well enough. I was to stay on a tea farm owned by the Tanaka family way up in the mountains of Izumi. I was to stay with two other JETs, Edmund, an Australian, and Ricky, a French Canadian. I’d met Ricky before, but we’d been at that food poisoning party. If memory serves, we may have sung Oh Canada over a bottle of crown. It seems probable.
After a meet and greet with the obligatory speeches (I volunteered to give the one on behalf of the ALTs despite having among the lowest Japanese there), we were off to our families. Part of the homestay experience is finding out what life is like among the actual normal inaka people of Japan. So, upon getting settled in at a homestead that would have made Gaston proud (antlers everywhere, man), we set about the business of making tea.
First we had to help fan a charcoal fire until it was hot enough to stay under its own power. Then, we put a big Spartan shield style metal bowl over the fire. We then dumped in what I believe was rice (grain or seeds of some sort) and we stirred them as they popped. Which was super fun. Then, when enough had popped, we added tea leaves. We made a kind of grain/green tea tea whose Japanese name escapes me but which is delicious. Then we drank it.
We went on a bit of a tour around the farm. We saw his pigs, we saw some of his dogs, who were chained on leashes far too short for my taste, we saw the CUTEST orange cat who I thought was Mara at first glance (the resemblance is remarkable, except this one is a bit smaller and has balls). His barn was a treasure trove of Japanese farming antiques and random objects de agriculture and industry. In his new barn, we saw his super cool tea harvester. The plantation itself, or farm, or whatever one calls it, was that lovely Japanese blend of high and low tech. The house was an eclectic mix of Japanese tradition, and random objects from various travels and expeditions. Of course the mounted deer’s head. A flintlock musket. Australian boomerang, Chinese silk, everywhere’s everything.
We also made a kind of Japanese treat, whose name escapes me, that is essentially homemade Rice Crispies. You pressure heat/cook rice, then release the pressure and it explodes into a giant cage. You then scrape the age and eat the puffed rice. Well, you can do that. But it’s often preferable to pour liquid sugar over it and to mix it in. I can’t, and won’t, say how much of that sweet manna we ate.
Dinner was massive, and I was the victim of Japanese hospitality. So much food. And, of course, you can’t really say no. Japanese people don’t really understand concepts of being full. Or being done. You keep going until your hosts are satisfied that they’d done their jobs. We had smoked deer (he was a hunter) Japanese hotpot (though of which variety I’m never sure), vegetables, salad, karaage, of course mikan by the truckload, beer, shochu, and sweets of every kind. I made up flaming B-52s for the end, having found a 96% Polish vodka for sale at the dollar store. They worked much better this time, though they weren’t mixed very well.
After dinner, I played Ukulele and we had something of a singalong, but, when the rain came, we lost all cell service and wi-fi. We were really high up in the mountains. Eventually, we all went to bed.
I woke up that night to the worst headache of my life. Quite possibly. The throbbing as insane. I had migraine medicine next to me, but I wanted to conserve it. It’s just as well that I did. I took some in the morning, having gotten up a bit late. I was proud of how functional I was in spite of the pain. I had to decline most of what was a beautiful and massive Japanese breakfast, which, of course, is a tragedy of the highest order.
The rain had gotten worse by morning. No doubt that the rain, plus the altitude, had made the migraine situation worse. When we arrived at the shrine that was to serve as our Kimono headquarters, we had some speeches, put on our Kimono, took some pictures, then took them off and left. It was pouring. The festivities were canceled. There were many things I wanted to see/do in Izumi, but they were going to need to wait for another day. I drove home and went to bed. I probably woke up at some point, ate, dicked around a bit, and went back to bed, but the details elude me. I was a mess.
Monday was Eshin. The sixth grade classes were, as always, terrible, and the 5th grade classes were mixed. I still felt terrible. All I could choke down for lunch was rice, which was sad because it looked like a decent lunch. I ganbatted my way through my classes, but I was a mess. Hirayama Sensei, Ebihara Sensei, and Matsumoto Sensei came to watch one of my classes to see how things were going at Eshin. It was with my best teacher. However, they weren’t terribly pleased, from what Matsumoto said. Mostly because I was carrying the class. They want more cooperation. I explained to them the lack of support I get from Eshin, and they weren’t happy. Apparently most students who come to Miyachu hate English, and they want to know why. They’re pretty sure it’s because of Eshin. I can now see some of the benefits of Japan constantly rotating teachers. On the one hand, we’re losing Matsumoto next year (NOOOOOOO!), but, on the other hand, some of the lemons will be gone from Eshin. Part of it is the kids, though. And the class sizes. There are too many kids, and too many bad ones. The teachers at Eshin have lousy classroom management skills, and it is a big problem. The troublemakers can disrupt everything. And the good kids are usually nervous and scared.
At recess, I did my best, but it was hard. I wore my new red sweat suit, which is slightly classier than it sounds, and had a grand old time of it. It was warm, and that’s what counts when you’re playing outside with kids. Really that’s what counts in general. Today, I’ve got on long johns, athletic socks, pants, shirt, cardigan, and (sometimes) a sports coat. Most of my colleagues are wearing winter coats in the office. Still, you learn to be tough, I suppose.
After classes, I went to Eikaiwa. It was fun, though a little dull. However, at 4:33, though we weren’t quite done talking, class had finished and I excused myself to go to the hospital. I was out of migraine medicine and was going to rip my own skull out without some. So, I went to Kyoko and got some. In retrospect, I should have gotten sleep meds, as I am out and must now go to her for more tonight. Dammit, Ozment.
Then, I went to bed. I couldn’t deal with light or sound or anything. Everything hurt too much. Four hours later I woke up, played come Civ III (because I’m a loser and need to delete it again), then ate dinner (at midnight) and tried to go to bed. Forgot to take sleep meds, and after an hour of trying to sleep without them, took some. However, what sleep I did get was not the best quality. I woke up every hour on the hour. Or thereabouts.
Woke up this morning, spent far too much time checking out BBC on my phone, and came into school. I remembered to walk today (slipped up and drove yesterday because I had driven to 7-11 for tea and coffee). I still managed to make good time getting here, largely because I had picked up my tea and coffee las night at the 7-11. The sun is astonishingly bright today, as it was yesterday, which is not calculated to please a man who has a headache. Especially as the sun is, at present, directly behind me and is both glaring into my right eye and reflecting off of my screen. But, my dear Ozment, simply move the screen,” you say, because you are secretly a 20’s British Clubman. “Ha,” I say to you in reply, “Then people would be able to SEE that I’m not working. Of course, everybody knows that I’m not working. I’m sitting here typing with my eyes closed, but the APPERANCE, my dear boy, is critical.”
Baffled, you storm off for brandy and the invasion of some unpronounceable region of some forsaken continent.
I have nothing to do today save to check papers for Matsumoto Sensei. As of 9:08, I haven’t got any. Furthermore, checking papers for her tends to be a one page deal. Maybe three if I’m lucky/unlucky. I’ve got another day where I don’t feel well and could be resting but, instead, must be here pretending to work rather than recovering. I hate these days. I hate them vehemently.
I’ll go to Kyoko’s hospital after work and get more sleep meds. Then do Eikaiwa. Currently, I’m debating which is more important, cleaning my utter pigsty of an apartment, or going for a walk. I don’t know which one will prove the surer restorative to a shattered heart, mind, and sanity. On the plus side, I haven’t been smoking and haven’t particularly wanted to. So, there’s that. Every time I get a bit into cigarettes, I eventually tire of them after a few days. I suppose that’s good.
Well, I’ve checked four baskets of papers and two stacks. Not much looms on the horizon. Trying to get D&D worked out with Meg and Phil. So, that’s okay.
Not a whole lot to report.
Took a quiz on my personality that Courtney sent. I’m apparently Nero. That was . . . refreshing, I suppose. Sarcasm doesn’t come off well here. You get the picture.