While I was missing my luggage, my mom had her retirement party. I was in charge of making something Mom had seen in a cookbook. Also, Michelle was showing up with a cake for me. She had been on a baking binge recently and asked what I wanted. I was looking at a new Megaman game at the time I read her inquiry, so I randomly said to make it a Megaman cake. I kinda expected a drawn out picture of the Blue Bomber using frosting. What I got was SO much cooler! She had taken these little candy-cube dealies and arranged them to recreate the 8-bit version of the guy! That. Ruled. SO much!

So below are pictures from that retirement party. First are pictures of the cake Michelle made for me. Then a nice fruit bowl, and the dealies I made. They were boiled carrots and asparagus wrapped with biscuit dough and sprinkled with parmesan cheese and oregano. Followed by the MEAT David was in charge of cooking up. Last, was the morning after. David stole my camera and snapped a picture of me while still dead to the world. Thanks, bro!

The rest of my time home was pretty relaxed. Ate, drank, hung out with family and friends. Didn’t really do anything of note, hence no more pictures…but I still loved my time home. However, when I got back to Japan, I gave myself a week to myself before going back to work. I tried to convince myself it was to fight my jet lag, but the truth was I wanted a week to myself with the PS3. I DID get out and about however!

I took the same flight to Honolulu with the Japanese kid, so we met back up after the flight so we could kill time together in the airport before our respective flights to the mainland. We went through customs, and headed to baggage claim. I went to the bathroom, and had him watch my bag in the meantime. When I got out, he pointed to where our bags were. They were quick getting our bags off the plane, so the “leftover” bags were all collected in a corner. He grabbed his bag, and I looked for mine. And looked…and looked. It wasn’t there. *sigh*

I call a lady nearby and tell her my issue. She took my baggage claim, and checks to see what happened to my bag. She comes back to tell me that it left Narita, but…she has no idea where it is now. Great. She says that I should make a report in SF, since that would be my final destination. Too tired to be upset, I just head out into the airport to find food, and more importantly, a beer.

I eventually get on my flight to SFO, and was so tired, I actually managed to pass out for a bit. Unfortunately the guy next to me was as big as me, and very fidgety, so I didn’t sleep for too long.

We arrive in SF, and I go to baggage claim, hoping beyond hope that the sent my bag straight through. After waiting for 10 minutes after the carousal stopped, I go to make my report.

I tell the lady my story and the rest of the conversation went something like this:

“Is this your final destination?”

“For flying, yes. But my brother is driving me to Sacramento.”

“So why are you here?”

“I was told to make a report here.”

“No, I mean why are you making a report in San Francisco?”

“The lady in Honolulu told me to make it here.”

“We can’t help you!”

“What?”

“If you make a report here, then we will hold your bag here, and you have to pick it up here in San Francisco.”

“Seriously?! You guys can’t ship it out to Sacramento??”

“No. That is out of our jurisdiction. If you want to have the bag shipped to your home, you have to make the report at Sacramento Airport.”

“But…that doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s how it is. Also, once you make the report you better call everyday to check if we have your bag. After we get your bag, if you don’t claim it in five days, we will destroy your luggage.”

“You’re kidding me!!”

Very much annoyed, but too tired to argue anymore, I leave to find my brother and get home. We get home, but first stop off to buy a sixer of beer…cuz I needed it BAD. I tell my folks the story, and go to bed. I’d go to Sacramento Airport the next day.

The next day, I wake up at 3:30PM. hehe! We go to the airport and I make my report. The conversation there goes something like this:

“Why are you here?”

“What?! The lady in SF told me to come here!”

“Well, she lied to you. You could’ve made the report in SF, then they’d send the bag over on the next available flight to Sacramento, and we’d then ship your bag to you.”

“*unintelligable snarling and growling*”

“If you could give me your address we’ll get your bag to you by tomorrow afternoon!”

So, I get that done, and wait till the next day. Around 2PM, my bag hadn’t shown up yet, and I called the airline to ask where in God’s name my bag was. Still in SF, they tell me. Calm and collected Kevin had just been shot and killed. All that was left was angry and fed-up Kevin. I demanded they get my bag to me by the next day unless they wanted me to call down whatever sort of unholy wrath I could manage, most likely in the form of a lawsuit, taking into account every last little screw-up this airline had sent my way. I got my bag the next day at 8AM.

As I got my bag, to move to the other side of the plane, the flight attendants look at me and say, “Wow! That’s so nice of you to move for them.” I told her, “Would YOU want to sit in between THAT?!” As I motioned to the two morons once again shouting at each other, despite being seated next to each other.

I put my bag into the new overhead compartment, and start getting my stuff ready for the flight. Magazines, plural, because I ended up buying one for each day I was at the airport. Ipod and noise cancelling headphones, because I would probably kill one of those loud Chinese if I listened to that for the entire flight to Honolulu. DS…DS…wait? Where’s my DS?! Oh, balls…I left it on the bus *sigh*

At this point, the girl who was supposed to sit in the right most seat showed up. She was a pretty cute Japanese girl, and as soon as she showed up, both the Chinese retards immediately shut up and started staring. I mean, STARING. There was no subtlety or decorum involved. Just turned head, rubber-necked, bug-eyed, gaping mouth staring. I kinda laughed because I KNEW the guy who stole my seat was kicking himself.

But, whatever. I just wanted to have a smooth flight home. But, as we know, it’s never that easy. The entire time, the guy closest to me kept leaning forward and staring at the girl. Again, no subtlety about it. It was really getting on my nerves. I mean, I’m all for scoping out a hot girl, but, c’mon! You gotta at least PRETEND to be sly about it!! Use your peripherals! Take glances! Find an excuse to put her in your line of sight. But leaning forward and staring for minutes at a time?? I decided to mess this guy up. I’d open my magazine up in ostentatious ways, or constantly stretch, getting in the way of his field of vision. But, even with all this, he still kept it up! So, I was like, what would truly, TRULY annoy the ever-living hell out of this guy? If I talked with her!

We were all given crappy little headphones to use, but I had a much better pair, and tossed mine aside. I noticed the girl’s were straight broken. I mean, the ear piece was hanging on by a few wires. So, I brought it up, in Japanese, and asked if she wanted to use the pair they gave me. Unfortunately, I had somehow lost it, so I ended up asking an attendant for a pair for her. The girl then does the typical, “Oh my god! Your Japanese is SO good!” And from there we end up talking for half the flight! The entire time, I could FEEL the wrath and loathing from the Chinese guy to my left. There is no greater feeling than being hated on!

However, he started physically manifesting his hate by trying to take up more shoulder and elbow space than he needed. Really, small Chinese guy? Really? I non-chalantly put an elbow to his ribs every time he tried this. The flight was much more fun, not necessarily pleasant, than I expected.^^

We eventually land in Honolulu, and the girl asks for my name and how to find me on Facebook! This made me laugh all the more at those Chinese ‘tards.

But from there, would it be smooth sailing? Come, now. You know me better than that…

Anyway, I was going home. The day of my flight, I woke up at a decent hour, got my stuff together, and headed out. It was a smooth trip to the airport, and wasn’t even that hot! I checked my bags, went through security and customs without a hitch, and got on the plane. The captain said we were going to be a little early coming in to San Francisco, and I was all set to make my way to the land of various beers, and delicious pizza.

Twenty minutes into the flight, I hear a loud BOOM from the right side of the plane, and said plane drops a few hundred feet. We didn’t crash, so I figured it was just crazy turbulence…right? Nope. A little while later, the captain comes on again and says, in so many words, the right side engine blew up, and we’re going back to Narita for safety reasons. I immediately knew this meant two things: I wasn’t going anywhere for at least another day, and I was going to sit around doing NOTHING for a LONG time tonight. They had to dump the fuel, because the plane was too heavy to land, which took another twenty minutes. We eventually land, and have to wait on the plane for two reasons. One, Emergency Services had to make sure everybody was OK, and engineering teams had to see what was wrong with the plane. Two, we were techincally not allowed into the country, so we couldn’t step off the plane without immigration’s OK. And was immigration readily available? NOOOOO!!! They were all ready to go home, since the last flight of the day had already taken off.

The captain eventually tells us that they found out what happened. A turbine had broken loose and ripped through the engine, causing the explosion, and utterly destroying the thing in the process. While we could have flown all the way to San Francisco like that, they wouldn’t, for safety reasons. *sigh*

Eventually, they let us off the plane, but we couldn’t leave the gate area until they gave us our immigration papers, to show to an immigration officer they managed to locate. The airline then said they would comp us a hotel room and breakfast at said hotel. There was a massive line, and I decided to just sit and relax while waiting for the line to die down. During that time I made a few fellow-disaster-experiencing buddies. Eventually the line died down, and I went to the counter to pick up my papers.

“Hi. My name is Kevin Louis.”

“Right! Mr. Louis….um, how do you spell that?”

Raising an eyebrow, “L-O-U-I-S.”

“Right, right, right! Louis, Louis…um…I’m sorry Mr. Louis, but we can’t find your immigration papers. Could you please wait a few more minutes while we try to locate them?”

“*sigh*”

Eventually they tell me, after everybody else had up and gone already, that they couldn’t find my papers, and would walk me through immigration personally to tell the officers that I was in fact NOT a terrorist.

Once past immigration, I go to claim my bag, and met up with the two guys I befriended. We found out more information about the hotel we’d be staying in. It was a $250 a night hotel…in Shinagawa. That would be equivalent to being at San Francisco Int’l Airport, and the hotel they found was in Sacramento, at LEAST a 90 minute drive away. They claimed that was the closest one they could find. Whatever. We’d get there, I’d get some food, then sleep.

Heading towards the bus, we befriended two girls who were on their way back to America after a trip to Thailand. I got on the bus, which was a tour bus with those TVs in the front, and promptly smacked my head on the TV. Thankfully it was heavily cushioned, so it didn’t hurt. During the bus ride, I talked with one of the guys, a Japanese kid, a lot, and found out we shared a love of heavy metal! That helped pass the time.

We arrive at the hotel, and I get up to get off the bus. However, I forgot that the bus was built for Japanese people, and as I stand, I put my head through the overhead light. I sat down holding my head, laughing, because it was a pretty funny thing to see happen, I thought. Everybody around me also laughed a good laugh. I move my hand from my head…and see it covered in blood. Great. I get some tissues from one of the girls, and we go check into the hotel.

It was actually a really nice hotel!

I just wanted to get some food, and get to sleep. The two girls, however, thought we were all gonna go live it up. We met up, and they had changed into their clubbing best. *sigh* Not only was it the wrong time to do this (in terms of events, not hour), but we were in the wrong part of the city to do anything. Shinagawa is the business district! However, they wanted to do SOMETHING Japanese. The Japanese guy and I decided to take them to Denny’s.

To be fair, Denny’s in Japan is different, which the girls did end up loving. After I had food in me, I was ready to crash. But they wanted to do more…we took them to 7-11, which, again, is different in Japan! However, they took 90 minutes deciding on what stuff they wanted to buy and take back with them. NINETY MINUTES?! REALLY??!?!!!? I decided to have a beer, which sent them in a flurry, because you could openly drink in public in Japan.

Eventually, we make it back to the hotel…at 4AM. I jump into bed, and my phone goes off. A friend back in America, who I had told about my plane troubles, mailed me back. I replied quickly, then went back to sleep. About thirty minutes later, my phone goes off again. This time it was my mom. Again, quick reply, and back to sleep…only to get ANOTHER mail about thirty minutes later. I turned my phone off. I got about an hour of sleep, then my hotel phone goes off. Really?!

It was one of the guys I met, wanting to get breakfast. I take a shower, and we get breakfast, collect our baggage, and head to the bus that would take us back to the airport. We would arrive at the airport at 11:30 and they would try to fit us onto whatever flight they could to get us to our destination. During the bus ride, I decided to play on my DS…only to find that the right shoulder button was broken. Great. I put it in the seat pocket in front of me, and close my eyes for the remainder of the trip.

When we got to the airport, we had to wait in this massive line for getting put on stand-by for any flight out of Japan. After about 6 hours, the airline had only found seats for half of the original passengers, and offered a hotel for the remaining people. Most took it, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to wait until the last flight left. Good thing I did, cuz I was able to grab a flight through Honolulu to San Francisco. So after ten hours, I found a flight home.

But this story isn’t over…

Roughly two years ago, I came to Japan for work. I slowly saved money for various wants, while crazily spending on needs. As time passed on, I more or less reached a point where there was nothing else I needed to buy. I had a fridge, washing machine, all my necessary clothes, and a comfortable bed. During all this, I bought a killer computer, which ended up being a necessity as my previous computer had a loose wire, making it useless. But, really, nowadays, a computer is more or less a necessity. Especially for keeping contact with loved ones across an ocean.

So, after all my purchasable needs were filled, I looked to things I didn’t need, but really, really wanted. The one thing I have been without, on a consistent level, and missed like a loved one, or an amputated limb (yes, Dad, I love you as much as my left leg), was video games. Sure, I had computer games, thanks to my *cough* not cheap computer, but there was nothing like having a controller in your hands, playing a wicked crazy action game. I have yet to find a PC game that matched that euphoria.

I decided it was time to buy a Playstation3. But, you can’t buy a next-gen system and play it on a crappy TV, can you? Well, lots of people do, but now that I have my own income, I refuse to do anything half-assed, or subpar! So I went and bought a 42 inch plasma screen Panasonic Viera.

I bought this in preparation for buying a PS3. I was kinda broke after buying the TV, so I just bought an HDMI cable to hook my computer up to my TV and watch movies, and whatnot on it. I could watch actual broadcast television, but I have a particular disdain for Japanese TV, so I opted to enjoy what was on my computer instead. Let me tell you, Char’s Counterattack in high definition is…magical, to say the least.

I then went to America, and bought said PS3 (Yes, I coulda bought it in Japan, but it would be cheaper, after the exchange rate, to get it in the US…plus Blurays wouldn’t cost me a month’s worth of food if I went with the US version), a PSP and enough games to last me…a while. I even got a cable to hook my PSP up to my TV!

But no worries! Despite my newly acquired gear, I still find time to go out and enjoy time with friends

Though, I DO try to get them to my place and show off my stuff^^

So, there you have it. I now have everything I could want…sans one. The one thing I have yet to have, and the one thing I’ve been craving since I got to this country: a quality pizza T_T

Today, I got a treat! A couple of former students came to the school just to say hey to a bunch of their old teachers. One of them came in her current school uniform. The other showed up in sweats, and a LOT of make-up. I had actually talked with these girls before, on my first day at my current junior high. They came for the same reason, and I decided to blow their little minds by being able to speak Japanese. During my conversation with them, one of them sat down on the steps in front of the school…and wasn’t very modest in how she was sitting. I decided to be polite, and give her a heads up:

“Hey, you might want to close your legs a bit.”

“What? You can see my panties?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“They’re yellow, with Winnie the Pooh on ‘em!!”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Aren’t they cute?!”

“*sigh*”

But this isn’t a story about her, who was dressed in her uniform this day. This is a story about the other girl; the girl with the make-up. One teacher really took to talking with the girls, and, not surprisingly, the conversation topic was the appearance of this girl. First was her attire. There was a small ruckus about whether she was allowed to wear that sort of thing to school. She wasn’t, and she claimed she went home, changed, then came to the junior high. Then the question moved to her gaudy amount of make-up. The teacher tried to say that she couldn’t get a boyfriend like that, but the girl countered that she already had a boyfriend. The teacher asked how he felt about it, and the girl PROUDLY admitted that he wishes she wore less.

This is a pretty typical conversation, and by this point it was going to places I rather wouldn’t hear (i.e. the girl’s sex life). However, the principal had just arrived from a business trip, and recognized the girl. However, he played like he didn’t, due to the make-up. He, too, asked her what kind of school lets their students wear that kind of make-up. But before giving the girl a chance, he answers his own question with, “oh, I know! Kabuki School!!” Aaaaaand, I lost my composure, and decided to leave the school laughing like a hyena.

Next, proof that the first town I lived in is the hottest city in Japan! They’re motto is ‘Atsui zo! Kumagaya,’ which translates to ‘It’s HOT!! Kumagaya.’

Third, had a massive party! Had so much fun drinking, eating, and meeting new people!

Finally a picture of Katie and Mio, who I made friends with a few weeks prior. They were with me when I went shopping.

Enjoy!

There were about half a dozen students ranging from, literally, first through sixth grade. I figured I’d try to teach them like I do first or second graders, and we’d be ok…….nope.

It was our first class, so I tried to do a bit of a self-introduction. After saying my name, and saying who is in my family, half the class completely lost interest. Alright, that was done. Let’s move on to teaching colors! Two kids cared. One just wanted to shout at me. Two others were more interested on the contents of their oral and nasal cavities, and another…had to pee. OK. Try something new!

I tried doing “head, shoulders, knees, and toes.” That went pretty well! But, again, after the first round, interest was lost. The main special ed teacher took over for one final game, and we called it a day…twenty minutes early.

That was, by far, my WORST lesson. I had no idea what to expect from the Friendly Class! And, I have no idea how special needs teachers do it! Each student was so radically different both in needs and capability, that where in one activity one student would be really into it, the rest of the class could care less. And if things didn’t go a certain way, they’d erupt. In the last activity we did, one kid liked picking up colors after they were called out, but didn’t want to count how many colors he had, so he threw the papers in the air, and bolted out of the classroom!

This was, obviously, a learning experience. I have a massive respect for special ed teachers, many of which have a much more intense experience than me, I’m sure, on a daily basis, rather than my once a semester. I will talk with the special ed teachers a LOT more in preparation for the next class…but I’m going to admit, I’m incredibly intimidated by the prospect of teaching them again. With regular students, if a student doesn’t pay attention, you get on their case to shape up. If a kid gets an attitude, you show them who’s boss. If a kid says or does something bad, you can rip into them. If the kids are disinterested, you can change the pace or activity and get them back into it. Also, you can depend, somewhat, on other students to get the bad eggs in line. With special ed…none of the rules apply, and you work on a student-by-student basis. It’s almost like teaching half-a-dozen classes all at once! And if the student doesn’t want to do something, there is no consoling them. It’s…brutal.

Maybe this is just me freaking out, post-failure. But I can honestly say I’ve never had a class go that poorly, nor have I been that unprepared going into a lesson. Here’s hoping next time goes at least the full 45 minute period.

Anyway, I went shopping recently for…something I’m not willing to admit just yet…and at the place I went, they were having a promotion for Disney. If you buy something over $10, you can draw from a raffle. The available prizes were things like hand towels, notebooks, and other junk I’d probably end up giving away. Well, I made a more-than-$10 purchase, and drew to see what I won.

(I’m gonna take a break from this story to tell a sub-story! While perusing the various types of the item I was looking to buy, I asked a cute store clerk for help in choosing what I wanted. Explaining what uses I wanted the item for, we found out that we shared a MASSIVE amount of interests! Not wanting to waste an opportunity, I gave her my cell info, and am hoping she mails me back. Though, knowing my luck…=P Oh, and as for the common interests…let’s just say they were very Kevin in nature.)

After I took my ticket from the box, the girls at the prize-booth-area-dealy took the ticket to open it and see what I won. They made a show of opening it, and when they did, the one girl quickly jolted and dropped the ticket! As I went down to pick it up, the two booth girls start shouting “congratulations” to me. I look up, dumbfounded as to why. Well…turns out I won the grand prize: two tickets to Disneyland.

What…the…

Ever since I came to Japan for study abroad, I’ve said that the only way I would go to Disneyland is if I’m dating a girl and she demands we go there. It’s not that I dislike Disneyland, I actually enjoy it very much. But going to a smaller, more crowded version of the place I know and love isn’t exactly something I’m jumping at the chance to do. But now, here I am with two FREE tickets to a place I was outspoken against going to. >.<

Well, the tickets expire in a year, so I have time to find a girl who wants to go to Disneyland. If she’s smart, maybe I’ll be taking a certain store clerk ^^

I had another incident.

I was teaching a class of sixth graders. It was hot, and I was tired. We had just set the students on an individual activity, and were walking around the class to see if the students needed any help. If they did, they would call for help. Well, one student called for my help. He adamantly called for me, waving his hand in the air with a certain sense of urgency. I make my way over to his desk and ask what he needs.

Suddenly his hand shoots out and grabs my balls as if I was getting checked for a hernia. I paused. Not out of disgust or anger. No, I paused out of sheer shock! Literally, what was going through my head was, “Wait…is he really cupping my balls right now? No, that can’t be. Nobody would want to cup my balls, especially not some 11 year old boy. Right? RIGHT?! Wait!! He IS grabbing my nuts!!”

I then knocked his hand away, and smacked him upside his head. In an attempt to draw attention to Mr. Pervert, I said in a loud voice, “Why the hell are you touching my balls, you perverted little bastard?! Are you a fag or something? Gross!!” Unfortunately, I forgot that in Japan that just makes his action funnier in the eyes of his peers. *sigh* Needless to say, my guard is now up all the time at that school.

Case and point:

I usually show up to class early to set up the lesson and otherwise fool around with the kids before the bell rings. For some reason, this year, there is a large contingent of students (almost completely boys) who feel the need to grab onto me, push against me, or just plain climb on me as if I were a living jungle gym. Usually it depends on how the boys feel as to when they do it. But one kid always wants to messing try me. For a long time, he used to just push against me, in some sort of attempt to stop me from walking, or, stupidly, to try and push me back. I usually let him try as I simply keep walking, and once I reach my destination, I push him out of the way, and enter the classroom/teacher’s room. But this particularly day, he had a different battle tactic.

This day, he decided to forego pushing and just straight started hitting me! At first I didn’t realize what he was doing. The kids were surrounding me like flies on poop (wait…bad analogy! I mean, uh…uh…crap), so when he did his quick little hits, then ran away expecting some sort of retaliation, I couldn’t discern it from the thousand other hands touching me. Eventually, the other kids calm down and clear out. But turd-face maintained his hit-and-run game. I finally noticed.

Usually this sort of game ends in one of two ways. One, the kid actually hits me as hard as he can, hurts himself, then stops. Two, the kid hits me in the balls. Guess which one happens more often than the other? The next strike he makes, I snatch his hand, twist it to the side and ask him if he’s going to stop. He says no, I twist some more until I get him to say he’ll stop.

Before you soft-hearted people start giving me crap, realize this: talking to these monsters does nothing. If it did, I wouldn’t even be writing about the bizarrities of my students in this blog. If its a sensitive child, they won’t do anything so retarded. If its a friendly kid, I realize it, and tell them to stop and they do. If its a little monster, they only understand physical repercussions…and even then, not all the time.

ANYWAY, the kid stops hitting me. He decides to upgrade to kancho. I’ve explained kancho before…but for clarity’s sake, let me go over it again. Kancho literally translates into enema. But Japanese children have turned it into clasping their hands together, extending their pointer fingers (sometimes including the middle fingers for added stability), then trying to ram said fingers up their friends poopchutes as hard as they can. Anybody who thinks this is fun (I’m looking at you, American otaku-wannabes!)…go play in traffic.

So, turd-monger tries to kancho me. I tell him to stop, and knock his hands away…hard. This doesn’t deter him at all. He goes again. I, again, grab his arm, but this time twist it around him. He still tries to violate me with his free hand, so I grab that one and do the same. I raise his arms, while behind his back, forcing him to the ground. I ask if it hurts. Yes, he says. I ask if he likes it. No, he says. I ask if he wants me to stop. Yes, he says. I ask if he’ll stop messing with me. Yes, he says. I ask if he’s lying. Yes, he says. Very well, we’re staying here until he decides to start listening to simple requests. He eventually gives, and I let go.

Then he tries again! This time I hold him until class starts, and the homeroom teacher tells him to sit down. Is this the end of the story? Nope.

The students end up working in groups. I, again, walk around, checking if anybody needs help. I walk by his group, he gets up and tries to do…something. I twist his arm over his head, and he attempts to be Jacky Chan, and flip out of it…smacking his head on the desk behind him. As he crumples to the floor, all the students who saw the incident say “That’s what you get for always messing with Kevin-Sensei! Now get up, and help us with the project!”

So, there are absolute little monsters…but also students who hate what those students do. Only problem is, the good kids tend to avoid the bad kids, while the bad kids swarm me like bees. Making it difficult to associate with the good kids. *sigh*