You Just Have to Talk

There's a crazy dude out there who claims to have become fluent in an inordinate number of languages simply by talking. No classes, some self-study, and a jovial attitude seems to be what he brings to the table.

The crazy part is: he's right.

I don't know enough about any of the languages he claims to speak to tell you if he's doing it right. But I know plenty about language learning and basically, on every account, the dude has it nailed.

The only difference between a fluent speaker of a foreign language and someone who does not speak a foreign language is the speaking part. If you spend every day making a conscious effort to speak only your target language, you will acquire it. End of story. Now, it may take some people a long time to do this and it may take others a short time to feel comfortable or even minimally functional in their target language, but the fact is, if you expend the effort on speaking, you will learn to speak a different language.

This is something the Japanese may never fully understand.

I don't have to go back over all the excuses I have been given for why Japanese people can't speak English (or other foreign languages). The reasons are many and varied, imaginative and mundane, logical and completely absurd. As are the Japanese, if you get them one-on-one (every Japanese person does not like rice, contrary to popular belief perpetuated by those Japanese people who do like rice).

While the teachers constantly tell you (and their students) that their students cannot speak a foreign language without suffering a stroke, you can see the obvious falsification of this theory right in front of your own eyes.

Yesterday, my third-year students at the Jr High played fruit basket - a seat substitution game in which one person in the middle of a circle of chairs says something and the people who have a matching element to that statement must switch chairs, including the speaker - a game they love because they get to run around and push each other over. Shy students who will not look at me in class were speaking loudly and clearly with decent accents. Tougher kids, already interested in English to varying degrees, were successful as well. They obviously can speak, when you provide a fun environment.

But why would they even try when the only person who speaks English is me? The teachers won't speak in front of the students for fear of making mistakes. They stare at me in bewilderment when I ask questions or seek clarification. They quarantine English speaking time by calling it my "corner" as though this is the only appropriate time for speaking English: for fifteen minutes twice a week. They continually praise my acquisition of Japanese and tell the students they could do the same if they only study harder in class.

And then they shake their heads and lament Japanese students' sad and perpetual failure at acquiring communication skills, a failure that is no doubt intrinsically linked to being Japanese.

It is an unfortunate and expensive waste to hire a foreign language speaker to stand at the back of your classroom and listen to a lecture in Japanese about how hard you must study to learn English.

The only reason they don't speak English is because they won't.

Let's Get Up to Business...class.

It's a terrible title. So sue me.

Things I Learned From Flying Business Class

When my sister changed my flight for me, so I could spend a few extra days with the family I know and love, I was a little worried that the ticket wouldn’t stick. Don’t ask me why, but I have a kind of paranoia about traveling in general. It manifests itself in frightfully illogical ways: thinking that I am on the wrong train, even though I can clearly read the destination and the stops in Japanese and English; thinking I’m driving the wrong way down a one-way street, probably because there are no other cars going my way and the on-coming traffic seems to be glaring at me; thinking that my seat will be given away because they’ve overbooked the flight (they always tell me they won’t do that, but how can you trust them? These are companies that intentionally sell too many seats and then ask paying passengers to inconvenience themselves and step onto another flight at the last minute!).

So when I got to the gate and they called my name over the loud-speaker, I instantly had heart palpitations that would make a cardiologist salivate. I approached the desk and saw on the screen that *gulp* my previously assigned seat was now available to anyone who wanted to upgrade. And I had been so stoked that I could ride in Economy Plus for the first time on an international flight! Dammit.

They issued me a new ticket, and being a brainy chick, I took a look at the number and noticed it was lower than before. About twenty rows lower. I got upgraded to business class. Fo’ free. Woo-hoo!

First, there is the abundance of free cocktails and liquors. I started my journey off with a glass of champagne, already a little homesick for the mimosas my sister made all throughout vacation.

Another thing about flying business class is that you board first which means you don’t have to fight your way down the aisle with all the poor peons savagely hacking their ways through the jungles of jutting-out-into-the-aisles roller-suitcases, set aside by grandmas in their Monterey Bay t-shirts and performance sneakers, as they search for an extra blanket or pillow to keep their toddler grandkids warm for the thirty-five minutes (out of a twelve hour flight) that they’ll spend sitting down in their own seats.

On the other hand, you do get kind of soft and bored while you sip your complimentary champagne and wonder if you look as out of place as you feel, which is very. I didn’t know how to work the tray table, the television (which was on an Arabic setting – have you ever tried to change it back to English from backwards-squiggle-dash? I just hit every button on the screen, on the controller, and after the second glass, on the floor), and for a while, forgot that I knew how to read a menu.

Another thing is the wine. You have a selection, not just of red or white, but of grape and region, and still or sparkling.

Yes, you have a menu. Food is no longer the potential horror story that follows the plight of “the thing that lurked beneath the tin-foil.” It still doesn’t taste particularly like anything, because at 35,000 feet you can’t really taste anything, anyway, but it is recognizable as material that once was food you might see on your plate at home. Which is a huge step forward. 

Did I mention the sake?

Then comes the dessert course on a little tray. No one could tell me what exactly the cheese plate was, but since I was headed to the land of less cheese than is healthy, I went ahead and took a chance. Muenster, something else, and something else.

And brandy. (Or maybe it was whiskey. It was golden, though, that’s for sure.)

After all that eating and enjoying, you settle down in a reclining chair that is not limited to four and a half inches and a gradient of 160 degrees. The footrest moves, the headrest moves, the backrest moves, hell! it all moves into an almost perfectly level bed. It’s like bunking down with fifteen other people you’ve never met before and hopefully never will meet again, since you’ve made more trips to the (conveniently located) loo than the rest of the cabin combined.

Even if you’re in business class as a result of a happy accident and a few other people taking a later flight, it’s nice to know that you can still enjoy the amenities. A few more flights and I’ll be a pro.

And a Happy New Year to You!

My kids all know how to say "Merry Christmas" and "Happy New Year", which is no small accomplishment, since they sure didn't hear the latter from me. We did Christmas when we made stars and pinned them on the wall in the open-space area. But I didn't think the teachers would go for the sharing of a traditional New Year's drinking bash with my ten-year-olds. Too bad. Everybody's foreign language skills improve after drinking a couple flutes of champagne.

For my New Year's Day celebrations back in good-ol-U.S.-of-Assault-Weapons, I dragged my family to Half Moon Bay, where we watched the whales migrate down the coast (and up the coast for a bit - there must have been a school of fish just beneath the surface) and almost froze our asses off cooking breakfast.

My brother, trying to protect the fire from being quenched

by the wind (can the wind quench?)

See those tiny black things on the left-center side? Those

are whales or porpoises or something! Not sharks.

It was all worth the potential pneumonia, as was the trip to Disneyland, although I could have sworn the dark lord was gathering his Ringwraiths unto himself behind Sleeping Beauty's castle. We weren't fazed; it would take more than the armies of Sauron and Saruman put together to discourage the Farray family from supporting Disneyland and Downtown Disney and California Adventure. We have our priorities straight.

One ring to rule them all and, in the 56degree 

Fahrenheit weather, bind them.

When I was home, I sent my students holiday cards from California so they could see that there really is a world outside of Japan, even one with a semi-reliable postal service.. Some of the kids have already received them and thought it was awesome. Some of them haven't received them and were very confused (to which a few of their friends asked them, "are you sure you wrote down the right address?" You'd be surprised how often the answer was "eto, ne.... I dunno!") and a few of them didn't know if they'd got them or not. (Seriously, Moto. How could you not know if you got mail? Go ask your dad.)

So it's a Happy New Year for most of us, including my sixth-graders, some of whom grew half a foot in height (not on their foot) over the holiday. I am no longer the tallest person in the classroom excepting the teacher. It is so sad to have been supplanted by a juvenile, but oh well. We are back to the daily grind. Classes, masses (not the Catholic ones), and Akiriho and Kouki who think they're bad-asses, await the next few months. Graduation is coming up, which will mean a frigidly cold ceremony attended by funeral-attired teachers and weepy kimono-clad moms. After which another series of parties will be expected, as we say good-bye to staff and students and start all over again. At the last year-end party, I gave a speech before the formal "Kanpai!" and explained that my Japanese isn't very good until I start drinking. In the interest of internationalization and communication, I've already got my bottle of champagne.