I grew up in the Catholic school system and learned from an early age that vanity is a sin, but I wondered when you cross the line from vanity to pride? What makes one so different from the other? I would assume the Catholic Church isn't trying to raise and create a nest of unconfident devotees, or else where would they find the courage to believe in the church as right? You can't have confidence in what you believe if you don't believe in yourself, which should require confidence and some level of pride in self. Although maybe the key to faith is the blind believing without anything to back it up and that's what makes the church work.
This is too incoherent for me to continue, so off to new frontiers.
I firmly believe that if you want to be an artist of some kind you have to be confident and proud of yourself and what you can do. You have to be willing to shove your work in other people's faces and say, "look at this, this is good, I am skilled." Their opinions can matter and help but you can't let them detract from your own belief that you are skilled at what you do and should carry on regardless of people's praises and criticisms.
As of next week Thursday, I am studying Japanese at a school in Aichi ken. I hear tell that because Aichi is in a valley it is unbearably hot in the summer, as the hot air falls into the valley and seems too languid to climb its way out. My goal for Japanese seems to be very fluid, venturing from my lofty ambitions of perhaps studying for and taking the level 2 Japanese test -- ideally passing -- to merely having conversations without my throwing in "what's that mean?" or "you know, it's kind of like this, what do you call that?" and leaving my fellow co-workers impressed rather than befuddled and head-scratching. Ambition is good. But is it that far from selfishness? Catholic school is a wonderful place to get a secular education but I fear it can leave your head in a state you will spend years muddling your way out of.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Friday, July 08, 2005
After the Foot
I found out last weekend that the Japanese word for footprint, 足跡, literally means "after the foot". Or drop the "the" and it is "after foot". I think it leaves a different residual image in the mind from hearing "footprint".
At eikaiwa class last night, a friend mentioned she would be going back to the UK for ten days, having been there for a year or so when she was a student. I asked her if she learned any good curses while she was there the first time, as another friend I know came back swearing like a sailor. Unfortunately Kaori missed out, as most of the friends she made were other foreign exchange students, rather than resident Brits.
This led to a conversation where I inquired as to the existence of really good curses in Japanese, and was informed that there is a definite dearth, that they are not used the same way or don't mean the same thing in Japanese. There are many things you can say that have a strong meaning and can be offensive, but often it is as much the tone of voice you use as it is the word.
I hypothesized that a culture that has curse words, especially an abundance of them, is probably more likely to be a direct or aggressive culture, whereas a culture without might be more passive or subtle in their methods of communication. Hara san said this may be so, as when she was young, she was often told that if she was angry, she should wait an hour to address the situation, so as to be in a better frame of mind. She regrets her lack of aggression, but I would posit a middle ground between the two would be a better state.
At eikaiwa class last night, a friend mentioned she would be going back to the UK for ten days, having been there for a year or so when she was a student. I asked her if she learned any good curses while she was there the first time, as another friend I know came back swearing like a sailor. Unfortunately Kaori missed out, as most of the friends she made were other foreign exchange students, rather than resident Brits.
This led to a conversation where I inquired as to the existence of really good curses in Japanese, and was informed that there is a definite dearth, that they are not used the same way or don't mean the same thing in Japanese. There are many things you can say that have a strong meaning and can be offensive, but often it is as much the tone of voice you use as it is the word.
I hypothesized that a culture that has curse words, especially an abundance of them, is probably more likely to be a direct or aggressive culture, whereas a culture without might be more passive or subtle in their methods of communication. Hara san said this may be so, as when she was young, she was often told that if she was angry, she should wait an hour to address the situation, so as to be in a better frame of mind. She regrets her lack of aggression, but I would posit a middle ground between the two would be a better state.
Monday, July 04, 2005
Meetings Anonymous
So I am stuck in yet another staff meeting. The windows are wide open but the air isn't moving, and I would guess it is about 32 degrees outside, nevermind the indoors. I am doing my best not to let my head crash onto the table in front of me, and to stop the drool from escaping my half-open mouth -- such is the stupor I am in danger of succumbing to. There are thirty other teachers in the room and I don't know how they do it. I can't decide if it is any help to actually understand what is being said around me, but I am certain a lack of relevancy is not helping my nearly lost cause.
I keep dreaming about the big chunk of watermelon in the fridge, waiting for me until this meeting is done. If someone's stolen it already I may get a little postal as that is all that has got me conscious right now.
Apparently today's goal is to finish the meeting by 4:30, which is usually nothing more than a pipe dream, however the teacher in charge of today's meeting is blasting through everything, suggesting frequently that, "you can make any suggestions directly to the person involved later." It's 4:19 right now, and I think he could be on track to do it. The only wild cards are the principal and vice principal , either of whom might be cruelly and unnecessarily move by a sadistic spirit of oratory.
Ishida sensei's eyes darted another sideways glance at the clock right now, which is harder than it sounds as he is seated directly facing it. 4:23. Kamisaka sensei seems to be doing his best to blow through his part in time and the goal seems to be within reach. I have given up on all pretense of paying attention and trying to follow; I am flat out watching the clock, being made dizzy with excitement as I watch the second hand wind it's way around.
We have ventured into the "does anyone have anything else to add to the meeting who wasn't sorted enough to get it on the itinerary on time?" 4:26. The wheels are so close to coming of the wagon as a third and fourth person raise their hands, although at least one is doing his best to keep us on pace as he speaks rapid-fire about events I will not be present for. 4:28. The vice principal jumps in, delaying Mihara sensei and giving Seno sensei an opportunity to gather her wits and request time too. 4:30'42.It is now time for the final closing words from the principal. He has a tendency towards verbal diarrhea, which is unfortunate (or perhaps not) as he rarely speaks loud enough for everyone to hear. 4:31'15 and the school chimes ring to mark 4:30, suggesting that at least one clock somewhere is not quite accurate.
Nicely done, just under the wire, and premature applause bursts forth as we go straight into another meeting. It was so close, and my mouth is watering for that red slab of juicy, sticky watermelon...
I keep dreaming about the big chunk of watermelon in the fridge, waiting for me until this meeting is done. If someone's stolen it already I may get a little postal as that is all that has got me conscious right now.
Apparently today's goal is to finish the meeting by 4:30, which is usually nothing more than a pipe dream, however the teacher in charge of today's meeting is blasting through everything, suggesting frequently that, "you can make any suggestions directly to the person involved later." It's 4:19 right now, and I think he could be on track to do it. The only wild cards are the principal and vice principal , either of whom might be cruelly and unnecessarily move by a sadistic spirit of oratory.
Ishida sensei's eyes darted another sideways glance at the clock right now, which is harder than it sounds as he is seated directly facing it. 4:23. Kamisaka sensei seems to be doing his best to blow through his part in time and the goal seems to be within reach. I have given up on all pretense of paying attention and trying to follow; I am flat out watching the clock, being made dizzy with excitement as I watch the second hand wind it's way around.
We have ventured into the "does anyone have anything else to add to the meeting who wasn't sorted enough to get it on the itinerary on time?" 4:26. The wheels are so close to coming of the wagon as a third and fourth person raise their hands, although at least one is doing his best to keep us on pace as he speaks rapid-fire about events I will not be present for. 4:28. The vice principal jumps in, delaying Mihara sensei and giving Seno sensei an opportunity to gather her wits and request time too. 4:30'42.It is now time for the final closing words from the principal. He has a tendency towards verbal diarrhea, which is unfortunate (or perhaps not) as he rarely speaks loud enough for everyone to hear. 4:31'15 and the school chimes ring to mark 4:30, suggesting that at least one clock somewhere is not quite accurate.
Nicely done, just under the wire, and premature applause bursts forth as we go straight into another meeting. It was so close, and my mouth is watering for that red slab of juicy, sticky watermelon...
Premature...
It seems I was being rather hasty when I commented on the lack of a rainy season this year, as the past few days seem set to make up for it with a vengeance. It has been raining since Friday, varying from subtle mists to light drizzles to out and out torrential downpours. And all this on the beach party weekend.
Fortunately, this year Steve was covered for the weather in a multitude of ways, as he had a vast dancefloor covered with sports festival tents, keeping the party alive despite the dampening of it all. And as I slept in my car this year -- very cozy, but also very dry -- the rain didn't have the chance to drown me in my tent.
As I was driving up to Aoya for the party, I saw a couple of houses where the infamous purple polyester sweat pants appeared to be nesting and slowly multiplying in the rain. The preponderance of fuschia-bright polyester attire for men is one of those things I doubt I will see elsewhere in the world. Even various gas stations have found a way to incorporate the fire retardant wonders into their employee uniforms, making the employees even more excited about going to work, I am sure.
Cian celebrated his 28th birthday on Friday with a rousing party at English School -- his place of business. He uses it for parties as it is in the middle of a field, surrounded primarily by businesses, and also as it is far more spacious than his one room apartment. Karaoke was provided by the guests, with the tunes and torturous tones blasting from the front of a device that reminded me of Rosie the Robot on the Jetsons. Apparently some of the disant neighbours found the singing a little too torturous for their delicate eardrums and phoned to complain about the erstwhile noise. I don't think it was such a bad thing to turn the volume down a tad, as not all of us are musically gifted.
Fortunately, this year Steve was covered for the weather in a multitude of ways, as he had a vast dancefloor covered with sports festival tents, keeping the party alive despite the dampening of it all. And as I slept in my car this year -- very cozy, but also very dry -- the rain didn't have the chance to drown me in my tent.
As I was driving up to Aoya for the party, I saw a couple of houses where the infamous purple polyester sweat pants appeared to be nesting and slowly multiplying in the rain. The preponderance of fuschia-bright polyester attire for men is one of those things I doubt I will see elsewhere in the world. Even various gas stations have found a way to incorporate the fire retardant wonders into their employee uniforms, making the employees even more excited about going to work, I am sure.
Cian celebrated his 28th birthday on Friday with a rousing party at English School -- his place of business. He uses it for parties as it is in the middle of a field, surrounded primarily by businesses, and also as it is far more spacious than his one room apartment. Karaoke was provided by the guests, with the tunes and torturous tones blasting from the front of a device that reminded me of Rosie the Robot on the Jetsons. Apparently some of the disant neighbours found the singing a little too torturous for their delicate eardrums and phoned to complain about the erstwhile noise. I don't think it was such a bad thing to turn the volume down a tad, as not all of us are musically gifted.
Friday, July 01, 2005
The Sheer Physicality of it All
Yesterday, I had my first ever physical, and as always with something I am not looking forward to doing, I worked myself up into a fine state before going. However it was not nearly as horrible as I had been led to believe by Rie, who had filled my mind with horror stories of what her physical entailed -- mainly the gynecological exam.
When she went last Friday, she was led into a room by a nurse, who asked her to please step into the small changing room, remove her trousers and undewear, and then step through to the next room and sit in the chair. She did so and climbed into the dentist chair, ever so unsuspecting.
After she sat down, a nurse or doctor called to her and asked her if she was seated yet, to which Rie replied she was. At that, the chair began to turn around, all the while spreading Rie's legs apart. When the chair stopped, she found her body was cut in half by a curtain, unable to see what was happening or who was there on the far side of the drape, and the doctors only able to see naked Rie from the waist down. At this, the doctors began the standard gynecological exam, inserting and prying with a variety of cold metal instruments. As it was her first experience, she was made very uncomfortable by the whole process. All the while, she hears pens scratching on the far side.
Having heard this telling, I myself was terrified by the prospect of having to endure a gynecological exam by a doctor from my tiny little town who was not my doctor. Nor were matters helped any when Rie said that as of this year, it was a mandatory part of the physical for all women who would be celebrating an even-numbered birthday between the ages of twenty and thirty. Shortly after discovering this, I talked to Corinne, who mentioned a nurse who happened to comment on how her vital organs were a different size from Japanese people's. As you can see, I was very excited about the whole prospect of a physical.
I attempted to get out of it, and was informed that I was not allowed to decline. I suspect the woman I asked was misinformed, as I declined on a yearly basis when I was in Yodoe. Thus, with much trepidation, I went and checked in at the hospital for my first ever physical.
It was off to a rousing start when the nurse attempted to draw blood, sticking the needle in my left arm, but was unsuccessful -- she drew blood, but was disappointed with the amount. Like most people, I am a huge fan of needles, and naturally offered up my right arm as well so that amateur hour might have another go at me. The nurse didn't feel up to the challenge though, and called in the big guns, who happened to be a very determined little woman who appeared form round the corner, like a pinch hitter waiting for her big moment.
She tied off my arm with rubber tubing, wrenching it as tight as she could, before jabbing me in the right arm. She told me it was okay, all done, and when I turned to look, there was a needle hanging out of my arm at an odd angle. This did not impress me in the least and I once again turned my head away. Apparently this woman was very good at her job, as that was the end of my time as a pincushion. If they had asked, or checked, I would have told them I have always had low blood pressure, and all they really needed to do was wait.
But so be it.The physical carried on with a hearing and vision check, as well as a see-how-well-you-can-aim-while-peeing-into-a-paper-cup-over-a-squat-toilet, and a lets-strap-lots-of-wires-and-diodes-to-you-and-see-if-we-can't turn-you-into-our-8-year-old-kid's-science-experiment.
All in all it was not nearly as horrifying as I had feared it could be, and it seems I am actually in pretty good health.
When she went last Friday, she was led into a room by a nurse, who asked her to please step into the small changing room, remove her trousers and undewear, and then step through to the next room and sit in the chair. She did so and climbed into the dentist chair, ever so unsuspecting.
After she sat down, a nurse or doctor called to her and asked her if she was seated yet, to which Rie replied she was. At that, the chair began to turn around, all the while spreading Rie's legs apart. When the chair stopped, she found her body was cut in half by a curtain, unable to see what was happening or who was there on the far side of the drape, and the doctors only able to see naked Rie from the waist down. At this, the doctors began the standard gynecological exam, inserting and prying with a variety of cold metal instruments. As it was her first experience, she was made very uncomfortable by the whole process. All the while, she hears pens scratching on the far side.
Having heard this telling, I myself was terrified by the prospect of having to endure a gynecological exam by a doctor from my tiny little town who was not my doctor. Nor were matters helped any when Rie said that as of this year, it was a mandatory part of the physical for all women who would be celebrating an even-numbered birthday between the ages of twenty and thirty. Shortly after discovering this, I talked to Corinne, who mentioned a nurse who happened to comment on how her vital organs were a different size from Japanese people's. As you can see, I was very excited about the whole prospect of a physical.
I attempted to get out of it, and was informed that I was not allowed to decline. I suspect the woman I asked was misinformed, as I declined on a yearly basis when I was in Yodoe. Thus, with much trepidation, I went and checked in at the hospital for my first ever physical.
It was off to a rousing start when the nurse attempted to draw blood, sticking the needle in my left arm, but was unsuccessful -- she drew blood, but was disappointed with the amount. Like most people, I am a huge fan of needles, and naturally offered up my right arm as well so that amateur hour might have another go at me. The nurse didn't feel up to the challenge though, and called in the big guns, who happened to be a very determined little woman who appeared form round the corner, like a pinch hitter waiting for her big moment.
She tied off my arm with rubber tubing, wrenching it as tight as she could, before jabbing me in the right arm. She told me it was okay, all done, and when I turned to look, there was a needle hanging out of my arm at an odd angle. This did not impress me in the least and I once again turned my head away. Apparently this woman was very good at her job, as that was the end of my time as a pincushion. If they had asked, or checked, I would have told them I have always had low blood pressure, and all they really needed to do was wait.
But so be it.The physical carried on with a hearing and vision check, as well as a see-how-well-you-can-aim-while-peeing-into-a-paper-cup-over-a-squat-toilet, and a lets-strap-lots-of-wires-and-diodes-to-you-and-see-if-we-can't turn-you-into-our-8-year-old-kid's-science-experiment.
All in all it was not nearly as horrifying as I had feared it could be, and it seems I am actually in pretty good health.
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