There's a spider in our apartment that we can't quite seem to get rid of. It usually hangs out behind the wardrobe, but sometimes I can sense that it's on the prowl. 80% of the time my spider sense turns out to be right, and I'll see the little bugger splayed out innocently on the wall either to the left or right. Seeing as how neither Aaron or myself can catch it before it goes back behind the wardrobe, we've decided to name it so that it seems more like a pet and less like a very small monster that will lay its eggs in my ear while I'm sleeping.

Our spider shall henceforth be known as Bobby Briggs.
I don't know what kind of spider Bobby Briggs is. One day, Aaron and I walked a few yards into a bamboo forest. Aaron knocked on a hefty bamboo, and a spider about the size of a Big Man's palm answered. Aaron reckons that Bobby Briggs is that kind of spider, but Bobby Briggs is much smaller because there isn't enough to eat behind the wardrobe.

Completely unrelated: I taught a class of third graders yesterday that was interrupted by a man who looked like a Japanese member of Insane Clown Posse jumping out and yelling at them.



I was shown a few magazine articles on this man. Apparently he goes to schools and frightens children. The pictures in the articles featured crying, anguished little girls and boys. I suppose he then decides if the kids are good or not, and if they're good, he makes balloon animals for them.

Seeing this man in action, I finally realized that Japan is as absurd as they made it seem back home.

I know I've gotten awful at updating; I suppose I just haven't felt like it lately. I think my blogging lethargy began at almost exactly the same time as my new job. Some of you may be surprised to discover that I'm accepting yen in exchange for teaching children. Merely imagining the range of emotions each individual child may go through in a single hour, face contorting as they shriek with laughter or shout in frustration... well, it exhausts me. And these are Japanese kids. On the whole, well-behaved.

Aaron and I witnessed a local band performing at a coffee shop the other day. I think those of you back in America will be pleased to note that the tradition of bands having older male musicians and a young female singer is a global phenomenon. This typical band setup never fails to annoy me. The old boys in back are all always technically skilled, and the cute young lady sitting in front of them has (70% of the time) obviously never invested any time in training her voice. There is never any doubt that she is only there to be adorable. This was no exception. Between songs the girl singer would do "kawaii" things. Perhaps she was apologizing for being so mediocre.
Ladies. It's okay if you want to be in a band, but don't want to learn an instrument. But please at least treat your voice like an instrument, especially if you are singing in a musically proficient band.
The cute girl left for a few of the songs, and one of the men who sat in the dark behind her came up front to sing. He was at least 50x better than her, which made me even angrier at all of them for putting a girl in their band just to look pretty. She probably stands in front wearing white in photos while all of the men stand behind her wearing black. Ugh.

If it sounds as if I am bitter, I think my mood has been adversely affected by all the reports I've been reading about the BP oil spill. Perhaps my desire to never own a vehicle will seem more sane to other people now. On the other hand, I'm a hypocrite because I don't intend to stay in one place (town, state, country, continent) for too long while I'm still young. Maybe I should reassess my goals and values.

On a completely different note, my birthday is in about a week. I turned 21 in Berlin, 22 in Greensboro, and I'll be turning 23 in Japan. I suppose I'd say that that fact alone means it's a strange time to be alive.

I like talking to ex-pats who've been in Japan so long that they're turning Japanese (I really think so). The best part about them is that they seem to have forgotten that other people understand English. They've grown used to speaking English slowly and with the very strange pronunciation reserved for morphing English sounds into vaguely Japanese syllables.

I met a man from the States who I thought was German for the majority of our first meeting. I thought that, while his English was quite good, it still wasn't coming to him completely naturally. I'm worried that when I come home I will begin talking to you all as if you were deeply stupid. I will insert long pauses, round my vowels, flash my teeth on consonants, and gesture to visually help you understand the meanings of my over-simplified sentences.

I'm so sorry.

Udon slurps

A proud day: I rode the train to Takamatsu, found the immigration building, and ordered udon all on my lonesome.

I wish I could record the majestic sounds of the Japanese udon shops and play them for you all instead of having you read this blog. The slurping song of salary men! Their triumphant noodle sucking symphony finds its crescendo in satisfied sighs and grunts. Let no man, woman, or child assume that these suited gentlemen do not enjoy their fat noodle-broth concoctions.

I, silly foreigner that I am, still try to eat my noodles soundlessly. Maybe they think I don't like it. Don't worry, my Japanese friends; it is pretty tasty.

I did the most Japanese thing ever today. I stood next to a vending machine while I drank my vended drink.

In Japan, vending machines vend everything. Soda, coffee, tea, alcohol, pictures of naked ladies, batteries, even some sort of corn stew. So, you'd think ("you" most likely being a milk-scented American) that you'd see people strolling along the sidewalks sipping Coke products and bottled corn (which are roughly the same thing).

That is where you'd be wrong. It's not "polite" to eat or drink while walking. So you either take your treat home with you or stand awkwardly next to the machine while you enjoy it. It's created some strange traffic hazards; one day I had to walk in the road because a flock of girls dressed in sailor uniforms were trying to enjoy their vended ice cream without leaving the safety of the area directly in front of the machine. ARIGATO GOZAIMASU, little school girl sailors.

But as for me? I'm a fat and sassy American! I have no concern for others! My own pleasure is first and foremost and if you hate having to watch me walk and drink tea at the same time, to hell with you! At least, that's how I thought in the Before Time. Now I understand that simultaneously moving my mouth and my feet is a crime beyond measure.

Stuffed People

I'm not sure if this phenomenon is unique to Ikeda, or if Japanese people the country over just love to trick me with fake versions of themselves, but these gentlemen and ladies of the cloth always creep into my view and startle me as I wander around.

Osaka

I went to Osaka. This is what I saw.










(SHONEN KNIFE!)

This was my nearly constant expression during my four days there:



This is Masa, the best Nihonjin I've yet met:



I was bumbling around Osaka on my lonesome, trying to find the club Shonen Knife was playing at that night so that I could procure last minute tickets. I suppose I looked pretty lost & bewildered, because this hero came up to me and asked if I was looking for the venue. Then he walked me there, helped me figure out how to get tickets, and gave me his number so that I could call him if I got lost again. After the show, he introduced us to Shonen Knife and took photos for us. He is surely the best man in Japan. That is why I have made a sketch of him for you, my beloved blog readers.