Lady Gaga's Revenge........

The other night, I was just getting off the bus after a long day at school.

It's turned bitterly cold here, and even though the weather channel keeps threatening us with snow, it never seems to arrive, so things just get colder and dryer, until you feel as though your ears may snap off in protest, when you forget your hat.

Now as you may or may not know, we have moved countries a couple of times, and just as a precaution (my husband isn't comfortable dealing in English)  I have given The Boy a mobile phone.

He is only 8, and I know it seems a bit early for such luxuries, but it is very useful.  If I am going to be late, I can call him directly, (because he isn't allowed to answer the phone at home, if he gets in before I do) and when he is at the park, or has walked a friend home, and I want to know where he is, him and I can check in.  

He can also call his Grandparents, and Me and his Dad  (and we can call him)  for free and talk as long as we like, so it's worth the 20 bucks I month, I reckon.

He is fairly responsible, and he knows only to call me when I am at work for  an emergency.  The Daddy is home to fetch them from school when I work late (about 4 days a week out of 6).

So I am getting off the bus.  I have forgotten my hat and gloves, and I am trying to  wrap my scarf around my head, like an old woman, so I don't lose my ears to frostbite, when my phone rings with The Boy's designated ring tone (The Super Mario Theme) and I put the icy thing to my ear and say "Hello!??"
His breathy little voice whispers,

"Mummee! You gotta help me!" 

and all sorts of dreadful things flash through my mind.   I have been at work all day, and The Daddy has been in charge.   

Has he forgotten to fetch the Duck from Kindy?   Has he fallen asleep and burnt the house down? Is he hurt??  Is The Boy locked out!??  Where is The Daddy!!?
 
Shunny continues with his urgent message, which is,

"How do I kill Lady GaGa? She can fly and she keeps beating me"

I think " Wait, Lady GaGa can fly??" 

So I ask what are you playing (I can here game music  in the background, and a voice, just like Lady Gaga that keeps saying  "Aaahh! OOfff  Ooof! Hya! Do you like that!??  Do you LIKE THAT!!?")

He says he is playing Street fighter, Capcom Versus Marvel.

I am now thinking "Lady Gaga is a Marvel character?? Apparently she is hard to beat, because she can fly. Who knew?"

I am not quite home yet, but I'm sure they  are all suppose to be :

1. eating dinner.  OR


2. doing their homework.  OR

3. in the bath at some point. 

THIS is what happens when you leave The Daddy in charge....

Luckily, the mystery was solved when my friend, Mary sent me a message that said : 

"Okay I know who Lady Gaga is" 

• • Yep Miss Mary De, that's her alright. 

     

    The Boy is actually playing online (the Daddy bought a new system) with someone over the other side of the world. 

    Also, I don't know how to beat lady Gaga. 

     http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn%3AANd9GcRJUbb_lz2dNcdwbOIfkpPnNCd2bNT8iHt4SGMRzGrC181KkV4JB9cnEPbr5w

     

    I am home now, and it was only the sound of game music that saved me from a Mummee Meltdown, when the phone call started with a panicky little "Mummee! You gotta help me!"

Train Train Train.

 I am on trains and buses a lot.  Mostly trains.  My job takes me to all the most far flung, and some times scenic stations of Honshu, mostly inside (but sometimes waaaay outside) Greater Tokyo.

I probably travel about 15 hours a week on public transport.  Thank goodness it's EXCELLENT here in Japan.  I gave up my car last year, and really haven't missed it much.

I was on the train with Head Butt Boy again this morning. Him, and my evil nemesis, Skeevy Gaijin-hating Oji were squaring off. 

If you cast your mind back, you may remember about three weeks ago I saw the PERFECT Bankstown kiss executed on the train, when a Salaryman shoved a Rocker (now known as Head Butt Boy) out the train doors, and got a beautiful headbutt to the forehead for his touble.

At the time,  I peeked over the top of my book to see the argy bargy unfold before we got to Shinagawa. 

All the other passengers slid away, moving well back from the violence.  It's not often you see proper punch ups on Tokyo trains, despite the crowded carriages, not so many people lose their tempers and throw a wobbly.  

I am from a fairly rough part of Sydney, and you can have it on my authority that Salary men here in Tokyo can't fight for shite.  

It's a ritual.  It consists of them getting drunk, wrapping their neckties around their heads, going red in the face and getting too loud.  They stand metres apart, and wave their hands around, and shout obscenities at one another  (sometimes throwing a kick into thin air), but they don't throw punches.  

Usually.

When HBB turned and planted one on the offending Salaryman, I did a tiny fist pump and let out a silent little "YES!!" of triumph.

I felt a bit guilty, as I am not into violence, but I get pushed , shoved and belted around a lot on the train, by these guys in suits who think they are the only people on public transport that really matter. 

They won't let old ladies or people on crutches sit down, they ignore or push past pregnant women, and sit in the Silver Seats (designed for the elderly, handicapped passengers or those pregnant or with small children).  

They then pretend to go to sleep.

It gets up my nose.

 

This morning, Skeevy Gaijin Hating Oji once again found me. 

I try to get on a different carriage every day to avoid the prick but he seems to find me all the bloody time.

 

When ever the train is over crowded he shuffles next to me and does one of three things. He will constantly make the "oh look what a big nose you have, and look!   You have big biiiiig boobs! herrr herrrr herrrr!"  gestures or he yells out random English in my direction, so everyone turns and glares at me for the whole commute. 

The worst thing he does is when I change from foot to foot  balancing on the moving train, or I lean out of the way to let someone get past.   He slides his leg into the space where my foot needs to put itself down again.  If the train is really crowded, there isn't any room anywhere else for my feet to go, no where to step,  I am on one foot.

Last time he pulled this little number, everytime I tried to put my foot down on the floor, he would boot my ankle, almost sending me flying. I did this one foot & one hand, bent over balancing act for 10 full stops until Shinagawa. 

 

It takes an extraordinary amount of energy not to do my rag, and punch him in the throat. 

I have tried to eschew violence, because I am an angry little white woman, and one of these little dolly bodied people may come to some serious harm if I go postal. 

 

This morning, he started to make fun of Head Butt Boy, and made a grab at his guitar case.   Although the train was crowded, becuase I ignored this mornings performance of "shouting random English at Wendy" Skeevy Oji decided to change targets. 

Aaaand got a head butt to the cheek. 

When I got off at Shinagawa, I gave Head Butt Boy a big cheesy.

 

If the cops ask me, I'm saying the Oji swung first.

What's for dinner, love?

So,  The Daddy has been home all day, and I have been at work, but there is nothing in the house for dinner.   

This not really big news, it happens a lot.  I wonder what his to-do list is, sometimes, as today he went shopping, but only bought cake and new shoes.   I baked cake last night.  He needed another one?  Couldn't find anything for dinner?  We are going to eat the shoes?

He helpfully texted me from the train to work that KFC is on sale tonight.  It's the 28th, which is said Ni Wa (chicken) in Japanese.

I am not a big KFC Japan fan. 

In Oz, it's fine.  They have spicy chicken, put chicken salt on the chips, you can have corn, potato and gravy, if you want it all to be drumsticks, the smiley-paper hatted staff are there for you.  

In Sydney, but NOT in Tokyo.

There is just no potato and gravy to be found anywhere on the KFC premises here.  No substitutions will be made.  No popcorn chicken, no chicken bacon cheese burger, NO ZINGER!

Where I live out here in Bum Crack Kodaira, they don't even put salt on your chips.  Heathens.

 

I told the boys to get ready. Duck has done his nails, and is currently wearing a T-shirt and a pair of his older brothers grandpa underpants.  It's 3 degrees Centigrade outside.

 

His Duck nuts are free.   I know this because he is dancing around the living room, waving his hands like Lady Gaga so his nails are dry when we go out.

 The Boy is choosing which belt goes with his new jeans.  I am starving hungry, and I am thinking "Just shoot me now, we are never going to get out of here...."  but after about a half an hour, pants-less Duck has been convinced his nails are dry enough to attempt re-pantsing, and The Boy has finally decided on the silver studded belt and white and silver tennis shoes.  

KFC Kodaira is a smoke filled, garishly decorated cave.  I don't go very often, and I hate eating in.  The cigarette smoke does my head in.   They have a smoking area that is three walls of glass, in the middle of the room, with the air conditioner helpfully positioned so as to blow second hand smoke through the other parts of the restaurant.

Boy  takes FOREVER to order.  He has to look at the whole menu and discuss the merits of each item.  He takes his fast food choices very seriously, and also painstakingly fills out every. single. customer comment card.  In every place of business we visit, no exceptions.  

Duck only eats things that are green, or have green wrappers, or green writing on them and wears green clothes.  Spinach is apparently never included in this deal.  I dunno why. 

His pyjamas, strangely,  are a lurid, hot pink with little green flowers all over them. Every morning his father either has to bodily pin him down to remove the pink PJ's, or gives up and sends him to kindy dressed like Flower Power Barbie, with his school clothes in a plastic bag for Keiko Sensei to sort out.  She also looked after The Boy when he was at that kindy.  He used to strip off his clothes and wear skirts and aprons from the dress-up box all day.  I don't believe she gets paid nearly enough money.

Fifteen bucks later and we are upstairs, with greasy chicken, salt free chips, an orange juice and a violently toxic-green coloured cup of melon soda, for The Duck.

While attempting to eat my chicken, The Boy grills me about the service, the food, the cleanliness, the speed, the friendliness of the staff.  He double checks my answers for the service card, and listens to me bitch about the cigarette smoke.

He agrees they need a fourth wall or a door on the smoking section.

 

I look around, and the place has been re decorated.  It has one and half metre sized heads of strange white people, some with bewildered looks, some quite menacing, lining the walls.

The guy on the wall directly opposite me looks like he is angry, and has a gun.  He has a mad look in his eye.  The woman on the wall next to him looks stoned.  Maybe she is a hostage?  These huge menacing scenes are not helping me eat my chicken.  None of the people on the walls are eating chicken.  Or chips. They are just staring. And not eating.

The Be Bop Boys who hang out in the smoking area, (and are there every single time I have ever been there), have lit up, and I have stinging eyes.  My mouth tastes like greasy chicken and cheap cigarette smoke, I tell the boys it's time to get a wriggle on.

FINALLY they finish the last of the chips, and get their coats on.  I am dreaming of snuggling under the kotatsu, perhaps turning it up to high, as there is no washing up to do, and Boy has ACTUALLY done all his home work.

We get down stairs, and as I go to say goodbye to the counter staff, The Boy pulls the manager aside to tell him EXACTLY what Mummee said about the cigarette smoke.  Oh geeze.....

Two years ago, on The Boys first day at big school.....

I am currently having trouble controlling the public nudity displays by The Duck.  He seems to take No Pants Friday VERY seriously.

I am fairly sure my Japanese vocabulary is not sound enough to explain the bouts of public streaking that have been occurring, if I am stopped by the cops.  Number One Son's translation skills leave a little to be desired.  If the conversation does not revolve around trains, Pokemon, Mickey or the bloody Wiggles, there are usually large gaps in the information I receive.

And then there is the casual shop lifting.  It happened when Shun was a little baby  (he has stopped now, thank the Gods), but The Duck has taken it to masterful new levels.

Shun would just lift stuff at his eye level, whilst in the stroller, and it was usually sparkly or pretty, and easily returned with a large and embarrassing apology.  Most stuff like lip gloss or hair clips had the shops name on the back.    It was sometimes hard to part with his loot, as it was all very fashionable. He has very good taste :)

The Duck it waaaay more inventive.  Yesterday he charmed a waitress into giving him free stuff, played with her hair, admired her earrings, flirted with her a little, and when we got home, I found he had lifted her security tag.  ( I put it in their mailbox late last night, under the cover of darkness, may the Gods forgive me)

Couple of weeks ago, I bought a tube of fairly expensive skin cream from our local U.S pharmacy.   I use it on all of us, as the weather is very dry, and we all have chapped skin and the kids  got a little sunburned as well.

Everything in that shop costs a bomb.  It is priced like it's made from diamonds and unicorn feathers.
When I got home from the shops, I found the ENTIRE DISPLAY from a nice brand of nail jewels with little mirror attached, tucked into the bucket of the stroller.

How am I going to return it???

I have kept it hidden from my Mr, but he is sure to find it soon.

How did he get the whole thing off the shelf, without me or his brother or anyone else in the shop noticing??  He is not yet 2, would the shop manager believe me if I told her the truth?  It's getting to the point where I dare not take my eyes off him, the little cat burglar.  I don't want to get banned from any more shops.

He has the face of a bloody ANGEL.  He really looks like he would never do anything bad.  Big brown eyes, Loooong black lashes,  little Ducky face, charming smile, wonky little Ducky run, sweet little voice.

No one suspects he has the makings of a Master Thief.

Should I start saving for University or bail money?

In other news, Number One Son is having a rocky start to school here.  He isn't as popular amongst his classmates as he was in Oz.

He really believes he should be much more powerful in his social circle, so he has taken to insinuating himself into the good graces of the Lunch Ladies, who have fallen for his charms, and now submit to his lunch box demands.

No wonder the other kids are upset!  He gets special treatment, and ALWAYS gets picked for lunch duty.

At his year-end ceremony The Duck was quiet and well behaved until the EXACT moment Shun made his short speech to the school.  Duck let out an ear-splitting scream, and wailed Papaaaaa!  Noooooooo!  just his Dad went up to collect Shun's certificate and shake his hand.   Everyone glared at us.

Then when we went to The Boys commencement ceremony, The Duck sunk his sharp little teeth into my hand as we were singing the school song.  I still have a mark on my thumb.  It was only a thin sliver of self control that kept me from giving him a clip around the ear in public.  We were gawked at for bloody hours, and I was either ignored by the staff or spoken to as if I was retarded.   You know, how people look right in to your face and speak reeeeaaalllly slowly?  They always have a stupid smile on their mugs when they do it, too.


God I love the Japanese and their passive aggressive Gaijin fear.  I need a badge that says,
"Yes, I am foreign, thanks for remarking.  No, I am not deaf or simple, just not Japanese."

The day culminated in The Boy telling me I needed to smarten up my act, and go to the shops to buy things to make me look "more Japanese" like the other Mums.  He also narrowly missed out on a clout to the head.

I wonder where these items are that will make me look more Japanese?  Black hair dye perhaps?  Something to lop off most of my nose, bum, boobs and opinions?

Maybe I could buy a spray from somewhere to mask these things?

It took a whole two days for me to calm down enough to have a conversation with The Boy about Freedom, Individualism, Racial prejudice and just being fcuking rude and thoughtless to your Mum in public.

He has said he is sorry, and has displayed actual remorse without threats from me, which means he is either becoming more reasonable and mature, or he has learned to fake sincerity surprisingly well.  I choose to align myself with answer number one.



Thursday and Friday, The weekend's poor cousins

Thursday and Friday, Saturday and Sunday's poor cousins

by Wendy Elizabeth Horikoshi on Sunday, 09 October 2011 at 12:25

I'm a teacher, and I work on the weekends.  This has the advantage of having a couple of days during the week off, but it really has it's down sides, as well.

Yesterday was Duck's Undo kai (sports day in Japan).  I work from 9am till just before 11:30 on Saturday, and completely missed my little Duck's first sports day.  They get to dress up (he went as a cowboy)  and there is a parade and games.  He won a medal (I think everyone did) and I only know this because I raced from work to see the last part of the parade stop, and the end notes of the songs dying away.  I got to see the photo's.  It sucks on days like this to be the one who never has weekends off.

I am always racing at top speed on my bicycle or telling a taxi driver to Go! Go! Go! trying to get somewhere fast on these occasions.   Graduation speeches, school festivals, sports day, Kindy picnic, I am always the one who arrives late, puffed out, not dressed properly (I wear a suit, and sometimes a dress, as I teach in colleges and businesses, it's hard to play soccer in a dress, and dig sweet potatoes in a suit with no gardening gloves.)  I am pretty sure my dry cleaner hates me.

I try to make up for all this missing time by being a sporadic June Cleaver Mum.  You know?  Leave it to Beavers Mum?
She always had cookies just from the oven,  perfect dinner on the table, sandwiches with the crusts cut off.  Her kids seemed never to have last nights pizza for breakfast while on the back of the bicycle as she raced them to school before the gates shut.  I don't think she ever sent her kids to daycare in their pyjamas with the breakfast in a sealy bag, or put a sleeping child on the bicycle kiddy seat to go out, because she didn't have the heart to wake them up when they'd had a late night.  I bet her kids never had late nights.

I suffer from working mothers guilt.
And probably unreasonable expectations of real life, due to excess TV watching in my younger days.

I have five jobs.

Both of us work, and we play relay races with the kids.  When I come home, my Mr. hands over the baton to me, and picks up his bag, and is out the door before I can even say goodbye, have a good day.  Most of our parental conversations are on our mobile phones, at toilet breaks or in between classes.  If I don't hear his voice all echoing because he is hiding out in a bathroom cubicle when he talks to me, I think something must be wrong.  He finishes at midnight, and I occasionally see him in person, around two in the morning.  Or maybe it's just a dream.  I see him asleep, he sees me asleep.  It's not an ideal situation, Y'know?

I am the queen of stealth conversations.  I live in a town in Tokyo that has very strict rules about talking on your phone in public.  Kodaira is about 80% old people.  The will glare, spit, and tell you off for having a whispered conversation on a bus or train, and more times than I care to remember, have I been berated publicly over the bus loudspeaker by the driver for answering my phone's buzz (because it's my husband or the kid's school calling)  and "upsetting" the other passengers with my one-sided English conversation.  I'm really rude like that, how I disrupt Japan, with all my talking, breathing, and basically just not being Japanese.

I was at Costco the other day, and they had tiny Blue Tooth headsets for 25 bucks.  I bought one, and wear it as an earring constantly.  I put a book up to my face when it rings in my ear, and now the worst that people think of me, is that I am a bit thick, so I must read out loud.

Yesterday, as I got to Undo Kai at the end, we went to lunch Viking (smorgasbord).  Boy and Duck noted that they have never seen Toffee Apples in Japan.  In one of my finer June Cleaver moments, I nipped out to buy apples and sugar, and whipped them up five of these  yummy Autumn things.

June Cleaver probably wouldn't have let them eat Toffee Apples for dinner, though.  Hey, they had a big lunch right? ;)

It's what's for dinner!
MMMM shiny!

When your life needs a little sparkle....

I live here in Tokyo. 
Back in my home country I am very ordinary.  No one ever stares at me, or  uses me for random English language practice on public transport.  I can read all the labels, I don't have to guess the ingredients to food, and people don't actively cross the road to avoid me, or clap their hands in amazement when I eat with chopsticks.    In Tokyo I am a figure of much fascination.  Every little thing is a minor puzzle to be fathomed out (I can't read Kanji)  so just walking around takes quite a bit of energy, and feels like challenging experience, at times.
I just realized I lead an extraordinarily dull life in fact.   The day before yesterday my make up bag went to God.  I was heart broken, I loved that bag, and I took it everywhere with me. I was beside myself.

I keep my emergency lollies in it, in case I have a hypo and I have already eaten my emergency banana (I have hypoglycemia, and I have a designated Banana Case that I carry everyday, to stop it getting squashed in my bag) and The Duck actively mines in my back pack for sweets, abusing the zip on my little net bag until it finally bit the big one.

It came from a big 99 yen store, that has since closed down.

Now, I am not particularly cheap, but I am fairly poor, so I lamented the fact that now all my girly stuff was running wild and unchecked inside my schoolbag. Tampons touching my banana, the lid of my lipstick going astray, and drawing on my paper back novel as I walk to the shops, my head ache tablets getting into everything, and leaping out unbidden when I looked for something else.

Gods, it was horrible I tell you!  I was cranky for days and days, all my things higglety pigglety in my bag.  I hate having a disorganised bag.  I feel people judge you when you have to rustle for too long, trying to find something.

My friend saw my misery, and like a true gentleman, offered to let me have his bread maker as a hostage in my house indefinitely to ease my pain.  There are many lovely things about Japan, but proper bread seems to be a mystery to these people.  Japanese bread is soft, sweet, predigested muck.  When I go to the park and feed it to the ducks, I often have pangs of guilt about what I may be doing to their health.

I have had several dreamy hallucinations of eating real crusty bread in slices as thick as my hand, perhaps containing actual whole grain flour, and (Gasp!) seeds and other bits!! Lashed with butter and slathered with Vegemite, then I woke up, and remembered I don't have the bread maker yet, I only have products resembling a bread like shape in my house (that is where the resemblance to actual bread ends) and my make up things are still on the loose inside my back pack (sigh).

On the way back into to Tokyo from Yokohama, I spotted a new 100 yen shop in Takadanobaba, and with hope in my bosom, I rushed out of the station and scoured the shelves for a replacement make up baggy.

I found an Okaaaaaay replacement (it's not beautiful, but at least my tampons and my banana have separate lives now). The real reason I feel the need to write about this with breathless excitement, is that they have a WHOLE SECTION of nail art products all for around a buck each.

I scored a bunch of glittery nail pens and polishes in beyoootiful colours, two bottles of monomer liquid, brush cleaner, acrylic powder, a natty little dappen dish and some other goodies all for under 20 bucks. God I could live there.

Now everyone in my house has a mani and pedi (it's the last day of my 3 day Summer hols) except The Daddy, but he has to sleep some time....THE DUCK & I HAD MANNI／PEDI'STLADY BUG TOES

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25 Things about Japoon that are Excellent, Part 1

25 excellent things about Japoon, Pt 1

by Wendy Elizabeth Horikoshi on Friday, 19 February 2011 at 11:43

1. Public Transport.
Simply put, this country has the smoothest, cleanest, fastest public transport in the world. Easy to use, always on time, barring major disasters, and the best part is, if they ARE late, then you get a note from the train conductor to excuse your tardiness.  I am always so excited to get a late note, I keep it for the novelty value (twice in 14 years).  Trains in Australia run on a timetable that is mostly fiction.

2. Service.
Banks, Department stores, service stations, all have attendants to come and help you with your every need, with a smile. Need to fill in a form, use an ATM, buy a ticket or check your oil? There is always a uniformed attendant for you, and they usually speak a few words of English.  Nice.

3. Bicycle tracks.
I just gave up my car, and we have a family of four. This would be horrible in Oz. I have a 15km paved green road around Kodaira all the way to Tamagawa Josui, just for bikes and walking. Past all the major supermarkets and shopping streets, banks, parks and schools. I can bike anywhere, and if its a little too far, then I can take a bus or train.

4.The Magic Ticket.
You can pay for your drinks, bus, train and subway tickets, and even your Mc Donald's with your passmo/passmo credit card. Means you don't have to take it out of your wallet. How many times have you lost or bent your ticket? You can get a drink, breakfast, get your train and make it to work, all by waving your wallet or mobile phone past the sensor. You can even break your journey, and your magic ticket will keep it all on track for you. You can set it to auto recharge if you like as well, meaning you won't catch a bus again and not have enough change for the fare.

5.Serial Politeness.
People will be polite to you, and usually try to help you, even if they don't like you. If some one doesn't like you in Oz, you have about a 50% chance of a punch in the head.


6. Safety.
This is the safest place in the world, with the lowest crime rate for everything . You can leave your doors open, your car unlocked, and catch a train or bus and walk home alone at night at any time without of that inner city fear that you get in Sydney.


7. Vending machines.
They sell everything. Beer, cigarettes, rice, flour, hot coffee, soup, raincoats, umbrellas, hot food, ice-cream, cold drinks, snacks, flowers, magazines, porn, sex toys, newspapers, milk, fresh veges. You name it, however bizarre or mundane, however useful and unexpected, some one put it in a vending machine, probably along my street. The only thing you rarely see in vending machines is packets of chips and lollies.  Strange but true.

8. People are honest.
If you drop something, or lose something, it's odds on that you get it back. Wallets, cameras, phones, bags. It would all be lost for good in my home country, but it is returned with alarming regularity here.  I have dropped my wallet a few times, always got it back.

9. The Cute Factor.
Cute is a cultural phenomenon here. Hello kitty, Mickey Mouse, Miffy, Pooh Bear and Aladdin (as well as all the Disney Princesses, and their entourages) are on bank cards, bags, tickets, posters and are woven into every day life. It`s totally OK for a 45 yr old woman to have a Mickey and Minnie lunch box and matching handbag. It's actually a bizarre kind of freedom.

10. The 100 yen shop. Simply, you can buy way more in the world for 100 yen. These huge bargain warehouses buy in bulk using the mighty yen, and sell (for a nice size profit) stuff that is useful, nice to look at and doesn't make you feel guilty when you buy it, as its only 100 yen a pop. Some of it is just 100 yen sized, some of it is kitschy micro niche stuff, but some of it, like kitchen utensils, are good value, and it's my Fav place to shop.  Below is a selection of Engrish named chocolates from my local supermarket.

25 Things about Japoon that are Excellent, Part 2

25 Excellent things about Japooon Pt2

by Wendy Elizabeth Horikoshi on Thursday, 25 February 2011 at 11:06

 

11. Over 99% literacy.
As a teacher, this statistic warms the cockles of my heart when I need cheering up,
and there are bookshops EVERYWHERE. Yay!

12. Free stuff.
For some reason, this expensive place is rife with free stuff. You walk down the street, and people on corners fight to hand you free tissues. Go into the supermarket and its free samples everywhere. Free beer, pickles, sausages, cakes, cookies, bread, chocolate, fish, jelly, vast amounts of pork products, unidentified slimey vegetables, 900 different types of tofu dishes. When I was poor, I used to cruise the basement floor of major supermarkets, do two circuts, and be full to the goog with little snacks during my lunch hour, because I couldn't actually afford lunch.

Then there are all the free little presents you get when you purchase EVERYTHING here.
Keychains, eyedrop holders, tiny address books, pretty stick on jewels, even hats, gloves and scarfs, when you buy a drink. Strange, but very cool.

13. Festivals. They have a festival for everything in Japan, I swear. Festival of the penis has its own dick shaped lollipops, enjoyed by cheeky little old ladies and small children alike. Food on a stick appeals to me, so chocolate bananas, sausages, cucumber, corn, chicken, pickled fruit in sticky toffee (Mizu Ame) and fresh fruit are all good onna stick while you are walking around in your Yuukata, on a nice sunny festival day. Games, plays, music, decorations, stalls, and you get to dress up. Who doesn't like festivals?? You might even win a goldfish or a little green turtle if you are lucky.

14. Manga Kissa. For about 5 bucks an hour, you can relax in a nice expensive massage recliner, play as much of your favourite online game, read as much manga/newspaper/magzine as you want, enjoy snacks and usually a free drink bar, all in the privacy of your own cubicle. I have seen people practice their Wii moves, so as not to get their arses handed to them by their friends next time they play. I have been in an ultra modern, wide screen catered Manga Kissa for a private movie screening (including icecream and beer) and I have to say that the service is muuuch better than in my loungeroom. The internet speed is usually excellent, and the array of slushie flavours enough to put me in a sugar coma.

15. Fast Food. I am not talking just about Maccas or KFC. You can have a dizzying array of curry flavours, bowls of ramen, instant ramen, many many fried things, sushi trains, beef bowls, burger joints, riceball places, eat at tiny little stalls that materialise only when the sun goes down (and are nothing more than a tarp, a noren curtain, a bench and a guy with a talent for noodles/Oden or just a talent for pouring beer and warming Sake).

16. Love Hotels. Trapped in a tiny company dormitory? Living in a two room house, made of paper and reed mats with your inlaws? No actual privacy? Well, slide on down to one of Japans hundreds of thousands of Love Hotels. A BIG bath, wide screen TV, with porn channels.Tea and coffee facilities, toiletries, bubble bath and TV in the bathroom. Rent or buy costumes, toys, pajamas for an overnight stay, or even take advantage of the karaoke and Wii they supply. Big beds, condoms supplied, all in lots of "rest" (three hours) or "stay" (overnight). Reasonably priced, and anonymous, they are a godsend for those who live with their parents, and a mini holiday for those who live with their kids. BYO your favourite partner ;)   Below are some of my favourite products written in Engrish

25 Things about Japoon that are Excellent, Part 3

25 Things about Japoon that are excellent Pt 3

by Wendy Elizabeth Horikoshi on Thursday, 09 September 2011 at 19:59

17. Giant fruit. The fruit here is priced like it's made by Dolche and Gabana. But it's MASSIVE. I am lucky enough to get fruit as a gift on a regular basis (as it stops me and the family from getting scurvy, on my meagre teaching salary). Last week I got apples the size of cannon balls, strawberries the size of golf balls, and a sweet potato we could use as a life raft, in case we get done by a tsunami in Kodaira. Because we live in Japan, we have to display these gifts on a little pedestal in the kitchen, for some days so visitors can see how lucky we are to have fruit in the house.  Currently we have 10 dollar peaches on display on the kitchen table (until I get hungry).

18. Giant cans of beer. Now I don't drink beer as a rule, but the thought of a 1 litre stubby excites me so much, that I buy them and mail them to my friends. You can buy 1 litre cans of beer in the vending machines anywhere, pretty much from all brands. Some vending machines kindly also supply the snacks that will compliment your excessive beer consumption. Nice.

19. Cosplay. Sex life a bit blah? Want to get your juices flowing again? Just like dressing up as your favourite Pokemon? Then Japan is the place for you matey! Any day of the week, you can swan around the shops and see Lolicon (people who have a Lolita complex, and so the girls dress up in baby doll dresses, with lollipops and carry stuffed toys) Goth Lolicon (same, except its all about black lace, black eye-liner, black parasols and pale make up)
http://www.chictoday.com/daily/wp-content/uploads/2009/01/harajuku-fashion-japanforumcom.jpg
people dressed up as their favourite anime character, manga character, or the ever popular Maid Cafes, where (relatively) busty women will serve you in sexy maid costumes, and laugh at your dumb jokes.

20. Beautiful paper products.  Japan has some of the most lovely, delicate, and totally original stationary and stamps that the world will ever see.  I love the smell of paper shops, new books and money from the ATM, and their are as many paper shops here as book stores.  From beautiful Kimono and woodblock themed paper writing sets, origami (gazillions of kinds) and the more beautiful and expensive hand made washi paper, all gifts here are wrapped with the utmost care and reverence, and department store staff are strictly trained in the art of gift wrapping.  The little stickers that go with everything are also to die for :)

21.Onsens.
Magic hot springs in beautiful settings that encourage you to get naked with the general populace. Really.
You must first strip to your birthday suit, don a Yuukata, and carry a little wooden bucket with your soap, loofah and tiny little towel (this is compulsory to have a tiny towel) then sluice water from the trough or pump over you, give yourself a good hard scrub, all the while sitting on a tiny kid sized wooden stool, with your knees around your ears. After you have removed EVERY trace of soap, slide your naked self in to the big stone pools of hot volcanic water, and remain until lobster red, trying to look at everything else but the other people. Takes some getting used to, but it's a very relaxing pastime, the waters are said to be good for your health. I'm not against nudity, and nakedness in a nice tranquil mountain setting is probably good for your soul too.

22.Electronics. Akihabara, or Electric Town is always abuzz with the newest cutest tiniest gadgets. It attracts geeks of every ilk. Its a place where the subcultures and people on the very edge of the bell curve go and search for stuff that they are passionate about. Go for the electronics, stay and gawk at the people, I do.

23.Bizarre fashions.
Nothing can describe how it feels to shop right next to a middle aged man in a pink tutu and tiara, looking for a nice teapot. To see hundreds of young girls dressed as rock stars with injuries

http://boingboing.net/2007/12/05/tokyo-festishfashion.html

http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:7p1g3sq2HdlYLM:http://media.nowpublic.net/images/8d/5/8d5d1f0931bc0e055ef3edd060c079b4.jpg
or to sit on the train next to women who wear the traditional 14 layer Kimono, coupled with Amy Winehouse hair and 10cm bejewelled fingernails, and matching glittery cell phone.
http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hdMWb_HMuzo/S0nVeIHv-II/AAAAAAAAEYo/7XHrd0z6pUQ/s320/seijin.jpg




24. Engrish. I buy my underwear at a shop that "supports my sock life"
My dairy products are delivered in a van marked "Flesh Delivery"  And my favourite bakery is Breadshop Spank.

This is my favourite thing about living here. Check this out, if it doesn't make milk come out your nose, you need a check up at the local hospital http://www.engrish.com/

25.Tea.  I am a tea drinker, and I am totally in love with the HUGE amount of pomp and ritual that goes into making a cup of tea in Japan.  It's almost a religion, with each tea ceremony taking up to 45 minutes for a cuppa.  There are a whole range of shops and huge swathes of department store space dedicated to what to wear, what cake to serve, and what plates to serve them on, what cups and teapot to use and a million other decorations dedicated to the art of having a nice cup of tea.  I am not so fond of the cakes, though.  They are always made with sweet potato or beans .  I am more of a fruit, cream, sugar and icing kind of girl :)

Before we go to the park

I have lived in Japan on and off about 14 years.  Not once have I studied the language.  I've been busy, OK?  No need to look at me like that.  I currently have one full time and 4 part time jobs, plus I am a TERRIBLE student.
When I was a newly wed, I had sweet visions of my husband teaching me his native language, as he went to teachers college to become an instructor of Japanese for foreigners before I met him.

He has never actually taught a class. He was horrified at how much work it is to teach some one to speak Japanese from scratch, and he made a quick exit from the teaching profession after being an assistant for just one week, admitting later (after we had been married some years) that he only did it to meet foreign women.    :)

We are going to the park.  I am the worlds cheapest date (according to my Mr.)  because I don't drink, I get nervous in fancy restaurants, and I like to spend a lot of time in the park, feeding the ducks and fish, watching the turtles, riding my bike at a leisurely pace.  Trips to Kichijoji park are a big thing in our house. We get to go on three train lines (all the boys in our house are hard core train fanatics, including The Daddy), we lurk in the expensive shops, breathing in their free airconditioning in the Summer, and we have a nice Tempura dinner at Tenya, after feeding the ducks and giant Koi in Inokashira Koen.  A special trip is made to get big bags of Fu, and left over bread is saved up, and carefully cut into little bits to tempt the ducks and fish close enough to see and take a picture.  Yaki Dango and Ice cream are purchased.  We all come back exhausted, full of snacks and sugar.

Before we go to the park, The Boy is helping me with my Japanese  (because his Dad,  never has), while we get ready.   The Daddy, is tired of my whining that he has never taught me any useful Japanese, so has helpfully made a trip to the second hand book shop, and bought a copy of "Teach your Gaijin Wife Japanese in 90 days!"  with a two CD set.  How hard can it be, right?

I dunno the word in the second question, so I asked The Boy what "Ben Lii" means, because I told him I didn't know this Ben Lii man. He says "I will give you a clue, it lets you start the whole house and drive it like a car with just pushing one button".  Wow, obviously a lot more information is conveyed in Japanese then, eh?  I was stumped.  Just so you know, The Boy is eight.

I look at the answer page while The Boy is not watching me, and the question was "What is useful about this?" in Japanese.
I am still laughing, and he is VERY cranky that I won't be serious! hahahahaha :) :)

The Duck is running interference by repeating everything The Boy says over the top of him.  Is it any wonder my Japanese is spotty and strange??  He also informs me, that the text book his Dad chose is Osaka Ben (with a strong Osaka dialect/accent, and we live waaaaay over in West Tokyo ) and "Mummee, you prolly shouldn't talk like that anyway  \(*o*)/

Don't answer the door!!

Thursday was my only full day off last week.   I had just gotten out of the shower, and was swanning around the house in a towel, drinking OJ out of the carton (because I can when no one is looking), when the doorbell rang.

I quickly chucked on my PJ's.

There was  this smartly dressed woman with a little girl behind her,  and she proceeded to question me mercilessly.  There were absolutely no spaces between questions.

"Why am I home in my pyjamas in the middle of the day?  Do I understand Japanese?  Am I married? Are there any children living here? Why do I have a towel on my head? Do I actually work?  Where is my husband at this time?  What is his job and when will he be home?
What are we all doing on Sunday the week after next?  What classes are the kids in and what are their names?"

You would think it was the cops, or some evil cow from immigration, right?
Nah, she is from the local parents group, looking to get all the parents in the area, to come to the park to have an "educational seminar" for the DANGERS OF GAIJIN* TO CHILDREN IN THE KODAIRA COMMUNITY".

Do you think any of the Gods will punish me for what I told her?

I said "yes, I understand Japanese, and yes I do happen to be employed, thanks"  Then she wanted to know the EXACT DETAILS of my current employment, and stated again that she didn't know why I was home in the middle of the day, if the kids were at school (!!?)  I told her I was home, with a terribly high fever, and I was quarantined today by an illness.  My Mr. had to take the morning off to take the kids to school and my kids names were Tiger and Ryu (not true, any of it) .  My husband works in "entertainment" (and I made this sound vague and threatening, like he does security for the Yakuza)  I then said I would have his "people" look at her note (while she was writing she says "oh you probably can't read or write, I will just jot down the details here for you, some one can tell you what it says")  and we might "all"  attend this little rally in the park.  God, I wish I still had a tattoo I could have shown her, to make her just a tiny bit more uncomfortable.  Christ, I wish I was imaginative enough to make this shit up. Jebus, I hate living in Kodaira.  I swear there is lead in the bloody water here.

* Gaijin is Japanese for Outsider or Foreigner.  It's not a very nice word.

Power ups

Now, I am and Aussie girl, married with kids to a Japanese man.
It always amazes me, when I cook dinner, that I will go to the knife block, ready to chop something into little pieces for the fried rice, om-rice, or Okonomiaki, only to find all the bloody knives blunt.  Drives me nuts.

This is because my Mr. is a QUALIFIED SUSHI CHEF, and his livelihood and quality of his work depend on how sharp his knives are.

Not so at home. 

Last week, I was just getting ready to make dinner.  The Boys (two that are mine, and several who frequent my house) were in the living room, squabbling like angry monkeys over who's turn it was on "Densha De GO!"  (It's a game where YOU get to be the train driver. Sounds as exciting as watcing paint dry, I know, but my house is completely full to the goog with train fanatics, including all the little kids that come over every day, and The Daddy.  We have EVERY version, as well as a conductors hat to wear and authentic Japanese train controls)

So, I am in the kitchen, planning to skillfully hide several types of vegetables in the rissoles, by chopping them finely, and whacking them into the minced meat.  All the boys hate veges in our house, so I have to find more cunning ways to slip vegetables into the food every day.  I can even make vegetable ice cream, and have made orange, carrot and tomato jellies that were eaten before they even set properly.  I am the Vegetable Cloaking Master of this tiny little island.  No one rivals my skill at making other people eat their greens without them being aware.
I fight this battle every day, as I have a husband who thinks Vitamins are for women and salad should only really consist of lettuce, some ham, and enough Kewpie Mayonnaise to sink a Japanese whaling ship.  He actually told me once, when I added tomato and cucumber to his salad, that I had "wrecked the taste" 

Just a side note to all the single ladies, don't marry a chef.  They are fussy beyond belief, and mine won't let me near the AUTOMATIC rice cooker, because he says "You just won't get the rice right",  Seriously.

Anyway, so I am in the kitchen, and I select a knife, and go to town on some red capsicum.  But it won't cut.  No matter how I hack at it, it just kind of smushes and bruises, because the bloody knives are all blunt AGAIN.  Gah!!
Really, what does my husband do with them when I am at work?  Chop wood?  Practice his Samurai moves on the walls?  Go next door and prune trees with them?  I just dunno, because I have to sharpen them all the time.

So I have to bend down so low to even see in our cupboards, that I actually have to put my head between my knees,( Japan is a hard core earthquake zone, and cupboards that are more than a few centimeters off the ground are very rare in old houses.  Most furniture is only about waist height, and that is the waist of a Japanese persons , so if you are over about 150 cm tall, then you will spend your life stooping and kneeling and bending down here.  Don't get me started about the tiny chairs and tables....)

I finally retrieve the knife sharpener, after rummaging around in the dark cupboard, and I decide, well, if I have to sharpen one, I may as well sharpen them all (fat lot of good it will do if The Daddy goes out wood chopping with them, but one may survive, un-blunted, eh?)
So with much muttering and swearing under my breath, I start using the wet stone to sharpen our blades.  Screeeeeeeeeaaaach, schreeeeeeaaaaach, schcrrreeeeaaaacccccccccccccccccccch, Mutter, mutter mutter.

I turn around, scowling from my bad mood, to the sound of complete silence, and the sight of seven little faces, staring at me open mouthed.

A little voice from the back row asks Number One Son, in Japanese  "What's that terrible sound!?  What is she saying?  Is it a spell!?" and Number One Son  says very casually  "Oh she always makes that face and says bad things when she has to power up the knives"

The Roach.

Ladies, (and Gentlemen of a squirelly nature about bugs), I have made a startling discovery!! Dish washing liquid (of the extremely cheap variety) kills cockroaches stone dead.

We have had one foul roach, terrorizing us for almost two weeks now, and every time we go to the sink, and push the button for the Rinnai, it leaps out, like the neighbors angry dog, defending it's territory. This means Duck and Boy run squealing from the room, too afraid to wash their hands, or put the dishes in the sink, because this thing lurks in the hot water heater, and when you hit the button to turn on the tap, it rushes you.
You can almost hear the barking and gnashing of teeth (do they have teeth?).

Now, as you may or may not know, my house has become a lost beetle sanctuary (three homeless Rhinoceros beetles at last count, more on this later), and I don't really agree with using pesticides. I get eaten alive by mosquitoes and just about anything that bites or stings, and I have a husband who is immune to insect bites (Duck believes that The Daddy tastes yukky.  I can't really argue, my Mr. dosen't take a bath everyday, the dirty bastard)

Usually we use sticky roach motels, and for the mozzies, I burn mosquito coils, making everything smell like a bonfire.  Lately,  I am afraid the rhinoceros beetles will be made sick by mozzie coils, and that bloody giant roach lurking near the sink is not fooled by roach motels, even with the happy pictures of smiling bugs on the side, and a piece of ham placed squarely in the middle.  Other bugs have been lured to their doom, never reaching the fabled ham.  This giant cocky is not easily tricked, and has NO FEAR I SWEAR.

This morning, I approached the scuzzy washing up (I hate the washing up, almost as much as cleaning the dunny, we have three boys in the house, and it's foul) and the bastard leaped  out at me, buzzing it's wings and waving it's antennae threateningly.  I did my nana and hit it with 88yen environmentally friendly, palm oil free dish washing liquid.  It is no more.  It's body has been viewed by all it terrorized.  The Daddy ceremoniously flushed it down the dunny, and it left a nice sudsy lime scent after it :)