opinios

I work with some really nice teachers.

They are friendly, jovial and have a good rapport with the teachers. Even the principal is Mr Smiley. In fact, especially the principal: he walks around beaming a big grin from ear to ear and is always super chatty (maybe because he doesn't have to do any work and just delegates everything to the vice principal!)

The thing is, I remember when I was in primary school in Australia, our school principal was a mean, grumpy, intimidating old man. He scared the bejeezus out of me.

And this meant that the teachers had a fall-back plan for when one of the kids acted up in class. If you were talking at the back of the room, or being a smart-arse, the teacher would threaten to send you to the principal's office.

Now that was one place you did not want to go.

I remember being hauled in there with a group of four other boys when I was in second grade. A teacher had seen us spitting on the school yard. I almost shat my pants and was whimpering like a friggin cissy. You see, I was scared out of my wits (not least because of the big cane that the principal was wielding and intimidating us with.)

It was a system of discipline that worked. The teacher had something to threaten the kids with.

In Japan, there is nothing. One of my kids the other day threw a piece of chalk to/at me from the back of the room and it shattered on the floor. Another stuck some clothes pegs to the dress of his teacher when she wasn't looking. And once I saw one of the nastier of my second year boys being Mr Cool Guy and staring up a girl's dress while paying her compliments while she was sitting on the stairs, not sure whether to feel flattered or disgusted. If talking in class is the only misdemeanour for the day then it has been a successful lesson (even if it was all the way through a listening test!)

And teachers have nothing to fall back on.

The kids know that they can get away with whatever they like, because they think "Or else what? You're going to send me to the principal's office??

In this country that would almost be a reward, so it doesn't happen.

Ok, I take back that rubbish I wrote a while ago about not being sucked in to mass marketing.

Kim suggested that I look into those little PDA (Personal Digital Assistant) organiser thingies for my birthday this year, so I have been scouting around the different models on display at Tokyo's electronic stores.

The range is enormous, and so are some of the price tags.

My buddy Nick swears by his Sony Clie, which has a decent sized screen and a full keyboard while still not being too clunky to be portable. Of course there are dozens of different models within the Clie range, with some having faster processors or more memory for power business users, others having remote controls for when you use it as an MP3 player, and others sporting digital cameras with resolutions that rival some of the lower-end cameras on the market.

The thing that continued to swirl through my head while I played with these expensive toys in the store was, will I ever use it???

Sure, it's cool to be able to upload images back and forth from this device to your computer (there are even Bluetooth wireless options), it might be fun to show off to other people how you can watch a video in the palm of your hand (although a memory stick big enough to hold a decent sized movie will set you back the cost of the unit again!) and being able to write notes to myself on the touch-screen might mean I don't lose information that tends to go walkabout when I scribble it down on the touch screen.

But what if I drop the damn thing? Do I really need it? Will it really make my life easier or happier?

In the midst of the blaring jingles, flashing lights and screaming voice-overs advertising this and that, I realised I was actually beginning to feel depressed. Just looking at all these gadgets around me was making me dizzy with desire, as I started trying to justify to myself why I should get the most expensive model. I felt the sudden urge to do something that made me feel happy.

I needed to... run.

It's easy to forget that doing things that get neglected when you are caught up in the hustle and bustle of a big city is really important. Running as fast as you possibly can until you are full out of breath; randomly strumming a guitar; sitting down with a good book and losing yourself in another world; good food, good wine, a good movie, good company - when I'm feeling restless, these are the things that make me happy. Not some gadget.

So, what should I get for my birthday? Do I need anything? Do we ever really need anything in such affluent times? I have a wealthy life with an abundance of love and good health and friendship and safety and challenges and rewards. This I pondered as I broke into a sprint.

By the time I had run all the way home, I'd forgotten what the question was.

The Japanese Proficiency Exam results came out today.

Ok, so I did devote every waking moment for an entire year of my life to studying for the damn thing. And I did fork out loads of cash on an electronic dictionary, flash cards, grammar text books and past exams to give myself the best possible chance at passing it. I managed to convince the principal at my school to let me go early on Friday afternoons so that I could very diligently attend Japanese class with my wonderful teacher, Yamada sensei, every week. And yes, it is true that I actually took an entire week of annual leave leading up to the exam to spend 10 hour stints sitting at the local family diner cramming characters and vocab and grammar structures and quirky nuances of the language into my head (warning: this is not conducive to good health).

But for what? A shitty little piece of paper?

No, I didn't pass the stupid exam. I got 55% overall so I was close to the 60% pass mark, but not close enough. As I predicted, I passed the writing and listening sections no worries, but the reading stung me - mainly because I just ran out of time.

So yes, I'm a tad disappointed. I think the fact that instead of writing 'Attempt Unsuccessful' or 'An Insufficient Score Was Achieved', they use the word FAILED just to really rub it in.

But I tell you what, I would have been even more disappointed to have put that much time and effort into the friggin' thing, only to get my certificate sent in the post on such a cheap-arse amateurish looks-like-it-was-printed-on-a-secondhand-inkjet printer-in-some-loser's-garage piece of paper. Now that would have been a real let-down.

What do you mean, I sound bitter???

Congratulations to those who did pass, whatever level you took (that means you Kinki!!).

I'd like to think that I am not normally one to be swayed by mass media as much as the rest of the pack.

This might be naive, but I generally do have a cynical view of most forms of advertising that I am surrounded by. I look at billboards critically, analyse magazines down to the formulaic sex-appeal photos that draw people in, and commend clever packaging. I'd like to think that I am able to appreciate good design without being sucked in to buy the product on offer.

But bookstores! Bookstores take me away.

I was given some vouchers redeemable at any book store as payment for that ridiculous "morals education" seminar thing last week, and spent hours today in Junkudo (the massive 9-level complex in Ikebukuro) today, just marvelling at everything on offer.

One of the problems of being someone who is interested in so many diverse things is that I am tempted to buy books about each and every one of them. I picked up how-to manuals for Photoshop and Macromedia Flash (they were even in English!) then put them down to be inspired by some graphic design annuals, then nosied through the pages of various contemporary Japanese fiction writers. I marvelled at some black and white photography masterpieces, then tossed and turned over whether I should splurge on a couple more bass guitar books or this must-have study book for learners of Japanese.

Unfortunately when it comes down to it, I can get excited by pretty much anything. Some people find this refreshing and others find it frustrating (usually myself). But there's no question about it: a well-written book, something that is tangible, with crisp new pages and a beautiful coloured cover can take one to another world far more than the rearranging of pixels on a screen.

What was that I was trying to say in my anti-consumerism cartoon? Gulp.

Well, I got through the child discipline seminar alive. Boy was that fun.

I was a member of the "expert" panel, sitting at the front of a room of about 40 elementary school parents. There was a Nepalese woman who ran a restaurant, a Ukraine girl who was an exchange student, and me. What were we experts in? At being gaijins (foreigners) of course!

So it was that for two hours we were grilled (all in Japanese, of course) about the differences that exist between Japan and our respective countries in the way that children are brought up, disciplined, moulded and educated (what do you mean you didn't know that was my specialty?) That's right, two hours. We even had a microphone to talk into. And naturally, the Japanese level of the other two was pera pera (fluent).

So there I was, stumbling my way through, barely making myself understood. Trying to make jokes but not possessing adequate language skills such that my contorted mumblings drew polite but confused smiles instead of raucous laughter. A question would get fielded to the panel, the other two would prattle on in perfect Japanese for about 10 minutes, and then I would umm and aah and struggle to pretend that I had a point before handing the mike over back as quickly as possible.

Did I mention that the hall we were sitting in was freezing?

Somehow I managed to get through this arduous ordeal without looking at my watch every 5 minutes, and I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Unfortunately, I failed to take into consideration Japanese hospitality customs.

Yes, in the principal's office afterwards, out came the coffee. For everyone. Black, with cream on the side, as always. Just like I never have it. With a seventy-year old man telling jokes that everyone was laughing at.

Forty-five minutes later I decided I couldn't take it anymore and rudely interrupted to excuse myself. This was bullshit. I wasn't even getting paid. Of course, the immediate response was to inquire why I couldn't stay any longer. I explained that Kim had dislocated her knee, that she needed me at home because she couldn't walk properly and thus struggled to walk to the grocery store to do the shopping. I didn't want to have to play the sympathy card, but jeez, I didn't expect to have to justify myself!

Of course, at the station, the dear little old lady who originally roped me into this insisted I let her buy me a bento for the road. She just didn't understand.

Let me go!

I am currently halfway through reading Yukio Mishima's Runaway Horses, the second in the tetraology by this seminal Japanese author. Reading it has definitely given me new insight into the Japanese take on suicide.

The public perception of the act of taking one's own life is viewed completely differently in this country compared to the west.

In Australia, it is most often depression that leads people to end their own life. A person's life feels meaningless, there seems to be no point in continuing in such helpless conditions, and they decide to end it all to end the sorrow. If it occurs as a result of some scandal, the act is often viewed as a cowardly way to avoid dealing with the situation at hand, an easy way out. A way to avoid taking responsibility for your actions.

In Japan, however, even today it is often viewed as a noble thing to do - the ultimate way to take responsibility for something shameful that you have done. These CEOs and government officials who get away with dodgy stuff for years and hang themselves when they are eventually uncovered: in their eyes, they are not taking the easy way out. They are doing what they think is the only way for them to leave this world with any last shred of respect. They believe that it is expected of them.

Rooted in this mindset are the dozens of characters in Mishima's book who commit seppuku - ritual disembowelment. But their suicides are not because of their dishonorable actions; the act of knifing oneself in the stomach, then the throat, often brings them joy, happiness and contentment that their life has been worth living. To die beneath a rising sun, up on a mountain ridge overlooking a beautiful green valley on a clear day, is the dream of the book's young protagonist, desired even more than being killed in battle defending the emperor.

Or is this just the justification that today's disgraced businessmen use to end their life in a way that avoids being shamed?

I dunno. I'm too busy living.

I have loved living in Japan. It's been a real dream come true after studying the language in high school, hosting some exchange students and developing a taste for the country and its culture. I love Australia too, but I never thought I would reach a point where I just absolutely HAD to go home. I thought that my leaving Japan would be a reluctant parting, one of those things that I know I would have to do eventually but never really wanted to.

Well, no more. I am so over it.

The stress and complications of living in another foreign country has really gotten to me in the past few days and I'm ready to go home. Two and a half years is more than enough. It seems like every little hurdle is compounding to make everything seem insurmountable, and it just puts me in a bad mood. For those who know me well, you will know that it takes quite a bit to get me riled.

Kim's knee of course isn't helping matters. The poor thing, she has put up with 4 weeks of pain and restricted movement now. This has been incredibly frustrating for her, but what is worse is the feeling of helplessness when you don't really know if the doctor understands the situation. He's an osteopath, so his specialty is bones, not muscles. But how can we be sure he knows what he is doing? We can't. We just trust him and trust there is no miscommunication in the broken half-Japanese/half-English dialogue that we have with him.

But then there's all the other bullshit. Favours and obligations. The other day I promised to help out a friend who was good to us when we arrived in Japan by teaching what I thought was an elementary school English class. As it turns out, the audience is a room full of elementary school TEACHERS, the topic is "the difference between child-raising and discipline in Japan and other countries", it goes for 2 hours, and it's all in Japanese. And I don't even know if they are paying me for it or not. And, I'm taking a day's annual leave to be there, after teaching ANOTHER school class that morning on the other side of Tokyo to help another friend out (at least I am getting paid for that one, but it's still on my day off and it's hardly lucrative!) How the hell did I get roped into this? When I suggested that this friggin' child discipline seminar might be a bit beyond me, the response was "Oh we've already sent out the brochures about you, so I'm afraid it's too late". How? How does it happen?

It just compounds. The teacher I taught with today can't plan two minutes ahead in her schedule, let alone decide what we should teach for a class in two day's time. The teachers' room at my regular elementary school doubles as the smoko room, and I always leave there snorting and coughing up dust and smoke. My apartment is smaller than the living room of the last place I lived at in Melbourne. I got jabbed in the balls on the train this morning by my own bag as the crowds were so bad. I haven't had an outdoor BBQ or been camping for over 3 years now (no that hut in Tanzawa doesn't count). Not that I could eat beef without being worried about catching mad cow disease or chicken without being worried about catching avian flu. All my friends and family are having babies (almost without exception) and I won't be there. And the strong Aussie dollar is making all this less and less worthwhile.

Really, I'm not normally one to be negative. The thing is, I think I just really wanna go home.

No, this aint spam.

You know those email ads you get all the time. In between the messages about the big black cocks and the tight pussies and the viagra. They read something like:

Get paid to surf the internet! Click here to find out more...

And if you can ever be bothered to follow the link there is some hyped crap about an online casino, or some complex ad-clicking scheme which involves referring as many people as possible, with a guaranteed 0.0000013 cents per referral!

Well, folks, I have found it. The true "get paid to surf the internet" gig. And I'm writing this blog while I'm doing it.

Tonight I was supposed to be substituting for a teacher who is away on holiday. The lessons they teach are over the phone - students who don't have time to attend face-to-face classes ring up and the lesson is a role-play conducted over the telephone. The student reads their part, teacher reads theirs. Teacher provides feedback on pronunciation, intonation and other tips. Says goodbye, good luck with the study, and hangs up.

Well that's what supposed to happen. But the phone hasn't rung yet. I've been here for 2 and a half hours and not a single call. The clock is ticking. And I'm getting paid for every second.

Let's see, I've checked my mail. I've updated my blog. I've read all the newspapers online. Now, what else can I do. Oh yes, it's my birthday coming up. Better update my amazon wish list!

After nearly two and half years I thought I had all the different nuances for assimilating into Japanese society down pat by now (as much as is possible with my blond hair and big nose).

Apparently not.

Today at an elementary school things were going great guns. I was wowing the vice-principal with my much-evolved Japanese skills, impressing the homeroom teachers with my ability to draw an Aussie flag on the board, and putting the kids into fits of laughter as we did the "Hokey Pokey". It was one of those "I'm on a roll and being an English teacher in Japan rocks!" moments.

And then we said the goodbyes. The vice-principal escorted me to the reception area where one changes out of the school-provided slippers and back into one's shoes...

...and I realised I had been wearing my shoes inside the school the whole time.

DOH!

The other day I experienced a massive earthquake while I was at school. It measured 7 (the highest possible rating) on the Shindo scale. Luckily nobody was injured and nothing was broken.

This was mostly due to the fact that it all happened in the back of a truck.

Yes, the Shinjuku Ward Office sent their mobile earthquake simulator around to our school, and students and staff all lined up and had a go.

The quake-on-wheels was decked out in the back with a simulated kitchen (complete with gas stove and hot water system that lit up when turned "on"). The team visits different schools and companies in the area to educate people on how to react when mother nature decides to do some serious rearranging of the plates down in the basement (such as switching off the gas and protecting yourself from falling debris by hiding under a table).

It was surprisingly realistic. I climbed aboard with some of my students, and as soon as the truck started rocking on its wheels we quickly turned off the gas and dove under the table. Like the real thing, the upward jolts were soon followed by sideways ones. At one point the table, with me clutching one leg, was lifted up from the floor.

The kids weren't really taking it too seriously - some of the boys were goofing off by pretending to drink from the kettle, or by selfishly kicking their friends out from underneath the table.

I wonder if they learnt anything though. Tokyo is soooo overdue for a massive quake. And when it happens it will be disastrous. The density of people here, all crammed together in buildings, subways and apartments, makes me shudder.

It's only a matter of time.

Today I taught a small class of mentally handicapped kids for the first time (I don't know what the current politically correct term is). I've had the occasional hyperactive student in my classes before, but this was a separate group of just seven kids, all with their own unique challenge to deal with in life.

It was such a mixed bag and I was a bit apprehensive, but still confident in my ability to show them a good time with good old gaijin power. I was severely humbled.

A regular English class at elementary school is a walk in the park for me these days - I have taught so many of them that coming up with winning activities for any target language on the spot is a breeze. Filed away in the back of my brain is an extensive collection of games that get the kids talking, reciting, moving, shouting, dancing, running, whispering, singing and interviewing each other. Combined with my arsenal of flashcards and an inflatable ball, I am guaranteed to have them speaking English and enjoying themselves.

But today was obviously massively different. I realised very early on that most of my fail-safe games just wouldn't be applicable in this situation; putting these students on the spot to talk English could potentially result in all sorts of tantrums. Luckily I had a group of five diligent ladies - mothers, special ed teachers and the homeroom teacher - to help me out.

First there was the girl who broke down into tears the moment she entered the classroom. The poor thing had to be escorted away but 10 minutes later rejoined the class and ended up being the chirpiest of the lot.

Then there was the energizer bunny who tried to climb up me like I was Mount Fuji at every opportunity. Once we managed to get her to sit down she kept answering every question with "Udon". I think she knew half the answers (she blitzed the fruit card race) but was just more interested in letting everyone know how much she liked Udon, in as cheeky a manner as possible.

One boy was super clingy; if he didn't have his arms wrapped around one of the adult carers for even a split second, he would also burst into uncontrollable sobs. Another seemed to not hear the sounds going on around him for most of the lesson, but was definitely not deaf as he had great pronunciation when repeating words after me at the beginning. One girl stopped playing the karuta card slap game and buried her head in her hands for the rest of the lesson.

And then came the streaker.

Yes, a strapping young lad interrupted me while I was introducing colours to the class by prancing into the room stark naked, save for a towel around his shoulders. He was also quickly ushered away and returned later on, fully clothed.

When I ran out of games, the homeroom teacher came to the rescue with a CD of English songs. Music, the universal language, is what really brought the class alive.

Everyone had a good old dance to The ABC Song, London Bridge Is Falling Down, and the not so politically correct but infinitely catchy Ten Little Indians. It was a hoot. Energizer bunny was bouncing off the walls and spun round and round till her face glowed with a smile from ear to ear. And the clingy boy had left his carer and was now clinging to me.

I don't know who was more reluctant to let go when the bell rang.

From The Australian...

World oil prices have surged to a post-Iraq-war high, pumped up by a huge gas refinery blast in Algeria, an icy US winter and low crude oil stockpiles.

New York's light sweet crude contract for delivery in February leapt $US1.13 to $US36.20 a barrel on its last day of trade. The March contract rose US87c to $US34.87.

Brent North Sea crude oil for March delivery gained US66c to $US31.23.

At least 27 people were killed and 72 injured when a huge explosion, apparently caused by a defective boiler, ripped through a liquefied natural gas plant near the eastern Algerian port of Skikda, Health Minister Mourad Redjimi said in Algiers.

I had to pop into the enormous Seibu department store tonight on the way home to pick up a few things, and as always, was distracted by the pet section.

Seibu Loft have the cutest, most adorable collection of puppies, kittens, rabbits and a whole menagerie of big-eyed newly born animals to take home under one arm with your cleaning detergent and your sofa cover. They attract crowds of curious shoppers who are drawn in by just how damn cute the little things are, all cooing 'kawa-iiiiii!'

The only problem is, they are kept on display in tiny boxes with perspex windows, barely big enough for the little tackers to stand up in. The store clearly figures that the animals' cuteness is not a big enough selling tactic, and preys on customer pity for them being cooped up as well.

Tonight however I was lucky enough to see a chihuahua get its revenge for being confined in one of these claustrophobic compartments.

The 8 week old white puppy brought a few politely muffled chuckles to the onlookers when it braced itself and laid a huge cable in its tray. What the punters weren't expecting though, was for the little rascal to turn around and start licking its fecal masterpiece. Yup, he was licking it right up. And he appeared to be enjoying it, because he soon started chowing down on the fresh sausage.

The store assistant was oblivious to the whole thing, despite all the shocked laughter and masses of people trying to keep from dry reaching. I just had to say something (plus, here was my first opportunity to use the word "unchi" (poo-poo) in a conversation!)

I discretely mentioned that her chihuahua was currently munching on its own ka-ka, and she frantically raced backdoors to unlock the cage and prevent little our little Turd Taster from getting to the second course.

Of course, as soon as the door was unlocked, Crap Chomper started going frantic, barking and trying to escape. This was clearly his ploy all along - a last effort bid to be set free. But the assistant held him at bay, and removed the plastic tray to give it a good clean.

At which point the dear little thing proceeded to pee all over the carpet that the tray had been protecting...

Something that I always knew, but never really thought about until it came up in one of my lessons today, is the fact that the number to dial for the police in Japan is different from the one to call for an ambulance or the fire brigade.

I wonder if that says anything about the level of importance that is placed on these services?

That's right, the number to call in an emergency - for example, your house is on fire or you have been lobotomised by the samurai sword of an intruder - is 119.

But if you need the police - those helpful purveyors of street directions - then the number to call is 110.

It does kinda make sense though if you think about it: 110 is the approximate number of questions you are likely to be asked by the police if you report a crime, as happened when I reported Kim's bike as stolen a year or so ago.

And 119 is just the American emergency number 911, but backwards.

Like so many other things in this country...

Being on holidays is so under-rated. No, really. I know you're thinking "yeah, it's great, isn't it?" But you don't understand. It is soooo good. And just how good it is really hits home when you have to go back to work.

It's not actually work that really bothers me. I happen to like teaching and like the teachers and students I work with. But it's the whole stress thing that comes with it.

It starts before you even leave the front door. Before you even wake up. You can't just sleep until you've had your fill, and then lazily arise to address whatever needs doing (usually eating breakfast). Oh no, you have to set an alarm to wake you up earlier than your body feels is natural, to deprive it of its full quota of rest.

And then breakfast is never as good. There just isn't time to fry up a bacon, eggs and mushroom extravaganza. A bit of a toast, a cup of tea and you're out the door.

The stress comes out of the corners it's been hiding while you were on vacation. It seeps out from between your joints and weighs down heavily on your shoulders, slowly tightening them. It lets loose inside your mind and starts frantically running around, shouting out all the different things that you need to do.

Previously your to-do list probably didn't extend beyond reminding yourself to duck out and buy a paper.

If you got round to it.

Being back at work means work takes priority over most of your day, a big leap from when you had the day all to yourself. All that spare time, that you time, meant that your mind was relaxed and you had time for reading, writing, drawing and meddling in whatever hobby has your current attention.

Like my latest obsession with building web sites, for example.

When I was on holidays, I was able to sit for hours and tinker and tweak and tweak and break and fix and learn and refresh the page and marvel at what is possible.

Being on holidays meant I could sit and pull my hair out in frustration at why borders look different in different browsers, and trawl the web aimlessly for someone who had experienced a similar problem. I could hammer away until 3, 4, 5 in the morning, screaming profanities at my laptop, threatening to hurl it from the balcony, and wondering what was ever wrong with the original table-based design in the first place. I wouldn't even eat at my designated meal times, I could just soldier on into the night with a double espresso because I didn't have to get up at any particular time the next day. I didn't need to go outside to lap up the beautiful weather, as I had all this free time to devote to sitting in front of the screen.

Yeah, having to go to work really sucks, as it requires me to get a full night's sleep and eat decent meals in order to be healthy, awake and alert for the people who rely on me.

Hmmm. Maybe being back at work aint all that bad after all...

Happy New Year!

Hope you all enjoyed your new year celebrations and didn't have too big a headache the next day. Kim and I are off to Kyushu for 9 days which will be just fantastic. We haven't been any further west of Japan than Kyoto before, and I am going to make it my mission to bathe in a different onsen on every day of our trip (Kyushu is onsen country after all).

When I get back I'll have to have a crack at moving opinios over to Movable Type, seeing as the 35 Degrees overhaul came out so well.

In the mean time you should all go and read my cousin's excellent site, the Nick Souter Weekly, which he has been updating every Monday with different cartoons and photos as well as some very thought-provoking writing.

Ittekimasu!

I love Japanese food.

So many flavours, with varying degrees of health and sustenance. Granted, I have yet to acquire a taste for natto, but the rest is pretty good - most of the stuff ending in an "ee" sound, anyway. Like sashimi, sushi, yakitori, onigiri, umeboshi, okonomiyaki, wasabi, and curry.

Yep, that's right - Japanese curry has its own distinct flavour. It's a little sweeter than regular curry but it's pretty tasty. And easy to come by.

But sometimes, you just can't beat the real thing.

Luckily, we have an authentic Indian curry house a short bike ride from home, and they do take out. Which is just as well because there are 6 seats. No, that's not a typo. A maximum of six people can sit down and dine at this place. It is ridiculously small, it is the size of the kitchen at my mum and dad's house. Before they renovated. If anyone's interested, it's on the main road about 5 mins away from Ikebukuro station, west exit. On your right. I forget the name but you can't miss it.

The good thing about it being so intimate is you can watch the chefs go to work. Flipping their nan dough like eccentric masters, throwing their tandoori chicken wings on a skewer like they are fencing in a Zorro movie before flamboyantly jamming them into the coals to roast. And jabbering away and making jokes in Hindi.

All ordering is done in Japanese of course: their English sucks, and I can't even say hello in Hindi. But the common denominator for two foreigners in Japan is the local lingo. Which is surreal. You can almost see each other's brains translating as you talk back and forth, all the while self-conscious of your mistakes in front of other Japanese people.

Jeez it's good tucker though! Happy New Year everyone!!

Our host, Digital Space, seem to be having some problems over the Christmas break. So far opinios has been immune, but poor old 35 Degrees (and my yet-to-have-anything-worthwhile-on-it magain.com) have been put through the wringer. First it was hacked, then 2 days later it was hacked again. Now the server is down.

So for all the 35 Degrees fans out there (and there seems to be a lot of them at around 300 visitors a day), you'll have to wait another day or so for Kinki's next update, as the tech support team are all on holiday!

It's tough choosing a company to host your web site with. I have always made the decision based on recommendations and have been lucky.

Up until now.

All the best wishes to everyone who reads opinios regularly, sends stuff in, leaves comments, contributes to discussions, writes to me to sympathise, empathise, encourage, belittle and correct me. You motivate me to keep posting, creating and expressing.

In a year that saw opinios get redesigned, migrated to a new host, hacked and go through an identity crisis, I am reasonably proud of the very random and eclectic collection of words and pictures on this site. A lot of them are not mine and so I extend a huge thankyou to anyone who made a submission to opinios this year; there were some really incredible photographs and prose sent in that I have been very proud to publish. I hope you felt the same element of pride when your name was in lights as I did being associated with it. These were some of the highlights.

Having said that, in its continual defiance of categorisation, opinios will be undergoing another re-organisation over the winter break, resulting in a site that will have a slightly different format and a fresher look and feel. I also plan to move over to Movable Type which should make it easier for me to update more regularly. And there are a whole bunch of cartoon ideas that I want to share with you too.

But you'll just have to wait for next year for all that.

Until then, enjoy the festive season and time with friends/family, don't drink and drive, and take some time out to think about some of the people out there who don't have a home to sleep in or food to eat on Christmas Day, let alone have access to the internet and other luxuries. You might even want to think about giving someone less fortunate than you some money to help them out with that food thing. It's Christmas, remember.

All the best.

Today's day at school with some loud and rabbity elementary school kids was my last work commitment for the year! Yaay! And it's just as well, because I will need a bit of time over the winter break to figure this one out.

The reason I haven't posted for a week relates to, yes you guessed it, my inner bulldog again (and not, contrary to popular belief, at all related to a certain end-of-year Xmas party where I supposedly drank far too much. They are all lies. All of them). I am working on a submission for the Zen Garden collection of CSS-based web designs, and am reasonably happy with how it looks so far.

In Mozilla.

This is why you shouldn't be using Internet Explorer: forget the deeper issues of it being a bad implementation of web standards, about the numerous browser-specific properties it allows (and therefore encourages) or the fact that it hasn't been upgraded in over 3 years (and therefore doesn't support any aspect of CSS-2).

No, that's nothing to do with it.

You should scrap using it and download Mozilla Firebird so that I don't have to stuff around writing hacks to make it work! Go on, go have a look at how it's supposed to compared to how it does, and then think about how much work I have ahead of me trying to trick IE into doing what it should be in the first place. It looks terrible when viewed with IE - paragraphs overlap, graphics don't line up properly, coloured boxes collapse to half their specified size and some text doesn't even display at all. And all because Bill Gates and his cronies didn't do enough testing on their flagship browser before releasing it to the public.

Sheesh. Do something good for your community (and yourself) this Christmas: download what is hands-down a superior web browser, and delete Internet Explorer from your machine (note: you'll discover that the latter is actually impossible, but it can't hurt trying!)