I may have unearthed a previously unknown form of microaggression: Since I’ve started taking our dog, a Shiba, on walks, I’ve received a few comments of the “good with chopsticks” variety, meant as compliments on my overcoming a presumedly fundamental incompatibility with Japanese dogs. Breeds of dog, like food, music, and literature, are apparently repositories of nationalist sentiment.
When feminist Americans come to Japan, they typically take one of two views on gender inequality here, either A) What a fascinating and exotic culture which I will refrain from judging, or B) Now I have seen hell.
Gender inequality is taken for granted in most forums in Japan, as with many other forms of hierarchy, and it enjoys the twin pillars of support that are common worldwide in (interpretations of) tradition and human biology. It is also buttressed by speech patterns particular to Japanese which make considerations of gender essential to even the most basic utterances.
If you have 3.5 hours to kill to understand what I’m talking about here, go listen to this episode of Waking Up with Sam Harris. What follows is a review of that episode.
I’ll start off by saying I’ve read almost all of Sam Harris’ books, and found him to be a writer with an enviable sense of structure and an admirable willingness to wade outside his intellectual home base of neuroscience. He is probably most famous for commenting on religion, but his ability to tie his experience with meditation to seemingly unrelated concepts like free will are his main draw for a listener/reader like me. He has a tendency to engage in thought experiments that are helpful to his readers but make him a frequent target of intentional misunderstanding. As I will write later, for all his forward-thinkingness he also has a few apparent blind spots in his understanding of the world.
My first exposure to the work of Omer Aziz, like many of the people commenting on this podcast, was reading his two articles on Salon.com on Sam Harris and Maajid Nawaz’s book and on the podcast itself. The articles are indeed unfair and seem to be written for an uncritically anti-Harris audience, as Sam says. In the podcast, however, he comes across as much more generous than on the page, and sadly for Sam also appears to have a much more nuanced view of the role religion plays in real people’s lives.
This post validates the last part of the subheader of this blog.
Everyone knows metal guitarists play a lot of crazy leads. The bar for us is set rather high and nothing gets a metal fan’s goat (‘s head) like some pop/rock song with a solo that an arthritic no-armed colobus monkey (the tail is arthritic too) could play. Thinking here of that Natalie Imbruglia song.
An overlooked part of metal playing though is rhythm. It’s kind of funny that this is overlooked, since playing in the pocket is such a huge part of the group of sonic phenomena collectively referred to as “heaviness”. When you enjoy the feeling of a wall of sound falling on top of you, the timing of the rhythm guitar is the mortar that keeps it from just being a bunch of loose bricks.
So here are some of my favorite rhythm guitarists from rock and metal.
Gen. Douglas MacArthur famously said of Japan after the war had ended:
“Measured by the standards of modern civilization, [Japan] would be like a boy of twelve as compared with [the Anglo-Saxon] development of 45 years,”
which, though clearly a (condescending but not ungenerous) comment on the maturity of Japanese civilization, has been widely misinterpreted as MacArthur asserting all Japanese had the emotional development of Western 12-year-olds, which was itself a popular wartime psychoanalytic diagnosis of the enemy. In a casual proof of several aspects of meme theory, this “Japanese are children” interpretation has spread like a game of telephone, understood in a way more compatible with contemporary stereotypes than in MacArthur’s original meaning, by generations of English speakers in Japan.
I suppose I’m in the relatively small demographic of English speakers who have been in Japan long enough to experience extended culture shock on visits home, in the form of a refrain repeated every time I see how people behave in public: “How can a society exist with no grown ups at all?” By the time I leave for home (Japan), I’ve gotten a bit used to it, and the exact same thought echoes through my head when I’m surrounded by silent, jostling throngs in Tokyo. From this I can say that if wartime Prime Minister Hideki Tojo had made a parallel comment to MacArthur’s about Americans having the emotional development of Japanese children, modern Japanese would be repeating it among themselves in expat bars from Torrance to Seattle. Yes, Americans are as childish by Japanese standards as Japanese adults are by American standards, and they both could stand to learn some life lessons from each other.
I have been self-employed for 11 years, during which my wife and I have run our own school in semi-rural Japan. I will write more about this as things I haven’t told everyone yet make the context for this clearer, but for now I will just show off that I have only missed one class in 11 years, and 0 full days. The one I missed was circa 2008 and I was debilitated to the point of missing a private lesson. I recovered in time for the rest of my classes that day and made sure to sit far away from all my students.
My aunt, who owned the restaurant that I worked at during my college years, once told me that she’d never taken a day off. I sorta didn’t believe her at the time, but now I understand that when you know you’re going to work for yourself your body weirdly cooperates. I’ve been sick in the time we’ve been doing this but almost always on the weekend.
Of course since I’ve been my own boss I can’t exactly put this on a resumé since they’d just have to take my word for it. Then again that goes for everything I’ve done here.
My usual schedule at our own school is Tuesday-Saturday, 3-10 PM with an extra class Saturday mornings. Fairly typical eikaiwa stuff. While I was working at the university, it was those hours plus 8 AM-12:10 PM on Mondays and Thursdays. So yes, I was working 6 days a week, one of those a half day and the other one I called my salaryman day.