Don't Get Sake With Me Sunshine.
In a tightly regimented society it's necessary to have a few pressure gauges. Reading porn on the metro, getting in the bath butt naked with your work colleagues, making an arse of yourself with a microphone, and of course my favorite, getting utterly mortaled. The Japanese love their booze and can often be seen collapsed over a handy wall of a Friday night. 'Biru' (beer) is the nation's favorite and comes in big Deutchland style tankards (none of your wooftie continental canyas for us) with the more traditional sake close behind. Sake is so beloved of the Japanese that it is given in great quantities as offerings at temples. Never mind your cash-for-questions get the barrels in for the baldy lads. There is much debate as to which is better, hot or cold. The key seems to be, as with all alcohol, the more expensive the better. And don't overdo it. Take it from me.

Something fishy this way comes.
Call me naïve but I hadn't realised Japanese cuisine was based quite so heavily on 'sea chicken'. Veggies in Spain will recognise the frustration of managing to successfully convey your preference for not snacking on something that once had a face only to later receive something suspect floating in a whiffy sauce. Or perfectly kosher and 'dericious' looking but with bits of shaved gill curling up on top. It should be pointed out that the Japanese are unfailingly polite and helpful (never will they be heard to moan that slicing a few tomatoes is 'mucho trabajo') and take a great deal of care over the preparation of any food (which always looks beautiful) and sushi chefs are total artists.
There are, of course, times when salad eaters can find themselves grateful. Such as when the bar snacks contain what can only have been somethings' nostril. Yum. Limited eating out opportunity is improving my cooking skills. I made some killer veg sushi which many wasted years rolling spliff have stood me in good stead for. Fastest fingers in the east me. I have to say I'm not too down with seaweed. Can't seems to shake the mental image of brown foam bobbing in Scarborough rock pools.
Something that makes being a faddy eater easier in Japan is the displays of each restaurant's fare lovingly modeled in plastic and displayed in the outside window. Just look past the overly shiny exterior and drag the waiter outside to point at what you want then sit back and enjoy.

Untill next time; I'll have the styrofoam one in the corner please.

Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Quake Me Up Before You Go Go.

The earth moved for me last Saturday morning. At approx 6.30am we were woken up to our very first earthquake. Fortunately it wasn't 'The Big One', in fact for a while I wasn't sure if it wasn't just Cath squeezing one out on the floor above. 5.3 on the Richter scale I'm told. The city wreckers are 7s or 8s. The tremors were just on the right side of exciting though I did wonder at what point it might become strong enough for it to stop feeling amusing and start panicking. The experience raised the interesting point that none of us had a clue what to do in the event of a major one. Our keepers having neglected to provide us with any guidance in the face of this (lets face it pretty high) probability. Shoes by the bed seems to be the key. Oh and dried food. I'll be reet, I've got loads of seaweed in.
If that wasn't exciting enough we experienced the tail end of a typhoon too. I could tell this by the old ladies in rocking chairs and small dogs (''Toto'') flying past me as I was on my way to work. Also by the large number of umbrella carcases cast aside on the road. It rained for forty hours and forty minutes the like of which I've never seen even in Manchester. We went to the pub with plastic bags in our shoes a la Glastonbury 1998. The next day it was too hot to wear a t-shirt. Kerazy.

We Don't Need No Education.
Had my first every go on Karaoke last weekend (cut to scene with the mad professor in his castle rearing back in horror as lightning splits the sky. ''It lives''). Oh yes. Everyone's reticent at first but a few beers in, there we were blasting out 'Eye of the Tiger' like pro's. I was careful not to solo and to stick to mainly rap tunes or backing 'vocals' (tip; never do anything by The Sugar Hill Gang, they don't take a breath). There surely is no finer sight than a group of English instructors squeeking "hey teacher, leave those kids alone". High point of the night was a splendid Walk Like An Egyptian and an innovative call-and-response style version of Kung Fu Fighting and yes, everybody was kung fu fighting (in front of a room full of Japanese dinners). Those cats were certainly fast as lightning to tell us they were closing not long after. The bill was a little bit frightning too.

Next up: Shrine-ing and Dining.

Livin' in a box (I'm a livin' in a cardboard box).
I suppose a word about where I'm residing would be appropriate now. My totally ridiculous address is: LEOPALACE, PRA TERRIER 207, 1-546-2, Maebaranishi, Funabashi City, Chiba (somebody say cheeeeba, everybody say....), 274-0825, Tokyo. Great eh? Japanese addresses have no street names, only numbers. Ever the Japanese find it confusing. Fly on the wall at that city planning meeting would have been interesting, 'I've got a great idea. Let's only use numbers, no, really, it'll be easy....'.
The 'Palace' as it is referred to by the 22 teachers (it's a bit like living in a hall of residence) is indeed that. A palace. For terriers. A family of small foxhounds could live quite nicely in the compact and bijou single room with bathroomkitchenwardrobestoragespace crammed into one end. The bed is located up some step ladders on a shelf above all that lot. Bag End eat your heart out. I wonder now if my advocation of the dog as the most noble of God's creatures has now come back to haunt me. Perhaps I have in fact died and now live in a kennel.
Seriously though, I am loving living on my own. Walking around not fully clothed. Opening the curtains to behold....the next set of Leopalaces under construction next door. Closing the curtains again. By the way, even Japanese builders work at the speed of snails who can't be arsed. Perhaps I have hit early middle age and this is preparation for the time when I can truly no longer stomach the company of other beings and retire to a life of spinsterhood. With my terriers.

It has to be said there isn't a lot 'fun' about Funabashi. The local town center does a nice line in old lady clothing, some top sushi and a 100 yen strore (the chav in all of has taken the 'pound shop' to our hearts and filled our spartan homes with poorly manufactured products laden with toxic chemicals and designed to fall apart in three months) but not much else. It's a grim 90 minute train ride into central Tokyo and the nearest 'cool' fun although we did find some top quality fun on our own doorstep of which more later. However since I have landed with the Caths every night is a fun night and we want not for good company.

Next time; Working for the man. Mr Oodigowa to be precise.

Monday, September 25, 2006
Big in Japan.
Apocalypse right here, right now. The word 'hectic' was invented for Tokyo. Imagine Picadily Circus, Times Square or the center of any major city complete with traffic jams and nine storey neon. Cut to the same city at peak rush hour full of swarming worker bees. Then imagine that this is the NOT in fact the center but a fairly standard suburb. Where I live. The end of the world is NOT nigh, it's happening NOW! This is what happens when too many people decide it's a good idea to live in the same place. And they're knackered. Get on the metro at any time of day and you'll see 4 to 5 nodding commuters catching up on the 7 and a half hours they deny themselves in order to flay themselves on the altar of the 'asian tiger economy' (and you can't offer your seat to any little old ladies either. If it's not done in exactly the right way they have to get off at the next stop and committ ritual suicide so great is the shame. And then their Yakuza grandsons come for ya ass). On the return leg of my 90 min commute (I don't want to talk about it ok) I decided to follow suit recieving many 'big ups' for my head bobbing style from my fellow commuters.
Gonna Rock Down To Electric Avenue.
So devoted to comsumer culture is Tokyo that there is an entire zone dedicated solely to the sale of electrical goods. You name it, it's here. And in minature. Advertised, as always, by giant neon. If Tokyo is every forced to cut its energy consumption the bottom's going to drop out of the neon tube industry. Think Bladerunner meets Blackpool Pier. Meanwhile, we laugh in the middle class face of your low energy bulbs. And incinerate the wrapping from our individualy packaged kiwi fruit along with the rest of our 'burnable waste'. Your puny efforts to save the planet cannot stop us. No small irony that a global emssions agreement was signed here. Anyway that's enough for now. Next time: The glory that is Japanese game shows. Simon Cowell, come and have a go...XXX Kate.

And now a word from our sponsor...

Ha ha come back Steve Norman all is forgiven. We were expecting things to be a little more rigorous in the workplace but my lordy. 'Eastfence' (see I'm even scared to badmouth them on a private email) has some strict rules to say the least. No leaning on the desk whilst teaching. No public eating or smoking, formal dress at all times. No leaving the campus. And instant dismissal for bringing the company into disrepute through drunkenmasterness (actually that clause wasnt in anyone elses contract...) . A far cry from the Head of Kids Dept falling down the metro stairs onto....some kids after last years xmas bash. Initial training was the wierdest thing I've ever sat through (and that includes that GM where some of the news items was pooey stains on the bathroom towels and the existence of the new tissue holder in the kitchen.

In a brief Sliding Doors style moment I saw my life as it could have gone. A bit like the end of Flash Gordon where the two worlds nearly colide, the other me squinted back from the front seat of her Ford Probe in the car park of the Wellin Garden City conference center, looked unfooled by my poor imitation of somebody professional in my cheap Zara suit, and then was gone.

Mangement style seems to comprise the most jarring of U.S and Japanese management style. There we sat feeling like a bunch of badly suited insurance salesmen as our compere (we'll call him 'Tard') kicked things off gently by informing us we were being 'watched'. Nice people skills 'Tard. Perhaps you meant to say 'observed' or 'evaluated' but what the hell, now we're all feeling relaxed, lets get aquainted.
Big Brother is watching us and I don't mean a load of chavs in a prefab. Lacking internet at my campus I have to sign in and out every day with, get this, GPS SATALITE PHONE. They know where I am!!!! Think on all you Cambridge whingers trying to sneak in half an hour late to seminars. Wait till Steve hears about this. Not to mention when I send him the algebra style student assesment forms. Oh no, hang on I could get sacked for that.

Next time; electronically tagging your workers. And keeping their families hostage.