Miss Hathoway- Take A Memo

Posted on February 20, 2011 by Emily Cannell

MEMO

TO: Readers

FROM: Ouiser-san

SUBJECT: Action Items, Follow-up, and Blatant Lies

Date: Right Now

As a result of last week’s postings, several items were deemed necessary for further review, discussion or action. Those items are outlined below:

Action Items:

1) Women in Japan– (Read original post here)- Yes folks- women in Japan are the new up and comers. Sporting a revamped fashion statement- navy suits with white dress shirts, opaque hose and fashionable matching pumps, these ladies are breaking in to careers 1950’s style- from the bottom up. Many of you expressed surprise that women don’t enjoy the same equal status as women from Westernized countries.

A tidbit to tantalize your taste buds. In the United States, most statistics indicate 50% of women will leave one’s job permanently after the first child is born. In Japan, the statistic states most women will leave permanently upon marriage.

I promise a post or two on this very dynamic issue which will most certainly alter the course of Japan’s future.

2) Regarding the bank’s refusal to issue funds due to our inadvertent negligence in providing a change in address. TokyoBling wrote that it could have been more dire:

“You’re lucky they didn’t demand the official hanko (seal) of your residence (the request for one which produced my latest bank-related expat moment).”

In Japan, one has the characters for one’s name as well as a hanko- or seal. The hanko is a small, round ink stamp which fits inside a blue round circle on certain documents.

Apparently I dodged a bullet.

Follow Up:

3) Why is Offspring #1 the only one who gets hurt snowboarding? 2 reasons. The first, Offspring #2 and I snowboard, he does tricks with a snowboard attached to his feet. Second, we wear this:

Yea- these add about 30 pounds to the posterior, butt, falling is like butter.

Blatant Lies:

Regarding “For Me- You Shouldn’t Have”– the only truth was my long-standing and deeply hallowed reign as Social Chairman at what started as one of the South’s finest academic institutions of higher learning to what later became a prestigious party school.

Misc:

A certain member of the comment team- commonly referred to in this blog by a body part- is on a performance improvement plan based on her last diatribe whereupon she described one of my food posts as having the look and apparent smell of cat food.

Everyone else, I appreciate your comments, support and good will. I look forward to seeing the “Hey- you have a comment” when I wake up in the morning.

Please let me know via my “Contact Form” or comments if there are particular issues or questions about Japan you’d like addressed in a post.

Thanks for reading!

Sincerely,

Ouiser

Posted in Moving to Japan | Tagged , , , , , | 22 Comments

Ordering Food Japan Style

Posted on February 19, 2011 by Emily Cannell

The day started with a threat. A certain Offspring claimed the discovery of a snowboarding sweet spot currently off-limits according to the snow patrol, while mysterious evidence of recent use in the form of tracks proved otherwise. And I don’t mean the kind that leaves scat. At his own peril, he contemplated ignoring the warnings, risk having his lift ticket pulled and board like the banshee he had become. After all, he reasoned, he’d just buy a new one, with Spouse’s hard-earned cash. The conversation spiraled from a reasonable explanation of alternatives to his way of thinking, like the snow patrol roped off areas because they were dangerous, to an abrupt autocratic, dictatorship style ending, “No, you will not do it and if you get caught you will sit in the room until we leave thinking about how much fun the rest of us are having.” Spouse did not enjoy the pleasure of participating in this interlude of mountain mongrel maintenance given his absence from this trip.

The three of us left. Offspring #1 convinced Offspring #2 and I into testing our new-borne snowboarding skills on a winding trail while he careened to the bottom via an alternate path. Suspicious from the onset as the trail exhibited no signs of life, several reasons for the vacancy soon became apparent. For one, my bath tub encompassed more girth than this.  Next, sheer drops off the side led to endless, white, nothing, nary a twig or blade of switch to break our neck breaking fall, and finally it was best traversed on ice skates as a sheet of blue ice blanketed the narrow path from stem to stern. The wind cut our now raw faces with sharp, jagged ice pellets as we crept down. We passed two skiers- both of whom decided it was safer to walk. Other than that, not a soul. But- Hallelujah- salvation beckoned from the right. I suggested abandoning ship with a quick climb over the embankment where we could then join the fun on the run next to us. She readily agreed. Or I think she did- the ice that collected around her neck prevented up and down movement of the head. Ernest Shackleton certainly did not endure this much pain on his ill-fated journey to the Antarctic. We emerged gleeful to be free of the death ride to the bottom like ship wrecked sailors celebrating the appearance of a boat in the distance. What I did not anticipate, were the two unseen snow patrolmen on the other side of the embankment, on the hunt for rule breakers. When in Japan, do not break the rules- it is not tolerated and causes one to become an outsider. (more later) With no tree cover, they spotted us immediately, and clamored over each other to investigate the unruly mom with her bleating moppet. Whatever chastising words erupted from the blustering snow patrolman’s mouth were lost on us.   I surmised by the waving of their poles, that we were being instructed to resume our treacherous journey toward death by exiting the happy hill we had illegally joined. I smiled my big stupid grin, and OS#2 said “We’re ok. All fine,” in Japanese hoping this feeble attempt at friendliness combined with feigned ignorance would save our lift passes. Silent, unsympathetic stares greeted us in return. We trudged back to the precipice of doom. Not long after our return to the ledge, we noticed our escorts. The two snow patrolmen had appeared out of no where above us, and followed 15 feet behind making sure we didn’t try to escape the death descent again. Or to perhaps ensure our safety. We were marked. Rule breakers.

Best to get to the bottom, take a break and let our chaperone’s forget about the whole unfortunate incident. Hopefully others would take our place in their memory during our break. Poor Offspring #2 was exhausted and on the verge of dehydration or starvation- one of the two. Whichever is worse. I was frost-bitten. Or maybe that’s just an age spot on the tip of my nose.

Bursting through the doors of the resort, a Heaven of food courts awaited. The angels sang as we inhaled the atmosphere greeting us.

Not only was there food- our frozen feet could be de-thawed at the foot bath:

The choir clapped and rejoiced in the recesses of my mind as I drank in the sites.

But first- food. It was time to teach Offspring #2 – referred to from here on out in this post as “Grasshopper” the lesson on how to order food in Japan.

Step #1- Most important- decide on your order and memorize the number.

Step #2- Locate the vending machine which corresponds to the restaurant which sells the food of your choosing.

Step #3-Locate the number of your food choice (don’t rely on the picture on the machine in case the picture is unrecognizable versus your menu choice)- insert money, and push the button that corresponds to your food choice.

Step #4- A ticket will then pop out- above left. Take the ticket to the counter where the food will be delivered pronto- like magic.

During our meal, we listened to the following Japanese girl group- who are very typical of the genre- singing their hit new single- repeatedly, at full volume. We didn’t see them sideways- but you will.

Finally, one of the 7 Wonders of the World, is the selling of beer in vending machines all over Japan. What a wonderful life.

In terms of the re-cap, the day started with a harrowing descent from the famous Japanese mountain known for its treachery Mt. Naeba- and ended with a great meal, a foot bath, a serenade, and a beer from the vending machine. Cheers.


Posted in Moving to Japan | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 19 Comments

The “M” Series: Misrepresentation or Mute

Posted on February 16, 2011 by Emily Cannell

A family can move from one country to the next but one element remains consistent. The teenager that left one country is the same teenager that arrives in the next- welcome to another installment of the “M” series – so named for the variety of “M” words that describe the young vermin in this developmental state. In this particular case, misrepresentation, mute, playing mum- all particular to teenager. Offspring #1 has one goal in life – to snowboard. All the time. He jauntily packed his bags and moved to Japan savoring visions of snowboarding the Japanese Alps in Nagano, reveling in the unsurpassed quality of powder in Hokkaido, and escaping to more amazing skiing one hour outside of Tokyo. His one-dimensional vision of Japan drew him in as the moth to a flame. Take that away, and he was left with a move without his friends, his baseball, and a contented life left behind. So, here’s the question- to what lengths would a teenager go to achieve his dreams? Luckily, Spouse has Herculean powers of observation and I have learned a few interrogation techniques under the lamp from CSI sister-in-law Susie. It’s a battle of the Titans.

Roll back the clock to Hakuba, Nagano where Offspring #1 sustained a shoulder injury performing air gymnastics with a snowboard attached to his feet either going over a jump or side of a mountain. We rushed him to the Gold mine – errrr-emergency clinic since one arm was hanging limply at one side to find that he had severely bruised his collarbone. Total cost of the X-ray, one month of medicine and the doctor visit was $120 US dollars. The Japanese medical system is growing on me. The white cotton sling was included.

Three days later, his knuckles still dragging the ground, he was starting to develop a resemblance to a certain huggable Disney hunchback. Something wasn’t right. We needed to establish a loving, long-term relationship with an orthopedist. Another Clampitt had already broken a bone since arriving in Japan- at this rate, we’d require an orthopedist q6 months. Better to keep one on retainer. As usual, the knower of all things provided the necessary recommendation. The Tasmanian Bloodhound had broken her hand the previous year while snowboarding and talking on the phone. The Japanese receptionist downstairs made the phone call,

“Ouisar-san- the doctor will see Offspring #1 whenever you want to go over. Just bring cash.”

Now THAT”S how it should work! No 3 week waiting period, no pesky referral, just bring your money and your kid.

The doctor poked around. “Does this hurt, does this hurt.” OS#1 responded that he felt fine and had little or no pain. Of course he would.

What I knew that the doctor didn’t was this. The school ski trip was 2 days away and Offspring #1 needed the Doctor’s clearance to snowboard. OS#1 was evading. Even though he couldn’t put on his own boots, he would still snowboard if the doctor could be suckered.

A well documented  fact is that 4 yr olds and 14 yr olds share a common trait- misrepresentation of all facts. Justifiable and grounded in some form of truth to them, blatantly not to all others. What my father dismisses as a “Stage.” I tried to allow OS#1 to answer the questions without my assistance, spread his budding wings however, he was purposely leading the naive doctor astray. His answers were of questionable content as to their diagnostic value. Apparently the older generation, of whom were well represented in the waiting room, did not manipulate the doctor as readily for their own dastardly purposes. The doctor had fallen in to OS#1’s blue eyed trap by believing his answers.

“He can’t put on his own shoes, can’t put on a shirt, zip up a jacket.” I interjected. The doctor poked harder. No reaction from the boy who wanted to go on the class trip. It would take a red-hot branding iron to get a rise out of him at this point.

X-ray #2- Diagnosis- bruised collarbone. No visible cracks. No snowboarding for a week. No PE for 2 weeks. Offspring #1 was devastated. Cost of visit, $90. Another great deal and we now had an orthopedist!

Not bad overall. I took he and his friend snowboarding two weeks later as consolation for missing the trip.

So, two days ago, one month after the initial injury- Eagle Eye Spouse happened to notice that Offspring #1 had what looked to be an egg sitting on top of his shoulder, underneath his shirt. I’d love to insert a picture but OS#1 knew it was for the blog and wouldn’t let me near him with the camera. I even counted to 5.

Spouse-      “What’s that?”

OS#1-          “Nothing.” Didn’t even know to what Spouse referred.

Spouse-       “I need to feel that- your shoulder looks really swollen.” Spouse is actually a veterinarian, however, we’ve discovered being a DVM is the equivalent of a being pediatrician. Especially before kids are verbal.

OS#1-           “It’s not swollen” His nose started to grow a few inches in length.

Spouse-       ” Take off your shirt.”

Reluctantly the shirt came off to reveal a large lump on the top of the shoulder. Offspring #1 claimed it to be figment of our imagination.

Back to the clinic. As we were waiting I plotted my two questions. With teenagers, questions must be designed carefully as only two are allowed before the teenager will shut down all communication. Craftiness combined with a strategy needed to be employed. The doctor needed this information but didn’t have the skill required having little experience with determined teenagers.

Ouiser- “On a scale of 1-10 – how bad does your shoulder hurt.”

OS#1 – “0” AHHH! I made a fatal error and wasted a question. He answered as if his shoulder were supposed to hurt all the time- it probably only hurt when upon movement.

Ouiser- “When it hurts, on a scale of 1-10- how bad?”
OS#1 – “7”

I watched him closely- he was engrossed in the snowboard game on the IPhone. I decided to push for a third question.

Ouiser- “The last time it hurt badly, what were you doing?”

OS#1 – “Push ups. No more questions.” Yea- that would do it.

One more X-ray. Where we saw this.

The little white lines in the black space above and below the bone at the top shows new bone growing around a cracked clavicle not seen on the first two X-rays.

He had been snowboarding with a cracked clavicle.

Well, I guess it has been worse. There was the time he had a broken arm for two weeks before I took him to the doctor. He didn’t cry in pain then either. I blame him for that- he should’ve complained more.

I must admit, I am a very satisfied consumer of the Japanese healthcare system- All total, $300 for 3 X-rays, 3 Doctor’s visits, no waiting and same day service.  Excellent medical care-given the location of the crack, and two doctor’s opinions, no one else would have seen it. Maybe a massage while I waited would enhance my patient experience.

Parents, this is the depths to which your teenager will go to achieve the ends for which they seek. Never underestimate the creature known as the teenager. For those of you either raising teenagers or about to, I recommend an owner’s manual for troubleshooting these models. Get Out of My Life, but First Could You Drive Me & Cheryl to the Mall: A Parent’s Guide to the New Teenager by Anthony E. Wolf PhD.

We’ll be snowboarding this weekend where Offspring #1 has offered to teach me how to go off a jump.


Posted in "M" Series, Moving to Japan | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 19 Comments

Was Ouiser’s Meltdown a Symptom of Japan’s Population Crisis?

Posted on February 13, 2011 by Emily Cannell

Yesterday I dug out real clothes to meet my friend Yorkie at Inner Noodle. I had big, dramatic hair and make up fully exposing my Southern roots. Tall wedges. I was towering at 6 foot 2 at least. When shopping in Japan, no jeans. Full make up. Look the part. Or get ignored. As I might have mentioned a few hundred times previously, cash, cash, cash in Japan, so I pit stopped at the ATM where I was informed by a bowing cartoon couple that my bank had issued a “hold” on the bank card. Must be a mistake. I went to another cash machine at the train station. Another cartoon couple bowed in apology, eyes closed, and informed me that I did have money but they were unable to give me any. Gomenasai.

Yorkie and I would have to stop at the bank. I was ushered, silently, to a woman’s desk. She looked up the account without a word.

“Have you moved?” Strange question.

“Yes- in September- we moved from a temporary apartment in to a permanent one.” How the HELL did they know that? All statements and communications from the bank arrived electronically. We’re very green.

“You just need to fill out a change of address form.”

“That’s the problem?”

“Yes”

Dumbfounded that a) the bank had information regarding our whereabouts from an unknown source and b) would cut off access to our cash over a change of address unnerved me. If that doesn’t put the fear in you- I started to wonder if I’d done anything wrong accidentally that could cause serious trouble. There was that questionable signature with the grocery store card that kept coming back as not matching….

I filled out the form. She reviewed it. We talked about the form. She copied my alien registration card which some of you know is a pet peeve of mine. (Alien Registration Card identifies Spouse as the “Head of Household” which was hotly debated on that post)

“How much cash do you require?” She so politely inquired.

Still having a hard time with the number of 0’s attached to the yen, I wrote down the number. She accessed the account.

“Ouiser-san- I’m so sorry- It appears Spouse is the primary account holder. I can’t give you any money and he will have to perform the change of address. Even though you are listed on the account, and have a bank card, you can not perform any banking functions as his spouse.”

Not only does Spouse not know what bank we use, he doesn’t know our address.

Apparently the horns growing out of the top of my head alarmed her.

“Have him fill out this form, copy his alien registration card, and give it back.” She gave me the form and an envelope.

I gathered up my purse, broom and flew out.

Yorkie had to buy lunch.

The next day, Andretti-san dropped me by the bank to turn in the signed paperwork so Spouse could stop borrowing money from people at work. A clerk took the papers, escorted me to a chair where I waited for 20 minutes.

“Ouiser-san, I’m so sorry, but my boss says your Spouse must turn in the papers.”

“I was told yesterday that he could sign these and I could then drop them off.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, but as his Spouse, you are not allowed to conduct any banking activity- you must mail in the forms. Unless you have income of your own, you can’t conduct bank business.”

At this point, I felt the “ping, ping, ping” as talons popped out from the tips of my fingers. Bloody tears of anger seeped from my eyes. My head fell back and a scream of rage rocked the bank. I was having an ExPat moment. The people in the bank weren’t alarmed- they’d witnessed this before. Western wives aren’t used to the clipped wings that come with moving to Japan.

How do the Japanese women put up with this? How can this be?

There was one poor soul standing by the car, unaware as to the cause of the falling glass from the skyscraper above. My talons, horns and stupendous yet horrifying bat wings did not seem to register on his face as I approached, breathing heavily, drool pooling around the corners of my mouth.

“Andretti-san- 2 things. 1) We have to go to the other bank where you must impersonate Spouse and 2) why do women in Japan put up with this?”

I realized that Spouse told me not to coerce Andretti-san into conducting illegal activity on my behalf and once the bank personnel saw the picture on the Alien Registration Card they’d realize that Spouse wore glasses and my ruse would be exposed. I put the x-nay on the bank run.

“In the old days, men had the heart of a Samurai, now they have the heart of a child. They just want to lay on the couch and play video games. The women would rather stay independent and make money. They want a man from my father’s generation.”

This I could understand. As I make futile attempts to learn Japanese, I watch the period dramas on tv- Taiga. One doesn’t need to understand Japanese to follow the action. Samurai/Prince/Strong Male Figure falls in love with Geisha/Farm Girl/Orphan. The girl is somehow brought to the palace where the couple fall hopelessly in to an unacceptable love. A vicious plot by the male hero’s mother/jealous palace women condemns the young beautiful female lead to death/expulsion. The young woman usually evades death but is always evicted from the palace. Someone confesses to the plot. The Prince/Samurai/Strong Male Figure fights his way to the Geisha/Farm Girl/Orphan who is now playing guitar in a brothel and the two live happily ever after. It gets me every time.

Gamers vs Samurai? Ouch. One study found that Japanese men spend 23 minutes on housework and childcare while the women spend 4.5 hours. Most had never changed a diaper. Hey! I was a Japanese male before I got married and had kids. Apparently the women have decided it’s an all or none equation- find someone more willing to share the load or go it alone without kids. Gulp- Gasp- Life fulfilled without children? How dare they! All for the want of free access to the bank account and a fulfulling career? Apparently so. Only 1% of Japanese women have children out-of-wedlock. Women in Japan are now among the world’s oldest at marriage, 29-30. Very quietly voting with their feet and ignoring the parents who’ve hired match makers or forced them in to spinster hobbies like flower arranging, learning to drive, or performing the Japanese Tea Ceremony. Remain independent, free of the shackles marriage brings until “Absolute Mr. Right” comes along.

picsaweb.google.com

What does that translate to? A population crisis. More people are dying in Japan than are being born. The population is not replacing itself. Bad news for the future of Japan.

Fellows- brush up on the Samurai skills….really, it’s easier than changing a diaper.

Posted in Moving to Japan | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 28 Comments

For ME? You Shouldn’t Have…

Posted on February 12, 2011 by Emily Cannell

I got an Award? WOW. Two thoughts crossed my mind upon reading the news. The first was relief that it was the “Memetastic” award, not the “Metastatic” award I first read it to be, and second it surpassed the last award I received in college, “Ugliest Pledge Without Make Up.” Which I still claim “unfair” since without the benefit of my morning hair products I fare worse in comparison to others -something akin to a hairy fictional creature in a Harry Potter movie. No make up and bad morning hair was a shoe in for that award. But I now digress away from the wonder and excitement that is the moment of this award. I knew a hand full of people beyond my family, friends and some Spouse had forced at work to read in order for me to feel gratified with my blogging efforts might be reading. I didn’t know some might be enjoying it. I’m thrilled and honored.

Given the graphic seen below, one would assume it was a joke, however, I actually have seen it before on reputable sites. Sites to which I subscribe and have become a daily part of my ritual. Every day I drop kick both Offspring out the door yelling, screaming and begging not to leave the warm nest so I can greet my day drinking coffee, reading my blogs, commenting to my blogging buddies, scanning the paper, and Skyping the insurance companies which continue to plague me with their ineptitude. Many of these blogs were found through nominations by this award. I present to you- or rather- Lisa at Woman Wielding Words gave me:

TA DA!!!!!!

I made it large-sized so everyone can enjoy it as much as I do. And actually see it.

Jillsmo created this award for bloggers to share and be recognized. She’s a Blog Spot blogger but I’m one to take share with others no matter the source. Maybe she’ll migrate over. Rules come along with the prize. The “BUT” in the sentence. The rain on the sunny day.

Follow closely.

1) If one receives the award, the recipient must proudly display the Memetastic award above. Yes I know how to pronounce it- meme as in “mean”- no I don’t know what it means. The recipient must bounce the award hot potato style to 5 bloggers within 24 hours of receipt. No basking in glory or gloating allowed. This is the internet after all.

2) One must go back to the Jillsmo/Memetastic site and post your blog at the bottom. Jillsmo is the ultimate source for your temporary insanity.

3) Provide the 5 sites for next crazed winners.

4) Put up 1 truth and 4 lies about oneself. For me that should be easy. I was single until age 30, I lied a lot. Telling the truth- that’ll be hard. Good thing I only need one of those.

Ok- Let’s go.

Truth or Fiction?

1) I hide my face behind a book in the Gravatar because I’m embarrassed by my Sharon Stone crazy eyes.

2) I hide my face behind a book in the Gravatar because I’m really the Nose and it’s not due to my ability to sniff out locations- it’s because my olfactory organ is so huge it sniffs out every scent within a 100 mile radius. Bothersome. Cumbersome.

3) I hide my face in case the ExPats reading this blog get mad when I said they are led by a nose ring. Since all our kids go to the same school, they won’t be able to recognize me. at the Offspring’s school.

4) If I hide behind a book Spouse won’t know it’s me writing those things about him in the blog.

5) I was the Social Chairman of my sorority the entire 4 years of college.

My Nominations

1) Tokyo Jinja- I love this site by my friend Tokyo Jinja. She has immaculate taste in all things Japan. Her site highlights Japan decor, design and art. She’ll show you pictures on how to incorporate tasteful Japanese items in to your kitchen, identify traditional crafts being made modern and where to buy them, and help you learn the antiquing tips in Miami. Great site.

2) Tokyoblingsblog– I call him my personal tour guide in Tokyo. He blogs every day with a  stunning picture post. I’ve learned more about Tokyo, Japan, and what goes on in the minds of the Japanese from this uber talented photographer. Please look!

3) 2Summers-I’ve so enjoyed getting to know South Africa through the voice and lens of 2Summers. She goes where no other mere mortal dare go.

4)The Amerarab Wife– I’ll admit- she’s been absent a while with a new move and baby on the way- but- I’m hoping a nod her way might get her re-enthused. Her blogging from somewhere in the Middle East is very entertaining and her recipes are fail proof.

5) The Act of Traveling If your afraid to test your travel wings, Emiel will comfort your soul. He’s been all over the world with kids in tow. Fantastic pictures from places unknown complete with entertaining commentary. Now here’s a first- a travel blog that won’t bore you tears with unnecessary minutiae yet provides enough detail to allow one to build an itinerary.

ENJOY! And peace.



Posted in Moving to Japan, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 21 Comments

A Food Puzzle- And the National Snack of Japan

Posted on February 9, 2011 by Emily Cannell

The Rice Ball

The Rice Ball- The national snack of Japan. Sold by the dozens in every convenience store in Japan, each costs about 120 yen- 140 or $1.20- $1.40. Crunchy sea weed surrounds sticky rice which then encapsulates a filling. The filling could be salmon, salmon roe, Japanese plum, pickles, Korean barbeque – or anything the maker has close by. For me, there are two mysteries to this snack, the first is the filling since I can’t read and the second is how to unwrap the rice ball without tearing the sea weed.

In the beginning, I loved the mystery that was the “reveal.” What did I get? Until I got salmon roe. Then the moment became more of a relief, “Thank God I didn’t get the salmon roe.” Realization dawned that my favorite- pickles- were only 100 yen which cut my chances of salmon roe down to zero but upped my odds of something else hard to swallow- Japanese plum or Umeboshi. Not dried or sweet but runny, salty and akin to emptying a mouthful of a sugar substitute like “Sweet and Low” in one’s mouth all at once. This flavor is a particular Japanese favorite and a classic example of an Eastern staple difficult for Westerners to stomach. I’ve now memorized the characters for “pickle” so the revelry in my game playing is somewhat diminished.

Wikipedia Images

Part II of the game remains. How to open the Rice Ball? What’s so hard about it? It’s just wrapped in paper say you. Well, in order for the sea weed to remain crisp, it must remain separated from the rice, therefore, there is paper between the rice and the sea weed. When opening the rice ball, one must pull off two layers of paper – the paper surrounding the entire rice ball and the one between the rice and the sea weed – without pulling off the sea weed in the process. A rudimentary analogy would be the pulling off the tablecloth on a fully set table without upsetting the silverware and the plates. In order to demonstrate this process, I needed an able-bodied assistant capable of actually performing this amazing feat. Offspring #2 not only was capable, she had her nails done.

Step #1, Read the directions- if you’re able to decipher. Which I’m not.

Step #2- Locate the appropriate numbers on the rice ball

Step #3- Here’s the part where I start to get confused. Locate the number and pull. Offspring #2 has this down pat. I usually pull the wrong parts. Even though I’m at Number 1, where exactly do you grab? At this point, I usually rip the sea weed in half.

Step #4- Keep going even though you’re scared….all the way to the back side.

Step #5- Now time for Step #2- Very gently- start to pull… The last two steps pull the layers out from under the sea weed. VERY gently…. this is where it all goes to HELL fast….

Step #6- Here is the final step- it’s number 3 on the rice ball.  Gently, Gently…don’t be tempted to rush at this critical junction…

The final product perfectly executed by my able-bodied assistant- TA DAH!!!!:

And of course- the big reveal:

Some species of fish- tastes good.

Posted in Moving Lesson | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 36 Comments

“We Interrupt our Usual Broadcasting to Bring You This Important Message..”

Posted on February 7, 2011 by Emily Cannell

The Japan Sumo Association confirmed the cancellation of the Spring Grand Sumo Tournament due to match fixing. The last time a Grand Sumo Tournament was cancelled occurred in 1946 due to damage of the Ryogoku Kokugikan sumo stadium from WWII. Certainly this cultural icon of sports has rocked the Japanese populace to its traditional core, however, to the Clampitt clan who are fond of singing “I Like Big Butts and I can not lie” prior to important matches, this cancellation is particularly disquieting.

Prior to moving to Japan, the only aspect of mild interest to me regarding Sumo involved a total fixation on how the diaper remained affixed to the wrestler. If I’m being honest, there might be another reason, that the only attire worn during this bout is a diaper. Further, the diaper, which could fall to the floor at any time, exposes an enormous buttocks. Sumo has been around for several centuries and the “Diaper” is called a mawashi. It’s 30 feet long, two feet wide and weighs between 8 and 11 pounds. Once the knot is tied in the back, it’s meant to withstand the physical abuse of an opponent sumo trying to lift the other by the mawashi to then toss out of the ring. It’s not coming off. If it does, which last occurred in May of 2000, the former wearer is automatically disqualified. One can still hope.

File:Hakuho May07.jpg

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hakuho

Next, the Clampitts love to guess when the match between the two Titans will finally take place. When watching a bout, one will notice a number of false starts. The mystery is how to know when the wrestlers will actually wrestle? First the wrestlers throw salt in the ring, followed by stomach slapping, then come the leg lifts, eventually the wrestlers get in position with knuckles to the ground. All is ready to go. AND THEN one of the wrestlers will get up and the whole ritual starts over again with the salt throwing. The stomach slapping gets louder, the leg stomps get more pronounced, and so on. We LOVE a loud stomach thump. Shouldn’t the stomach of a wrestler weighing over 300 lbs exhibit a rippling when hit? No- that’s part of what is astounding to the Clampitt clan and part of the entertainment value. Now- since you are a reader of this blog, the secret to the start. If one watches closely, a man slowly sweeps the salt away from the ring. Magically, or through ESP, he knows when the match is about to start. He sweeps through all the stomping and swatting, however, when the match is going to happen, he disappears. When he’s goes- the match will be fought. There’s where the true conspiracy lies according to the Ouiser school of liars and cheats. interestingly -I could not find one picture of the mysterious “Sweeper” while the Sumos were in the ring……

What is a sport without the heroes? We have a few favorites. There’s only one Japanese superstar in the line up – and he’s “ancient”- 40 something. Kaio Hiroyuki. Affectionately called Kaio- like KI (as in pie) -O ( as in row). Currently ranked “Ozeki” or the second highest level. A crowd favorite. The Japanese put the Yankee and Phillie fans to shame with their ability to raise the roof and create noise for Kaio. I didn’t know a people so quiet were able to make such a racket.

Next up, Baruto Kaito. Pronounced “Bart- o.” Like Bart as in Simpson and “O” as in “Oh.” The villain the Japanese love to hate. And what is funnier than an Eastern European as a Sumo? When he wins, the announcers claim it’s all due to his power because he has no skill. When he loses, of course, it’s due to his severe lack of skill. I just love Baruto because the site of him brings on the giggles.

Now- for the Master of all. Hakuho Sho- the Mongolian born Sumo champion. Hakuho holds the second longest winning streak of all time. Currently the highest ranked Sumo- Yokozuna- and a nice guy. Hakuho embodies some of the most important Japanese values- work ethic and humility. Spouse and Andretti-san have built a new and complicated time system around this particular awe-inspiring Sumo. Hakuho’s matches are at a set time, therefore, that time became “Hakuho time.” The conversation becomes:

“I’ll meet you at half past Hakuho” or “Ten till Hakuho” etc.

Please take a moment to admire Hakuho Sho:

白鵬

http://sumo.goo.ne.jp/eng/ozumo_meikan/rikishi_joho/rikishi_2320.html

Some gory details along with a few faux pas at Sumo are described in a long ago post (here) however, the personal loss to the Clampitts is being felt as we go through the 5 stages of mourning. Already through disbelief, I am now at anger since my itinerary for the upcoming visit with the cousins centered around the Sumo Tournament and now must be completely revamped. Damn those cheaters. We can no longer look forward to our nightly ritual during tournament season of crowding around the tv, making fun of the British announcer who makes fun of Baruto’s lack of skill, guessing when the match will actually start, trying to decide who on the sidelines belongs to the mafia, wondering if this is the match when someone’s mawashi will come off, or if this is the day the great and indestructible Hakuho goes down.

Photo Credits:

Wikipedia- Photos of Baruto Kaito, Kaio Hiroyuki, and fist image of Hakuho Sho

Niho Sumo Kyokai Homepage- Photo of Hakuho Sho

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“You…you…you…. Oni!” The Setsubun Festival

Posted on February 4, 2011 by Emily Cannell

According to a high-ranking Japanese authority on cultural issues to whom I have close ties, hurling an insult might include calling someone an “Oni” in Japan- or demon. Spouse might claim that I’ve been inhabited by an Oni the past several days as I haven’t needed a mirror to check the back of my hair and dogs are running from me yelping. Therefore it was serendipitous that today just happens to be the first day of Spring, the Lunar New Year and the day when the Setsubun Festival is celebrated. The day when all the Oni are driven from Japan by catapulting objects in to crowds or out of windows.

Through out Japan, people gather in homes where the family head dawns a mask of the Oni and the rest of the family throws soybeans out the window or at the mask wearer. This purifies the home. People chant “Oni was soto, Fuku was uchi” which means “Demons out- Luck in.” The family then eats the number of soybeans according to one’s age plus one to usher in good luck.

The Tasmanian Bloodhound and I hopped on our Mama Cheri’s in order to throw some beans at an Oni. I thought I could sneak a few rocks in just to vent some frustration. No one would know it was me. The Offspring weren’t home from school so setting a bad example was not a concern.

Yoyogi Hachiman Shrine is the local site of the Annual Setsubun Festival. To get the party started, the ladies started rocking the taiko drums.

This infused the little kids with as much energy as 3 Red Bulls shot gunned like an experienced college senior. Next the local dignitaries gathered on stage with tangerines (in Japan called mikan) and mochi (pounded rice cakes) in bags to throw at the crowd. I mean toss to the crowd. At other shrines, stars and sumo wrestlers participate in the revelry.

In order to help protect themselves from the flying tangerines and the rock like mochi, and to catch as many as possible, the crowd caught the items with bags and bicycle helmets.

The Tasmanian Bloodhound caught a mochi.

This was not a festival for the weak at heart. A kill or be killed environment, the Tasmanian Bloodhound bowed out after bouncing a compacted mochi missile off the top of her head. Two moms took each other out over a tangerine and fell wrestling to the ground- one on top of the kid she was holding.

Then it was over. No Oni. Where was the famous Demon? I was really looking forward to throwing stuff at a Demon. Dang it. A very over rated trip to the shrine in my mind.

But wait- there’s more.

Still the celebration for ushering in good luck continued. I stopped at the grocery store for the remaining supplies. First, Spouse would need the mask for impersonating the Oni.

It wouldn’t be fair to throw rocks at Spouse to release the anxiety since he wasn’t the cause of my frustration and of course he would know it was me so soybeans would have to do. Spouse and I would need to ingest at least two bags to cover our ages.

Finally, uncut maki is eaten for dinner. This is actually the only time I’ve seen maki in Japan.

Fish heads and holly leaves are hung on the doors to drive away any lingering bad spirits. Fish heads on someone’s door would definitely keep me from entering. I didn’t see any of these decorations. I wonder if the Japanese know this is part of Setsubun? I did find some dead sticks with some Holly-ish looking leaves for sale. Maybe an Oni is preferable to these pitiful prunings.

Spouse was at a meeting during the day outside of Tokyo and relayed a conversation held with a Japanese man. Fear gripped the poor man as this was the second year in a row he had missed the Setsubun ritual of playing the Oni for the family and his wife was not happy. He was  much more afraid of his wife than any Oni.

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An American Experience in Tokyo- Costco

Posted on February 2, 2011 by Emily Cannell

I love to see American products packaged for the Japanese. Costco is becoming one of the most recognizable American discount warehouse stores. Whenever the toilet paper runs low, it’s time for a Costco run. The last time, as I took pictures, the store manager decided I was up to no good and attempted to put an end to my picture-taking. I put away the camera only to take it out and snap shots from the waist thereafter.

The building looked like all the Costcos in the US- inside and out.

The Sushi selection gave it away as Japanese

Especially this section.

Several choices of  (1) white mama cheris identified this as a Japanese Costco.

It wouldn’t be a Costco without a Tire Center- and they’re all free!

Some interesting dance clothes for sale.

The Japanese don’t have many OTC drug choices- and it shows in the miniscule Pharmacy. The pharmacist is on the ladder looking busy for the picture.

Here was the biggest difference-efficiency- NO LINE!

And then- DELIVERY SERVICE! alleluia! A new reason to love Costco. For some reason the service is called the Flying Pig.

I believe many of you will recognize this- strangely not one Japanese item on the menu.

And finally- Japanese ingenuity –  the cart going up the cart escalator. Nothing can make the cart roll backwards. Amazing.

Finally- Costco pre-made Bulgogi- Korean barbeque-only in Japan.

Hummm- could the Japanese version of an American classic have surpassed the original? I think so.

 

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A Food Peep Show

Posted on January 31, 2011 by Emily Cannell

On Sunday I was wandering around Shibuya replacing all of the various computer chords and headphones Demolition Derby boy had destroyed during his ill-fated school ski trip when I happened upon a snaking line of Japanese. It appeared to lead to a restaurant although the Japanese characters were unreadable to me. Usually a line leads to good food. Not overly hungry and sans the rest of the family, I decided to join the bunch anticipating a worthy find to add to my Tokyo restaurant tour.

As I entered the line, I noticed it actually led down a narrow staircase and not to the restaurant above. Usually a line at lunchtime means food so I stayed put. At that moment, three young men came up the narrow staircase expressing that whatever was down the hole was “spicy.” HMMM- “spicy” could refer to food or other more sordid details. With this bit of information, I closely examined the crowd. Mixed. Two younger, female teenagers in front of me, a business man behind, but primarily equally distributed between men and women. This ruled out hard-core porn in my mind.

As we got close to the bottom of the stairs, the corridor turned right. The girls in front of me picked up a laminated card. It showed hands pointing and passing forth money and tickets underneath a window. They flipped through nonchalantly and placed it back in the holder. I couldn’t understand the drawings and decided the best approach was a close tail on the girls in front. I’d do whatever they did. Years of study at the feet of the Pink Panther taught me my craft.

We rounded the last corner to the actual entrance. Now I’d know if this was a restaurant, a pachinko parlor, or a house of ill repute. The girls entered with me attached to their backpacks. Just inside the door were two vending machines in a small entry way. I watched as the girls selected food (thank GOD) from the machine, paid, and got a ticket. When it was my turn, I realized the only choice on the menu at this restaurant was a single bowl of ramen. One bowl of ramen. That’s it. Damn this bowl of ramen must be good. The choices in addition to this one bowl of ramen were an egg, extra onions, a side of rice, a side of extra noodles, and two or three other small sides. I pushed several buttons in Japanese until my change came out.

As if this were a Willy Wonka tour, out popped a Japanese gentleman with a clip board. He handed the girls the clip board and they proceeded to circle several items on a paper. I had been observing these girls carefully from my position on one of their backpacks and had decided they were middle of the roaders- somewhat conservative Japanese teenagers- and if I copied exactly what they ordered I would get a safe version of whatever was being served next. It was my turn. He turned to me. The only white person in the place.

“Eigo?” Which means English. I must admit I was surprised to offered an English menu.

“Hai” My favorite word in Japanese. It means “yes” and is pronounced like “Hi.” Americans like to yell it sharply- like the seagulls in “Saving Nemo.” The Japanese find this curious.

This paper allowed me to choose how I would prefer my ramen- spicy, firm, extra onions, with or without meat, fatty broth etc. He handed me the paper. The three of us were ushered in to yet another small room with 4 chairs.

The girls and I sat on chairs facing 2 curtained entrances and a panel with lights all blinking. I assumed this was a seating chart. It was my turn. I had no idea where to go since I couldn’t follow his words. He said “10” in Japanese. A Blessing! I can count to 10- but that’s as high as I can go. I opened the curtain and saw cubicle library seating?

I sat down at my “spot”- by myself. This was obviously not a place for the romantically inclined. I evaluated my position. A table top, partitions between me and the people on either side, water glasses and water tap for self-service, and a small window in front of me where I could see the legs of the kitchen workers. A food peep show.

I had no idea what to do next. I had to cheat off the man next to me. I leaned back and gazed shiftily in his cube. The man had his ticket and sheet at the window. I followed suit. Soon legs appeared, hands snatched up my sheet and disappeared. Then, this appeared. And the curtain slammed shut. Like in prison.

 

I ate my ramen, by myself, in solitary confinement, in my cubicle, alone, listening to the slurps of the other patrons and the sounds of the mystery kitchen crew. When I left, the line was even longer. And there ends my food peep show. Don’t go for the conversation.

 

Post-Script: The laminated card explained how to order additional items after the bamboo shutters had been slammed shut since there are not wait staff. The ramen was good -not my favorite in Tokyo- but worthy of a repeat. Obviously a favorite of the locals. I’m currently assimilating a list of my favorite ramen spots and this one will be on the list for those of you planning a trip to Tokyo.

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