Ep. 9 Revenge of the Cantankerous Curry

This is the story: When last we left our hero, he was sitting proud in the knowledge that he had conquered the connoisseurial cooking of his host nation. Believing himself invincible, he thereby fell into one of the most devious traps laid out by his now arch enemy: Cantankerous Curry. Imagine, if you will, a room filled with the delicious aroma of admirable attainments: the rice cooker silently steaming in the corner; the pot on the stove boiling boisterously, filled with delicious carrots and delightful green onions. Then, to the water is added the curry, and the trap is set, for within this brown lump of pre-conglomerated powdery goodness lies a mind with psychic abilities beyond the abilities of mortal man! This fiend frolics in a space between AM, PM, and FM, a telepathic wave merely known as M. Dispersing itself among the now native boiled produce, Cantankerous Curry implanted within the aroma a thought: this dish needs tofu. Ah, tofu, the savior of the vegetarian in a land of flesh-filled meats. Away our hero flew to the fridge to divide up the last of the tofu, only to find a study in orange. Yes, for sadly lacking the fortitude and forthrightness of its less curdled brethren, the tofu had turned a sickly and soured hue. "Ah well," thought our hero, "better luck next time. No tofu tonight." But Cantankerous Curry had other ideas, and insured that our hero had them as well. For, he then reasoned, food = money, money = work, therefore this tofu represented a small fraction of the total time tuteling tots, teens, and tinkers. Ergo, countered fair Reason, we can always get more. But, never the one to be persuaded and drunk upon the power of M, Cantankerous Curry played the trump: yes, money may be used to purchase more, but in order to save money my grandparents must have eaten worse in the Great Depression, and they survived! Have I not feasted upon their food? Is my stomach so weak that it cannot handle slightly aged tofu. So into the pot it went, only to be fished out thirty seconds later when the curry turned a corpulent color and a strange smell began to emanate. But the damage was done, no sooner was the curry devoured, then the trap itself was sprung; our hero learned well that night why the entirety of history since WWII has been in a constant direction away from the Great Depression. But never fear, for though he was brought low, our hero's stomach had still been trained since infancy to fight against expired edibles by said aforementioned and truly loving grandparents! For, despite the best efforts of Cantankerous, the curry did not make a reappearance and, after a cool bath and a good night's sleep, our hero rose rested and better for the adventure.

And the moral of the story is: If food is fuzzy, or has changed hue, use your mind, and take a clue.

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The following is best viewed as a bunch of vignettes, because it is getting late, I am tired, and I cannot think of a better way to express these stories. So, without further ado: life in Japan.

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In Upper School, we whose brains had yet to develop a funny little thing called reason and caution played a game that we called, "Fugitive." The object is simple: make your way from one end of the street/ neighborhood to the other without getting caught by the cops, who happened to be driving cars at the time. I never played, but some part of me really wanted to. We were young, it was silly, nothing painful happened, and I thought it a relic of my not-so-long-ago past. Boy was I surprised yesterday when I turned on my TV to find a show with a familiar set of rules. They call it, "Run for Money," and, with a ludicrously high production budget and hundreds of able and active actors, they have added a strange subplot about a samurai. That's right, there was a samurai subplot...in a town full of actors who looked like they better belonged in Victorian England...while, "normal" people ran around in really bright clothing helping those in need while simultaneously avoiding serious men in black suits, black ties, and sunglasses with a camera attachment. And every second 200 yen was added to the winner's total. Imagine my surprise indeed to turn on my television to find this, especially considering that my introduction was to see a women in bright colored clothing streaking--as in running fast you pervs--down the street, pursued by a very well dressed man. Imagine my further surprise when, instead of tackling her as I assumed he would, he very gently tapped her on the shoulders, which resulted in her stopping, then falling down and crying. Welcome to Japan, where even game shows that make sense still make no sense.

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After work on Saturday night, I had the unmitigated joy of visiting the house of my predecessor with the other American teacher at my school. My predecessor is married to a rather nice Japanese man, so this was an opportunity to visit a somewhat Japanese home--for those of you who don't know, this is really rare. Most Japanese rarely, if ever, use their house as a venue to entertain, in sharp contrast to Americans. And I must say, compared to where I have been living the house was quite spacious. Quite frankly, I would call it a Japanese version of a townhouse. Like my apartment, it consists of a single floor--though hers has an incredible staircase inside the house to get there--but unlike my apartment her house is divided into many rooms. These include a bathroom and a toilet-room, a bedroom, and a large kitchen/ family room. I am so jealous of that last one. I would say that I had an absolutely lovely time, I adore my predecessor even more to pieces, and I hope that we become even better friends. However, the story does not stop there. She lives in the next town over, so afterwards my co-worker and I hopped on the train back--had we stayed another half hour, we would have missed the last one--and off to Konosu we went! Upon arriving back at the station, we made our way toward our respective apartments. Picture us standing there, in the middle of the night, talking, when all of the sudden we hear a splat from across the street. We both look over...and then we look up. There, sitting on the wires, are pigeons...the same ones just outside of my bedroom window. And as we are watching, we see a glob fall from on high to go splat on the pavement across the street from us...which we then notice is absolutely covered in bird poo. This was the wall of terror that my co-worker had to walk under to get to her apartment. She succeeded, I believe--once the light turned, I was off to my own abode. I will say this, though: sitting outside for ~ten minutes to count how many times bird poop hits a piece of paper so that you can calculate the average possibility of getting hit coming back from work can get you some really weird looks...as such, I cannot imagine the looks a person would get for sitting out there for an hour to try to make more accurate measurements, nor the even stranger looks of doing so at multiple times of night to try and gauge if time is a factor.

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Either American machines are smarter or dumber than their Japanese counter parts, because withdrawing money was one of the most frustrating activities in my time here. So, because I don't have a bank card yet, I had to go through a person (ugh...people...want...atm...) which means that I had to fill out a form I barely understood. I did it, though, handed it over, got all set to get my money and...the computer didn't like the form. I had written a letter once, and had not liked it. So, naturally, I had written over it to make a better shape. In America, this is fine; in Japan, this is not. So, I had to rewrite the form and, wouldn't you know it, habit took over again. And again. And again. Six forms later, I finally wrote it without correcting. Thank goodness that it worked, or I might yet be sitting there, trying desperately to overcome 22 years of habit.

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I have a really fast metabolism. Like, fast enough that I have to eat a ton just to keep up my weight. Add in the additional exercise from a full day of teaching, plus the fact that my stomach is better suited to smaller meals rather than larger ones, and I have not been eating enough since I arrived in Japan. However, after careful observation of my habits, I have finally decided on a daily eating schedule that not only gives me enough energy to get through the day, but to hopefully gain weight as well--preferably muscle weight which, given my teaching style, shouldn't be too hard. How do I know that this is enough food? Because the day that I started doing it I spent a full half hour of one of my prep-periods--on one of my slower days, mind you--saying, "yummy, delicious, delectable lunch" over and over and over again. Because a) I liked the way that it sounded and flowed and, b) if I said it really, really, really fast I would sometimes say, "lummy" instead of, "yummy" so it became a competition to see how many times I could say it until I messed up. Also, it kept my body occupied while my brain thought about what it needed to do as I was reading lesson plans, so it all worked out for the best. And now, without further ado, my daily eating schedule.

7:00 First breakfast (2 eggs, one piece of bread covered in peanut spread, yogurt, fruit [generally grapefruit])

9:00-9:30 Second breakfast (bowl of cereal, after today the milk will contain protein powder)

11:00-11:30 First lunch or Elevensies. This is usually when I have my peanut butter, jelly, and banana sandwich. Thinking about sometimes adding avocado before my busier days.

2:00-4:00 Second lunch, usually being last night's leftovers.

2:45-6:45 Third lunch or Afternoon Tea, usually a bento that I buy after eating second lunch, and eaten depending on if I have time. Can be easily replaced with my numerous snacking bouts.

9:30 Dinner, being any number of things that I want to cook.

Add into one of these meals half of an avacado a few times a week and we're good to go.

That makes six meals, not including snacks. I think that, being roughly sized similarly with those who would normally be the big folk around me, my body has compensated by making me eat like a hobbit in order to survive. Hopefully now I'll gain some weight.

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I have set up many routers in my short life time. Never my own. Always for a relative. And always an utter headache. As such, I prepared myself for the arduous task ahead of me. Not only was I going to buy a router, probably a good deal spendier than I would like, but I would have to set it up, too. All in Japanese. This was not going to be easy, I told myself, but it would be fun. A half hour train ride later, there I stood in Omiya, the nearest big city and the nearest electronic store, ready to do battle with the commissioned salesman. I knew my adversary would be witty, but I had utter linguistical ignorance on my side. Long story short, all of my preparation was for not; I was avoided like a plague infested zombie, shuffling through the aisles looking for a clue as to where the routers were. When I found them, I was disappointed, they were even more expensive than I had thought. As I turned to go, however, something pulled me back. I turned around, and there at the end were a set of routers that were on sale for about $50. They were apparently being advertised in some magazine, but I didn't care. Here was a router that I was willing to afford, the kind that still left me money left over, no less. So I grabbed the last one, purchased it, and half an hour later was standing in my apartment, preparing myself for the horrors ahead. What trickery would it endeavor to pursue? What malice would it unleash to disturb my afternoon? The only way to find out was to set it up...which I did. And guess what? It worked. First try. No problems then, and no problems since. I was utterly baffled, and still am, but pleased (knock on wood) with the most amazing router ever.


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Imagine my surprise last weekend, when I opened up my load of whites to find, lying peacefully on top, a single, now very clean, black pen. My first thought was that I really should start checking my pockets better, while my second thought was that I had just irreparably damaged each and every single white shirt that I own. These are the same white shirts, mind you, that I wear under my dress shirts each and every single working day. These are the same white shirts that must be kept cleaner and in a better state of care than my usual attire. These are the same shirts that were dirt cheap and on sale back home, but probably a bit on the spendier side here. In other words: I feared that I had just cost myself a good deal of money through sheer stupidity. And so I began to sort the shirts and handkerchiefs and, lo, a miracle had happened. For as the pile of useable shirts began to grow, I started to realize that, despite the show, the unusable pile had an occupant of one, so maybe my finances weren't completely done. That lone shirt, I realized upon closer inspection, had valiantly wrapped itself around around the pen, shielding its contemporaries from the harmful escaping ink and sacrificing itself in the process. Behold (picture coming soon), good peoples, Whitey, the Valiant T-Shirt. May he forever more be a relic of how folly can serendipitously become humility.


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This is a simple story, with an even more simple beginning: allergies. Namely, I have them, and when they go off, my nose becomes Niagara Falls--spell check's first option for that one was Viagra, though with the surprising further of the drip that might not be far from the truth--with a constant, if manageable, drip. Yet sometimes, things go horribly wrong, particularly in humidity where things get rubbery. So, there I was teaching a class sans shoes--because that's how kids classes are taught in Japan--when I feel a massive sneeze coming on. Quickly, I pull out my handkerchief, raise it to my nose, and just in time cover the sneeze...at least that's what I thought, before I felt the blob bounce off of the handkerchief towards the right, where it then bounced off again mostly into my hand, for which I am thankful. Now, I am sure that many people are squirming at this thought and wondering what madness possesses me to believe that snot in my hand is the preferable option. I will agree that it is gross--not to mention embarrassing as all get out to happen in front of students--but the worst was that not all of it went into my hand. No, a part of the blob missed and kept going down...down...down...until *plop*. Onto my sock. In front of my students. I was so embarrassed that I may never love again...not really, but it certainly sounds better than any other hyperbolic metaphor that I can think of at the moment.


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I'm going to end today as I began it: with curry. Monday nights, I have decided, are curry nights, because I have an inordinate amount of stubbornness on both sides of my family and gosh darn it I will get it right. Cantankerous Curry had one more trick up its sleeves: yesterday I opened my fridge to find that it was emanating a cantankerous smell. Thankfully, my burnable garbage was almost full, so out it went, and my apartment spent the next few hours being aired out. However, now sans curry, I decided to rectify that fact by making more tonight...with similar results, though sans the tofu. I am beginning to wonder if I am either cursed against curry, or if perhaps either the curry itself has gone bad--not likely, according to the interwebs--or if perhaps the rice has gone bad. I am sure some normal person out there is going, "don't eat the curry man, it's just not worth it," but my sense of discovery and adventure will not allow such a path. After all, how can I finally make my darn curry right if I don't know why it disagrees with me in the first place. Ergo, tomorrow I will try some rice with my lunch. If I spend the rest of the day feeling like I'm going to puke, then we'll know it's the rice. If I don't then the question arises of whether or not it's the curry, or something in the curry. The science is waiting! Only the adventurous will find the truth! *update: it wasn't the curry...at least, not completely. It was the rice, part of which had turned a decided shade of fuzzy-wuzzy-beary-green--he really should have bathed more--and as such the curry should be fine...which we'll know when I make more rice.* Anywho, this has been another Adventure of the Austentatious; if you liked me, tell your friends; if you hated me, tell your enemies; and if you don't care either way, tell everyone.

Ep. 8 A Story of Solitude

One of the greatest struggles facing me upon my arrival was the great task of living alone for the first time. Never before have I lived a true solitary existence, as roughly eighteen full years of parentage and three successive--and on the whole grand--college room mates have been gratifying obstacles. How in this eccentric earth of everything ever will I survive? Will the copious challenges and challenging contendings defeat my each and every attempt at survival? Or will I find the will and way to stand firm and find my footing in this large and laborious world? Only time will tell, but one thing is sure: when in need, I have friends indeed.

So, I am currently writing this in my first apartment. Ever. It's fantabulous (a portmanteau of, "fantastic" and, "fabulous" that I've been using for years. Let it be known here and now, oh future linguistic peoples, that I made it up! Or, at the very least, that I came up with it on my own, independent of any other source) and tiny, and I absolutely love it. I love my loft, and the death-defying climb up and down the ladder of death whenever I want to sleep. I love my tiny kitchen, and how I've finally rearranged things so that I can use both burners. I love my living area, and how my desk looked so useable this morning, but now looks like a disaster zone--complete with crying refugees (order now for one low price of 9.95). And above all, I love knowing that, no matter what, it's a place where I can really be alone.
That's not to say that there aren't problems; far from it. But most of these are familiar problems, such as bills and groceries, that I expected and knew full well how to deal with. In America. But this is Japan, where everything is different. As such, there have been some, shall we say, unexpected hiccups on the road to independence, mostly due to my cultural ignorance.

Bills
Bills, bills, bills; everyone has bills. I have bills. I've had bills. Bills are simple so long as you're smart. You just check a box, input some numbers, and then, suddenly, money magically flies away from your account every month to go where it's supposed to. It's simple, it's easy, and you only need to really worry once. In America. Here in Japan, there are two ways to pay bills: the way that I researched, and the way that it has turned out. From my research, it sounded simple: you take your bill to a convenience store, have them ring it up, pay the money, keep the receipt (just in case) and voila, you need not worry for another month. A bit more work than in America, but still bright and easy. That's not how my gas bill works. Imagine me, happily cleaning my apartment, when I am surprised by my doorbell ringing. "Oh, my friends," I say to the imaginary woodland critters gayly helping me clean, "I do so wonder who that could possibly be?" Away to the door I go, to find a small, Japanese woman, who takes one look at me, smiles knowingly, points to herself and says, "gas." I smile and nod, expecting a bill. She shows me a piece of paper; it looks odd. It does not have a bar code. After a few minutes of talking at me, and me getting more confused, she sighs, prints a receipt, and walks away. Confused, I none the less take the receipt to the nearest convenience store--the 7-11 down the way--with enough money in hand. I am then told that I need to take the bill to the bank. Shouldn't be too hard. Wrong, because I don't have a bank card yet. It's in the mail. Half an hour and three bank workers later, I leave the bank, bill still unpaid, because the charge to wire the money to the gas company would have been more than 50% of my total bill. Disheartened, I show the bill to one of my colleagues, and ask what I should do. She calls the company, and makes an appointment for them to come by so that I can pay my bill. The appointment is tomorrow, the money is waiting. I am sick and tired of bills.

Food
As many of my readers are aware, I am currently cooking illiterately. I do not speak Japanese, I do not read Japanese, and most of my amazing friends who do are an ocean away. Also, I refuse to bother my colleagues with such a simple problem as interpreting instructions! If it takes three weeks and three friends back home to decipher a box of pancakes, then so be it. However, though I am cooking illiterately, most of the food here is fairly easy to prepare. So easy, in fact, that once I figure it out (curse you, curry, I will best you yet) I can reliably make it. Simple, easy, and cheap. And it lasts, and lasts. But not forever, as I have found out. Even if you put it in the fridge, time takes its toll. Things rot, and nothing is more sad then preparing Okonomiyaki with carrot bits only to find that your carrot has magically metamorphosized [I like how it sounds better than the alternative, so sue me] into a new stage of life. It is like a free air freshener for your fridge, where free implies what you want to be of your fridge. And so, lesson is learned. Food may last a long time, but one had better use it or lose it; and in a world where food is the physical embodiment of a month of labor, rotting food is like a televangelist: sickly, oily, and a waste of money.
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Speaking of my fridge, I was deicing it the other weekend, and opened it up to find this: 

But that's a bad picture. This one should better illustrate what it was, after I chipped it out:

This is the chunk of ice that was growing in an isolated part of my freezer. It's in the shape of Mt. Hood. I don't know why it was growing in that one part--it's not there this week--or why it chose the shape of Mt. Hood, but my theory is that I have a new magic fridge. Any new adventures with the fridge will be posted as they come up.
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A Social Life
I am a hermit, by which I mean that I am an introvert who really likes his alone time. I can do people, I can be social and interact with people, but on the whole, it can be really exhausting. As such, having my own apartment is fantastic. I can do whatever I want, and be alone whenever I want. It's such a happy cocoon of solitude that I don't want to ever leave. Which is a problem. Don't get me wrong, I will always leave for work, which I love, but I have a hard time leaving for other things. Particularly if they involve people. I went to Tokyo today--it was a lot of fun, I got lost twice, and I found the Ikea of electronics--but it was a struggle to get out of my apartment this morning. Not because I didn't want to do my shopping, nor because I didn't want to see the sights. I didn't want to deal with people. I didn't want to stand on a train, or push through crowds, or be generally lost in the sea of humanity. I ended up doing all three of those things, and had a blast, but it was a struggle to take that first step. And that's what I need to work on. I could end up being very happy sitting in my apartment here, never leaving except for work, but then I wouldn't experience Japanese culture. I wouldn't really make any memories. I wouldn't see the wonders of the world. If I just wanted to sit at home, doing nothing, I could have stayed at home in the US. It would be far cheaper, and all of my stuff is there. But I didn't do that, I came to Japan. And, as such, I need to start pushing myself to get out a little more on the weekends; make some friends, learn some culture, and cultivate memories. And, going with a social life...

Night Life
Particularly noise. And, no, I'm not talking about parties, nor loud music, teenagers in general, or the sweet sound of traffic. I live in suburbia in an apartment complex inhabited by single workers; the parties tend to happen elsewhere, most of us only play our music loud because we can't hear it otherwise, the teenagers try to get further away from their parents before they do anything, and the traffic just doesn't exist by my apartment. No, I'm talking about these:

And these:

Every night. Right outside my lofty "bedroom" window. To explain, please first imagine, "The Birds," the Pixar short before, "Monsters Inc." In it, several small birds land on a telephone wire, and immediately begin bickering amongst each other. The above wire is the same situation, but a worse sound. Imagine a happy little song bird; now stick our feathery friend in a blender, let 'er rip, and record whatever horrid sound comes through. This is the sound every bird on the wire makes. All. Night. Long. The tree, I should mention, is a similar story. It too is crawling with birds, which makes the entire tree shake in a way reminiscent of the velociraptors in, "Jurassic Park." It is sights like these that remind the mammalian population that the only reason we currently occupy our niches is because the dinosaurs got small, feathered, and delicious (sometimes I really hate my body for making me a vegetarian). It is terrifying, it is annoying, and it is life here in Konosu.

Standards
As I have mentioned, when you have your own apartment, you can do whatever you want whenever you want. Want to walk around nude? Go ahead. Want to burp and fart as you please? Do so with pleasure. Want to put up poster paper on the wall and use it to badmouth every single person who has ever said anything bad about you? Write away. But do keep in mind your standards. Yes, it is possible to do these things when you're alone and face no consequences--barring soon-to-be embarrassed unexpected guests--but keep in mind that humans are, by nature, creatures of habit. Had Bilbo tickled every fancy, Gandalf would have had his unexpected party at the home of a different hobbit. Likewise, if we choose to live with lower standards when alone in the comforts of our own home, that laxness will bleed into the rest of our lives. And, in many ways, that is good. Writing down the ways that someone can cause you problems can make one more candid in life, avoiding many problems by simply being honest and open. However, that candor can get a little grating; plus, by solely writing down what is wrong with people, we teach ourselves to be negative and only look for those aspects. Likewise, by walking around nude we can teach ourselves to be more comfortable with our bodies, but we can also become a little lax in our appearance. In all standards while alone, as in most parts of life, it is important to find a balance that you are both, a) comfortable with and, b) will allow you to still function unimpaired outside of your abode.

One final point to any intrepid adventurer out there: never be afraid to get lost, and if you do get lost, don't panic (note the big, friendly letters). Getting lost is part of exploration, because if you only stick with what you known, you'll never find your next gem. The first thing that you should do when it happens is find your barrings. Did you just get out of a station from an unfamiliar angle? Then where is the station. Looking for a specific store that you last saw at night? Look for any big or familiar land marks. If you can get yourself situated in relation to what you know, then you're more likely to be able to find either what you're looking for, or something better. The second thing that you should do is to remember where that landmark is, and never get separated from it. Think of it as a life-line--or a Golden Man, to use the Willamette term--that will always guide you back home. Now, the third thing: once you have yourself situated, pick a direction and go. Look for anything else familiar that you can use to triangulate the thing you're looking for. Don't be afraid if this takes a while, but use your logic: if you feel deeply that what you're looking for wasn't this far away, then turn back. Don't do the asinine man thing and keep going; you will just end up looking like a block headed tourist when you finally break down, ask for directions, and find out that it had just been around the corner from where you had started. Five miles away. Lastly, never lose your head. Even if you don't know where you are, odds are that those around you do. There are people all over the world willing and able to help a tourist in need. Plus, as any adventurer worth their salt knows, while the story of the destination may last a few minutes, the story of the journey can be three times as long and infinitely more entertaining. Well, this has been another adventure of the Austentatious; if you liked it, tell your friends; if you hated it, tell your enemies; and if you don't care either way, tell everyone.

Ep. 7 Ko-nowing Konos

Far from a vicious vacuum of vice, villainy, and vitriolic viscosity, this veritable village--of a certain city size--of Konosu seems a peaceful place of sleep and slumber. Having lived here for but two weeks, the epicenter of activity--the Elumi shopping mall--is well explored and known. However, outside the mall exists a world both fain and fair; a world filled with the meeting of the known and unknown, a point where feelings of nostalgia mix with the curiosity caused by a circuitous circumference of culture: The Knownish lands. Here reside the Knownish people, so called because while they may be known by appearance or personality, they are known no further than that. Here too reside the Knownish fauna, who are so famed for their trickery of appearing as simple trees of a similar yet subtly-strange variety to what one has back home. Likewise are the Knownish buildings, which contain such Known symbols as these

the ever swirling infinity of red, white, and blue symbolizing the ever entwined--yet never modernly mixed--professions of barber and surgeon. Likewise, on a similar yet more fashionable shop, appears the lettering

So familiar, yet the meaning is hidden behind a cultural wall alien to American sensibilities. Equally un-comprehensible is the unusual usage of, "since" upon this circular sign. Usually symbolizing a certain sagacity and skill, in this case it's decree that said shop has existed since the very beginnings of time ten years ago in 2003 gives the impression of higher dreams than the bright colors suggest. Still, within this town there do indeed lie many secrets; secrets so terrible and grand that they dominate the atmosphere of a one block radius. Still, as an intrepid explorer and adventurous American, it is my duty to uncover those secrets and restore peace, order, rational, and utter chaotic insanity to this world!


I am convinced that 90% of the shops in Konosu fall into one of two varieties. They are either a) hair cutting places, or b) Patisseries. The above two where less than a block apart from each other, with another around the corner from each. Plus the one in the mall...plus the one across the street from the mall...plus the one around the corner from the mall...etc etc etc. The pastry shops, however, are a little more difficult to find, due to their desire to be more refined. They seem to shun bright colors entirely, going for the classy look that only the utterly obtuse obtain. In fact, quite often they are a combined flower and pastry shop. There are four in the mall, all next to each other, though one has been relegated to the position of kiosk. There is another across the street from the mall,

one around the corner from my apartment, etc you get the idea. They are everywhere; and for the life of me I cannot see how they could all stay in business. In fact, I can't see how any of them are in business, since I have never seen a single human being set foot in one; but obviously, the desire of this town for constant haircuts and a near limitless supply of small, sweet treats must go beyond the normal. Still, I have only been here a few weeks; it might make an interesting little experiment to see how many are still around at this time next year.

Anyway, this is the mall where I work:

 And this is the insane intersection near the mall:

True, in terms of sheer messiness this has nothing on kamikaze corner (I must admit, I feel a little strange saying that name while being in Japan, given the differences--and there's another earthquake--in how our respective cultures see that word. But, a name is a name, so I will use it) but it is still intimidating none the less. This is a T shaped intersection--clearly seen here are the arms of the T...

And from here, pretty much directly across the leftmost cross walk from where I was, you can sort of see the intersecting end of the other road. You can also see the brilliant simplicity in their solution. See, the danger in an intersection is that some sad pedestrian will try to walk across and get hit by a car. Within the general perception of the universe, this is considered bad. So, in what was obviously a quest to save lives because people apparently weren't smart enough to go across one way and across the other, all pedestrians walk at the same time. No cars. And, not surprising, this works. People don't have to worry about being hit by cars, and cars don't have to worry about being sent to the scrap heap because their insurance premiums got too high. Overall, an elegant--if strange--system.

There is a building next to the mall. Here is what the sign outside says.

A fairly small and quaint public library. They have their movie section, their music section, and they even have a little section for children where you have to take off your shoes. All in all, a quaint, civic little place of learning and self betterment. This is the building that it's housed in:

The library takes up a fraction of the first floor, the rest being given over to storage and things. The second floor, apparently, has a rather nice--and cheap--Italian restaurant. All in all, a fun little cultural exchange to compliment the library one floor below. The top two floors, however, are something all together different. They are the brand new--and, at $18 a ticket, expensive by US standards--movie theater. I have not gone to a movie yet, but in a land where I feel like I'm in the future, suddenly I know events before they happen. Because this theater shows a lot of international films, and they tend to be several months behind the US. As such, while Japan is only just starting to get promotions for a movie entitled, "Minions" in Japan, I already know the plot (also, hearing minions singing Boberan while on the way to work is a surprisingly good pick-me-up). As such, I should be able to avoid spending my money there for a few months, although I must say that I am tempted to see what they are like.

Speaking of spending money, things in Japan are a little different than the US. For one, Japan is very much a cash based economy. That doesn't mean that places won't accept cards, but that to have someone in front of you pull out their card is akin to having someone ahead of you pull out their checkbook back home: things are about to take far longer than they should. Once the tech-obsessed dipwads have finished the overly laborious process--read: I miss the ease that are swipers back home--and everyone else has gone through, it is now time to pay. In the US, it is considered good manners to pass the money physically from your hand to the employees hand; I don't know why, it just is. Here in Japan, that is not always the case; in fact, in most places, it is considered a tad barbaric to do so. Instead, most registers in Japan have a little pan next to them, either on the counter or on the teller machine. You put your money into the pan, and the checkout person will then take it, ask to make sure that this is how you want to pay, and give you your change. Generally, this change will include what is probably the single most useless currency that I have ever seen: the one yen coin. In a place where all but the cheapest of the cheap costs over 100 yen, why do they feel the need to have a penny? I will admit, we have the darn, useless thing in the US, and it's annoying because you almost never get to use it and it costs more to make than the value of the coin. But at least there it's a decimal place! Here, it's part of the larger total! Of course, since I mentally move the decimal place over two spots anyway, there really isn't any difference between the two coins. Oh wait, there is. In the US, we only really see a penny because something is ._9 cents. Here, I have bought things that end in a six, giving me four of the bloody things. Honestly, I keep carrying four one yen coins around with me to round up, but keep forgetting about them. GGGGAAAAAHHHHHHH!!! I'm drowning in circular aluminum uselessness!
But, back to Japan, your clerk will then give you your change. If you are in a grocery store, they will then hand you the new basket they have placed your items in, put in two plastic bags, and send you on your way to pack your own things into bags. It keeps lines fast, and ensures that you always know where everything is. In a goods store--such as where I got the throw pillows for my couch (that's right, I have throw pillows. This knowledge excites me more than it should, but the fact that I bought throw pillows for MY couch makes me feel so...responsible)--and non-grocery food stores, they will put your purchases in a bag and then carefully take the bag shut. Sometimes, after this, then will then put your smaller bag into a larger one, which they will keep open. I don't know why they do this, but they do. And I'm fine with it, because it ensures that all of my stuff stays dry, but it's still a little bit of a shock every time that they do it.
Now, the last difference in payment can be quite large. ~15% on average, to be precise. That's right, I'm talking about tips. In America, it is expected to tip, so workers wages are comparatively low with the expectation that their tips will make up the difference. In Japan, no one tips. Ever. For anything. So, today I had dinner and decided that I wanted a taste of home. It has been almost a month since I first arrived, and the only truly western thing that I have bought was a box of lucky charms. So, I went to the mall, went to the food court, and opted for the only western delight available to me: Baskin Robbins. I say only because, though there is a KFC in the food court, recent events have confirmed that meat is just not something that I can eat. Anyway, I was planning on a small cone, but when I got there I noticed that they still had a sign up. This was a sign that I had been staring at since it went up about a week and a half ago: crepes. Baskin Robbins was selling crepes. Now, they had moved the sign out of the way, so I hadn't noticed it at first. However, when I saw it I knew that one must be mine. So, I went up and, after a small exchange, ordered one. As this was an American based company, I expected that they would have the crepe in the back, waiting to be heated, then covered in ice creamy goodness and handed to the customer. No. This is Japan, where even McDonalds apparently tastes fresh and their Chicken nuggets apparently taste as though they once came from a real chicken. They gave me a number, and I got to watch as the lady behind the counter frantically made the dough, baked the crepe, prepared the whipped cream, and put on the ice cream, all while simultaneously helping the steady stream of customers who happened to come just behind me. I felt so bad that I was making the end of her day that much worse. In the US we are told that a tip is supposed to be for good service, so if someone treats you well then you tip them extra-well. However, in Japan, no one tips. For anything. Ever. And so, when my crepe was prepared, I thanked her, and felt bad that I could do nothing else for her incredible work ethic.

Now, I'm going to end this post with some pictures, but before I do I must reiterate a point that I made in my first post: I'm not here to talk about my job. Believe me, there are stories that I want to tell, but for my students and my fellow staff members, I won't--they're all positive stories, by the by. The thing is, as culturally illiterate as I am, I could easily say something that, in the US, wouldn't have even blipped on the radar of, "issue", yet here could be counted as a great insult. As an educator, I cannot and will not ever put anyone in my workplace in an awkward position--the surrounding community, however, is a different matter. One final thing about being abroad...(*spoiler alert*) for those of you who have not seen it, the new Star Trek movie starts off with the crew of the Enterprise saving a very technologically unadvanced race from extinction. In the process, they become gods, and the race abandons the religion that they had been following to now worship the Enterprise (*end spoiler*). I hate this part of the movie. I have kvetched to many people about this part of the movie. Why? Because culture lasts. More often than not, when a culture comes across something that it cannot explain, it does not abandon what it has and take up this new thing. Rather, it adapts the new thing to the culture. In the case of the movie, the aliens should have started worshiping the Enterprise as a messenger of the gods, not a supreme god itself. Likewise--and this connects to a story that I'm not posting here--people will always analyze new information within the framework that they have. So, if they make the wrong assumption from some new information, it's simply because they are adapting it to what their culture taught them to think. Anyway, this has been another Adventure in the Austentatious. If you liked it, tell your friends; if you hated it, tell your enemies; and if you don't care either way, tell everyone.



Picture Time:

This is what counts as a park in Konosu: a strip of green between two streets.

Yes, that is an ice cream vending machine. Now that I have seen everything

...

A cute little house that I saw. It's Western influence made it stand out.

I found a shrine, though I have yet to visit it.

Information about the shrine.

The entrance to a cemetery. I will be visiting there, but not with my camera.

I have no idea what this is, but it was on a back road behind a hair cutting place. Any ideas?

When abroad, anything recognizable jumps out at you. Hence this: Century 21.

A small map of Konosu, near the station.
One final thing; If you enjoy reading my blog, and want to hear the sound of my voice, let me know in the comments and I'll start up a video blog as well to give an animated sense to my stories.

Xenologue 5.1 The Joy of Cooking Illiterally

This section will be separated into three parts. The first will be all of my attempts, either failed or otherwise at Japanese cooking. The second will be all of the Japanese recipes that have been successful, and the third will be all of my other recipes that I am making while I am here.

1) Courageous attempts
Darn that curry. The rice maker worked perfectly, the tofu was ready, and then...but I'm getting ahead of myself. First, boil water, and add in vegetables. Then add in a block of curry, which will start dissolving.

 Once it has dissolved completely, take it off of the heat, but keep it covered. If you wish to add some, now is the time to add in the tofu. Next, take a bowl, and fill the bottom with rice.

 Then, pour curry on top of it.

 Crap, that curry is a bit more watery than it should be. Maybe I had too much water? Maybe if I put something else on it...

Hmmm...adding tofu doesn't make it look right. It was edible, that's for sure, but I wouldn't want to ever have it again. I'm thinking that I might have had either too much water, or not enough curry. Either way, the stuff should be darker than this, and far less runny. Overall, a disappointment...and it had smelled so nice too...and wouldn't you know it, when I was cleaning the dishes, it turned out that not all of the curry had dissolved. No, there was a good sized chunk of pure curry at the bottom of the pan. Still, I have more, so attempts will be made!
note: Success!..I think...
#2: Fail...utter fail...my no feels good...ugh...!
#3: Success? Maybe? I'm giving it a few hours before I make a call.

2) Japanese successes
Okonomiyaki:
 Add a half cup of water for every cup of okonomiyaki powder, then stir them together in a bowl. Then, add one egg for each cup of powder, as well as any fillings that you wish it to have--usually, vegetables and meet. Now, coat the bottom of a pan with oil, and set it on heat. Then, as the oil starts to bubble, pour about a cups worth of okonomiyaki into the pan. When it has fried enough that the sides have the consistence of bread, flip them. If done right, they should cook well and look like this:

Then, you cover it in the sauce,and enjoy.
Later addition: If you add vegetables, it ends up looking like this:

And then with sauce...

Om nom nom (one of my greatest feats in college: getting Om Nom Nom into an in class essay. A rough paraphrase of the quote: "The Christian god is omnipotent, omniscient, omnieverything, Omni Omni Omni).

Japanese Curry:
No success yet, but gosh darn it I will get everything right eventually.
Success...but no pictures. I think that this curry is supposed to be more liquidy than the one that I had before. The issue last time was too much water; at least it was edible this time.

3) Depression Era Cooking
The Austin Special:
This is for everyone who had breakfast with me in college. This is really simple: scramble one egg, and make one piece of french toast. Bada bing, bada boom, you're done.

A Schocking Breakfast:
First, scramble two eggs. Then, place them on a piece of bread.

Finally, drizzle yogurt on top.

Now, if you are feeling up to it in your budget, you can purchase some fruit and have that as well.

Tada, a Schocking Breakfast. And, as an added tip, the lids of Tupperware work wonders for that other side of the grapefruit:

A Schocking dinner:
A variation on the Schocking Breakfast. First, take beans that are recognizeable because they are in English (always a plus, that).

 Then, heat them over the stove. Finally, drizzle them over a piece of bread,

and throw in some kind of citrus fruit. Congratulations, you have made a Schocking Dinner. It's filling, it's cheap, I think that it's healthy, and it's easier on your teeth.

4) Juice Cubed
Tired of always running out of juice? Do you wish you had more when it's almost gone? Well is there a solution for you. First, pour juice into a third of a cup.

 Then, just add water.

Voila! Your juice will now last three times as long.

And, as an added tip, when your juice gets down to a third of the container, just fill it back up, full as new!

5) The Diet Doughnut
Want a doughnut without all the hassle of killing yourself faster? Have I got the delectable for you. First, take your standard avocado, and saw that sucker in half lengthwise. Now, split the sides to leave yourself with...that's right, two halves of an avocado! Ent life amazing that way. Now, remove the pit from the side that still has it. You now have to delicious pieces of greenery with ready made holes already cut. However, if you would like to you may enlarge the holes with the help of a spoon. Now, peel the skin off, and fill the hole, leaving you with...

Dum, duh duh DDDAAAAAHHHH! The world's healthiest doughnut. Now, if you fill it with something gooey, like yogurt, then your doughnut might not last very long. However, filling it with something stronger, like cream cheese, will allow you to neatly put your creation back together, leading to screams of fear whenever you start munching on your Frankenstein-esque creation.



6) Tha-nihon-sgiving Pasta
Being a vegetarian for a meal dedicated to the mastication of plucky yet domesticatedly dumb foul can be tricky. Being a vegetarian in Japan can be tricky. Ergo, being a vegetarian at a Thanksgiving feat in Japan is tricky^2. Thankfully, history gave us pasta, sauces, and veggies to provide possibilities and proteins (mmmmm...living). To start off with, bring a pot of water to boil. Then, add in as much pasta as you would like.
//**editors note: When making food for eight people, assume that everyone will bring enough food for eight people. Unless 56 more people magically appear, please only prepare enough food for four people...or expect to live on left overs. Lots and lots of tasty leftovers.**//
Stir for a couple of minutes, and then add carrot slices. This is not because you rather like boiled carrots, but when going to a party it is important to keep in mind that others apparently enjoy their vegetables mushy. While this mixture boils, dice up two or three I-have-no-idea-what-kind-these-are mushrooms, one small green pepper, and a few more carrot slices. Once the pasta is tender, drain the water and add in as much sauce as is appropriate. Then, add in the diced vegetables, turn off the heat, and mix. Voila, a healthy, tasty pasta.



6) The Not-In-Cups No-Bake Cookies
Are you one who religiously follows the directions for any recipe? Have your friends been trying to help you turn your fondu into fun-do? Then try this delicious recipe on for size.
Step one: Find a delicious looking recipe online for one of your favorite treats, the no-bake cookie. Then, carefully scour the store for the right ingredients. You will find them, but you might be taken aback by the fact that there are two kinds of sugar. This will be unexpected, but don't worry, it won't affect the taste. Get everything home, and then pull out a measuring cup to get everything just right. Stare at the cup until you realize that it's measuring in ml instead of cups. Stare at the recipe that gives instructions in cups. Think briefly about finding a quick converter online, but then dismiss the thought because Japanese cups are smaller anyway. Mix a dash of milk, a bit of butter, a lot of sugar, and some chocolate into a bowl. Put the bowl on the stove, and wait for it to boil.
//**
//I had a picture for this stage, but it got lost in the data transfer. Sadface.
//**
Now, add some peanut butter and a metric ton of oatmeal. If you are using a normal sized Japanese container of peanut butter, this should be about half the container. Mix everything together, then carefully ladle it out into balls. Eat and enjoy.
For even more fun: Wait ten minutes, then realize that you completely forgot to add the vanilla. You can either panic for five minutes, or decide that they're fine either way.

Ep. 6Fairwell to Omya-rms

When last I posted, I was sitting snug in the simple yet secure hold of the Omiya training house, having just justified the price of the flight with two weeks of tense, turmultuous training and ten hours of timely travels in Tokyo. Alas, no more, for on that Monday--being Sunday back in the yesterday land of Oregon--we were careened by careful cabbies to the central station where, by the good graces of Greenery, we were all to go our separate ways. But first, by luck and fortitude, we had arrived early by an hour, allowing us freedom to collect delectibles of every shape and size--providing they were small and would fit in a cardboard ring--and descend into any possible debauchery. Thankfully, good manners held firm and the probably possibility of pernicious perpetrations was never considered. First to go was myself, collected from my captivator by a small woman. And so, good byes were said, bags were collected, and freedom was at hand from the beautiful bubble of blissful English in which we trainees had been living.
The rest of the day passed in a relative blur, with the ever efficient train delivering us to our delightful destination in a particularly prompt manner. Following a short foray into the modern yet friendly font of English that is my school, I was whisked away to prepare for my new home. First, a signature stamp; for reasons still unknown to me, it has yet to be delivered. Secondly, to city hall where, with enthusiasm and speed rivaling the most stereotypical DMV, I was registered as an audaciously ostentatious alien among them. While waiting and watching the shifting and circulating river of natives, I couldn't help but realize this simple yet amazing and extraordinary fact: this slim city--for few buildings rise above the fourth floor, truly tiny in comparison to tall Tokyo--was to be my abode and residence for the foreseeable future of--at least and not limited to but possibly solely entailing--twelve months! What adventures to be had? What lessons to learn and stories yet lived to be told? Only time would tell and ignorance would provide.


So, following our trip to city hall--which lasted about two hours, I think--we walked back to the school, picked up my stuff, and headed off to my apartment. I remember hearing, during training, that most of my fellow trainees had brought with them at two suitcases in addition to that which they had brought to training. All I can say is thank goodness I only brought one. Yes, my guide (not the same one who lead me through Tokyo, this was a new person) offered to help me out, but gosh darn it we didn't have far to go and I had packed the stuff with the understanding that I was to carry it to my apartment! Stubbornness, if you couldn't tell, is common on both sides of my family.

Thankfully, my apartment is, perhaps, 100 meters from the station (I am also thankful for Willamette, for if the trains make any noise as they go by then I have yet to notice them). We arrived, however, to find that my guide had left the key back at the school. So, she ran back to grab it while I hauled my stuff up to the my door on the top floor of the building. It's only a two story building, so I didn't have that far to go, but, "top floor" sounds much more impressive than, "second story." Anyway, by this point I was tired. Yes, I hadn't had that far to go, but I was in a new place, surrounded by new people, and I was about to have the brand new experience of actually living on my own. It also didn't help that I had been hoping to live in the rather taller apartment building next to mine, and hadn't even noticed its squat form until my guide had pointed it out. However, while waiting, I reassessed. Coming to Japan was not about me--well, it is, but not in this way--it was about my students first and foremost. This company had hired me, given me two weeks of training and lodging, and had an apartment for me. As such, no matter what, I should take whatever they have given me with the good grace and thankfulness that is the Oregon way--or, at the very least, the Oregon that I was brought up in. So, by the time my guide returned I had calmed myself down and re-prepared myself for a living situation tinier than any I had ever had. The key was put in the lock, the door was opened, and I found myself looking at...

(minus my stuff). It was bigger than I had thought it would be, and I had not anticipated the wood floor. It was everything that I had dreamed of and more. As such, I now present my first apartment:

 My futon, in my loft, my first night here.

 The same loft, also my first night here. Also, the terrifying ladder of death, and the door to my hallway/ kitchen/ laundry room.

 So, apparently you're supposed to hand futon's outside something like every day to keep them from getting mildewy. I haven't been doing so this week, and as it was raining something terrible this morning, hanging it outside seemed counter productive. So, I McGuivered it.

 The view one way from my front door. The building with the red roof is the train station, and the building right behind it--the one doing its best to blend in with the sky--is the mall that my school is at.

 The view the other way from my apartment.

 Looking through the front door at the hall/ kitchen/ laundry room. The other door was closed because I had yet to clean. I took that first picture after all of the cleaning was done...

...mostly...So, yeah, I have a couch.

 This time a wide view of the loft, now that I have moved in. Note all of the storage space.

As I said, mostly clean. At the very least, a lot better than it was. Currently, there's laundry hanging everywhere, but I think that it's mostly dry now.

I got some food with the help of a staff member from the school, cooked a simple meal, and watched TV. I didn't understand any of it, but it was still nice to have one as I started to unpack...a process that lasted most of the week, because a) I really didn't want to have to do all of that work, and b) I had a lot of work to do besides.

But that's beside the point. One of the most interesting experiences one can have is grocery shopping while illiterate. Now, obviously, either I am literate in English or am doing one of the most amazing magic tricks ever. I am, however, virtually illiterate in Japanese. While I had memorized the Hiragana and Katakana alphabets over the first half o the summer, I forgot most of them over the second half. And, while I did indeed do Rosetta Stone, I found it virtually useless once I got over here. Yes, I can ask, "what is that?" but I will have no idea what the person will say back. I can count to 19, but that doesn't help if I cannot understand when I'm asked for a number. I was taught how to say hello and goodbye, but not how to thank, say, "you're welcome," or say, "excuse me." Those I either already knew or learned when I came over here. In short, my knowledge is on the whole useless, especially when it comes to shopping. Vegetarianism--and I'm talking ovo-lacto, not pescatarian--while possible in Japan, can be quite difficult. They use meat in some of the most creative ways I have seen, and have put it in nearly everything. I swear, I have seen meat put in meat because the latter wasn't meaty enough. As such, I have to be really careful. Good example: on my first night here, I got a thing that I thought was a form of instant okonomiyaki (please see my new, "cooking" post). It required a bit more cooking than I thought, and it didn't have the vegetables in it like I thought it would, and it came packaged with...something. They looked sort of like cheese puffs, but smelled like fish. For the life of me, I couldn't tell what they were. But, since having plain okonomiyaki seemed a tad...odd...I decided to try a sample of one. I bit into it, and immediately started to gag. For those of you who don't know, I am a vegetarian not because I want to be one, but because my body rejects meat products--and that includes sour gummy worms :( but not, I have found, marshmallows or cooking oils. I know not why. Anyway, I gagged, I coughed, I nearly threw up. Whatever they were, they had enough meat that my body didn't want to deal with it. Now, I had been careful when shopping--to the extent that I wrote down the kanji for, "meat" [niku], "fish" [sakana], and other meaty things--but I will be a bit more careful from now on as I start to experiment and will search very carefully for those words.
Pictures, of course, do help, but if I'm to learn to live here then I have to at least learn how to read both nutrition facts and cooking instructions. Case in point, I feel as though everything that I buy is trial and error in its preparation. The curry came out too runny, and the okonomiyaki had no vegetables, but the worst so far has been the pancake mix. I saw it on the shelf, thought of home, and said, "yes, I will make pancakes on Sunday morning and it will make me feel at home." No dice. I bought the mix, brought it home, flipped it over and then realized that I have no idea how to turn the mix into food. It has some basic pictures, but I have no idea if I need to add eggs or milk to it or anything else. As such, it has sat in my pantry while I stew over what to do. I'm not going to bring it into work to be translated; rather I'm either going to wait until I get a phone (can't do that until I get a bank account, and can't do that until I get a signature stamp) and install the Google Goggles app on it, find the right kanji (I know that the mix requires three of something, but I don't know what) or wait until a nice friend who can read Japanese offers to translate it for me from a picture. Regardless, such begins the joys of cooking illiterately.

One final note before I end this post. This past week was hard, really hard. I had to get acclimated to my job, to a different system of doing things, and to students, but to help me I had my amazing predecessor. She gave me incredible feedback that I will use to help myself become an incredible teacher. For her farewell dinner, we went to a kareoke bar. I had the time of my life, though it went a bit later than I like, and I think that I can safely say that I was the only sober person there who sang and definitely the only person who danced on stage. The nice thing about not drinking is that I was a) in complete control of myself at the time, and b) I will remember it all. So, I thank my predecessor for being a truly inspirational role model, and I thank the staff at my school for being utterly welcoming, making me feel at home, and providing the perfect end to a long week. This has been an Adventure in the Austentatious. If you like me, tell your friends; if you hated me, tell your enemies; and if you didn't care, then tell everyone.