Of Stupid Beards

As is common for this blog, the title refers to something that may (or may not, depending on how I feel) appear at the end, but certainly not the beginning.

So, once again, I've trawled the depths of the internet so that you don't have to.  This trawling includes many game related websites, none of which will make it onto this page because you already think I'm nerdy enough, without me shouting out 'LOOK AT THE BUMP MAPPING ON THAT.'

Anywho, the first thing I saw on the BBC website was this article about piracy in Japan.  Democracy in the west is predicated on the idea that if you piss enough people off, they won't vote for you.  As such, the massively unpopular ideas rarely make it into law.  As a prime example there have been many people who have advocated improving the NHS (an example plucked from the air) by changing the very system itself.  As luddites, or 'voters,' as they're colloquially known, don't like change, the improvements have been vetoed in favour of spending eye-watering sums with no targets, aims or ideas.  Of course there are the few who make substantial sums by virtue of having gone to school with some otherwise exceptionally well to do peer or lord, but the majority are lumped with a slow, inefficient system that benefits senior administrators financially, and no one else.  The result is a system that doesn't work.  Yay for democratic powers!

The alternative is Japanese democracy which works very much like this:  I am the president of Japan.  My friend who runs Sony, doesn't like people pirating songs.  I will therefore enact a law that breaks the constitutional foundations of our country, because he will invite me to tea parties.

In many cases, the person who summons the idea is brazenly the same friend with whom we wish to dine, as in the case of this piracy law in Japan.

'This revision will reduce the spread of copyright infringement activities on the internet,' (ed - no it won't) said the body's chairman Naoki Kitagawa, who is also chief executive of Sony Entertainment Japan...' (ed - boldness added by the nobhead author)

So, they put someone who had clear ulterior motives, in charge of an organisation whose purpose is to lobby the government on behalf of a billion dollar company, in order to enact laws that are unjust, to further infringe upon the rights of the luddites.  Of course, the 'voters,' in Japan are more placid than those in England even, meaning they can do whatever the hell they want; and make no mistakes, they do.  Let this be a lesson for everyone in England - when you find yourself on the ass end of an unlawful arrest, with no access to a lawyer, food or water, and you're starved to death by a gestapo-esque secret police who are above the law, the incremental steps they took to get there could have been avoided had you decided to do something about it, instead of just sitting on your great big, gelatinous asses.  Take heed.  (Of course you won't, that's why 1984 is ever more referred to whenever someone mentions the state of human rights in contemporary society).

The next article is one about the EU.  Apparently we've been pissing people off in Europe (hot news just off the press).  The germans don't know whether to kick us out, the french have all but made up their mind (as this story, based off blogs of all things, seems to indicate).  No one else seems to care.  Should England sever all ties, it would of course be disastrous.  We wouldn't be able to handle worldwide finances without incurring heavy levies and taxes and this would mean losing 99% of all our income.  The other 1% are farmers, and they wouldn't be able to flog their stuff abroad, both because they'd be priced out of the market, and the government wouldn't be able to prop them up.  Gutted.  Should we abscond, someone else will take our place within four or five minutes, and we'd have permanently lost our source of income.

On the flip-side, screw the frogs and krauts, we don't need them as long as we have america.  Oh, they don't have any money anymore.  Well, maybe the chinese have forgotten about the opium wars by now?  Well, there's always Iran...

In sporting news, Nicky Hayden is one of my new favourite riders.  He is ballsy to the point of recklessness, and that merits a special place in my heart.

Take this for example:

Fuck that for a game of soldiers

It's not tiddly winks, but goddamn that's a big one.

He followed the above highside with this ballsy attempt at saving the bike.  As the various commentators have noted, he could have bailed a dozen times before he hit the barrier and slid to a painful, if unspectacular stop.  No one knows as of yet (as far as I know) why he didn't, but I suspect with his recent track record (pun) he was trying to save the bike to save the team from rebuilding yet another one.

It's worth noting that I've used the word ballsy so many times because it really conveys the kahoonas on this guy - gutsy or brave really don't have the same impact for my money.  Again, he deserves respect, and gets it from me.

Everyone seems to think he's okay.  Christ on a bike, the more I watch it the more horrific it gets.  He damn near does two flips, and that's only at 40mph!

The next clip comes from the hyperbole machine that is the BBC.

A typhoon hit mainland Japan last night, making landfall at Okinawa some hours prior.  By all accounts it was quite strong when it reached Okinawa, but when it came to mainland Japan it was weak and pathetic.  Having said that (or written), it wasn't a particularly earth-shattering one even over Okinawa.  They do like to hype these events though, so we got this self-evidently factually inaccurate report.

It's self-evident because the car is not in the air at any point, nor is it picked up.

It's made all the more hilarious by the slow-mo, as if trying to prove the validity of the headline.

Not funny for the man who owns the car though.  Poor guy.

If you want to see something that's actually impressive, watch the first plane land here.  That's a ballsy pilot.  Ballsy again, see.  Irreplaceable in the English language.

Nearly at an end now, this article makes me hate England.  Then it makes me hate humanity.  It turns out that dog-dirt sounds (not worthy of being called music) are enjoyed by people regardless of social upbringing, this pile of shit having bridged the language divide from korea to England.  What a shithouse state of affairs you lot must be in if you listen to this utter tripe.  Christ.  Go take a long, hard, semi-suicidal look at yourselves, people of England.

If you were one of the morons who partook of this crime against humanity, take out the 'semi,' from the previous sentence.

And finally, onto the bit about the beards.  In Japan, having a beard is sinful.  The vast, vast majority of men are physically incapable of growing facial hair, so to save their blushes beards are considered unsavoury by the aforementioned vast majority.

This is a problem for me because I'm fantastically lazy.  So lazy I can barely keep my eyelids open outside of rugby related activities.  This is a high-priority concern because I grow facial hair at a rate that would make Rapunzel blush (presumably her facial hair grew pretty quickly too) and cannot be bothered to cut it every day.  So far I've been getting by on weekly shaves that entail me looking like a spotty devil, rather like this, at the start of the week, then in the middle I look ruggedly handsome, and at the end I look like a stowaway aboard a transatlantic cruise powered by dreams.  Think Tom Hanks, if he spent another eight or so years on the island.

I'm pretty sure I would get fired if I didn't shave at all, so I devised a cunning plan.  If I shave just a little bit, to give the appearance of giving a flying one, they won't fire me.  I don't have to spend the requisite hours shaving it all off, taking mere moments instead - and I get to look like a complete douchebag in the process!  Bonus!

This came about from talking to someone who only shaved every time he scored a try, which was surprisingly often given his position.  I vowed to do the same (only tries for Lion count) but wondered how to enact that plan without turning into cousin It.

Anyway, this first trial resulted in a loss of moustache, next week I might keep the tache attached to the beard, and shave it down a bit, hoping to look like this:

I'm starting to get the old white hairs (hehe).  It's indicative of imperfect cell division, don'cha know.

But more than likely ending up like this:

You have to imagine green/black eyes instead.

Why all the beard talk?  Simple; I've nothing else better to talk about.

Bye.

#EDIT#  I just noticed someone left me a message on the previous post:

hahahahahaha
where do you get the brilliant words? soooooo funny

There are two possible options here:  He is a sincere fan, or a bitter, sarcastic dick.

Considering the fact that the kind of person who would sincerely leave a message of this kind probably isn't inclined to read anything I write (non-pop culture, non-fashion, non-celebrity) I have to assume he's option B.

In which case: Dick.

No.

This article from the BBC raises an interesting point.

Having separated areas is a great idea.  Obnoxious children with shit parents shouldn't be allowed to travel on planes or trains with civilised society.  I say civilised but we all know that you'll never get rid of the asshole with really loud music.  I hasten to suggest that the asshole in question was at one stage the child we are trying to protect ourselves from with this suggestion of segregation.

Interestingly, someone allowed a complete moron to comment on the article, espousing such wisdom as:

"I very, very much think that people need to be tolerant.  People who have a problem with children in flights needs to get over it."

Well.  I'm glad I didn't miss the irony of this statement, it's quite subtle.  Re-read it again and tell me if you didn't chuckle to yourself a little.  People need to be tolerant.  People need to adhere to my world view.  I see, mister asshat.  Thanks for your input on that one.

That's not mentioning the 'get over it,' line, as if a four year old screaming in your face for eight hours while the parents ignore it, is something willpower can overcome.  Or fucking assholes kicking the back of your chair for twelve hours while you're flying across several continents.  Yeah, get over it.

What a self-absorbed asshole.  Then again, parents expect preferential treatment because they're continuing the human race.  Well done.  You're also destroying the planet (that you wear hemp socks to protect) to a far greater extent than I ever could.  Square that circle you sanctimonious douchebag.

There are plenty of people and children in the world, what makes yours special?  Nothing.  Get over it and yourself.

It also says in the article that people might resent being treated as second class citizens.  I think it's a brilliant idea.  Concentrate all the scum in one place, let them all scream their pathetic lungs till explosion, and let the parents try ignoring the caterwauling of a dozen kids.  Now you see why we hate you.

As the last point on this subject that has me so irate, it shouldn't be the innocent passenger who should pay extra to have child-free zones, it should be the goddamn family that insists on ruining the day of everyone else.  They are taking their non-cognisant spawn to fuck knows where, for the purpose of DOING NOTHING WITH IT.  IT WILL NOT REMEMBER THE HOLIDAY.  IT WILL MAKE MORE STRESS FOR YOU.  IS THAT WHAT YOU CALL A HOLIDAY?

Christ on a bike.

Be Inspired

So at the end of the third year English book there are a number of (supposedly) inspirational quotes with which to create a sense of aspiration within the classroom.

I'm going to show you how ill thought out they are.

The first is from Walt Disney, the well known anti-semite (to be fair, everyone who was born before 1935 seems to be anti-semitic).

'All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them.'

This is plainly a lie.  Wipe that stupid moustache off your face, you filthy liar.  If you need to be told why this is an untruth, you're either five years old or a king.  Or both.  If you still don't know, I'll just say that the most basic principle as to why this is nonsensical - money.

The next is from Thomas Edison.

'Genius is one percent inspiration, ninety-nine percent perspiration.'

In the case of Edison, it's actually more like one percent stealing ideas, ninety-nine percent driving the creator into the ground while profiteering to the fullest extent possible.  He is a hero to the americans because he's heralded as a great inventor - the truth couldn't be further from reality; interestingly, he should still be a marker by which americans judge themselves for he symbolises america to a tee.

He is a filthy liar, who was rubbish at making things, but great at inventing uses for things that people didn't need.  When it was something useful, he stole the idea and ruined the original creator.  He was a true american patriot, standing on the shoulders of migrants to reach the stars.  See here for one of the many he ripped off.

See if you can guess who this is from:

'We want to live by each other's happiness, not by each other's misery.' (sic)

It's actually from Charlie Chaplin.  I have no idea why it's in a third year middle school English textbook, nor why he was chosen for these words.  I mean, as words go they're not bad, but what is particularly inspiring about him?  I don't know much about the man, nor do I know much about what makes him great enough to appear in this very select list - so I leave it up to you to find fault with this one.

'It is not how much we do, but how much love we put in the doing.  It is not how much we give, but how much love we put in the giving.'

This one is quite difficult, but when you know the answer you'll see it makes sense.  This is much more sensible as the author, Mother Teresa, was known to be quite saintly.  She was a rather nice lady, who liked helping other people.  Fine.  Go do your helping, inspire others to help.  Great.  Nothing wrong with that.

Next.

'Language is to the mind more than light is to the eye.'

This one wouldn't be guessed in a million years, but works well for both the person uttering, and the utterance.  It is Anne Sullivan, the woman who taught Helen Keller (again, someone I'd never heard of before I met americans).  It works because Anne was a teacher - which makes sense in a school.  It also works because it's talking of language highly, and wouldn't you know it, this is an English language textbook!  Full marks.

So all-told, of the five English language quotes they included, I would scrap three because one is pointless, one is from a man who hated jews and made cartoons (giving him roughly the same qualification to help others, as I have to judge him, ha!) and the final is from the perfect american (therefore making him a somewhat dubious role-model for kids outside of america).  The Anne Sullivan quote has two unabashed thumbs up from me.  Not to mention the validity of the quote (in whose opinion?), the quotee is someone who can be admired.

But, of course, this is Japan.  This means that despite these quotes being in an English language textbook, one that the kids are supposedly learning English from, there has to be a Japanese quote to ensure no one thinks Japan is losing face.  To comply with the aforementioned learning English and stuff, it's been translated.  Now, the above quotes had little in common beyond being vaguely upbeat, do gooder nonsense.  This is a prime chance for the educational authorities to pull a fast one, and say something extremely profound, that expounds the Japanese psyche and reaffirms their unshakable knowledge that Japan is the best.  So, with this prime circumstance established, here we go:

The old pond;
A frog jumps in, -
The sound of water.

...  What?

A.Blooper Reel - A Story of Muckups

So there's another speech contest coming up.  I say another, because I've almost certainly written about them in the past; they're a pain in the ass for myriad reasons, not least because they're pointless.

They don't prove who is the better speaker, merely who has spent more time practicing.  They don't teach any valuable skills, besides patience.  Then again, the best students are the ones who are inherently more patient, so it doesn't really teach that either.  What on earth is the point?

Anyway, as chief whipping boy it is my duty to write the speeches, record myself saying them, then teach the kids the speech I've written.  Of course they're meant to be written by the students themselves, but no one is naive enough to believe they actually are.  One particularly tough speech was written for the second year student, overseen by my newly (self) appointed boss.  The problem isn't the speech material, or length (everything is supposed to follow any number of rules (only some of which I'm privy to, which makes writing them an exercise in frustration as re-drafting becomes second nature)) but the overseer.  The lordess (not lady) of propriety is a wicked proponent of ranks and social structure.  Disregard the fact that I am both English, and an English literature graduate, if the teacher whose second language is English (in a country where second languages are regarded with roughly the same degree of respect as potatoes (much like England, for that matter)) says tomatoes, you bloody well write tomatoes.  Now, while you might be thinking that last sentence perfectly illustrates why I shouldn't be writing anything for kids who are starting out on the voyage of ignorance that is institutionalised English Language education; I hasten to point out that I am capable of writing 'the cat sat on the mat.'

Anyway, this resulted in a speech that is fine, if unremarkable for the most part.  I often come to loggerheads regarding almost every conceivable part of my day however, so some of the nascent frustration resulted in a compromise.  The compromise in quality of the written word.  It is unfortunate that this student should have two such obstinate teachers, but in the cold hard light of post-mortem, I've decided the text actually has more authenticity as one written by a learner of English.  That, coupled with the fact that the other listeners (and indeed readers) will also be Japanese, means this isn't a hindrance to the students chances - quite the opposite in fact.

So I bring this up because I had to record three speeches, so the students would have an idea as to the correct pronunciation, cadence etcetera.  The first and third speeches were recorded within one or two takes, being simple enough in their own right.  The second took seventeen takes because I kept coming a cropper among the thorny Japanicised English that'd crept in.

At this point I'd originally planned to upload the blooper reel and let you laugh for yourselves at my failed attempts, but I can't edit them on work PC's, and I don't want to upload them wholesale because they have students names and whatnot in them.  Therefore my parting shot won't be particularly funny, but will give you an indication of the problems I faced when reading this particular speech aloud, and why it took me so many attempts.

The title for this particular speech is simply:

A Wonder of Smile

What.

What I Eat

I've been on a manic quest to put on a bit of weight while living in Japan.  Everyone tells you that it's impossible.  Portions are too small, the makeup of their diet is wrong; et cetera.  This is absolutely true.  I have struggled immensely with this issue, and have only recently begun putting on weight due to an insane amount of eating.  Once you've got the weight, it's quite easy to keep it (I don't know whether that's genetics or what) but getting there is a chore.

I eat a small breakfast (I've never been one for breakfast, it's a stupid meal).  Then when i have some, I'll have a protein shake for elevenses.  As an aside, whoever invented elevenses is a genius, especially if your choice of fattener is chocolate milkshake.

Lunch will be a sandwich, nothing major.

Then around four, I'll have noodles, or another sandwich, or a Japanese curry chicken thing out of the corner shop (whatever I can get my hands on really) then I'll hit the gym or go for a run (adequate time being left between consuming food and workout).  When I get back it's two chicken breasts, all the vegetables in the world, and a portion of rice.  Veggies will include peppers, green red and or yellow.  Spinach type things.  Broad beans.  Mushrooms.  An onion (always).  And whatever else is available.  Couple that with the myriad fruit juices I drink every day and I think it's pretty healthy.

So for all the effort I've put into gaining weight, I've put on about 2kg's.  Two measly kilogrammes.  It's certainly lean weight though, I don't think there's much in the way of fat going in me at the moment.

92 kg's isn't bad, and I certainly don't want to be much more than that.  Another one or two and I'll be done I think.

Assuming I can afford this terribly expensive eating habit.

Things That Are Cool, Things That Are Awesome

Just so you know, this is not for the faint of heart.  Those Jehovas witnesses will go to any lengths to stop you enjoying your life - even if you're deaf.  Damn you Jehovaaaaaaaaaaa~!

(It's worth noting that Japanese people love to use the tilde, something I've refrained from using outside console commands, but I've started quite enjoying its use as an extension to imply a never ending letter, the example above being an 'a.'  Just thought you'd like to know...~)

A prime example of the above tilde usage, would be in transcribing this scene.

Anyway, I sometimes report on the crazy shite that I happen upon from Japan - often it results in something that's quite cool, once you wade past the bizarre.  It might take a while, but you can oftentimes figure out the intent and subsequently see the 'cool.'

This game was deemed 'cool,' enough to be copied by the BBC.

Sometimes, the bizarre nature of the image transcends description.

What.

But the proverbial biscuit has been taken, not by the Japanese, but by a rather creative american individual.  The act of remixing videos and music is not new.  Whereas the above creations are originals, intended for a sadistic audience that has no intention of creating anything - the below is a brilliant mix of two things I could honestly care less about.  Religion is stupid.  Signing a religion is obviously a necessary part of subjugating everyone (even the deaf need to be downtrodden), but the subject matter, coupled with the song (from a genre I would normally baulk at) make for a perfectly timed dance; one that I would have no hesitation in learning should I be musically inclined.  Or just plain terrible at dancing.

This is a terribly fantastic video with strong signs.  You have been warned.

#EDIT#  The gallery of images from the previous post has been updated with words an' stuff.

Stop Me if You've Seen This Before

So these are holiday pictures from Nikko.  Feel free to tell me if you've seen these before because the many, many photographs that were taken during the holiday are all blurring into an amalgamated mess.  I'm finding it increasingly difficult to differentiate between the various folders I had created, and as a result I have no idea what I've already posted.

I could look back and check, but I don't want to read the drivel I've previously written.  Besides, where's the fun in that?

So this picture is of a fortune tied to a tree.  When you go to the various temples you have the option of procuring a fortune.  This fortune is absolutely guaranteed to come true, because it tells you nothing - as is generally the way with fortune telling of any kind.  To make sure the fortune comes doubly true, you must tie it to something.  Normally there are ropes in the temple grounds that serve this purpose, but this tree works just as well.

The weather was pretty hot, as is to be expected when doing anything in Summer around Japan.  There were a few clouds though, so I took the opportunity to highlight those instead of the trees.  I do love watching a moody sky roll by.

Which do you think is better?  This isn't a very good picture, nor is the one below, but as a holiday snap which do you think is better?

I like the stairs more than the posts in the picture above, but the dappled lighting is distracting.

This reminded me of the old illustrations for things like the Canterbury Tales.  Except the trees and dragons, they are of a completely unique style.

As with any hot and humid country, the insects here are monstrous.  While that doesn't necessarily translate into an easily recognised sense of scaled (this dragonfly could be big or small, there's no way of knowing) it does make taking pictures without macro lenses somewhat easier.  Obviously the results here are far from being perfect (the background is really distracting, the subject is too small, the wings and body don't contrast with the background enough) but they're acceptable for a small holiday picture.

Nikko is a famously religious area, with temples and shrines all over the place.  I have no idea what any of them mean, or stand for, but they often make for decent enough pictures.  I often shoot at 105mm to isolate the subject, but it's good to shoot wider in order to get an idea of the surroundings.  Variety is the spice of life, as they say.

This is an example of not having a big enough lens to isolate the insect.  This time, the relative
smoothness of the background means that it would have been easily identifiable, had it not been microscopic.  If I were to blow this up to a large enough size, I think it might work quite well.  As it is, not so much.

Look at the difference a change in millimetres makes.  Standing from essentially the same spot, but this time dialled all the way back - the entire picture changes completely.  I actually quite like both of these despite the aforementioned blights on the above.  This one needs to have a sky peeking from behind the trees, not just an amorphous all-consuming whiteout.  The lens flare really doesn't bother me, but it will annoy some enthusiasts.

A birds eye view of the decorations.  They were incredibly ornate, but also very difficult to photograph.  This is probably one of the few times where a 3D camera would have worked well because each ornament stood out; literally and metaphorically speaking.  They vied for the attention by overshadowing their neighbours, or at least attempting as much.  It's very difficult to stand out, as it were, when everyone else is doing the same, which is why this bird seemed as good a place as any to take a picture from.

I have a copy of this picture, taken with in-camera HDR activated.  What this means in practical terms, is that the highlights (such as the sky) are not washed out (as in this picture) because the camera takes a picture for those, then it changes the settings back, to take a picture for the shadows (the trees/eaves) and snaps another one.  Finally, it takes a picture at the correct exposure and combines the three (or five, or seven - however many you tell it to).  This picture isn't HDR, but I think it shows the proud dog/monster well.  Presumably it's guarding this building from something.

Another dog/monster, this time guarding the entrance to one of the many temples and shrines.

I made mum wait for ages so I could take this picture.  There were people everywhere and while a couple holding hands, or a family with a small kid might have been nice, the deserted feeling of having no one in shot makes it a more interesting picture.  There is barely any colour, when I changed it to black and white I barely registered the change.

This exceedingly angry man guards yet another entrance to yet another shrine/temple.

He's also angry because he has cauliflower nipples.

This was one of the most ornate drinking fountains we came across.  Of course this isn't a fountain used to drink from - instead the locals perform a ritual that's designed to cleans the body (wash hands, etc.).  Something my mother baulked at, pointing out the obvious opportunity for disease of any variety to take hold.  They either don't care, or don't know.  Considering the advanced nature of their education system and economy, I'm going to guess it's the former.

I don't know why I took this picture.  It's a screen separating hinged in a doorway, kind of like a second door.  I assume this would have been closed at some point, while the main door remained open.  Maybe so onlookers could tell if monks were praying?  Who knows.

They have no shortage of extremely angry people in Japan.  Something I've not witnessed often firsthand, but something that has obviously provided inspiration for countless angry gods to rampage around the place.

And finally, one of my favourite angry guys.  It's not particularly spectacular, and as you can see the colours are rather faded, but he stood out in a way that none of the others did.  I found that having them stare at you like an angry in-law wasn't conducive to a particularly interesting picture; beyond the first one at least.  I tried various angles, and this one turned out to be the best of those I tried - despite it leaving a lot to be desired.

Then again, everything you see here is merely a holiday snap, a picture that bears little resemblance to the artsy fartsy crap that I sometimes churn out, and is merely supposed to show the route on which I blundered while heading through my Summer holidays.  If you made it this far expecting some amazing pictures, or incredible art, I'm sorry to disappoint.

What the What?

What's that?  An article from the BBC that's actually interesting, mediated and articulate - without pandering?  Surely an impossibility!  Alas, it's about sex; a topic I fear will mean very few people will read it and of those who do, none will be the targeted 'problem,' audience.  Read it and you'll see what I mean.

So we had training on Saturday with Lion.  I didn't pick up any shampoo this time (I'm running out!) but I did get a bottle of water (shhhh, don't tell anyone!).  It was pretty hot, as it always is.  There's nothing much else to report really.  Sunday is when the fun started.

I played with the Tokyo Gaijin in the first game of our shuto league season.  The shuto league is the easier of the two leagues we play in, despite it still being over thirty degrees.  This game was against a French ex-pat team who have exceptional hearing, because they must have listened in to my frog jokes beforehand; you'll see why later.

We played them in a friendly six months ago, we won 100-0.  A pretty impressive victory, and the biggest win I've ever been privy to (I've lost 130-0 before, a world record for rugby league in case you were wondering).

The game started with the humidity pushing the absorbency of my clothing to the limit, but our forwards immediately put the hammer down meaning I didn't have to run much.  They rumbled it up the field with the help of a couple of crash balls from our centres.  After a few minutes they pushed over the line, a great team effort.  The forwards were completely dominant for the whole game.  Regardless who threw into the lineout, or who fed into the scrum, our forwards won the ball.  To say it was a dominant performance is underselling their push.  The french were down and out with only ten minutes played, making the rest of the match substantially easier for everyone else.  My first contribution was to skin the inside centre, then the full-back and finally get bundled over the line by their team.  The video replay was inconclusive, but I maintain downward pressure was generated.

This move started from their ten metre line, which deceptively named, isn't actually ten metres away from their try line.  It was incredibly selfish because there were several people shadowing me the whole way, but in fairness there were also opposition players between me and them.

The second try came from the number eight peeling off the back of the ruck and drawing just about every player on the pitch - I came in for a switch (scissors) and took the ball with acres of space.  The defensive line opened up as if emulating the various, pustulating grazes I received from the bone-dry ground.  This was around our ten metre line, which is very far away from their line.  Luckily their defence was pretty disinterested even at this early stage, and they didn't put up much of a chase.

The third came from Nikola Pavesic, a Croatian (maybe the first I've ever met?) forward who is as ungainly as he is good.  He is the other foreigner who plays with Lion, the other team I'm currently part of.  He ran a sideways line across the backs (always discouraged wholesale when you're a kid, always effective when used properly) drawing in, once again, their entire team.  He passed the ball out of the tackle - it was somewhat awkward because I'd gone too early and it hit my shoulder.  I caught it after a couple of attempts and ran in under the posts.  Again, there was no defence to speak of.

The fun started early in the second half, after I'd posted a hat-trick (I think that might have something to do with it) and after I'd monstered a couple of their team, forcing a couple of turnovers when they were in promising positions.

They broke down the right wing, using their backs to send a prop, of all people away and unmarked.  I was already there, so lined him up perfectly.  He saw me, and I swear to god, this big fat french prop was smiling.  He didn't try to step or swerve, he just ran straight into me.  So I obligingly hit him, stopped him not just dead in his tracks but lifted him up, drove him back a metre and dumped him on his ass.  Unbeknownst to myself, I'd also forced the knock-on, the big fat frenchie unceremoniously dropping the ball.  So a triple whammy.  This big fat frenchie was humiliated by an English back, a full-back at that; and he'd been dispossessed.  Well, that was it wasn't it.  He had me in a completely exposed position (he'd grabbed my shirt in the tackle with one arm, leaving his other free to let the fists fly; coupled with both my arms being around him due to the tackle having been enacted) while maneuvering himself into an advantageous position.  The fists started flying and I was fucked.  It took about three punches before I managed to cover myself up, and even then I couldn't get my arms completely in front of my face so he was hitting my nose and mouth with typical french aplomb.  I won't lie, he landed a couple of good ones.  He didn't split anything, nor did he draw blood, but I was dazed.  The tackle was perfectly legal, even the referee agreed which led to the opposing player being sent off, but only on a yellow card.  To be honest I was aggrieved that it was only yellow, seeing as he spent an eternity trying to re-arrange my features.  I was also too stunned (at first because of what was happening, then because of the blows) to throw any of my own, so I curled up like a girl and waited for the kicking.  A few of the lads jumped in pretty quickly though, so thanks to them.

Everyone was in agreement that it was a completely fair and legal challenge, even the referee - the opposition claimed it was a spear tackle (how his ass hit the ground first and it be a spear tackle is beyond me) and claimed to have photographic evidence (on of their ranks had a monstrous zoom lense and a big old camera) but I've yet to see the evidence.  If and when it does emerge, I'll put it up here for the whole world to see, regardless of who's right or wrong.

Anyway, I was quiet for twenty minutes, I got snaffled a couple of times, had the ball stolen once, and generally did nothing.  Then for the last five or ten minutes I was back in action, being fed a couple of balls to create breaks.  The fourth and last try came from a kickoff, one of our players gave me the ball, and skinning the first line of defence I ran away to score out wide.  It was a generally good game, and thanks to my brain rebooting after the beating, I was able to continue and prove effective late in the second.

All-told, an eventful day on the field.


On a non-rugby note, we've got speech contests coming up.  I've written and re-written the script for the second year student half a dozen times now.  The second year teacher just handed me a piece of paper; the script I've worked on is now unrecognizable.  Where once there was clarity, confusion reigns.  Where once there were simple, concise sentences, now rambling.  Where once there was English, there is now Japlish.

In an interesting twist, the second year overseer has asked me to speak into one of those, voice recordey boxes so there is a permanent record for the student to repeatedly listen to.  Fine, I say.  I'll do it as an MP3 and they can listen to it on their phone or ipad, whatever the cool kids are listening to these days.

What's an MP3?  I'm asked.  Oh jeez...  It's like a small cd player.  They can listen on their phones.

Oh, is the reply.  But no one has one of those.

I was unable to contain the look that obviously appeared on my face.  Whether it was shock, or purely stupefied I can't be certain, but it registered that she'd said something dumbfounding as she continued; yeah, only the really bad students have phones or MP3's.

A couple of seconds passed as I processed this information.  Oh, realisation suddenly dawning, she means at school, obviously they're not allowed to bring this stuff to school.

No is the reply.  At home too.  Only the really bad students have cellphones or MP3 players at home too.  They're not allowed them.  They only have CD's.

I'm using anecdotal evidence from my own personal experience here, but that means roughly 105% of all Japanese students are horrendous, awful people who should be put to death because not only do they all have mobile phones, they all have MP3 players too.  That's like a double whammy of horribleness.  Only CD's; really.  I'm pretty sure my grandad has an MP3 player, yet if he could purchase music on vinyl he would happily jack all this electronic stuff and retread the timeline fantastic.

I give up.  I'm going to make some token changes then give it back to her, this poor kid condemned to spending the next month learning gibberish - I feel for you, child.

Changes Afoot

So today I was fucked over by one of the native English teachers.  One of the shitbags (who shouldn't be in the company of civilised humans) was dicking around the classrooms only fan.  A minor tribulation in the scheme of things, but because he's incapable of rational though, he took umbrage to my attempts at taking the fan away from him and pointing it at the whole class.  The native teacher undermined me, giving it the fan.

An incredibly minor thing - far less minor than the kid beating up a teacher a couple of days ago, or the kids going round breaking all the windows, or the mysterious arson attacks that have claimed two houses, where the scum hang about after school.

But now they've reached the inevitable conclusion.  The nationalistic tendencies of the sub-class have overcome them, and they heed me by the name 'stupid foreigner.'  The last semblance of their dignity gone - reverted to the stereotype by which all BNP members ascribe.  And here I am, in a room of witnesses who deny any wrongdoing.

It's all the more depressing because they see it as the ultimate slur; the most offensive thing they can say about me is that I'm not them.  The arrogance implied is self-evident, but the baselessness of it is what astounds me.  You belong to a country that you happened to be born into, on the grounds of pure chance, luck or coincidence.  Congratulations.  Far be it for me to compliment or criticise the past endeavours of your people, Msrs scumbag and co. (I have plenty of other blog posts to do that)  But if you insist on being Japanese, and on abusing another person because they are not Japanese, you bring yourself into the crosshairs of both modern and ancient history, for which I fear no sane person would grant you a reprieve.

Of course the blind tend towards nationalism, it's the last resort of those who are unwilling or unable to see how similar we all are; and are unwilling to put a stint in at the coalface, as it were.  Riff-raff will grow up living off handouts provided by working people, while they bemoan the lack of jobs because of foreigners.  Does this sound familiar?

Everywhere is the same - regardless of ethnicity or country.  It's not this kids fault that it is barely human; it is the product of myriad forces beyond its control, and the product of its parentage.  I would be extremely interested to find out how much its father loathes whiteys because, at a guess, I would have to venture quite a lot.

I suppose it's worth noting that I'm not surprised, or even perturbed.  This country is a bizarre geological formation; a majority of sane individuals sitting atop a substantial chamber of nutters.  I often wonder if there will ever be enough pressure to erupt, but the brilliant strategy of giving the crazies their own holiday (to celebrate at the shrine for dead japanese war criminals) ensures the patriotic fervor is dissipated in small, lifeless bursts rather than with giant outpourings.

In totality I find myself struggling to get particularly angry, and despite wanting to kick the kid in question (about ten years too late for it to learn any lessons, however) I end up simply feeling sorry for it.

Perhaps, in ten years time when it's in prison and suffering from chronic cocaine withdrawal, being buggered by its cellmate, it'll wonder what america or Australia are like.

I would imagine that some, if not all of the things mentioned above ring chords within your own fiefdoms.  It's not an isolated problem, and yes, I do regard it as a problem.  Perhaps you don't, fair enough I suppose.  Each to their own.

So all the negativity aside, the blog layout has changed!  It's only taken three or four years for the change to be made and at this rapid rate of improvement, it'll be respectable within a decade. I'm trying to make the banner (the picture at the top) change every time you refresh the page, but as of yet I have had no luck in making that happen.  If anyone knows of a simple (simple is key, I've tried and failed to implement coded solutions) widget or gadget or badger, (whatever they're called) to perform this seemingly easy task, then let me know.

Of Testing in Japan

So I'm currently administering the umpteenth set of speaking tests.  Of the thousands I've conducted so far, one thing strikes me as particularly interesting.  When a kid fails, they're forced to do the test over, and over, and in some cases, over again until they get it right.  Obviously speaking isn't taught in Japanese schools, so often most kids will pass with mediocre results (I don't mark based on the american curve, you can either do it, do it okay, or not do it).  This is great because it means the average is consistent among classes, and we can see which classes are faring better than others.  It's not great because it means that people who are not good enough, fail.  Now, people seem to think that the epidemic of abstaining from failure, from ensuring everyone passes despite having no ability is isolated to England.  That is most certainly not the case.

There are five levels of grade for the internal testing we do at the school.  At this point I must stress that these tests have no bearing on the certification they receive upon leaving school, they are not nationally endorsed tests.  They simply show the school and governors where each student is in regards to the curriculum being 'taught.'  They are broken down into five categories.  The bottom category, as already mentioned, requires the student retake the test in order to continue.  Not only does this create extra work for the teacher, it makes them look bad.  Having a student fail is tantamount to a critical failure by the teacher.  Forget the fact that most, if not all of the fail grade kids would be put in special needs institutions anywhere else in the world, the teacher is obviously the one to blame (the system is perfect - THE SYSTEM IS PERFECT).

Anyway, I was only allowed to grade the kids on a 1-4 scale after the first round of tests made me re-test a dozen kids from every class (they'd walk in, sit down, speak some Japanese then walk out).  Unsurprisingly the bottom grade was the one dropped, which meant I could only grade the kids on pass marks.  For whatever reason, none of the kids could answer any of the questions.  The average was somewhere between a D plus and C minus.  The inevitable conclusion was to grade the kids on a 3 mark scale.  The D being dropped.  This meant no one could get below a C in the grading scheme, making the teacher look substantially better.  Unfortunately, they were all still terrible.  They don't teach conversational English in Japan, it's honestly not their fault.  It's a completely different discipline to writing, utilising different areas of the brain and requiring completely different skills.

The answer wasn't quite so simple this time.  You can't just eliminate all the grades leaving only an A grade.  The solution must have kept this years teacher up for some time; but arrive at a solution they did.  All the kids came into the test (two lines, 'I went to ....' And 'It was fun.') with worksheets.  The answers handwritten by the students, copied from the blackboard prior to the test.  They read from them without even looking up.  Instead of walking in and leaving after speaking Japanese, they now walk in (heads down, dejected), sit down, say their lines, then walk out.  It works brilliantly because it's impossible for anyone to score lower than a B, I barely have to say a word and the teacher of this grade looks like a hero.  Everyone wins!

Except the kids.  They continue on with their lives, oblivious to the massive lie they are a part of; condemned to work in starbucks and macdonalds, ironically learning more english there than they ever will here.

Anyway, the dude next to me has finished slurping the ever loving shit out of his noodles, so I feel it appropriate to point to the now worded gallery from last post.

Oh no, he's found more noodles.  I have to leave before he somehow creates an inter-dimensional vortex with his incessant slurping.