homogenous milk testing

I know the expression “commitment to excellence” is a much maligned, clichéd term in the west; rarely ever hitting the mark of that ascribed target. However, the Japanese subscribe whole-heartedly to this credo of self-abandonment and I can say without reservation they go beyond the call of duty in the pursuit of their perspective goals.
Far be it for me to get down on a healthy work ethic, however there is such a thing as over-working. It’s easy to take swipes at the Nihon-gin, those entries write themselves. However, I feel a serious problem of epidemic proportions has infected the Japanese population that deserves their full attention.
For the past month, angelic strains have flooded the halls before, during, and after school. A piece of advice I recall from some years back from music lessons was to learn a piece, but allow it to have its life as well. There’s such a thing as taking the life out of a piece by over-rehearsing. There’s life and then there’s art, but neither one are much good without the other.
One thing I’m coming to suspect about over-achievers is a collective inferiority complex gnawing away at the group conscience. You have to ask yourself, how good is good enough and why will no amount of practice ever suffice? Obviously that book hasn’t hit these shores yet.

Case in point being the annual Cultural Arts Festival at my last place of employment. It’s wasn’t even noon and I was in need of some toothpicks to prop up my eyelids. Bright and early Saturday morning is a blow below the belt on most peoples’ score sheet, not here apparently. As I surveyed the school gymnasium, I was astounded by the number of cam-corders, families in the fold-up chairs, and generated enthusiasm at 9 in the morning.
Madness may have many definitions, but a loophole that researchers have made for themselves seems to be if you know a situation is mad, you yourself are somehow magically extricated from the equation. However, sometimes our lab coats can be dirtied and we unwittingly become part of the experiment.
Being asked to judge musical performances is one such a task. Not only do I pass the same students daily rehearsing before and after school. I will have to live with them knowing I may not have chosen their particular team.
Barely out the gate, I am becoming slightly drawn having to sit through a three identical choral renditions of “Song is my Soul” and “Let’s Search for Tomorrow”. The last title sounded as though it belonged in a musical adaptation of a Samuel Beckett play. I guess you’re either of a particular mind that it’ll never get here, that it will, or you just don’t give a toss. Wait, that’s the title of a soap opera on daytime American television! Ouch!
The real problem arises when I’m asked to make a choice of the best performance. I almost feel like one of those milk tasters who do random quality control checks and spit into a sieve at the end of each swish around the palate, “Yes, I can say without a doubt, this milk is homogenous”.
I don’t know if it’s general fatigue, but I honestly couldn’t distinguish one performance from the next. I just sat through the same song three times for each grade and had to decide who gets the cigar. It seems as though the third group always has an unfair advantage and invariably does better, not because they were necessarily, it just falls closer to when I have to cast my ballots.
The last triad of performances are the third graders, which happens to be Handal’s “Hallelujah”. It’s slightly discomforting to hear it for the first time sung with such conviction, but without belief in the message-if that makes any sense. They are so adamant about keeping religious views at bay, yet “King of kings and Lord of lords” defies explanation. Could’ve just as easily be about the shogunate during the Edo period. The Japanese believe they wrote “Auld Lang Syne”, I can let ‘em have “Hallelujah” too.
I smirk briefly when I recall my own barrowed hymnal using the “Hallelujah” template as a nickname of a former girlfriend: “snacky-panties, snacky-panties, snacky-panties” ad infinitum.
By this point, I’m a bit beyond caring and wish I had made an excuse not to show up. As the hundredth number starts again, I start to wonder what really is the point judging Xerox copies and am fast developing a keen dislike of stratified thinking. What message does all this winning and losing really convey? Judging performances are purely subjective on the part of those giving the thumbs up and someone goes home at the end of the day feeling slightly worse for their efforts.
In a perfect world you say? Well, I’d rather each class had their own song and they are judged on their individualist merits, not conforming to some Aristotelian “ideal” song. Of course there’d be no judging either, just let the kids get up and enjoy their time without having to shit themselves whether they are number one or not.

I If could start a 12-step recovery program in Japan it would have to be for those suffering from “compulsive work disorder”. Being a workaholic isn’t really frowned upon in my society either, but it can have serious consequences if gone unrecognized. Treatment would involve leaving early on a Friday for an unscheduled get-away, an assisted professional helping the patient call in with a fake (cough, cough) illness Monday morning, and maybe abstaining from extra-curricular activities past dusk. I can see the last step of the program, clinicians easing patients into that Lazy Boy chair, “it’s alright- you’re good enough, just lean back and relax. You’re going to have a nice catnap. It feels sooo good to just let go, doesn’t it?”