It's OK, I'm A Rich English Teacher, I Can Take Baths

I can't really decide if this is a TMI post. (Actually I guess I have considering the fact that it's posted.)

I mean, inherent in bathing is nudity. I'll try to be 'adult' about it...

Why am I writing about bathing? Because I clearly am having difficulty coming up with material? Because it could be a 'teach-able moment' (remember that bullshit phrase?)? Yes.

So, it's been insanely cold in Okinawa. A bitter 50 degrees-ish. I don't know exactly since I've been converted to Celsius, meters, and left-sided driving.

Though you are justified in laughing at me for complaining about a bitter 50 degrees. Trust me, it feels unbearably cold, especially when no buildings in Okinawa have heat. Getting up in the morning is such a nightmare, though I'm getting scientific about creating the absolute minimum amount of time between 'under blankets' and 'in shower'.

So, I've heard one of the best methods to deal with the cold without heating is to take a bath. And my bathing habits are not usually blog-post worthy, but when you bathe Japanese style, trust me, it's worth writing about.

Admittedly, this isn't my first Japanese bathing experience, my first was in a public bath in Tokyo...and that is an inappropriate blog topic.

So, as you may know the most important rule is to bathe before getting in the bath. You idiot.

Thankfully my apartment has a room solely dedicated to the shower/bath. Trust me, this is critical. Second most important is to get over any image issues and learn to enjoy squatting naked on stools while hosing yourself down like an elephant (not to exacerbate those body issues...).

Once clean, ease yourself into the bath, which must be painfully hot. For maximum enjoyment, the temperature difference between bath water and air temperature should be as great as possible. I suggest opening the windows of the apartment.

Baths are a bit of an anomaly in Japan. I seriously think they are deeper than they are long. And it's surprisingly not uncomfortable. Can I suggest a position like you're making a 'U' with your body? No? Ok then, sit with your legs crossed.

I'm not really the bathing type so once I was in I had no idea what to do with myself. Do I just sit here bored and naked? That seems like I'm asking for trouble...

Do I fall asleep? Do I get drunk? Do I read?

Traditionally, the bath is filled once and all the members of the house share the water (hence the importance of being clean before entering), but I don't see how this works since the water gets cold surprisingly fast. Once I had my fill I pulled the plug, while still in the bath. Which is what I imagine dying must feel like. Or interestingly, being born too I suppose.

Now I was naked and sitting inappropriately in an empty bathtub. It was time to get out. It's surprising how it was entirely fine a minute ago, but without water, was completely disturbing. Actually it was more like 5 minutes ago; yeah that's how deep the bath is. And it takes an honest 25 minutes to fill 3/4.

So draining that was definitely representative of death. Namely my financial death when I get the next gas bill.

But it's not a lie, I was warm (and bright, lobster red) the rest of the night.

My Fortune Is Coming True Already!

"Past their best are the cherry blossoms in the garden, falling to the ground with the rain in the setting sun."

That's what 2011's got in store for me. Also, I can expect "unexpected misfortunes". Hmm. Though, now that I know the potential for misfortune, will it still be unexpected? Finally I need to be careful and exercise more control and restraint...

I can't disagree with that last part...

In any case, the good folks at my local Shinto shrine aren't instilling me with great faith for a fantastic 2011. Maybe it's comeuppance for my 2010?

Anyway, warnings for disappointment and calamity aside, my pious visit to a shrine on New Year's was quite an experience.

The piousness started at the local bar.

I generally try to make it a point to avoid foreigner bars (for reasons that I won't hijack this post with), and I was reminded all over again why I took such solemn vows. Especially on an island playing host to 40,000 square-headed assclowns from Backwater Tennessee or Bumblefuck Indiana with such a palpable air of swagger they make anywhere they go feel like the Wild West (in a very, very bad way).

Once a group of what seemed like 100 of these anonymous modern cowboys walked in and turned the bar into the local saloon, it was time to go. But not before I was completely awestruck by how interchangeable they are. Not just because of the haircuts; they seriously were all about the same height, had the same facial features, and same mannerisms. And let's not forget the girlfriends, who were all like replicas from some kinky science fiction movie. Namely blinding trailer trash blond hair, giant chests, and deafening laughs. I totally expected "Sweet Home Alabama" to start playing in the background.

Most of us were mildly drunk, so when we all exchanged 'Let's get the fuck out of here' glances no one was especially disappointed.

It was decided that to do New Year's right we needed to head to the nearest Shinto shrine. We headed to the monorail station, where, lo and behold! one of my students was seemingly waiting for the sole purpose of seeing me drunk. He is one of the few students I like at the Academic High School, and can remember. Probably because of his hair that is straight out of Dragon Ball Z. In any case he was with what I'm assuming to be a girlfriend, I was also with female companions, and The Man Code seems to be the same in any country and across all ages. (Read: We completely, but obviously trying too hard, managed to 'ignore' each other).

After that potential for disaster was (possibly) averted, it was time to head to the shrine. It was basically like a carnival mixed with a religious service. It had just the right amount of reflection and fun. It was probably my favorite New Year's so far. And serving alcohol at a 'religious' function is never a bad thing.

Or maybe it is. For you see, as I was standing with the masses getting ready to do the clapping and coin throwing, I was also experiencing the other Great Japanese Tradition: Groping.

At first, it was simply pressure on my back. OK, it's crowded here, no problem. Though I thought it odd when the pressure didn't move. Usually when pressed up against someone, you shift to let the person know you are at least making the appearance of trying to avoid this exact situation. I just let it go and stood my ground. Which was clearly my biggest mistake because it was obviously interpreted as a sign of "It's OK, I like it." Next thing I know, I have, what I'm hoping to be a hand, moving back and forth across my waist.

I wish I could have seen my face the moment I realized what was going on. My eyes must have been bigger than the 500 yen coins in that offering box. Yet, once I knew what was going on, truth be told, I didn't stop it right away. First because I wanted to make sure I wasn't imagining it. Second because I wanted to consciously remember my first Japanese groping. And third, because it would be a lie if I said I didn't like it, at least a little bit.

Finally though it was time to put an end to it. The only way this was going any further was if I was getting a substantial offering thrown at me. And although it was way too crowded for anyone to notice, I wasn't about to risk it.

So I cleared my throat, and moved closer to the people I came with, signaling 'Hey, I'm with them.' and the fun was over.

Maybe to call it 'groping' is needlessly exciting. There was definitely conscious and erotic contact, but there was a disappointing lack of actual aggressive grabbing. No ass squeezing, no cupping, and the whole thing lasted maybe two minutes.

I ended it before I really had a chance to fully appreciate, ahem, absorb the whole thing.

Oh well, like "...the cherry blossoms in the garden, falling to the ground with the rain in the setting sun." I guess.

The Biggest Non-Decision Ever

It arrived.

Recontracting papers.

Though really, this was a non-decision. I came here knowing it was only going to be for a year. Though I told myself "I'll be open to whatever happens, if I feel like I should stay another year, then I will." But when I actually had the papers in front of me it took all of two and half seconds to think about it, circle my intent and sign my name.

Not at all because I can't wait to get out of here. Leaving is going to be unbearably difficult, I know it already. And honestly the thought of how hard it will be to leave almost tricked me into staying.

But then, like in crazy action movies where the hero is in a stalled helicopter and manages to restart the rotor just before it hits the ground, my brain restarted and saved me from disaster.

"Seriously, it's time to get on with life. Do you honestly think you will do this forever? If you stay another year the likelihood of going back home, not to mention medical school, decreases exponentially. And then what do you do? Do this for the rest of your life? I don't fucking think so. It's a great break and a great experience, but it's not a life."

That's what ultimately got the rotor restarted. And I know I'll leave with the regret of knowing though I spent a year here I barely scratched the surface of what I could have experienced. But honestly, how much would another year deepen my connections here?

And maybe paradoxically that's why I'm leaving; I'm tired of just scratching the surface of everywhere I go. It kind of makes my throat seize just typing this, but I'm tired of living a life of scratching the surface; I want to settle. I want to find a place, find someone permanent, start my career and get the show on the road already.

I can't fucking believe those words just left my mind.

It's certainly true that teaching English in Japan could be my career I guess, but it took me all of three months to realize this job provides only the most superficial of satisfaction and I could never live with myself if I had to do this on a permanent basis.

Admittedly, if I was just biding my time, not sure of what to do next with my life, I would definitely stay. And I don't look down on people who say they get genuine satisfaction from this job (though I am suspicious). But when you compare being a permanent outsider teaching an irrelevant and generally non-applicable subject to beginning a career in medicine, where you are thoroughly in charge of your own life and are so revered (for serious lack of a better word) that perfect strangers willingly consent to your cutting them open, I don't think there's really a decision to make.

And you know what, it took me coming here to realize it. Before I came here I was just going to medical school because, what the hell, what else was I going to do? But now I'm closer to realizing that nothing else will give the kind of challenge and satisfaction I need. I'm still terrified of selling my life in trade for a medical career, but I'll worry about that when I get there, and I think it's safe to say that I'm a strong enough person that I won't allow that to happen.

So to any desperate JET applicants who have just sent in your application and are reading this, here's one more opening.

Maybe I'll be that faceless, mysterious Predecessor who emails you one random day in June.

Pop Culture Tuesdays XVIII

I was about to post something contemplative when I caught myself.

"No. No more of that shit. That'll be like the forth post in a row.", I said to myself.

While this post is far from demanding any serious soul searching, it is one of the more legitimate, interesting Pop Posts, I think.

Today's Pop Post is about the guy behind this:

Takashi Murakami.

The guy is pretty much everything Pop Culture should be. He's brought 'low' culture into high culture and simultaneously brought 'high' culture into low, mass culture. I think the video is pretty solid evidence of the mixing of mass and high cultures. Although, Louis Vuitton really walks a fine line between mass and high culture, maybe that's why the company decided to collaborate with Murakami?

Anyway, his most recent controversy has been putting up some crazy whimsical, totally out of place sculptures in the Palace of Versailles.

I don't know that you can make a clearer commentary on art and culture than that.

Even Murakami himself is part of the Pop Culture movement. I mean, let's be honest, he's really just taking the next logical step of Warhol and/or Lichtenstein. But that's what Pop Art is; keeping that nostalgia for the past while doing something new, right?

Anyway, as promised, no reflection. Unless you want to reflect on the roles of Pop Art and High Art in society, and whether there is really a point in distinguishing the two.

But why think? Just let the prettiness wash over you without thought.

"Ghosts of the OR"--My Greek Epic

Before coming here I had an internship in the operating room of a hospital near my house. During one particularly uneventful open-heart surgery (which despite what Grey’s Anatomy leads you to believe, is all of them), the surgeon asked me how old I was. He already knew I was going to medical school and he said he asked because he wanted to make sure I wasn’t one of those people who had wasted time between college and medical school trying to “find themselves”. I gave a short laugh and confidently replied “Of course not!”

Given his tone there was no way I was about to say, “I’m off to Japan in a few weeks for a year of teaching English to kids who will never use it!!” And it’s a good thing the only visible part of a person’s face in the OR is their eyes, because behind my mask and head-cover was definitely a face of shame.

Yet I look back on this and the only feelings of shame I have now come from the fact that I was so ashamed then. It’s not like I felt this anger on the spot and hid it just to please him. I was genuinely ashamed that I decided to not go straight to medical school, yet clearly, the shame wasn’t great enough to make me believe that it was the wrong decision.

I’ll never think it was the wrong decision. I’m not so shortsighted as everyone around me seemed to be.

The summer before leaving was difficult, to put it into polite blogging terms. Which was inevitable when I’d been living my life for everyone but myself, then suddenly decided that I’ve had enough.

I’m pretty sure everyone within 3 degrees of separation from my parents knew I was going to medical school, so I do feel a little bad when I picture their answer to people who ask them “So, how is he handling medical school?” Their story of humility is seriously biblical and gives me slight tingles of pleasure.

Not that I came here to spite my parents. My parents simply were not a part of the equation when I was deciding. They claimed I was being unbelievably selfish and stupid, which had the obvious implication that the only way for them to realize their ‘investment’ and therefore the only unselfish thing to do was for me to go straight to medical school.

And you know what? It was selfish. And I don’t apologize for it. However, what I am terrified of is it being a stupid decision. Not stupid for any of my parents’ uniformed reasons; in the grand scheme of things a year isn’t going to make a damn of a difference. However, that doesn’t mean it’s OK for this to be a wasted year. I need to get something worthwhile and profound out of it. It must mean something. And I am terrified of it meaning nothing. I fully understand that this ‘meaning’ will change many times as I get older and look back with more detached maturity, but I will consider it a failure if I get on that plane back to the US and cannot think of one profound lesson I’ve learned or relationship I’ve had.

And I’m not about to fail. If for no other reason than I can look all the doubters in the eye when I get back home and tell them in the most intimidating, fear-instilling way, with eyes narrowed, “You were wrong.”. Preferably with some dramatic thunder or some other suitably dramatic device. Maybe a chorus from an ancient Greek play?

Something like that.