Speaking for the Dead.

I found out this morning that my boss at Time Warner, and a man I called a friend, passed away Friday night. I don’t know what the cause was, but I fear it might have had something to do with a motorcycle. He rather loved motorcycles, and had been rather risky with said machines.

Of course, that is my own opinion of motorcycles. And, as this is my blog, I get to make my feelings about the beasts part of my statement.

Orson Scott Card wrote a series of books called “The Ender Saga” of which I admire quite a bit, but his second book in the series, “Speaker for the Dead” is one of my all-time favorite books. It is a fascinating story and involves a great alien race. But in this case, I’d like to bring to light the main character of the story:

Ender Wiggin, the main character from the first story, had become a “Speaker for the Dead”, a “Priest” in a world where specified religion was decentralized and obscure. As a Speaker, his job was to visit the family just after a loved one passed away, and learn everything he could about the individual, good and bad, and assemble a speech to say over the persons’ grave. Unlike the speeches usually given by loved ones, the Speaker’s speech would be dispassionate, and balanced. It would bring, ultimately, the loved one into perspective, and fight off the strange human tendency to only remember the good and not the bad, to mystify and deify the person and not remember that he or she was once a human, just like us.

I wish I could Speak for Brian Morris, but alas, I am not a dispassionate Speaker, and as I am now noticing, I can only barely remember the things that were bad about him. Alas, I too have fallen for the same tendency.

It should be noted, though, that I did admire Brian. Good and Bad.

And so, as much as I can, I’ll try to Speak for Brian Morris.

This is more for Nick, Rose and Dimitris, whom (I’m hoping at least sporadically) read my blog, however, it is not for them alone. I invite everyone to read what I have to say about Brian, as he was an interesting man. I invite you to join me for a moment as I try to Speak for those whom did not know him. And tell a little about this interesting man.

For the bad: He liked President Bush. Well, okay, so that may not have been bad by many standards, but he was convinced I was a liberal, and that sparked many oddly one-sided arguments with me and others about the current presidency. Also for the bad: He liked motorcycles. Not that this is a bad thing in and of itself, but I don’t like motorcycles, and this is my Speaking, and I’m finding it difficult to find bad things to say, so this is the best that I can do.

Now, for the good: Brian was a man whom was always by the book. If there was a rule against it, you could not do it. This stymied me in more ways than I could count, but there was a flip-side: Brian was always by the book, and if someone else, even in his own chain of command, wanted to come down on one of his employees unfairly, he would not let it happen. More than once Brian went to bat for me. Against his boss, against even vice presidents, when he knew I was right.
Brian hired me on from a temporary employee to full time and let me do anything and everything I could to make the reporting process faster. He tolerated the time it took for me to learn Access so I could make effective reporting programs, and he even put up with the lengthy delays that sometimes occurred during this process (Provided he hadn’t stipulated a time hack…). He even created a whole new position for me (Reports Analyst).

But that was Brian my boss.

Brian also would spend a great deal of time researching political or scientific arguments that I would make, and he would often send me emails stating new aspects of the same argument. He was a stubborn man when it came to these arguments, but he was never harsh with his statements, he knew I was wrong, but he never thought I was stupid.

I recall one time he came back from a trip, and he had a present for me; a “Gore-Tex” hat, which he handed over to me with a deadpan expression on his face saying: “I thought you’d like this; it has “Gore” on it.”

He was really into deadpan delivery, and rarely cracked a smile during a joke. Something that could be construed as a little disconcerting. But I thought it was rather entertaining.

When I left Time Warner in late 2000 (Just before the elections), he was the last person I visited to say goodbye to. He motioned about his office, saying “I don’t have anything to give you as a going away present.” Then he paused, “Wait.” He said, and he found a bottle of water with “Bush 2000” on it. He handed it to me and said: “Just like the man, this water is good, and doesn’t have any bullshit in it.”

As a reports analyst, my job was to report the performance of the employees in our group to Brian, and ultimately to the entire cadre of management. Of course, as with many of Brian’s work policies, it was rather draconian. Too many times on my report and it went against your personal performance. That really rather bothered me, so I took to warning people that they were on my report, urging them to repair the mistakes and promising that I would rerun the report in a few minutes. This kept them off the reports and also kept their performance clean. It was a win-win situation.

Except that I was doing it behind Brian’s back. This always worried me because I didn’t want to underestimate Brian’s intelligence, indeed, he had proven many a time that he was very quick and I knew I was playing a rather slick game.

Many years later, in a conversation with him, he smiled and gave just a subtle hint that he knew what I had been doing.

But it was just a hint. As what I was doing was not by the book.

I always wanted to go back to him and ask him flat out if he knew, but now I’ll just have to be content with that little hint.

It’s better that way, I guess. Perhaps telling me would have broken the mystique and maybe, just maybe, cracked the deity a little.

Maybe, just this once, I’ll keep the good.

Goodbye Brian Morris. You made an impression on my life and I’m glad to have known you.

---Guy, Reports Analyst

Not Quite An Alien in Armor.

Kyudo.

So, I go to the Dojo and I discover that Mr. HighSchoolTeacher won't be there. This means I'm completely on my own as far as speaking goes.

Which is alright, I guess. Nothing like a good challenge (Besides, my 6 month clock is still ticking on the "Japanese Only" thing, this is good practice). I go through the standard startup; stringing my bow, starting to stretch.

Sensei comes over to me and puts his hands on my stomach with a concerned look on his face (He does this a lot, usually following it up with some comment about how huge I am and then adding more situps to my daily routine...) He says: "I can't find armor big enough for you."

Okay, so maybe I misunderstood... I think I got "Armor" and by now I really know "big" and I think I got "Wear" (But I'm not sure, Maia just introduced me to the "wear" verbs and they are rather insane)... while he was patting my stomach... I haven't seen anyone wear armor in this dojo...

Then he shows me a flyer for the local Bunka festival (Culture Festival) which will be held downtown (And since this is MyTown, downtown is a 2 minute walk from my apartment... I love this). The culture festival picture shows a cadre of Samurai in full armor, and behind them a cadre of archers, also in full armor, all looking stern and Japanese and all looking very cool.

Sensei points to the archers, then points to everyone in the dojo.

Holy Bowstrings... our Dojo are the archers in the Japanese culture festival. And Sensei is trying to figure out how to put me in armor for the festival...

I haven't nocked an arrow in my bow yet.

I quickly tell Sensei that I will happily film the festival, but since I am really too junior to have even put an arrow on my bow yet, he doesn't need to find armor to fit me just yet. Next year I'll join.

Then it occurs to me; I just agreed to represent a traditional Japanese archer in a culture festival for the locals in MyTown Japan...

Woah.

---Almost An Alien in Armor.

Fly-do

Flies.

Well, we are in the middle of Farmland Japan, and thus we are on our 5th or 6th generation of flies.

They are everywhere... it happens just about the time all the farms that surround MySchool fertilize... (As you might imagine).

So, there are a lot of flies... and when I say a lot, we change our flypaper strips every 2 weeks because really there's just no more room for flies to get caught...

All this time, most teachers (Myself excluded, of course) take to the fly swatting duties. I won't join them because (As many of you are aware) I am against killing... even flies.

Mr. Second Year has become particularly good at swatting the flies. To the point where I believe the flies consider landing on his back while he is preoccupied an extreme sport (I am, in comparison, the bunny slope…). He had become so good that at one point he was swatting flies on the lunch tables when he managed to get three of the buggers in one hit. So I, being duly impressed, said: "Ah! You are a 8th Dan Master (8th degree black belt) at fly swatting!". “Yes”, he replied, chuckling, “8th Dan.”

Fast-forward two days in which the local resident 8th Dan master at Fly-do netted two flies on the side of the copier, upside down. I was impressed (It was a tough shot), so I applauded. He looked at me and said, simply; "8th Dan master." We both laughed.

In the course of this, Ms. 1st year PE joins in the fray. Ms. 1st year PE is a replacement teacher for our current 1st Year PE whom is leaving soon on maternity leave. Since (New)Ms. 1st year PE speaks English (She teaches High School Juku, or Cram Schools at night), I can tease her a little about trying to catch up to Mr. Second Year, the Master. To which she replies with great mock sorrow; "I'm only 3rd Dan..."

Days pass, flies die, fertilizer is set out again and the war rages on. Mr. Music Teacher who is a very reserved man and says very little, suddenly joins the battle one day by calmly and with absolutely no expression on his face whatsoever, flicking a fly dead with his fingers...

We were all impressed, but we dare him to repeat the feat...

…So he promptly does...

Mr. Second Year looks at me in awe and says: "10th Dan..."

Today dawns with me in my usual position in this war: harmlessly shooing the flies off of my coffee cup. One is really getting to me (Obviously he is a teenager trying to impress his friends with his daring passes at the “Bunny Slope”) He lands on my coffee cup and I (Once again) shoo him off… But he flies right at my hand (Thus proving he is indeed a teenager). We collide, he loses (Cursed superior mass) and he promptly falls directly into my freshly made coffee (Which is at 99 degrees C or 210 F) where he wiggles for a second and then dies. This distresses me in more ways than one as, a) I killed a fly... and b) I have to sterilize my Coffee cup now... and c) My God what a greusome way to die... by boiling... (This is why I don't kill anything, I have too good an imagination) So I grumble all this as I pass Mr. Second Year.

"Oh," he says, "Killing a fly with your Coffee cup is easy... Killing a fly with your coffee... now that is very difficult. I award you 3rd Dan..."

---Me... 3rd Dan in Fly-do

The next time you are at the pump...

Think of me...

9 gallons of gas in my car (It has an 8 gallon tank with 1 in the neck): 6,200 Yen, or at todays exchange rate $54.30... Right at $6.00 a gallon over here.

...And climbing.

I go through a tank of gas every week and a half, so I spend almost $200 in gas a month.

And I only live 6 miles from work...

Needless to say, I'm practicing riding my bike to work, it takes an hour each way, but at least it will be cheaper on the gas thing...

---Me.

Now there's a thought...

So... I am hearing people talk a little about the whole North Korea thing, and what the U.S. is likely to do about it (We are all very much in the nuclear cross-hairs here... and this is the only country that actually has experience being nuked).

An interesting thing was said by a quiet little Japanese lady,

"The whole world should vote for America's president."

I really had to think about that one...

I still am...

---Me.

Monkey-Kun

So, it is apparently the time for the boys to come back from behind... Now I'm starting to see some of the boys become real characters of their own.

One of my favorites is Monkey-Kun, he's a second-year. My first impression of him is when I asked a question in English in one class and he nearly exploded from his seat, thrusting his hand in the air anxiously. So, naturally, I called on him.

He stood up, settled himself, then said (In Japanese):

"I have no clue what the answer is."

He's cool. He's just this side of annoying.

Today our grammar point was the Telephone, and how to talk on the phone (One never thinks of the differences between meeting someone in person and talking on the phone but there are... for instance, I say "I am Guy", but on the phone I say "This is Guy." It's an interesting thing that we just never think about.

So, as we go about the class doing the skit in the textbook, Monkey-Kun has been nearly pleading to do the skit. Knowing he's going to do something odd, we save him until very last, then Mr. Second Year finally picks Monkey-Kun.

So I, playing the part of "Mikes" father (The skit consists of "Emi" calling "Mike"s house, getting his dad, having to ask for Mike, and then telling Mike Emi is going to Shin's house to play Video Games), wait for the phone to ring, it does, I pick it up, and Monkey-Kun says "Goodbye" and hangs up.

So, I call him.

He gives me a quizzical look.

I Say, "Hello, this is Guy Sensei-Is this Mr. Davis?" (Ironically, The character Mike in the book has a last name of Davis... It's surreal having your father's name as a vocabulary word...).

Monkey-Kun is totally confused, but he recovers quickly, and he goes on ahead and does the other part of the skit (The part I had been doing the entire class). He looked cool, I looked cool... you just can't get a better outcome than that :)

I have a feeling we'll be hearing more about Monkey-kun in the future.

--Me.

Softly...softly, softly.

I have introduced many a folk over the last 6 months, but there are a couple of people that have been excluded from my stories, not by choice, of course, but simply by expedience.

First of all, there is my Tea Lady. This position, in and of itself, is something to note: Here in Japan, there is a person who takes care of all the things the teachers cannot do because they are simply too busy, like receiving packages, opening the doors for the lunch crew, serving lunch in the teachers room, cleaning the restrooms nearest the Teachers’ room (These bathrooms are safely outside the responsibility of the students), and fixing tea for the guests… thankfully not at the same time.

Hence the term “Tea Lady”. This isn’t what the Japanese folk call the position (It has a suitably normal Japanese title), it’s what we call them… because it’s better than “Toilet Lady” I guess…

Anyway, my Tea Lady is insane and wonderfully so. She cackles, she tells jokes, she constantly plays silly games… It’s wonderful. She is certainly as un-Japanese as it gets.

Needless to say, she has been trying to get me to do the “Ultraman” pose for a good couple of months now (Which she has demonstrated happily over and over in order to have me duplicate it).

She doesn't speak much English at all, though I think she speaks more than she lets on. I have the feeling that she has taken it upon herself to help me become fluent in Japanese. She often gives me lessons on useful words (In fact "Useful" was one of her lessons). The words she chooses are often cute or stange-sounding words (Useful is "Benri", I think she liked the sound of that word).

Regularly, she will say goodbye to me and add: “See you next week”… on a Tuesday… or, even better, “See you next year”. To which I say, “But Tea Lady, are you leaving?” To which she replies, “I have been absent for a long time!” And then she cackles.

She’s awesome.

A couple of weeks back, she taught me a little bit of a skit from a Japanese Comedy, to be honest I have no real idea what it means, simply that there is a part where one of the Comedians says: “Just….just just…” in context, it sorta comes across like “Softly…. Softly softly…”

So it is now part of our daily routine, she and I, saying “Softly...softly, softly." to each other.

The other day, however, we went into our normal routine just as the School Nurse, an older lady who likes to have everyone believe she is a cast-iron… well, a mean person, but we all know she’s a sweetheart. Anyway she comes into the teachers’ room just as Tea Lady and I start our little routine…

I say, “Softly...softly, softly."

And then the Nurse says (As she passes right past us): “Oh, shut up.” Which incites a round of laughter from all of us.

The other interesting character (and there are many), is my Groundskeeper. He’s an older fellow, maybe in his mid to late 80’s, and very, very tiny.

The first time I met him I was with my Japanese Contact (The lady who goes with me places to do translation and the like). She and I had just left the school after our introductions and this little old man come us to us with a Kama in his hands (A hand-held sickle), and, pointing it at me says (In Japanese) : “Are you the new teacher?” I say yes and step forward, “You are replacing OldTeacher-Sensei?” I say yes, “Okay,” he says, “Well then, welcome to MySchool” and he toddles off. My Japanese Contact says (In Japanese): “That was scary…” I simply nod, a little stunned to say anything in either language.

The next day I pull into my parking spot and The Groundskeeper is trimming the hedges, he looks at me, smiles and - get this - salutes me. The friendly kind, the David Letterman kind of salute, not a military salute by any stretch, but he’s been doing that every day since I started.

It wasn’t until Sports Day that I did much more than say good morning and good evening to him.

At lunch on Sports Day, my Vice Principal decided I wasn’t going to have lunch with the Teachers (As usual), but I was going to have lunch with the PTA (Gee… fun), so he hauls me into the Guest Room (Which the Tea Lady is responsible for cleaning, I might add), and we sit down for lunch.

Directly across from me is the little Groundskeeper. He smiles, salutes me, and then, noticing I didn’t have a wet cloth to clean my hands with, hands me his. No thought about it, he just hands it over to me with a toothless grin.

In Japan, it’s the little things that you need to watch.

The reason I bring this up is; 80+ years old means he was doing something here during WWII… I’ve always worried about what would happen if I, an American, met someone from that era. I know what Americans are like from that era.

Here’s a fellow who may have lost people in the WWII to my people’s attacks. Yet if he cares, he sure doesn’t show it.

He’s totally treating me as everyone else does; like me.

I can really respect that.

Okay, so I don’t think he’ll ever invite me to dinner, but he’s a lot more civil than I would think many of my grandparents’ generation would be toward Japanese… and they never firebombed or nuked America…

Softly…softly, softly.

---Me.