on the virtues of creative classroom activities

I have been known to, given the slightest indication of interest, expound on the pedagogical virtues of creative assignments over the memorization and regurgitation of facts, and while there's a time and a place for drilling and questions with one right answer, I try not to let that kind of activity make up too much of any given lesson. While I really do believe in this as an educational strategy, I also have an ulterior motive: it's more fun for me to see what the students come up with when given a little free reign. It's much more entertaining than correcting a bunch of nearly-identical worksheets, and it provides me with amusing anecdotes like these:

When I taught a lesson on cell phone conversations, I had the students write little dialogues to practice. One of my favorites went something like this:

A: Hello, Mario, this is Luigi. Can we talk now?
B: I'm looking for Bowser right now, but okay.
A: Where are you?
B: I'm in the pipes, collecting mushrooms.
A: Did you read my e-mail?
B: I'm sorry, I was too busy rescuing Princess Peach.

In another class, two girls did a more typical conversation, but really acted it out, so that it was obvious that one of the characters wanted nothing to do with the other, who was more or less oblivious to this fact.

A: Hi, this is [so-and-so]. Can we talk now?
B (with heavy sarcasm): Oh, of course.
A: Where are you?
B: I'm at the airport. I'm going to fly to America.
A (cheerfully): So will you be here on time?
B: ... nooooo, I'm going to be a little late.

And then there was the student who informed her unfortunate caller that she was on the moon and wouldn't be back for a year.

My first-years made menus to practice food and restaurant vocabulary. Most of them named their restaurants "Joyfull", this being most likely the only "American" restaurant they could think of (it's a Japanese fast-food chain, so it's about as authentic as Taco Bell), but one group decided to make a vegetarian restaurant and name it after me. Of course, the menu included fish and ham (ham being generally not thought of as "meat" here, for some reason), but I was touched nonetheless.

When teaching future tense, we did an activity where the students had to write three sentences in response to the question "What will this girl do today?" and illustrate them. One girl wrote "She will run to school with a piece of toast in her mouth", "She will go from her school to the airport", and "She will fly to Korea" -- this last accompanied by a map with the relevant countries labeled in English and Korean. (I have the feeling that this girl's talents are wasted on the class she's in; most of the other students aren't yet at a level where they're capable of making sentences as complex as that first one.)

Another student wrote very simple, somewhat disconnected sentences ("She will run. She will read a book. She will sleep."), but the illustrations turned them into a story:



Some of my classes practiced talking about their weekend plans by writing a sentence about what they were going to do and illustrating it -- I know, I do a lot of drawing, but the students like doing it, so I tend to use it to sneak in some writing exercise, much the way one might get a child to take a pill by hiding it in a spoonful of ice cream or peanut butter. Anyway, one boy drew a picture of a knight fighting a dragon. The best part of this, though, was the caption, which was not "I'm going to play a video game" or "I'm going to watch a movie", as I might have expected, but "I'm going to defeat a hero". Apparently I have a dragon in disguise on my hands. I had better be careful.

Of course, when it comes to exams, it makes things a bit easier to have questions that are not quite so open-ended -- and the students, being stressed and in a hurry, probably aren't feeling so creative. But every now and then I get an answer that makes me laugh: on one test I corrected today, a student answered the question "Who is your favorite actor"? with "My favorite actor is me." It's good to have confidence in yourself, I guess!

in memoriam

The librarian at one of my schools died a few days ago. I found out when I came into work this morning.

I'm not the best person to eulogize her. We weren't close; friendly acquaintances, maybe, but not friends. I didn't even know she was sick – although that says something about her in itself, I think, that she came into work every day and went about cheerfully shelving the books and chatting with the library patrons right up to the week before she finally succumbed to the terminal illness that had apparently plagued her for several years. Maybe the famed Japanese work ethic wouldn't allow for anything else, but still, that takes strength.

The first time we spoke, I'd come into work despite having the flu and, feeling unable to remain upright much longer, had sneaked off to the library to take a quick nap on the couch. (I, apparently, am not all that strong.) When she discovered me sleeping there, I thought I was about to get into serious trouble – but she just brought me a blanket, and offered me a coffee when I woke up. On my subsequent visits to the library (which were mostly to use it for its intended purpose) we had coffee a few more times; we talked about books, and I answered all the usual questions about myself and my country, my hometown. I never asked her much about herself. Maybe I should have.

We sat next to each other at the morning meeting, largely because that was the way the seating arrangement worked out. She always tried to say something to me, though – simple pleasantries, but more than the mumbled "'morning" that we all give each other as a matter of course. We talked about the weather: "It's cold, isn't it? Is it this cold where you come from?"

It might not have been much, but in a place where I often felt (still feel, really) like an unwanted outsider, to have anyone go out of their way to be friendly meant a lot to me. She was one of the few people at the school to do that on a regular basis. I don't flatter myself that this was because she found my company that interesting – I think that's just the kind of person she was.

I don't know why I'm writing this. I don't know how much interest it can possibly hold for anyone else. I'm not fishing for condolences. I think those are better saved for her family and friends, the people dealing with a larger absence than simply an empty chair in the conference room and a space behind the library checkout desk.

I guess I just want to be sure that I don't forget.

a wild parcel chase

I started this back in August and only just finished it. I am not really very good at finishing things. Here goes, anyway.

***

"Do you know where your mailbox is?" my supervisor asks me as I'm gathering up my things to leave.

I frown. "I don't have a mailbox, I have a mail slot in my door."

She shakes her head. "Some other teachers in your apartment building say you have a mailbox too, and it is very full," she says, in the gentle tones of someone who believes the person to whom they're speaking to be not very bright, but doesn't blame them for it.

Some other teachers are always telling my supervisor things. Some other teachers never actually say anything to me, because I'm American and might bite. Or not understand Japanese, which is a somewhat more reasonable fear, but one which could easily be allayed if they only gave me a chance.

But I don't have much time to contemplate this, because I'm too busy feeling like an idiot. "Oh. Where is it?"

My supervisor cocks her head and sucks air in through her teeth, then goes to consult with one of the Some Other Teachers. Finally she informs me that it's at the bottom of the stairs. "You had better check it," she adds. "There maybe are important things in there."

I really hope not. "Of course," I say.

***

When I reach my apartment building, the mailboxes are staring me right in the face. I can't imagine how I managed to completely miss them for the past five weeks. They don't have names or apartment numbers on them, but it's easy to tell which one is mine. It's the one that's overflowing. Transferring the stack of papers I brought from the school to one arm, I gather up this new stack of papers in the other and gingerly make my way up the stairs, sure that I'm going to drop something important without noticing it.

As far as I can tell, the stack of papers is still intact by the time I get to my kitchen table, where I dump them and begin to sort through them. Two town newsletters (July and August, I guess), a trash schedule for October through December (thoughtful of them to send it so far in advance), a postcard my sister wrote me from Denmark (the lucky so-and-so), a postcard from YahooBB politely informing me that they have no service slots available in my area at the moment (jerks), a piece of paper from my phone company that wants to be signed and sent back… nothing earth-shattering. I sweep the pile aside – and then I notice something I missed before. A small blue-and-white slip of paper, one of those "sorry we missed you" deals that you get when someone tries to deliver a package when you're not home.

It's not from the normal post office, but from a private shipping company. There's a sender's address on it, but the handwritten kanji are far too scribbly for my gaijin eyes to make sense of. There's a phone number to call to reschedule the delivery, but while my comprehension may be good, my speaking skills are shaky at best. I'd probably just end up choking and flailing and utterly failing to make myself understood. But I can't just ignore it. This package could be important. No, it must be, if it couldn't be entrusted to the regular postal service. Some kind of important form, something I'll be in serious trouble for missing. The unreadable kanji could refer to the electric company, the gas company, either of my phone companies, something relating to my car or my job… who knows? I find the attempted delivery date – it's only three days ago, so it's probably not a big deal yet. But I've got to hurry if I want to cover up my mailbox-noticing failure.

At the bottom of the slip I notice an address with hours given for on-site pickup. They're open until nine; it's six-thirty now, and the town they're in is not more than an hour away. I had hoped to spend a quiet evening at home making quiche, but this mystery package is more important than my desire to use up the spinach before it goes all slimy. I throw my laptop in the car and head to the nearest spot I can leech wireless from . The signal's weak and Google Maps takes forever to load, then fails to recognize the address I put in. I spend several more minutes reformatting the address in various ways, then staring and occasionally hitting "refresh" while the thing disconnects and reconnects and disconnects and reconnects and fails to load and generally is not nice to me. Finally it coughs up the directions (and recognizes the place by name, no less, meaning I could have put the name in directly and skipped all the futzing around), and I head out, with my laptop in the passenger seat playing navigator. It's nearly seven, but I still have plenty of time.

I drive directly into the setting sun. The incandescent orange clouds in the dusky sky make for a lovely sight, but are not so good for allowing me to see where I'm going. I wish I'd brought my sunglasses, but I don't want to go back for them now.
Perhaps as a result of my inability to see anything, I accidentally run a red light right in front of the police station, and spend the next several minutes nervously checking my rearview mirror for cops. I have been told that as a foreigner, if I break any traffic laws I will be absolutely 100% certain to be pulled over and have to pay a huge fine and probably lose my license and also my job. After about ten minutes with no sirens or flashing lights behind me, however, I am satisfied that this dire prediction was perhaps not the unvarnished truth.

I am just starting to relax when I hit a section of road that's under construction and the traffic slows to a crawl. This stretch of the road is lined with little lights, like an airplane runway. I wish I could take off right about now. If I flew over all these cars, maybe I could get there on time. I check the clock repeatedly. It's nearly 7:40 – that should be okay, right? How much farther do I have to go? I've driven through the town in question a grand total of once, on my way back from picking up my car, and I don't really remember how far it was.

When I finally do reach the outskirts of the town, I realize that I've completely forgotten the name of the road I'm supposed to turn onto when I get there, and of course my laptop's started hibernating. I need to pull off somewhere so I can mess with it without swerving all over the road and causing an accident, but I keep not noticing the parking lots until it's too late. I slow down, annoying the cars behind me, and finally manage to pull into the parking lot of some small, seedy-looking building. I check the street name – a random assortment of numbers – and spend the next five minutes or so worrying that I've already passed it.

It is with great relief that I spot the sign that tells me it's coming up in a few hundred meters. Shortly thereafter I reach the intersection, but the only option is to turn left, when my directions say I want to go right. Maybe the right turn is a little farther on, I think, and keep going – but no right turn option presents itself. Well, then, maybe it's before the left turn and I missed it, I reason. So I turn around and go back the other way for a while, but no dice. It's only after I've gone through the same intersection three or four times that I realize the left turn is in fact a highway on-ramp that will allow me to take the road in either direction.

This portion of the journey goes smoothly, and it is with a feeling of triumph that I turn onto the road the shipping facility is supposed to be on. It's a little after 8 PM, but I should be there any minute now… any minute now… any minute now…

The road gets narrower and narrower, darker and darker. There are no streetlights now, and trees on either side of the road stretch their leafy branches towards each other, blocking whatever small amount of illumination the moon might provide. There aren't even any buildings here, let alone anything that looks like what I'm looking for. Not that I'm entirely sure what that is. But I'm pretty definite on the fact that it's not a tree. Unless my packages are being delivered by magical elves, which seems unlikely – and God, why am I even thinking about such stupid things at a time like this?

The road dead-ends. I look around to make sure no one's watching and execute a U-turn. My second traffic violation of the night: I'm really living dangerously now. Just before I reach the intersection with the highway, I see the shipping facility. It's huge, well-lit, surrounded by trucks and full of packages: in other words, glaringly obvious to anyone with functioning eyes. Possibly even to blind people. It's just the stupid people (i.e. me) who have problems. Perhaps I have selective mail-related blindness. That would explain the mailbox, too. But at least I found it in the end. I pull into the parking lot (hoping that in fact I'm allowed to park there) and go inside.

I explain to the old man at the counter that I'm here to pick up a package, and give my name and address. He shuffles off to look it up, and I stand there waiting, equal parts excited and nervous at the prospect of finally finding out what it is that I've come all this way for. Although it's probably paperwork, I can't help hoping that it's something cool. A package from my family, maybe – they did say they were going to send me some of the stuff I'd left behind, which I'm looking forward to. Though that wouldn't explain the fact that the sender's address is in Japanese. Maybe that could be explained by the fact that it went through a private service. Even if it is paperwork, I remind myself, it must be important, and if I hadn't come here to pick it up it might have been held indefinitely or returned to sender, and my not filling it out would lead to all kinds of problems. I fidget anxiously, the seconds dragging on as I wait for the man to reappear.

When he finally does, he is empty-handed.

"That was your phone book," he tells me. "It was delivered yesterday."

At long last, a post!

Today I did my Halloween class at a middle school (where I am not allowed to hand out candy) and a high school (where I am), and it was like an object lesson in the power of incentives. Say "tell me what you would be if you were dressing up for Halloween"? Some of the keener students might volunteer, but most of them are still falling asleep at their desks. Say "tell me what you would be if you were dressing up for Halloween and I'll give you a piece of candy"? Suddenly the whole class is going "ME ME OOH PICK ME" and some people are coming up multiple times with different answers in the hopes that I will change my one-candy-per-customer policy. In conclusion, candy = learning. This is clearly an important educational principle.

In other news, I have long intended to bring a camera with me to one of my schools and take pictures of the view along the way, because I drive through a national park and it is gorgeous. There are all these designated "pull over here and take pictures" spots, so I thought, well, why not pull over and take pictures there? And also in some other places because I am a rebel like that.

However, I kept forgetting my camera, and before long it was fall and starting to get dark early, and naturally on the day I finally remembered to bring my camera there was fog and the visibility was terrible. We will just pretend that this is because my town is a Magical Village Hidden in the Mists. I live in goddamned Brigadoon, okay. (Actually I always hated that movie, less because it was cheesy and more for the subplot about the guy who wants to leave and get an education but it will DOOM THE TOWN so they all form a mob and chase him down. What kind of message is that? "Wanting to get out of your small town and see the world makes you a horrible selfish person, so stay put"? ... but man, who's even seen that movie these days? I'll shut up.)

Nevertheless, I have pictures.



This is a graveyard on the side of the mountain, though the mistiness makes it hard to see clearly.



This is the road in front of the school (with the sun in a terrible position).



The school itself (from an awkward angle, with too much car window in the shot).



There are tons of JA-SS gas stations in my area, but this is the only one with the weird retro-futuristic dome/arch thing. Why does it need such a thing? Your guess is as good as mine.



The area around the school is not really that nice.



Of course, it would help a bit if I weren't standing in a parking lot, but photography from the window of a moving car while driving does not seem like the best pastime.

Now on to the park, which accounts for the bulk of the pictures!















I've done this drive dozens of times now, but there's always something wonderful about the moment when I come around a curve and see the town I live in laid out before me, with its lights (sparse though they may be) glittering. I only wish I were a good enough writer to capture the feeling.









Where I live, the leaves aren't turning yet, but up in the mountains they are — I guess because it's significantly cooler there, making it a similar climate to what I am accustomed to at my usual, more northerly latitude.



















And that's it for the park.



I wanted to take a picture of these cabin-on-a-stick things, but I had to turn the flash off because I was taking the picture through the window of the car, which meant shooting with a very slow shutter speed (as it was getting dark). Unfortunately, as I was taking the picture another car sped through the shot, and this was the result. ... I mean, I did this totally on purpose and it is artistic.



This is the general area of my apartment building. When I say I live in the middle of the fields, I am not exaggerating.



And this is the road in front of said building, which is the unprepossessing grey structure on the left. It was not actually this dark at this point; the sun hadn't even set yet, but you'd never know from the way the pictures came out.



A small shrine next to my house.

And that's about it.

Honestly, most of these look better as thumbnails than at full size. Observe:



Oh well. I never claimed to be much of a photographer.

FAQ

Who are you?

A young idiot with a BA in English, currently teaching in Japan. If you were hoping for my name, address, Social Security number, or three sizes, you’re out of luck.

Why is your blog called “The Weird Foreigner?” I mean, besides the obvious.

It’s from a mnemonic for remembering exceptions to the “I before E” rule: “the weird foreigner neither seizes leisure nor forfeits height.” And I’m an English teacher living in a foreign country, so look at me, look at me, I’m so clever!

Where do you live?

In a small town on the island of Kyushu, the southernmost major island of Japan. It is very humid here, and full of mosquitoes. I’m sure that narrows it down a lot.

I want to live in Japan too!

That’s not a question. Anyway, I suggest you only undertake this if you really, really love paperwork. In fact, I suggest skipping Japan and playing Douglas Adams’ Bureaucracy instead. It’s much cheaper. This is probably the only joke I will ever make about the paperwork, though, because most good jokes about bureaucracy in general have already been made. Often by Douglas Adams.

Wasn’t that reference a bit esoteric?

Shut up.

You’re a jerk. Anyway, why does the world need another blog written by a foreigner living in Japan? Aren’t there a lot of those already? What makes your daily life so special and interesting?

It doesn’t really, but I’m doing one anyway, largely as an exercise to hone my writing skills (read: actually make myself finish stuff). Anyway, it’s only partly Japan-related writings; part of it is stuff about being a young person living alone for the first time and part of it is just whatever I happen to feel like writing about. And I don’t think there are going to be that many daily-life anecdotes, really.

Actually, I really wanted to read yet another blog about a foreigner living in Japan. Why aren’t there more anecdotes?

Jeez, make up your mind, will you? Anyway, part of it is to distinguish myself from the millions of other similar blogs and part of it is that I’m really paranoid about putting in identifying details lest my co-workers find this or something. And part of it is that that just didn’t end up being what I felt like writing.

Why are you doing an FAQ as the first post in your blog when no one has actually asked you any questions yet?

Shut up.

Seriously, how do you know anyone is going to ask any of these questions?

They seem like basic things people would want to know about. I mean, what else do you think they’d be asking me?

Something in my house smells like old cheese and I don’t know what it is. What should I do?

Have you tried taking out the trash, doing the dishes, and smelling all the dairy in your fridge? If not, do all of these things, and then open the windows for a while and see if the smell goes away. If you have and the cheese smell persists, you are probably being haunted by a malevolent cheese spirit. Contact an exorcist.

Did I leave the gas on?

Yes.

Wasn’t that last question a bit outdated? I mean, who has to turn the gas on and off anymore?

Many Japanese people do. Also people who are living in Japan. I frequently leave the gas on. Thus the answer to the previous question may be projection. Sorry for implying that you were careless.

Don’t worry about it.

Anyway, I highly doubt people are going to be asking me questions like that.

You never know, they might. Or they might ask about different things entirely. I can’t think of everything, you know. Which is why you should’ve waited to do your FAQ until later.

Aren’t you supposed to be asking me questions?

Shut up.

… Let’s just end this here, why don’t we.