Welcome to the Concrete Rainbow

Time, as observed by human beings, occurs in a sequential sequence.  We are born, grow, and die; past, present, and future.  However, time, if observed from outside our perspective, occurs simultaneously, meaning that all events are happening at once.  If this is true, then it explains why my blogs jump around in time with seemingly no rhyme or reason.

This boils down to: blame it on the 4th dimension. 

So, let's jump into another point in time, shall we?

It was my first morning in the Ishiyama household, and I blearily stumbled downstairs for my first breakfast.  My host father or as I would call him, Otoo-san, had already left for work, so it was just me, Marumi-chan (the cute, spoiled, brown poodle), and Suzie my host mother.  Suzie preferred to be called just Suzie, rather than Suzie-san or Okaa-san (mother in...spoiler alert: Japanese).

Suzie asked me what I wanted for breakfast and what I usually ate in America.  I told her toast, eggs, bacon, toast with peanut butter, cereal, etc.  She then furrowed her brow and told me that it sounded like I ate like a true Japanese person.  Within the first few seconds of opening my mouth, I had encountered my first instance of language dissonance. 

Disclosure:  I don't know what karmic lottery I had won, but Suzie was an English language teacher that taught out of a classroom in the upstairs of her home.  This meant that my two months of Japanese wouldn't leave me totally screwed in the realm of communication.

What I didn't realize was, knowing English and understanding all of its layered nuances, were completely separate things.  I could talk with Suzie, but I'd have to do so making sure I was very specific about if I was joking about things or being literal.  In this case, I stopped and told Suzie that this was just a list of examples of things I'd normally eat, not eat all at once.  We ultimately settled on a peanut butter aka peanut cream toast. 

That's right, one of the core items of delightfulness also exists in Japan.  However, peanut butter is not the magnificent product it is in America.  Oh no, in Japan, it is sweeter, less thick, and reminds one of a cross between honey and peanut butter.  The consistency is noticeably different, and it doesn't spread nearly as well.  It doesn't really stick to the roof of your mouth like in America.  So, to sum this all up, this is the Bizzaro World version of peanut butter.

As she slid the toast in front of me, Suzie asked me what I wanted to drink.  I requested milk, which leads to...

Milk tastes a whole lot more...milky here.  By that, I mean, when you open the carton, it smells like you just unleashed some kind of super, Soviet built, dairy weapon upon humanity.  At first I thought the milk had gone bad, but it was just a stage or two away from yogurt/cheese.  It still tasted good, but-perhaps it just tasted fresher than what I'm used to? 

Anyways, Suzie slid the glass over to me and watched me as I ate (not creepily, I might add, just interested in if I liked it or not).  She took a seat across from me and I asked her if she had already eaten or if she wanted to have some toast and milk with me.  She looked at me quite seriously and leaned forward, her voice lowering slightly.

"I cannot have that," she ominously said.  Instinctively, I leaned forward, peanut butter toast in one hand.
"Why can't you have it?  Is there no toast left?"
"No...I cannot drink milk."
"Oh...are you lactose--"
"--It gives me great diarrhea."
"...."
"...."

We stared at each other like it was a Mexican standoff from a Western.  Finally, I used my Japanese trump card, "zanen desune" meaning, that's too bad, isn't it?  And from there, we switched to the topic of renting a bicycle to get to the train station each day.  But that's another story for another day.

There's a saying in Japan that I just made up. 

"A wise man eats his toast quietly.  A fool is one who asks his host mother the effects of dairy products on their body and then eats his toast.  But the wisest of all is the one who eats his toast and then asks a question, for their mouth will not be full, and their appetite unruined by diarrhea anecdotes."

We've covered a lot of events, in excruciating detail so far.  Over the course of transcribing these events, I've felt like they've become more like reporting details, rather than bringing them to life.  I pondered how I could re-energize my writing and after some soul searching and Toto's "Africa", I came upon a solution: to skip over a few details for now and tell you about some of the many misadventures I've had in Japan.  I think the big picture stuff is important, but what about the various idiotic things I've done here?  Aren't they deserving of some screen time? 

Without further adieu, I bring you the recipe for sneeze rice.

1. Half a cup of independence with just a dash of shame.
2. A room of ones own in which to operate/eat in.
3. One tray of sushi (various) [pork cutlet, lettuce, and mayonnaise]
4. Sneakily and stealthily take said tray up into your room with/without your host mother's approval (I had mine since I'm a semi-decent son).
5. Put on an episode of a television show or movie, like Legend of the Seeker or Glee.
6. Enjoy the fusion of entertainment and cuisine.
7. Run out of your beverage and lazily not refill it.
8. Move your box of tissues just out of arm's reach.
9. Feel a sneeze begin to build in your nose.
10. Panic.
11. Recover from the panic and try putting the plate of sushi down.
12. Realize you have nowhere to put it.
13. Now reach for the tissue box and fail to reach it.
14. Feel the sneeze erupt.
15. Turn away from your bed, as to not sneeze on it.
16. Now looking at your computer screen, you realize your mouth is full.
17. Your mouth filled with rice, pork, lettuce, and most importantly, mayonnaise, allow the 200 MPH of pressure and air to hurl said food out of your mouth and towards whatever you love most.
18-20. Begin cleaning up the sushi that now covers your desk, laptop, clothes, etc.
21. Grab the tissue box and move it closer to you.
22. Continue eating sushi.

I had just met my host family, Clan Ishiyama...okay the Ishiyama family, but clan sounds way cooler, like I'm a Highlander or something.  After being loudly proclaiming to the other families and sons/daughters that their family was the greatest, we sorted through one of the Japanese most favorite activities: government bureaucratic paperwork!  This included a homestay agreement that set up times for my curfew, meals, etc.  It supposedly insures I won't set their home ablaze and salt their fields.

We then piled into their futuristic SUV/compact car and headed for their home to unload my belongings...hey, where are we going?

In hindsight, this moment of despair of being told one thing and something completely different happening, something that might have completely derailed whatever plans I had for the day, was going to become very common, very soon.  Oh, we were also going to...a Japanese buffet to meet the extended family!  Was I hungry?  Who knows, who cares?  Japanese hospitality requires one to be fend against their will and frequently.  Not that I'm complaining.

At the buffet, I met Na-chan, Suzie's sister in law and her husband whose name I cannot recall, but I remember he wore dark glasses indoors and although he spoke no English, he kept smiling at me, even when I said things in my native tongue.  Guess the dude was happy.  Kaori and Keiji-san were also there, but said little to me out of awkwardness and the distance from my table to theirs.

As for the buffet, it was much different than an American style restaurant, with the establishment itself being more compartmentalized, a half a dozen rooms each seating around thirty or so, with the main room being so cramped that there wasn't enough room to nonawkwardly go around someone. 

There was a soup bar with various kinds of Japanese stews, chowders,and rounding them out, traditional miso soup, which has tofu, vegetable stock, and the dreams of a nation inside it.  Having sampled a plethora of delightful foods, most of which I had no idea what they were, I made my way back to the table and tried talking with everyone, however, only my host mother knew English, leaving me to rely on my secret weapon: eight weeks of intensive Japanese classes as Penn State.  Let's rock these fools with a little bit of B+ first grade level Japanese.

And rock them I did.  Not really.  But all in all, dinner went fine, everyone was extremely kind to me and we drove home with our bellies full of goat meat err...fish and what have you. 

The Ishiyama's home is a two story house with a large field in front of it.  Off in the distance lies a floating, green, mesh cage that encircles quite a large area.  By the time I saw it, it was night time and large lights illuminated it, making it look like floating, neon coral.  My host mother told me that it was a golf range, of all things.  However, in Japan, there's simply no room for these things to be built away from neighborhoods and the commercial areas so they're jammed right near everything else.  This would later become a fantastic landmark to guide me home whenever I frequently got lost.

It was getting late and the ofuro awaited me.  Ofuro?  What's that, you may ask?  Well, using my pretentious language skills, that translates into the fabled Japanese bath.  You see, my dear and loving readers, in Japan, the bath is king.  The usual setup is that you take a shower first and then hop into the bath and soak.  Basically, this means the bath is more like a hot tub than anything else.  I'll expand this topic further in future articles, as there are quite a few bathroom/ofuro tales to tell you all.

After I was deloused and hosed down, I retired to my room for the evening to unpack and settle in.  I found myself in yet another room which was to become my own.  After living at State College, PA for two months during the summer, and then living in the seminar house for a week, and now here, I had become quite used to the idea of not really having the concept of "my room".  Home was wherever all my "stuff" was, it seemed.

Unlike the seminar house, my new room was six tatami mat's large, and with my luggage horribly unpacked, it would be even less, but it was cozy and I didn't need that much space to procrastinate and be apathetic to the world (but secretly crave its approval).

I nestled into my pillow and prepared to sleep when I realized my pillow did not have a pillow case but had instead been wrapped in a sky blue bath towel with a koala on it.  In Japan, pillow cases are like things without fish, egg, mayonaise, or bean paste in it, meaning, rare.  Also, just a FYI to any international student or tourist wanting to come to Japan: bring plenty of deodorant since they really don't seem to sell it here.  No reason I bring that up...no reason at all.

Now settled in my bed, I wondered what the next few months would entail at my new home.  Would I be able to hold onto my Seminar House friends?  Would the commute be difficult?  How would things work out with my family?  I almost expected these questions to keep me up but since I'm awesome at becoming unconscious, I slept as if I was at my own home back in Pennsylvania. 

As the next day dawned, all of the answers to my questions would be answered.  I just hoped I was paying attention when they were offered.

Sorry for the giant delay between entries.  I had this long freakin honker pretty much finished, but since I like to open about a hundred tabs on Firefox, I forgot to click the save button and just turned off my computer.  Super sigh.  Oh, also sorry Mad Men, for borrowing the title for this entry.  Please don't sue me.  Oh, I do work for cheap though, fyi...


I had run out of time.  It was Saturday, the day I would be meeting and moving in with my new host family.  I had spent all week immersed in the orientation activities, scheduling classes, hanging out with my tentative friends, and learning the city.  It was so overwhelming that I pushed the thought of my host family into a dusty part of my mind usually reserved for my thoughts on French poetry and what constituted the difference between mixed vegetables and a vegetable medley.

The all encompassing, blazing hot, Japanese sun burned through my windows, gently alerting me to the fact that it was indeed, morning.  I woke up and looked around my trashed room.  Even in a week, without unpacking my suitcases, I had managed to turn my room into what resembled a post apocalyptic wasteland.  I sighed and went about cleaning and packing, two things I was definitely not good at.

With my bags packed and moved down into the seminar house's lobby, and my room..., okay, it wasn't going to pass any inspection by any kind, and god forbid anyone bring a black light into the room CSI Miami style and discovers a dead body wrapped in tinfoil (David Caruso takes off sunglasses and says, "domo arigatoo, mr. roboto)  And scene.

I shared a final meal with my friends and walked to school by myself.  I'd be meeting my family at around one, and had twenty or so minutes to stew in my own fear and uncertainty.  It was then that my brain finally had it out with me.  There was nothing to do until the meeting and I had time to think, two things that are never good for one who is trying to stay ignorant to his own actions and decisions. 

Again, why had I made this decision?  A fellow friend who had down a study abroad to Japan previously had recommended doing a home stay.  It was, in fact, the only way to truly experience Japan and to stay in a dorm was to lose a fundamental part of the experience.  Okay, so is that why I did it?  Well, it was cheaper, I wouldn't have to cook, do my own laundry, and could go on special trips that my other friends couldn't.  Yet, if one would look at my reasons for choosing this, none of them speak to the human aspect of the whole thing.  I didn't think about how my life would change when I lived with a Japanese family or how I met interact with them.  All I could look at were the material benefits.  It was all about me.

I had been doing it all wrong.  I came to Japan, made the decision to come here based on a dream a twelve year old version of my self made.  But I had never stopped and thought about why that little guy had wanted to come here.  He liked Anime and video games, Japanese architecture and history, but those were all just aspects of a country, not the country itself, and whats more, the current Devin's interest in all of these things had peaked years ago.  So why?

Because my ego told me so.  I had felt aimless in life, unable to commit to the idea of grad school or worse, entering into the "real world" as college students had dubbed it and getting a job.  In my mind, once one got a job, that was it.  Get a job, get married, have kids, retire, go to Bora Bora (the place so nice they named it twice), and die.  I was somewhere around the pre-job stage, you know, the fun part of life. 

I had hoped Japan would provide some kind of perspective about myself and my life, and it did.  Separated from everyone and everything that was familiar, you really get to see yourself clearly.  And the person I was, maybe still am, wasn't fantastic.  He was a very self centered kind of guy that was hoping an entire nation, a fifteen long week adventure, would do him a favor.  Nowhere in that situation was he interacting with the trip on any meaningful level.  It was all about the experience helping him.

This was something I didn't know the day I was to meet my host family.  No, I only hoped they'd be nice and take me places.  I was at the mental equivalent to a toy poodle, who just wanted its belly rubbed and some table scraps.

At one, I entered a classroom to meet my host family.  The only thing standing in my way was a door, which, If I could open successfully, would be an obstacle no more.  Well, after sliding it open, which was a mental doozy, I walked into a room with two female students sitting in desks far from each other.  They looked up at me dismissively and went back to filling out pieces of paper and watching a Miyazaki's Nausica, Valley of the Wind (a famous Anime film) that was being projected in the corner of the room. 

The podium at the front of the class had a few necessary documents for me to fill out and I slumped into a desk between the two, bored girls.  The classroom door slid open and a staff member stepped through with such speed that I nearly choked on my own saliva.  She called one of the girl's names and she got up to go into a separate room to meet her host family. Ahh, so that's how this whole process was done.

Of course, the door opened again and both me and the lady looked apprehensively to see if we were to be next.  My stomach had just sent me a memo entitled, "nervousness and you, why stress makes me pretend I'm going to vomit," and I was hoping that I could just get this whole thing over with.  Unfortunately, it was merely another student being ushered into the room to wait with us.  The poor gentleman must have been confused by the initial cautious look we gave him followed by one of pure apathy and disappointment.  Oh well, I'm sure he survived because he had no sooner sat down when the door opened again and his name was called.  The door had become less of one of the "sliding variety" and something resembling a 'revolving one" instead.

Soon, my name was called and I moved down the hallway into the appointed room.  What would my family be like, look like?  Would it be the greatest fifteen weeks of my life or a hellish adventure in awkwardness?  It was then that I remembered my friend who had convinced me to do the home stay program in the first place.  He had first told me of his trip nine months before my own, but it was only after I had already committed via paperwork to choose a homestay that he added a small addendum onto his initial story.

You see, his homestay hadn't been all sunshine, rainbows, and never ending supplies of taco flavored Slim Jims.  No, his family and him had problems together.  In fact, my friend had been called into school to talk with a glorified international guidance counselor about not being talkative enough at his home.  This had in turn made the family think he didn't really care about them, when in fact, my friend was just naturally quiet (I think...).  This led to his family not wanting to do a lot of extracurricular activities with him and just sounded to me like a lot of hurt feelings, awkwardness, and bad times.

Back in the present, the staff member looked at me and nodded as she opened the door.  Unlike the first room, this one was brightly lit, probably to highlight the shame and apprehension we all felt.  I stepped into the brightness and the door closed behind me.  The desks had been arranged into groups of four, forming small squares at which the families and students could sit together.  I was led over to a mother and father who beamed at me, their smiles warm and welcoming, their faces happy and excited.  This was my family!

"Kevin, this is your family.  Mr. and Mrs. Something or other, this is your son, Kevin."
"Devin, not Kevin," I corrected her gently.
"You're not Kevin?" the staffer asked me.
"He's not Kevin?" the family asked her and then me.
"Nope.  Is that okay?" Now I have no idea why I said that, as if the guy named Kevin could just be replaced by me.  I mean no matter how far I buried his body and assumed every facet of his life, I would still be this Devin character.  It didn't matter that my real name was T-bone and I lived with my Gamma, but...I digress.

The family's face morphed into a confused and disappointed mess and the staffer bowed and apologized and led me to my real family, who, in the first five minutes of meeting them told me this nugget of wisdom:

"You can do whatever you want when you live with us, the Ishiyama family.  We are the greatest!"  I almost wanted to start chanting "USA! USA! USA!" because they seemed so pumped up and my American tendencies to spread my homemade version of democracy started kicking in.

So here they were, the Ishiyama family.  I didn't know it then, but this was where my adventure truly began. 

Mission Accomplished.

  

Friday had arrived and Kansai Gaidai University was offering a tour of Kyoto that afternoon.  Kyoto is the cultural center of Japan and was once its capital.  While Japan is a blend of both the Samurai and the Samsung, Kyoto definitely identifies with the former and features a ton of  Buddhist temples built along the mountains surrounding the town.

Back at campus, a line of over two hundred international students wormed around the buildings outside.  Groups of seven to ten students were paired up with five Japanese students, who had volunteered to be our guides for the tour.  This is a fundamental difference between American and Japanese schools.  In Japan, nearly everything is student run and the administration is pretty hands off with anything extra curricular.  Activities in Japan rely heavily on purely student based participation, while in America, a lot of teachers will help sponsor or promote activities on campus, and provide funds to do so via the activity budget.

I served on Penn State Behrend's own SGA budget committee, round table, democracy palooza, and it was interesting to see how funds were allocated to different proposals and specific items on each proposal.  In Japan, it seems that there really is no budget for activities.  For example, there is a trip to Universal Studies Japan and anyone can go, right?  Wrong.  Because there is central student organization here, the amount of people that can go depends on the amount of Japanese students who volunteer to be our guides.  Since only ten students volunteered, only roughly fifteen to twenty international students can go, or else it gets too hard for the volunteers to keep track of everyone.  Because most everyone speaks English back home, it doesn't matter how many sign up most of the time, but the language problem here can be pretty intense (like camping, think about it).

Unlike Behrend, there is no money allocated to these programs so if tickets to Universal Japan is sixty dollars to get into, that's what you pay.  It's not like a Penn State where one might pay half of the sixty or ten dollars when they sign up, just to make sure they go on the trip.

Those "fascinating" differences aside, our little cabal ended up in Kyoto, walking through the Geisha district, which is less exciting than you might imagine.  The streets of our district were lined with shops selling Ankou (traditional pastries and sweets using bean jam) and Matcha (green tea) items.  There was matcha ice cream, which I just heard we have back in the states.  Green tea is what Kyoto is known for as well as being the historical hub of Japan.

The temple we were traveling to lay at the end of the Geisha district.  Buildings slowly sunk into the ground as we reached the mountains at at the end of a busy intersection, a bright red and orange temple rose out from the ground and stretched out all around us.  It was built into the mountain and some springs trickled alongside its length.

Our group threw coins into a box and prayed for good luck, purified our mouths and hands with spring water, etc.  I even paid a few bucks to get a fortune out of a box.  Step one, shake the box until a stick with a number falls out.  Put the stick back in the box and go up to a counter, tell them the number, and finally, pay for your fortune.  Oh, and then get someone who can actually read the language to read your fortune to you. 

Mine described that love was on its way but I had to keep waiting/looking for it (really freakin broad fortune.  it's like saying you should try to be really outgoing/shy and try to make a lot of friends/be completely isolated).  Patience was the key in this whole thing, I was told.  If love is on the way, don't tell my lady friend back home.  That'd be awwwwkward.

On the way home from the temple, we stopped at a family restaurant, which served Italian food.  I ordered a anchovies and squid pizza, which was pretty salty.  During the meal, I had to fend barnacles off the side of our party boat's hull, which involved trying to get the guy with the asymmetrical face and a small case of tourettes to not drop the F bomb in a family restaurant.

After we departed the restaurant, our group headed to a video game arcade located in the train station's complex.  Arcades, while dying out in America, are still heavily prevalent in Japan, and feature fighting, shooting, racing, and prize games.  However, one of the biggest draws is Puri Kura, or photo booths.  These aren't the kind of two person cheap booths like one might be used to.  Our group of eleven managed to fit into one of these goliaths and after a green screen drops behind you, the background of the picture can be altered so your group is traveling through space, in a car, etc.

After the photos are taken, you leave the booth and walk around to the side to a computer and can edit your photos.  This involves using touch pens to write messages on the picture, add cartoonish sunglasses and props, etc.  The final step is leaving the computer part of the machine and walking to the very back of it to retrieve your finished photos.  If you have a cell phone, you can email the pictures to you as well. 

All in all, the day was a long one, but very fun.  I'm sorry that this entry is more listing events rather than spicing them up, but sometimes, a fun day is just a fun day.

Coming up next on the Concrete Rainbow, the final part to Orient Orientation in which I have the last supper as a seminar house kid, and finally meet my host family.

Hisashiburi (it's been awhile) everyone.  Last time, we talked shop on what the term "barnacles" means and it's now time to meet some of our cast of characters.  I will be using code names to protect the innocent and because I'm not sure some wouldn't come at me with a shiv if they read this.

I had moved into Seminar House 4 and would be spending orientation week as a resident.  On Saturday I would be meeting my host family and moving into their house, so I was trying to enjoy the time I had as a dorm student.  Throughout college, I had chosen to live at home and had always regretted never at least trying the dorm life and seeing what it was like, but this was my chance.  I only had to wait for my roommate to show up and I would be experiencing what I had always imagined.

The next few days were spent making awkward inroads with my new friends, Eddie and Kristin, as well as a girl named Jen who I had met the night we made it to Japan.  We also met up with a kid named Jakub who was from Eastern Europe (Slovakia) and was definitely an assassin, I was convinced. 

Over the course of the week I met up with other people, including a guy whose face was definitely asymmetrical and he always wore headphones and talked about how he, "used to be awkward but definitely wasn't anymore".  He was one of the first barnacles I met.  I also met a few people that I called "CPs" or "Conversation Poachers"  They're the type of people that hijack conversations with little provocation and talk about whatever is on their mind at the time, and I mean ANYTHING.

I met a few people, but none of those friendships stuck and after the first week, cliques set in and the international student population split into neat little groups.  I was shocked by how even thousands of miles from home, from the familiar, everything ended up just like in high school and college.  It seems most people aren't using Japan as some kind of place to make a fresh start, to change the way their lives have been going.  Obviously, this was my own selfish reason for going, but it just unnerved me that most seemed content to fall into easily explainable cliches at the expense of portraying themselves as real people.

But, our group fell into the same trap as every other, and soon, we had our own little posse.  We explored Hirakata City, found the grocery stores and clothing stores, the train station, and walked through our neighborhood.  At that time, I felt like I had somewhere I belonged to, a group I could identify with. 

It was one of the final days of orientation week and Eddie, Kristin, and Jen were walking with me as we looked for a 99 Yen store.  It was sunset and as we walked along the river, we talked about one beautiful thing we had seen in life.  Although it was a little cheesy, for a moment, although we had formed our own little clique, I felt like we were just regular human beings again.  I remember how beautiful the sky was, and I wondered if anyone back home was looking up at the sky, watching the sun rise as mine set.

I went to bed that night and realized that I didn't know if I wanted to leave the seminar house and go into a homestay.  Jen talked about how much she wished she could have been accepted into the homestay program and I felt guilty of once again not appreciating my luck, my once in a lifetime situation.  With the deadline to make a last minute decision to be a homestay student or a dorm student looming, we walked back to the dorm and I walked back to my room.  Two names were taped to each dorm room's door, but my roommate had still not arrived. 

My room was hot and dark and I opened the window as I waited for the AC to kick in.  As I stared out of the window, I looked for the couple I had seen my first night in Hirakata City.  I looked for a sign to show me what to do, to guide me.  Did I take a chance on living with complete strangers for four months, with glorified parents again?  Should I try living in the seminar house and develop bonds with other students for the first time?  I felt stuck by my own past choices and when I asked my friend back home what I should do, he asked me what I wanted out of the homestay and it was then that I realized I had made the choice without thinking, without putting a single modicum of thought into what that choice would mean.  I would be choosing my family over my friends, a family that I didn't know yet, and friends I didn't know I would make.

It was Thursday then and I would have to move in Saturday.  It was already too late, but I still had the chance to worm my way out of my decision if I wanted.  The next day we were taking a tour of Kyoto with some Japanese students and I pushed my issues back into a dusty part of my mind as I lay down on my futon and fell asleep.

Next time on the Concrete Rainbow:  We go to Kyoto for the first time and I run out of time and make my decision of where to live.

Imagine a wondrous cruise ship that is made of candy, or whatever you're into.  It can take you anywhere you want in the world, and is staffed by all of your friends and family that you actually don't loathe (why they're working on the ship, I'm not really sure, okay, the logistics are questionable but just roll with it for a second).  You're having the time of your life when all of a sudden, your ship begins to lose speed and after a few minutes of wondering what's wrong, the gruff, oil covered, engine taking care of guy comes up onto deck and tells you, "there's something wrong with tha engine, captin!"

"Hey, Pauly, thanks for coming up on deck, but seriously, you frighten the passengers, what with your rapidly shifting and somewhat stereotypical accents."

"What do you mean, das commendant?"

"Ah, wonderful.  So what's wrong with the engines?"

"I'm...not quite sure...captain.  There's something on the wing...I mean...in------------the engine."

"Oh sweet Christ, just spit it out."

"We've got barnacles, me lad.  Lot's o' barnacles."

And scene.  So banishing Pauly back into the hot, pitch black abyss, we learn our fun boat the USS Awesome is no longer moving due to barnacles.  Now, due to my years serving in the navy, I can corroborate this hypothetical idea with fact.  Anyways, the point is, barnacles are something or others that basically drag you down and cause the good times to dissolve into anger, shame, and bitterness.  With this being the second part in my orientation stories, I'm going to be using this term quite often, and you'll need to know what I'm talking about. 

Let me break it down into math terms.

You + friends = fun (in theory)
You + friends + activity (liquor, games, hanging out, long walks on the beach, etc.) = more fun.

Okay, so far so good.

You + friends + activity + uninvited people = fun IF uninvited people are > or = to awesome.
If unvited people are < awesome, you've got a problem.  Let's expand the theory.

Uninvited people < awesome = third wheel
Third wheel + unsolicited life story + moral judgment + a lack of internal monologue/filter = barnacle.

Barnacle = this won't end well (see the stock market crash, screen door on submarine, Billy Bob Thorton's music career, etc.)

Now that you know what barnacles are, you'll be ready to meet our large cast of central and periphery characters and understand what I mean when I regard most as "barnacles".

You might be wondering, "Devin, this is your chance to meet a whole new group of people, independent from any past experiences or prejudices.  And you'd be right if most of them weren't a few steps away from serial killers and people that stroke your hair when you're sleeping (and you don't know how they got in your room).  Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if I shot some of these barnacles in the chest a few times, but later on in the movie, when I open the closet door, they're standing their, not with a murderous look on their face, but with an unsolicited anecdote about how they used to be socially awkward, but don't worry, they've fixed that.  Oh, and they have mild tourettes syndrome.

So, we shall judge away soon, my dear readers!  And don't worry, I'll very shortly be putting my own character on the witness stand and we'll see how much of me stands up to the same abuse I put others through.

Next time on the Concrete Rainbow, a few side stories will be covered, like going to our first Japanese restaurant, a trip to Kyoto and more!  Also, as a promise to spice things up even more, you'll finally get to meet my host parents, and their dog, Marumi-chan!  Finally, by the end of this storyline, I'll flash forward into the future and show you some of the shenanigans I get up to.

  
 

Things got real the last time I wrote, didn't they?  Well fear not, for the path...doesn't really change much.  Here's the thing, for anyone traveling to a different city, country, etc, the first few days can be lonely.  On top of that, my last days back home weren't anything that I imagined they would be, and relationships were strained all over the yin yang. 

When I first opened my eyes, the next morning, I didn't know where I was.  I rolled away from the wall expecting to see my own room, and the shock of my new setting caught me completely off guard.  I walked to the window and looked down upon the street where the couple had been the night before.  People biked and walked their dogs, milled about, and were generally quiet, but pleasant.

I walked to the bathroom and stared down at four pairs of lime green bathroom slippers.  Here in Japan, they do stuff like this.  Rituals that seem to lack any purpose.  However, the mystery behind the slippers only begins here.  In Japan, you take off your shoes upon entering houses, dorms, some restaurants, circuses, and the occasional strip club, I mean host bars. 

When you enter the dorm, you surrender your shoes onto racks that are sorted by room number. With your shoes as collateral in some kind of hidden game or joke, you walk the building barefoot. Well, this wouldn't be a problem until you find the weather too hot to wear socks, so naturally, you go barefoot.  Now, imagine going to a college boys bathroom barefoot.  Everybody throw up in their mouths a bit?  Maybe waiting a little while longer to eat dinner now, huh?

With the communal green, croc-like slippers underfoot (get it? also, hope no one has any fungal issues...), let's go into a stall shall we?  It's a tad bit cramped with all of us in here, and I'm going to have to ask you to turn around while I drop my drawers, but...okay, I'm ready.  No, don't turn around yet.  I'll just describe what Japanese toilets are like.  Hey, why are all of you in here with me anyway? 

Okay, so Japanese technology is superior to America's in a lot of ways, but most importantly, look no further than their toilets.  Welcome to freakin Blade Runner for your bum, people.  We're talking about heated toilet seats, a control panel filled with buttons that can spray water into your butt (a la a bidet), clean the toilet, and even produce a fake toilet flushing sound so you can hide the shame of your own grunts and pained screams...or is that just me? 

Okay, so toilets here sound...well, complicated, don't they?  And while heated seats are great in cars and toilets, especially in a colder climate, when it's 80+ degrees outside and in the low 80's inside, that heated toilet seat is like placing your tush directly into the Republic of the Congo and allowing the humid vapors of the jungle to--well, it's not pleasant.

There are even toilets that sense motion and when one walks into the bathroom, the lid opens up to allow your buttocks refuge in the hallowed halls of its splendor.  The only horrifying moment I've suffered thus far is racing to the bathroom and baring my soul, so to speak, only to push the flush button and hear, "I'm sorry, Devin.  I can't do that."  But honestly, the toilets here rock.

Okay, so you've taken care of your business and now it's time to shower.  You may need one after the ordeal you've just gone through.  The room is lined with shower stalls that provide little privacy other than a curtain you pull to hide your stall room area.  Once inside the actual stall, you close a semi transparent door and push a button to get the water running.  I'm told these buttons/pump thingy is what most locker rooms have, but...well, I meant to go to the gym but...well, you know how busy one can get....

Anyways, the showers here utilize a very convenient system of hitting the button every twelve seconds in order to continue the flow of water, so not only do you get to relax and not have to continually hit a button every twelve seconds, you can also...well, you get the picture. 

Now, when you exit the shower, you have two options, putting socks on and getting them slightly damp, or doing the barefoot walk to your room (or I suppose you could dry your feet really well, but who has time for that?).  I preferred the latter during my stay in the seminar houses and would frequently leave semi visible footprints that would evaporate a few minutes after I passed (I hoped).  Yes, I was that guy.

I know I haven't written in awhile, and I mentioned writing about my trip to Korea, but on second thought, I feel like until I fully flesh out the setting and cast of characters here in Japan, the sheer absurdity of my trip will be lost.  As such, these next few entries will focus on the first week as a Kansai Gaidai student, and my few adventures going through orientation week, learning the lay of the land, etc. 

I hope you enjoy.

My dear, beloved readers...how I have neglected you all, you may think.  However, this last week has been quite hellish, but will yield a plethora of hilarious and introspective tales to tell you in the coming days.  It's been over a week since my last entry, but I promise you that this weekend will offer a few more stories that explore my first tentative days in Japan, up until the point I meet my host parents.

Once these entries are out of the way, be prepared for a new way of storytelling.  We've jumped around in time to get to know me, flashbacked to various other times of travel, extensively covered my multiple flights in the first multi-entry arc, and soon...we shall FLASH FORWARD (copyright ABC and Lost...and Flashforward which is quite inferior to the former).

Flash forward in time to what, you may ask?  Well, I know how much everyone is looking forward to my tales of Japan, so in this spirit, I'm going to talk about my recent trip to...Seoul, South Korea.  That's right, more blog posts in which Japan is on the sidelines.  However, I think you'll truly enjoy the hilarious and painfully awkward adventures and I hope you'll glean some insight into my host mother, Suzie-san.

The road ahead is a long one, but I hope you'll find it one worth traveling on.

While looking through all of the many settings on this blog, I found out that while I had set the option for anyone to comment on my blog, there was a second, separate setting that also had to be changed.  Long story short, now anyone can make a comment on the blog, regardless of if they're a Penn State Student/Employee. 

So comment away everyone!