A principal gets the students jazzed up for an ekiden.

I can write from my phone now.

Grand.

Non-sequiturs and 28 JAN 2009

The other day we were visited by a pair of pianists from Okinawa.  Actually, they are sisters and are originally from Miyako, and while back on the island they decided to drop in at a few schools and play some piano for the students. 

Anyway, after several songs they called up volunteers one at a time to play alongside them at the piano.  The collective mind of the auditorium's occupants (except that of myself-- the slot in my brain for the Nippon Mental Net Transponder is greedily occupied by an All-American Rugged Individuality Unit) pushed a certain sannensei to the front as the first victim.  He played a single repeating, droning note for a bit as one of the professional pianists played a complex pattern.  He soon returned to his seat and the show went on.

After the recital, I asked the student (in Japanese) what he thought about the experience.  He turned and said "Florida, yes, and California."

Sorry.  What?

I stumbled away in hopeless confusion.  

Actually, I'm really not confused about this.  Many students don't actually listen to what I am asking (whether it is Japanese or English) and simply respond with whatever English words pop into their heads at the moment.  Don't get me wrong-- they have absolutely zero regard for meaning, so whatever shit they come up with usually makes me laugh.  But it's kind of frustrating too.  So, as for me, hopeless, yes, but not confused.  It's another reason to never put any effort into connecting with the kids at this school.  

But I have to.

-=-=-=-=- For those who are interested, asking 'Was it fun?' (TANOSHIKATTA? 楽しかった？) in Japanese sounds nothing like any English phrase I am aware of, much less any phrase referencing coastal states.

Unique Conversations: Taxi

It would be as much of a mistake to say that people in Miyako are friendly as it would be to say that they aren't, but I've had a few good, unexpected experiences.

I took a taxi to the airport last month.  Little did I know that I would not only be taken to my destination, but to the wonderful and mysterious world of The Origins of the Miyako Language. 

Miyako Language?  Yeah, it is different from Japanese.  And by different, I mean entirely unlike Japanese.

Here are a few examples (with ample mistakes, I'd expect):

ミドゥーン (miduun) means 彼女 (kanojo), or 'girlfriend'

ンミャーチ (nmyaachi) means ようこそ (yokoso), or 'welcome'

ンギャマス (ngyamasu) means だまれ! (damare), or 'shut up'

アッチャンカイ (acchankai) means 'see you later/bye/etc.'

バタゴゴ (batagogo) means 'I'm full (stomach).'

People interested in Japanese as an elegant language with clean, precise sounds (as I was) should steer clear of Miyako.  It's amusing but not pretty.  It has grown on me, but it still sounds like a mess and is unintelligible to mainland Japanese.  Further, as the taxi driver explained, there are still many problems regarding the transliteration of Miyako words into Japanese characters.

Yes.

Little did I know, the taxi driver had a wealth of information regarding the origins of the Miyako language.  As we made our way to the airport, I explained that I came to Japan largely because I wanted to learn the language, to which he replied 'Yes, but what do you think of the Miyako dialect?'  I immediately saw an education in the making.

APPARENTLY the Miyako language has many similarities to Satsuma Japanese, though the direction of this relationship was unknown to the driver.  He also explained to me how it is difficult to write some Miyako family names in Japanese kanji because of the disparity between the sounds used in Miyako and the sounds that are available in Japanese.

I was taking notes.  The taxi had became a lecture hall.

Naturally, I was reluctant to leave when we arrived at the airport.  These days it is difficult enough to hear interesting thoughts from anyone, and hearing accessible thoughts about Japan/Miyako from an actual local person is doubly so.  When I met my crew at the airport I explained what happened.  

"You heard all of this from a taxi driver?" they asked.  

Word.

Rowdy English Gaming II

Continued from the last post...

After entering the classroom, I divided the class into three teams, each of which received their own respective set of character cards.  Although the teams are called 'Robots and Aliens,' 'Humans and Animals,' and 'Mythological Creatures' according to the Eigomon canon, I prefer to think of the groups as Studious Girls Squad (SGS), Le Corps Maussade, and Team Jackass.

To start, I called representatives from each team to select a character card from their collection and prepare to wage epic battle at my desk.  The three students rock-paper-scissor-ed and the victor was given the opportunity to choose one question (involving the superlative, e.g. 'Which is the strongest?') according to the most advantageous traits of his character card (while the traits of the other two players' cards are unknown).  The card featuring the highest number regarding the category in question (e.g. SPEED or STRENGTH) is the winner, and the holder of that card gets to collect the cards of the other two students.  The goal is to end the class with the most total cards as a team.

Anyway, you may have heard interesting commentary about the Japanese decision making process, you know, how it is 'so different from the West,' and all about 'group consensus' and 'being non-confrontational.'  Hah.  Let's have a look at the teams.

SGS is composed of people from the overwhelmingly female right side of the classroom.  I call them studious, but really they are only studious compared to the rest of the class.  They are typically pretty good at English and play along with the activities I provide.  Their decision making process involves them neatly spreading all thirty-two of their team's cards on their island of gathered desks.  All remain seated as they pore over the cards and discuss which card to select and, infinitely more seriously, which of them is going to actually carry it to the front of the room.

Le Corps is made up of students from the center of the room.  This group actually has the most talented student of English, but, in this random-ass game, she is of little benefit.  Most of these students are pointedly unenthusiastic about anything.  However, I detect that they are interested in the apparent complexity of the cards.  One of the things I like about this game is that it appears to be worthy of thought and strategy.  The students are confronted with a bewildering array of characters and statistics, and it sure looks exciting.  Of course, I know what they don't: the game is a complete crapshoot.  

My English major friends say this is dramatic irony.

Team Jackass is a real group of winners.  Although they refuse to use any English outside of short phrases that they find amusing, they are the ones who make or break this activity.  Fortunately, I know the catalyst for success:  I give them an opportunity to freely pace around, compete, criticize, and kick the crap out of themselves.  They've got a large, noisy insult-comedian guy who appears to call most of the shots, and he's followed by (1) an inattentive, rotund fellow who refuses to understand anything I ever say and (2) a short, obnoxious fellow who has the self-direction of a crash test dummy.  There is a voice of reason at the back of the group, but he knows where this train is going.  Team Jackass chooses which players and cards to field based on what they expect will result in someone suffering the most verbal and physical abuse possible.

Several rounds of play yield some memorable moments.  Le Corps guys rotate players regularly and all of them maintain a poker face.  That is, unless they win; then you may hear a low-register 'uuuueeeeeeaaaaayyyy.'  SGS girls twirl with joy in victory and twirl with sorrow in defeat.

Crap, I forgot to explain.  One cycle of gameplay actually has two stages of excitement: the RPS segment and the question-answers segment.  Most of the student reactions occur after the RPS result because, most of the time, if you win the RPS and get your choice of question, you are going to win the round.  That being said, there is a lot of pressure and focus on the RPS segment.  Speaking of which, these kids are funny about RPS.  Certain students (based on past experience, I suppose) are regarded as being strong RPS players, and others, conversely, think of themselves as weak RPS-ers.  They bring confidence and anxiety to the table.

One student approached the table.  He clenched his fist and furrowed his brow, closing his eyes in concentration.  Then he relaxed and looked skyward-- 'yometa,' he said ['I read it (the other players' intentions)].  I laughed out loud, but he could have been being serious, comical, and unnerving to the other players all at the same time.  When a student would lose the RPS, he would often look at his hand as if it were to blame.

Most of the teams would say either nothing or a few words of encouragement to the players they sent to the battle table.  Not Team Jackass.  Rather, it is 'Win, or don't come back.'

They sent up their ragdoll, punching bag short kid.  I had some sympathy for him early on, but this dude really is unbelievably annoying.  Apparently they had sent him up this time with a particularly valued card, and when he lost, the color ran from his face.  The riot that was his team (standing behind him) roared.  He winced.  In the blink of an eye he was ripped from his position at the table and lynched.

After a series of painful losses and the sacking of half the team, the leader of Team Jackass decided that a restructuring was in order.  He asked me something in Japanese that I didn't understand.  I could tell that it was a request for permission for something, but I wasn't sure what.  I'm the chaos-oriented type, so I said 'yeah, OK, go ahead' just to see what he was talking about.

Apparently the short guy hadn't gotten his shit together yet and was due for another beating.  The big comedian judo threw the kid punched him a few times.  The annoying kid didn't stop giggling thoughout the ordeal.  

How obnoxious.  

Signaling further reform, the big guy declared that he was going to be doing all of the RPS from then on.  Not that he actually did.  By that point his team was openly fighting, and card selection and RPS participation had fallen to whomever wasn't drop kicking or being drop kicked.

I think they have more fun losing than winning. 

We played this game several times that week and had a good time.  Since then, I have added new dynamics to the game, such as a card wagering system, and have used it in dozens of other classes.  It's a nice piece of work-- the vast majority of students are motivated to play.  Even the typically 'bad' students can have a good time.

But more interestingly, though, I like this game because it allows me, the ALT, to observe the interaction of personalities in the classroom-- I just run the game.  This activity allows the students a large degree of freedom, which is in itself interesting, but it allows it in a way that doesn't cause them to seize up (as Japanese students often do).  More human experiments to come...

Finally:

I hope you are wondering why I permitted the students to fight each other.  Well, that is what they usually do in the 10 minutes between classes; they play ball or wrestle.  And I don't hear a word about it from the teachers.  I just chalk it up next to old goats standing on boxes and 3 meter gaps in brand new roads as normal features of Miyako-land.

以上です。

Rowdy English Gaming

I'm not talking about football/soccer.  Nay, I'd like to share my experience with a certain clever ESL game called 'Eigomon.'  Here is the source.

It is a pretty great game, I have to say.  It is great for teaching comparatives and superlatives to students of, in my opinion, any age.  You can read the description on the MES English website for more detailed information.  I'm not here to explain the game--I'm going to talk about how this game sets a particular group of sullen eighth graders on fire.

I lie; these kids aren't properly described as sullen.  They've just had it with school.  That's all. We all know (or have been) the type.  However, given that getting kids jazzed up for learning English is one of the few specifics in the JET ALT job description, these students are a particular challenge for the ALT who is determined to fulfull the role.  They are the sort of students who just make you want to give up and do worksheets for the rest of the year.  However, I resist that for three reasons:

(1) There are a few students stuck in the class who are highly motivated, talented, and attentive.  They deserve a great classroom experience even though they will do whatever dumb work that is assigned to them.

(2) I hate worksheets and have sworn to never make them unless instructed to do so by the JTE, in which case I frown a lot and slouch unprofessionally at my desk.  I like talking/listening activities because I figure they can do reading and writing without a native English speaker.

(3) The 'bad kids' are usually barrels of gunpowder.  If you find something that catches their attention, you've got a better party on your hands than you could ever have with the attentive students.  How could one pass this up?

So, on to the beginning of this week's tale:

ALT stands for Assistant Language Teacher.  Typically, you play a support role for the JTE (Japanese Teacher of English) by coming up with games and activities, speaking like an instructional recording, and being unqualified yet authoritative about matters of English.  Usually you adhere to the plan established by the JTE and fill in where you are asked to.  However, every once in a while I am asked to run classes alone.  The first time I did this was with the particular class of students I am talking about today.  It was some time ago.

In short, that class didn't go so well.  The students weren't out of control, but many of them simply didn't even look at the worksheet that the teacher had instructed me to give them.  Instead they just talked the whole time.  Then, when I collected the worksheets at the end of class, many of the moderately good students (who would normally have done the worksheet in the presence of the JTE) started scrambling to finish what they could before I took up the papers.  The tough guys/comedians in their corner still didn't move much-- no loss there, really.  Anyway, the class wasn't horrific, but it did seem like a waste of time for everyone.

This week, I once again had to teach that class (and several others) solo.  I was determined (well, as determined as I get...) to do things differently-- that is, not use a worksheet-- and make that particular class a success.  Fortunately, when I arrived at the school on the first day of the week, I found that the JTE was out and had left me NO PLAN-- no worksheet, no hindrance, no specific goals.  Sweet.  I clicked around on the internet and discovered Eigomon, prepared the cards, and conceived a game.  Immaculately.

To be continued...

To Start in on Posting Instances of Engrish is a Slippery Slope...

...but this is simply too memorable.  The purpose of this decal is to indicate on a given vehicle that there is a pregnant woman on board.  It was spotted in a 100 yen shoppe.

P.S. Here is an edit:  What really gets me about this (aside from the accidentally suggestive quality of the sticker) is the pleased expression on the character's face.  I yearn to be that complacent.

Unique Conversation: Park

I often wash my bike at a park just outside of my side of town.

Allow me to explain.

Shortly after I purchased the bike I started looking for places to wash it. I used a water source at one of the gas stations a few times (thank you to the folks at Eneos), but it was often occupied and the hose was broken. Zipping around the island one day, I came upon a rarely-used park that had a spigot. Since then, that is where I have been washing the bike. Although I have sighted a self-service car wash-type thing in the city, I continue to use the park because the scenery is pleasant.

I also see random people there.

Sometimes when I roll up there is a man in a jumpsuit sleeping on the table under a nearby pavillion. I don't talk to him because it is clear that he too enjoys the serenity of the park and desperately needs rest after working all night. I also don't talk to the older ladies who are exercising-- the sight of a foreigner washing a motorcycle in a park is aggressively suspect, like a noontime drug deal. The younger people who come to the park merely sit in their vehicles, living the the concept of 'park' with sincere and literal dedication.

The guy who brought his dog to the park yesterday, however, needed to know what was going on, including:
(1) The motorcycle's displacement
(2) My general attitude toward the weather in Miyako
(3) Whether I had to take a test to become an English teacher in Japan

To be fair, he was just making an effort to talk to the foreigner-- the very action that motivated me to start writing this. I am appreciative. I should also note that in return for his friendliness I shared with him such Gems of Brilliant Insight as:
(1) Although it is warm in Miyako, I wear a jacket when I ride the motorcycle.
(2) Miyako doesn't have interstate highways, you know.
(3) Your dog, which looks to be the largest dog in Miyako, causes me to be nostalgic about my home in Tennessee.

My Japanese is spectacular.

Really, light conversations make my day. Ours was broken up by me waxing the bike and him doing stretches in anticipation for something and 'rassling the dog. The dog, a golden retriever of age 5, smartly swiped the yellow towel from my pocket and jauntily pranced about. How adorable.

But, about this dude, he was totally a Miyako person. That is, not a mainlander. I think this mostly because I couldn't understand what he was saying most of the time. Nevertheless, the meaning came through, and this supports something I have been thinking about communication (the general topic and activity) for some time: namely, an idea that the most crucial part of communication is not vocabulary or technical skill but the effort or will to communicate. Maybe there is something nonverbal going on. I have other empirical evidence that is related, but I'll save that for later. Peace.

Nifty Shirt

I received a package from the States the other day. Inside it was nothing less than The Greatest Shirt Ever Manufactured. You ask how I know this-- features:
- Fleece inside/..hhrrrmmm.... non-fleece outside HUZZAH
- Nifty holes for one's thumbs in the event that you want to cover your palms and backs of hands but not your fingers
- Zip collar
- Left shoulder pocket that is a bitch to use but is totally badass. I pulled my cellphone out of it in class and students were like 'KAKKOII' (cool/stylish/good form/totally badass).
- Fits me perfectly
- Green
- From REI

I wish I had three of them because they are so aggressively useful. I can wear it when at work, adventuring in the wilderness, engaging in urban parkour, or playing Fallout 3. Holy crap. And I'll put things in the pocket just because.

It's simple really...

We were about to jump in the water the other day when an ancient man (from Miyako) approached us to see what sort of things we were up to.

He seated himself where the hatch opens at the back of my friend's car and began talking unintelligibly, though at length, about generalities. I mentioned that I like Miyako and enjoy working as an English teacher, and I joked that the students are frightening. He recommended that I strike the students when they are insolent.

I'm glad I don't deal with discipline in the classroom.