http://www.fnn-news.com/news/headlines/articles/CONN00158988.html
WHAT??!
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Top 10 international news updates at FNN!
http://www.fnn-news.com/news/headlines/articles/CONN00156794.html
Yet another award winning article, brought to you by the people at FNN, where orphaned animals are higher on the news chain than, say a terrorist attack on Pakistan
Yet another award winning article, brought to you by the people at FNN, where orphaned animals are higher on the news chain than, say a terrorist attack on Pakistan
Sunday, June 7, 2009
A strange dream
I had the weirdest dream last night... not a nightmare because I didn't wake up frightened... just needing to pee.
In the dream, I am travelling by boat at dusk to a small island where a group of people are living in an old wooden house. There, I am laid out on a stone tablet and the men there use a cleaver to cut into my arm. Apparently, it's part of an initiation ritual of some kind. So despite the terrible pain, I endure it. Instead of hacking off the entire hand though, they leave it and let me return back to wherever I've come from. So I board the boat in the dark of night and head back (to somewhere). But the next moment, it's dusk once more and I'm back on the boat heading towards the island. This goes on for some time. After returning to the boat, the arm seems to heal just enough to restore it to full functionality, but deep scars are running all around my arm just below the wrist. At some point I have a conversation with someone about the nature of the ritual. If I am truly going to help these people in the future, wouldn't it be better to remove my non-dominant hand (ie, the left instead of the right)? Good idea, I think. The next night, at the house, I tell them, "Look, can we do this on the left hand... I kind of need the right." And that very instant the house and the people change. The men become fearsome. They have bloody tattoos on their face. Before I can even budge, the fiercest has taken the cleaver and begins to repeatedly hack into my knees. "Why are you doing this?!" I cry out as my legs turn into a bloody mess. But they howl and cackle with glee, refusing to hear me. I wake up.
In the dream, I am travelling by boat at dusk to a small island where a group of people are living in an old wooden house. There, I am laid out on a stone tablet and the men there use a cleaver to cut into my arm. Apparently, it's part of an initiation ritual of some kind. So despite the terrible pain, I endure it. Instead of hacking off the entire hand though, they leave it and let me return back to wherever I've come from. So I board the boat in the dark of night and head back (to somewhere). But the next moment, it's dusk once more and I'm back on the boat heading towards the island. This goes on for some time. After returning to the boat, the arm seems to heal just enough to restore it to full functionality, but deep scars are running all around my arm just below the wrist. At some point I have a conversation with someone about the nature of the ritual. If I am truly going to help these people in the future, wouldn't it be better to remove my non-dominant hand (ie, the left instead of the right)? Good idea, I think. The next night, at the house, I tell them, "Look, can we do this on the left hand... I kind of need the right." And that very instant the house and the people change. The men become fearsome. They have bloody tattoos on their face. Before I can even budge, the fiercest has taken the cleaver and begins to repeatedly hack into my knees. "Why are you doing this?!" I cry out as my legs turn into a bloody mess. But they howl and cackle with glee, refusing to hear me. I wake up.
Friday, June 5, 2009
The hardhitting journalism continues at FNN...
http://www.fnn-news.com/news/headlines/articles/CONN00156577.html
How are they even finding these news articles... this can't be making US national headlines. Or is it?
How are they even finding these news articles... this can't be making US national headlines. Or is it?
Monday, June 1, 2009
Quality reporting...
It's hard to see Japan as a hard hitting media source, especially when articles like this keep popping up. How is an article about two bikini clad thieves in Louisiana worthy of the International News section of the FNN website?? I think I may need to change news providers.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
My first puncture
Today was such an absurdly unrealistically fantastical day that I feel the need to write about it. So now, 3 months buri ni, I will write an entry.
Whenever it's sunny, I do my best to wake up and get ready early so as to provide time for a bike ride to work (along with a quick breakfast at a local cafe). So I checked the forecast the night before and WOW(!), despite the unrelenting rain, tomorrow was slated for bright skies. The next day proved Yahoo a dependable meteorological resource, and I headed out on my road bike all happy and giggly and thinking about what bread I would buy at the local panyasan. About half-way between my destination and home, my back tire began to thunk a lot louder and air-lessly than usual. I had a "punk". That's what the Japanese call a "flat tire". It's been about two years since last having to deal with a "punk" of this kind so with a little apprehension, I pulled out the tools and set to work. -- "Jona-san!!" Shouted from across the busy intersection, it's an aquaintance who frequents many of the schools I visit. He delivers special order school supplies and... I can't remember his name. "Jonasan, daijoubudesuka? Noseteagemashouka? Are you ok?? Do you need a lift?" He asks concernedly. I really wanted to deal with this "punk" and show off my mastery of the road bike. "Daijoubudayo, tadanapannkuda! I'm fine! It's just a flat tire.' He walks over to investigate. Permit me a bleak generalization (and segway) but the Japanese are excellent about giving you their time, even if they have absolutely no clue how to help you. If you're say, having a hard time finding something in the supermarket and ask one of the clerks where that can of diced tomatoes might be, not only is the clerk going to come, but also the eight or nine old ladies who happened to have heard your story AND the 2nd grader to whom you just taught "fried egg" to that morning.
So anyway, Mr. Tanaka (that's not his name but it'll have to do for now) comes over and says, "Jitenshayasan ni ittahouga iinnjanai? Muzukashisou. Noseteagemashouka? Monndaijanaidesuyo! Shouldn't we take it to a bicycle shop, it looks like you're having a hard time. I can take you, it's no problem!" I stubbornly refuse so he procedes to survey my work. I'm not too good at this. I manage to work the tire off using the tools available, but getting the new air tube onto the wheel is hard. "Jonasan, tetsudaimashouka? Jonathan, can I help?" I'm at a loss so I quietly nod and let him take a hand at it. AND LO, he figured it out. So the wheel has it's new air tube and we are all ready to fill it up with air. Mr. Tanaka and I head on over to the nearby gas station, who fills my brand new air tube up. Two seconds later, KABAAM! Explosion, in the station. An important part of changing your air tube (should you choose to attempt it) is to NOT let it get twisted or there will be a block that will result in a rupture of the tube from the ensuing pressure. Definitely forgot to do that. Oops. At this point, it's been about 30 minutes since Mr. Tanaka first arrived and mentioned that it might be better to hit up the local bike shop for help. I sheepishly ask for a ride and 15 minutes later, we are at the bike shop. Mr. Ogata (that's his real name) is the 70 something owner of the bike shop and a man whom I have spoken to about bikes before. He used to compete in Tokyo and is one of the founders of the road bike movement in Miyazaki. "Narainasai! Learn a little, would ya!" He shouts whilst laughing and repairing my remaining "punk" tube.
Another 30 minutes later, Mr. Tanaka has gone back to work after laughing at Mr. Ogata's calling me a "Shushinsha Beginner" for the umpteenth time, and I am riding my bike frantically to make it to a school visit without being late. And I still haven't eaten breakfast. I make a hurried stop at the breadshop that was supposed to be breakfast and grab some food, thinking that I'll stuff my face right before class. Upon arriving at school and heading to the changing room I discover that... lunch has spilled over everything in my backpack. Including my work clothes (which I was going to change into). And my underpants. We are talking sticky. Sweet and sour style sticky. Delicious sticky. I fume with rage for a full 10 seconds. Meanwhile the bell rings announcing that I have about 10 minutes to get to class, and a bee-line of little 4th grade elementary school kids start talking outside, "Nani iebaiideshou? What should we say?" "Mukaenikimashitadeiinnjanai? We've come to take you is enough, right?" I wanted to shout "Leave me the fuck alone so I can clean all this shit off my shirt. And eat food. Delicious gobou bread which I bought and by rights should be allowed to eat." I do not say anything. I let out a last burst of futile rage and slap on the disgusting, sticky clothing then head for class. "Senseinozubon ga yaburechatta! The teacher's pants are dirty!" The kids giggle. I wag my butt (that's where the sticky stain-age is worst) right in their face. That'll give them something to talk about. They scream and jump away, but quickly grab my arms and legs and push me to class.
Class is over now and I am sitting in my office in inappropriate clothing. My boss says, "Oohh, kakkoiidesune! Woh, that's cool!" At the sight of my crazy road biker getup. I explain the story and ask sheepishly, "Gomennasai, daijoubudesuka? I'm sorry! Is this alright?" To which my boss replies, "No." and sits down. Should I just head home and hang my head in shame? The world may never know.
Jonasan, youkoso, nihon-e. Welcome to Japan, Jonathan Slakey. Every day that's the feeling that vibrates down my body and along my spine and past my toes and into my eyes and out my ears. But I also can't help but remember what Mr. Tanaka said to me on the way to the bike shop, "Kouiu keiken ga naito, hontouni ikiru koto ga dekinai jarou. If we didn't have these kinds of experiences, we wouldn't really be living, right?"
You said it, guy whose name I can't recall, you said it.
Whenever it's sunny, I do my best to wake up and get ready early so as to provide time for a bike ride to work (along with a quick breakfast at a local cafe). So I checked the forecast the night before and WOW(!), despite the unrelenting rain, tomorrow was slated for bright skies. The next day proved Yahoo a dependable meteorological resource, and I headed out on my road bike all happy and giggly and thinking about what bread I would buy at the local panyasan. About half-way between my destination and home, my back tire began to thunk a lot louder and air-lessly than usual. I had a "punk". That's what the Japanese call a "flat tire". It's been about two years since last having to deal with a "punk" of this kind so with a little apprehension, I pulled out the tools and set to work. -- "Jona-san!!" Shouted from across the busy intersection, it's an aquaintance who frequents many of the schools I visit. He delivers special order school supplies and... I can't remember his name. "Jonasan, daijoubudesuka? Noseteagemashouka? Are you ok?? Do you need a lift?" He asks concernedly. I really wanted to deal with this "punk" and show off my mastery of the road bike. "Daijoubudayo, tadanapannkuda! I'm fine! It's just a flat tire.' He walks over to investigate. Permit me a bleak generalization (and segway) but the Japanese are excellent about giving you their time, even if they have absolutely no clue how to help you. If you're say, having a hard time finding something in the supermarket and ask one of the clerks where that can of diced tomatoes might be, not only is the clerk going to come, but also the eight or nine old ladies who happened to have heard your story AND the 2nd grader to whom you just taught "fried egg" to that morning.
So anyway, Mr. Tanaka (that's not his name but it'll have to do for now) comes over and says, "Jitenshayasan ni ittahouga iinnjanai? Muzukashisou. Noseteagemashouka? Monndaijanaidesuyo! Shouldn't we take it to a bicycle shop, it looks like you're having a hard time. I can take you, it's no problem!" I stubbornly refuse so he procedes to survey my work. I'm not too good at this. I manage to work the tire off using the tools available, but getting the new air tube onto the wheel is hard. "Jonasan, tetsudaimashouka? Jonathan, can I help?" I'm at a loss so I quietly nod and let him take a hand at it. AND LO, he figured it out. So the wheel has it's new air tube and we are all ready to fill it up with air. Mr. Tanaka and I head on over to the nearby gas station, who fills my brand new air tube up. Two seconds later, KABAAM! Explosion, in the station. An important part of changing your air tube (should you choose to attempt it) is to NOT let it get twisted or there will be a block that will result in a rupture of the tube from the ensuing pressure. Definitely forgot to do that. Oops. At this point, it's been about 30 minutes since Mr. Tanaka first arrived and mentioned that it might be better to hit up the local bike shop for help. I sheepishly ask for a ride and 15 minutes later, we are at the bike shop. Mr. Ogata (that's his real name) is the 70 something owner of the bike shop and a man whom I have spoken to about bikes before. He used to compete in Tokyo and is one of the founders of the road bike movement in Miyazaki. "Narainasai! Learn a little, would ya!" He shouts whilst laughing and repairing my remaining "punk" tube.
Another 30 minutes later, Mr. Tanaka has gone back to work after laughing at Mr. Ogata's calling me a "Shushinsha Beginner" for the umpteenth time, and I am riding my bike frantically to make it to a school visit without being late. And I still haven't eaten breakfast. I make a hurried stop at the breadshop that was supposed to be breakfast and grab some food, thinking that I'll stuff my face right before class. Upon arriving at school and heading to the changing room I discover that... lunch has spilled over everything in my backpack. Including my work clothes (which I was going to change into). And my underpants. We are talking sticky. Sweet and sour style sticky. Delicious sticky. I fume with rage for a full 10 seconds. Meanwhile the bell rings announcing that I have about 10 minutes to get to class, and a bee-line of little 4th grade elementary school kids start talking outside, "Nani iebaiideshou? What should we say?" "Mukaenikimashitadeiinnjanai? We've come to take you is enough, right?" I wanted to shout "Leave me the fuck alone so I can clean all this shit off my shirt. And eat food. Delicious gobou bread which I bought and by rights should be allowed to eat." I do not say anything. I let out a last burst of futile rage and slap on the disgusting, sticky clothing then head for class. "Senseinozubon ga yaburechatta! The teacher's pants are dirty!" The kids giggle. I wag my butt (that's where the sticky stain-age is worst) right in their face. That'll give them something to talk about. They scream and jump away, but quickly grab my arms and legs and push me to class.
Class is over now and I am sitting in my office in inappropriate clothing. My boss says, "Oohh, kakkoiidesune! Woh, that's cool!" At the sight of my crazy road biker getup. I explain the story and ask sheepishly, "Gomennasai, daijoubudesuka? I'm sorry! Is this alright?" To which my boss replies, "No." and sits down. Should I just head home and hang my head in shame? The world may never know.
Jonasan, youkoso, nihon-e. Welcome to Japan, Jonathan Slakey. Every day that's the feeling that vibrates down my body and along my spine and past my toes and into my eyes and out my ears. But I also can't help but remember what Mr. Tanaka said to me on the way to the bike shop, "Kouiu keiken ga naito, hontouni ikiru koto ga dekinai jarou. If we didn't have these kinds of experiences, we wouldn't really be living, right?"
You said it, guy whose name I can't recall, you said it.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
lol, check this out!
http://www.fnn-news.com/news/headlines/articles/CONN00153188.html
ill post something better soon, i promise!
ill post something better soon, i promise!
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Amazing what a little kanji can do...
I finished studying the kanji in this book and I am completely surprised at how much more I understand of Japanese media. It's a long journey to fluency, but understanding kanji is a big help in feeling comfortable with the written language. I cannot recommend this book enough. With subtitles on, I can actually understand the majority of what's happening, as opposed to becoming more confused (which is what happened before learning the kanji). It also allows me to rely on an actual Japanese dictionary, rather than a Japanese Learner's Dictionary. There's never a need to look something up in English because the nuance of each kanji is already there (albeit in English, but you get the idea... right?)
The other great thing relates to Kendo: I've been having a lot of fun lately and an actual DESIRE to go, something which had been decidedly lacking for several weeks before. "Then why were you even going in the first place, Jonathan??" some astute observers might mutter derisively. Well, as may have been mentioned in a previous post (jackass): if you want to not be a complete woosy girly girl, you need to suck it up sometimes and recognize that some things aren't always about having fun. No, it's about learning to accept with open arms the shit getting flung in your face (or, if you're one of the kids in the class then it means learning how to cry because a guy 4 times your size is beating the crap out of you). I really feel like the basics are finally sinking in for me; instead of worrying about all the little things (footwork, hand position, shouting the right word, etc), I can start looking at the strategy behind the fighting.
Alright, that's enough of an update.
Hope January is going well for you,
Jonathan
PS: Skiing in Hiroshima in February! WOOOHH!
The other great thing relates to Kendo: I've been having a lot of fun lately and an actual DESIRE to go, something which had been decidedly lacking for several weeks before. "Then why were you even going in the first place, Jonathan??" some astute observers might mutter derisively. Well, as may have been mentioned in a previous post (jackass): if you want to not be a complete woosy girly girl, you need to suck it up sometimes and recognize that some things aren't always about having fun. No, it's about learning to accept with open arms the shit getting flung in your face (or, if you're one of the kids in the class then it means learning how to cry because a guy 4 times your size is beating the crap out of you). I really feel like the basics are finally sinking in for me; instead of worrying about all the little things (footwork, hand position, shouting the right word, etc), I can start looking at the strategy behind the fighting.
Alright, that's enough of an update.
Hope January is going well for you,
Jonathan
PS: Skiing in Hiroshima in February! WOOOHH!
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Check this out
Gunkanjima is an uninhabited island off the coast of Nagasaki. Ted, a fellow JET in the area, first introduced me to the place and I was surprised to find this article while browsing the Asahi news reel. I didn't think that one of Japan's premier newspapers would ever publish a story about this place, it isn't exactly Japan at it's finest hour. Here's a wikipedia article on it in English. The article doesn't really discuss the history or the impact the island has had on the area; from what I gather it's explaining a photo album that was recently published with photos of the island from both now and back when people lived there. Still, it's good to see that the news in Japan isn't afraid to point out Japan's blemishes.
This is a good song: Tagatame, by Mr Children!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
