Monday, 30 May 2011

Movies and Marriage Part II

As a Communication Studies graduate (class of '94, also reached the semi-finals of the university soccer tournament that same year - a defining era in my young life); I take it as my God-given academic right to hold forth at length about matters celluloid. And to choose the sort of movies we watch here in the Gaynor-Takahashi 'Palace of Light'.
Along as they are love stories.
"Believe it or not, halfling", I said to my beloved wife, "there are romantic movies that do not involve Hugh Grant or adaptations of Jane Austen novels." And so I made her sit down beside me to watch Dr. Zhivago. Yes, that Dr. Zhivago, the David Lean epic, based on the book by Boris Pasternak.
"I never heard of it", said she who is not of the Race of Men.
"What!? One of the greatest love stories ever to grace page and screen. Oh my dear, you are in for a treat, albeit a fairly long, four hour one, but a treat nevertheless. With intermissions, for, eh, treats".
"Just put the feckin DVD on and shut up".
And so we settled down to watch, on Blu-ray no less, one of the great love stories of the twentieth century.
45 minutes into the movie and Sanae has had enough. Not even a quarter way through and we already have had a murder, a massacre, a rape, an attempted suicide, an attempted assassination and some implied incest.
"I though you said this is a love story!"
"Well, it's a Russian love story", I weakly reply.
"Enough" bellows she who is not of the Race of Men but who is quite formidable when annoyed.
Out comes Dr. "Feckin shite" Zhivago, and in goes Sense and Sensibility. And yes, it was the version with Hugh Grant.

Dr. Zhivago - greatest love story ever, or "feckin shite"?

Saturday, 28 May 2011

Drink for Thought

This letter appeared in the Irish Times last Thursday. It was written by my good friend (and hitherto unknown acerbic political commentator) Mr. D. I would be interested to hear/read the reactions of my American friends (should there still be any left reading this blog).
Also, should they know of any opportunities in talk radio, please contact Mr. D, or rather, Rabid Dog D as he will be henceforth known.

Madam, - In your Editorial ("Obama's different visit", May 24th) you suggest that the recent visit by the President of the United States of America was somehow different to others.
Not so, as once again one of the main events on the Obama itinerary was a visit to a pub: just like presidential visits by Clinton and Reagan before him. Indeed in keeping with our national fascination with alcohol, last week's visit by the British monarch also included a visit to a brewery.
Contrast this with today's visit in Britain by President Obama, where he visited a school - instead of a pub.
State visits are major opportunities to present Ireland as a modern knowledge-based economy and forward-thinking society. However, if we want to be taken seriously, we are going to have think bigger and show more imagination than bringing visiting world leaders "down the pub". - Yours, etc,
BRIAN DALY,
Clonross,
Drumree,
Co Meath.

Wednesday, 25 May 2011

Food for thought

Below is an opinion piece from today's Japan Times. The author reflects my thoughts almost verbatim (and conveys them better than I could). Indeed the parallels between his situation and mine are almost uncanny with the notable exception that he and his family live in Nagoya, Japan's third largest city (population 9,000,000) and one of its wealthiest, whereas Muroran is a struggling, blue collar manufacturing town of 90,000 people.

Japanese adults need an education in dealing with difference

"Nihongo ga jōzu desu ne?" roughly translated means "Your Japanese is good." I have been told this many, many times, and it is the opening gambit in a great number of conversations. To elicit such a response, all I need do is open my mouth and say "hai."

In restaurants, hairdressers and whilst walking in the park, the same line has preceded the inevitable "Kuni wa doko desu ka?" or, "Where are you from?"

I have been living in Japan for close to 20 years. I hold an M.A. in Japanese Language and Society from Sheffield University and I have attained Level II of the Japanese Language Proficiency Test. Still, because my face doesn't fit, waiters and waitresses in shops and restaurants look to my Japanese wife for confirmation of what I have asked for, in spite of the fact they have already complimented me on my language ability. In addition, I am told in all seriousness by people who have known me for years that I use chopsticks well and am asked whether or not I can eat Japanese food.

I have learned to live with such minor inconveniences, which, unless I am in a particularly foul mood, don't worry me too much.

However, it irks me a great deal when people say the same thing to my 4-year-old son. He was born in Japan and holds both British and Japanese passports. His Japanese is better than nearly every child in his age group, despite the fact that most of them have two Japanese parents to his one. He is also a gifted speaker of English and is well-advanced for his years. Some Japanese adults even have the audacity to speak to him in stilted English, even though he answers them in perfect Japanese.

He has no complex about being a little different at the moment, but, I wonder, what thoughts go through his head when he is told by so-called responsible grown-ups that his Japanese ability is good? He is then asked what country he comes from and whether or not he likes Japanese food. Although these people mean well, it seems to me a silly thing to ask. Would they ask another child they knew to be born in Japan whether he or she liked Japanese food?

As my son is more Asian in appearance than Western, when he goes out with my wife nobody notices how good or bad his Japanese is. However, when with me, people obviously have a strong compulsion to comment on his language competency or inquire as to his food preference.

I know that most people are well-meaning and are trying to make conversation. However, in the U.K. I would never dream of inquiring as to a person's country of origin simply because they didn't have a white complexion. I assume them to be British unless stated otherwise. Likewise, I would never dream of inquiring as to someone's culinary tastes, especially a 4-year-old's.

My son now mixes with other children from a vast array of countries. He has never, to the best of my knowledge, contemplated why some have different eye or skin colors. He already has a good grasp of different cultures, as we have been fortunate enough to be able to travel extensively. However, he considers himself to be Japanese above all else, mainly because he speaks the language better than any other, he eats Japanese food at most meals, and he has learned Japanese children's songs and participates in Japanese cultural events. When he began kindergarten he bowed to the Japanese flag and stood for the anthem. Other children in his school accept him as Japanese, too. They don't view him as being different and will accept him for what he is.

However, this will only continue to happen if the adults in this country start thinking about the damage that their well-meaning comments might make. If they point out differences that don't really exist, then other children will begin to see them too.

Please remember that children do not like to stand out, nor do they wish to be told that they speak Japanese well when they have studied it for the same length of time as any other child born in this country.

I suggest people be made aware of how ridiculous their statements sound. Adults, more so than children, need to understand that their remarks, however well-meaning, can have a lasting negative effect on children.

Many adults in Japan seem to have a complex about their English speaking ability. They, in turn, presumably find it incredible that a child who doesn't look Japanese can speak the language with ease. Japanese children, too, learn from their parents that English is difficult and they enter their first English lesson with a negative attitude, under the illusion that they are about to embark upon something they will never be able to enjoy or master.

In "Japan's Hidden Apartheid," George Hicks writes that "Japan proclaims itself to be a homogenous society of a unique and distinctive character," and "to be Japanese is almost a definition of racial purity."

It has, therefore, been virtually impossible for Japanese to admit to the existence of minorities and, indeed, Richard Siddle, in his essay in "Japan's Minorities: The Illusion of Homogeneity," states that "Japan's first report to the United Nations after ratification of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights in 1979 stated that 'minorities did not exist in Japan.' "

The government must lead by example and initiate a program designed to inform and educate the public of the need to treat all Japanese children in their country, even though some don't look Japanese, as equals.

Britain instigated a program of separating foreigner immigrants from native U.K. citizens when they first came to the country in the 1960s. The plan was intended to allow foreigners to live with others who shared similar customs and cultures. Although well-intentioned, this led to isolation and alienation, which, in turn, led to other, more sinister problems. I pray that the ministry of education does not let the same thing happen in Japan.

The media has the power to educate people and, in a country with an increasing number of nonnative residents, one of the first steps might be to help Japanese people better understand that people born in Japan can eat Japanese food and like it, and (surprise, surprise) they can speak Japanese!

GERRY MCLELLAN
Nagoya

Monday, 16 May 2011

Forest Kozan


Yesterday myself and Cian took ourselves off into the mountains for a sun-drenched day of communing with nature - particularly small, creepy-crawly nature. The occasion was a once a month outdoor nursery and extreme wilderness survival class for 4 to 6 year olds. So we spent the day admiring the freshly pink cherry blossoms, the clear, sparkling, snow melt water in the nearby river and learning how to catch, kill, gut and skin a deer using only our bare hands and some disposable chopsticks.
Thank God for the clear, sparkling, snow melt water in the river to wash the deer viscera off our hands - man, do those animals ever bleed, particularly, as Cian did, when you sever a jugular while trying to pop their eyeballs out; though it turns out cherry blossoms make for quite tasty seasoning on barbecued venison.
With bellies sated we spent the afternoon after lunch relaxing, rolling around on the grass and honing 10-point antlers into rapier like points, all the better to pin the deer hide to some trees, dry it out and make prêt-à-porte buckskin suits for all the family.
Of course, the one thing I forgot to bring with us was my camera so all you have are my vivid descriptions but there are somewhat tame, PG-12 photos here of the gathered tribes moments before we succumbed to our primeval blood lust and decimated the local deer population.

"Forest Kozan: Cian, son, remember up here you're either hunting something, or it's hunting you."

Saturday, 7 May 2011

Gone Paddy, Gone

If you like your economic gloom early with your morning tea then cast an eye over this piece here by Morgan 'I told you so' Kelly in today's Irish Times. To give you the ticker-tape version: 'Ireland is beyond fecked'. We will all be back to subsistence farming before the end of the year. That, of course, depends on whether there is anybody left in the country by then.
My admittedly paltry list of facebook friends, all 45 of them (and yes, you are all so special to me in all your individual special ways) includes a fair few Paddies who now make their home abroad. And home isn't just the tried and true destinations like the UK, US and Oz, but includes Thailand, Argentina, Hong Kong, China and one of the less revolutionary 'stans in Central Asia.
While email, skype and connecting flights have rendered these places less remote than before, they still can't obfuscate the fact that none of these people - listen to me - us people will be in a position to return home anytime soon. Unless of course it is to grab our family and take them with us back to our adopted homelands before they are sold by the Irish government into enforced servitude to German banks.
Lord, I hope, really, I do, I genuinely hope that in the coming years me and Mad Dog Kelly are both proved wrong, but I doubt it.

Golden Week Part 2

After our trip to see the swans, sorry geese, it rained the next day. And rained. And rained.
And I wished I was in O'Neills on Suffolk St., settled in a for a long afternoon of slow pints, conversation and the occasional glance at whatever game they were showing on the television.

Friday, 6 May 2011

Golden Week Part 1






The beginning of May over here sees a succession of public holidays collectively known as 'Golden Week'. I asked Sanae about the origins of the term and she told me that back in the day when Gods bestrode the earth two of them - Onigiri, the God of the rice paddy and Umeboshi, the god of consumer electronics - wed on the first day; on the second day, after an exhausting night doing the dance of the two-backed monkey, Umeboshi discovered she was pregnant; and on the third day she gave birth to Irrashimase, the god of department stores. And such was their happiness they called this fertile time 'Golden Week'.
I dunno, maybe it's just me but there seems to be some sort of subtext to Sanae's explanation which I'm just not grasping. According to Wikipedia the more prosaic explanation is that Japanese history has plumped a number of notable days together - Constitution day, the previous Emperor's birthday and May day, with the result that we get all our public holidays coming at once. Which is fine until you discover that the next public holiday isn't until the end of July which makes for a long, unbroken stretch of spring-summer.
Anyway, the first day of Golden Week dawned sunny and blue so the three of us jumped in my car and drove to Tomokomai, a city I had hitherto never associated with the concept of a 'day out'. But hidden away on the northern side of the town is a series of marshlands and small lakes which are the feeding grounds and transit points for all sorts of birds whose names I didn't bother to read. Most of them are white and look like geese so for convenience's sake that's what we will call them. Even the ones that were swans. And sparrows.
Anyway there was a nice walk around the perimeter of the lake and that's where we took ourselves. And as luck would have it, the lake was directly beneath the approach path for planes landing in nearby Chitose airport. So we divided our time between geese spotting and plane spotting, the rare yellow-billed Siberian goose vying with the equally rare 11.35 Korean Airlines Airbus A320 from Incheon for our excited attention.

Wednesday, 4 May 2011

April


After the heroics of March I kind of took the month of April off - 6 posts in total as compared to close on 30 the month before. Given events over here the blog was in danger of becoming "Japan, Apocalypse Now", and the cumulative wear and tear on the soul was beginning to get to me. Plus April marks the start of the new school/academic year here so I was quite busy at work. And there wasn't all that much to write about really (my London Olympic qualifying run in the Date half marathon apart). As a result, it seems I have lost my Malaysian readership (fickle bastards), but have picked up some fans in, eh, Ukraine.
But it's May, the weather is beginning to warm up (though as I write this it seems to have relapsed into a sort of sulky late winter - heavy rain and sleet this morning with a daffodil decimating high of 5 degrees today. As Cian so aptly put it, "arse weather"); so hopefully we will be out and about a bit more at the weekends and there will be a bit more to write about.
Though a lot of it could just be about gardening, gardening centres, growing things, stopping small creepy-crawly things from infecting my growing things, and how Cian keeps eating the semi-ripe tomatoes. Yes, it's gardening season and as my surfing career has been temporarily halted (until Cian finishes primary/elementary school and can be left on his own on weekend mornings I have been informed, nay, it has been decreed by she who must be obeyed), that is pretty much all I will be doing this season. So brace yourself for a series of distinctly middle-aged posts about flowering geraniums, rampant clematis and my ongoing battle with the local ant colony.



April - the most stressful month

 And so, with its usual unstoppable momentum, April has rolled around and with it the start of the new school and business year. Sanae must ...