Choose the word that does not belong in the group.
For example: cute cunning crumble calm Crumble does not belong to the group because it is a verb.1. artistic accurate amicable arrange 2. loan lewd lengthy lofty 3. near-sighted neat new notify 4. pulsate purple profound perfect 5. illicit immunize inherent ironic 6. exquisite evict essential eldest 7. brittle broil becoming beige 8. oily obese obligatory omit 9. send secular scenic starving 10. massive morbid mimic mundane
Choose the word that does not belong in the group.
For example: cut cook cat call Cat does not belong to the group because it is a noun.1. walk wash wall watch 2. eat eel earn engage 3. arrive avoid apply apple 4. see suffer smell siren 5. table try tempt terrify 6. promote participate prince pamper 7. read rotate rattle recognize 8. graze grocer gnash generalize 9. demonstrate destroy douse drumstick 10. kitten know kick keep
Japanese-English ("katakana-go")
During my many years of teaching English in Japan I have too often heard the term “good taste,” as in, “The pizza in Chicago… good taste.” Or “The steak is good taste.” Or sometimes, just “Good taste.”
While this would be adequate to convey your thoughts or feelings to the other person(s) in conversation, this type of usage is really only the substitution of a “Japanese-English” phrase for a more appropriate English phrase. The tendency to use a noun phrase when speaking English (most likely derived from its verb phrase usage) is a common, but mistaken, practice among Japanese learners.
It is better to explain what you want to say in a natural way by using verb phrases rather than stock noun phrases taken from the Japanese. So, instead of “good taste,” you should use “tastes good,” as in,“The pizza tastes/tasted good.” Or simply “It tastes/tasted good.”
Set 1.1
Choose – Please choose from this list. Chose – I chose the big, blue radio. Chosen – He has chosen the big, blue one. Choice – That was a good choice.
Set 1.2
Safe – He is a safe driver. Safely – He always drives safely never speeding down city streets. Safety – For him, the safety of his passengers, as well as, those pedestrians out on the sidewalks comes first.
Japanese-English ("katakana-go")
1.1 When traveling abroad Japanese learners of English will often say, “price down” when haggling over the price of some good with a merchant. Of course, this may be sufficient enough to communicate what you want. However, among English native speakers the phrases, “Can you lower the price?” or “I want a lower price.” is preferred. So, the next time you go abroad and want to buy souvenirs for family and friends try using: “Can you lower the price?”1.2 When Japanese people are at friend’s home for lunch or dinner they might use the expression, “volume down,” when given too much food. But instead of saying, “volume down” use: “This is too much food. I can’t eat it all.
Followers of the Japanese tradition, especially those with an interest in the arts, will enjoy, In Praise of Shadows, by Junichiro Tanizaki, a leading figure and exponent of Japanese literature. Tanizaki expatiates on the beauty and uniqueness of the "Japanese way" with humor and intelligence. He compares Western notions and practices to his native ones. He covers a wide and diverse range of topics, from lighting to toilets, precious stones to ghosts, and soups to skin color and texture. Tanizaki's assessment is neither systematic nor comprehensive. And he seems to have chosen his topics arbitrarily. However, there does exist an underlying thread that is common to all the subjects he covers. But why did he feel a need to write such a book? In part, because of the growing influence - and preference - of all things Western that had encroached upon Japanese society from the late nineteenth to the early twentieth century. The traditional institutions that had long dominated Japan were losing out to their Western counterparts, especially in the sciences, arts, and letters. This work is not a polemic against the West, but rather, the contemplations of a sensitive artist proud of his cultural heritage.
Patriotism is said to be Mishima's favorite story; there is little doubt it is one of his greatest - sublime in all its nuances, and compelling in its vision of finality. It is a fascinating look into the world of death and eroticism - a rare work of beauty, seduction, and sensuality. How does Mishima create a scene that overwhelms the soul, enslaves the imagination, and draws out - almost beguiles - the perverse desire for the death act?
He writes with sweeping power in a style so subtle, yet so alluring and consuming, that it leaves you trembling in bliss. He writes with the absolute authority of determination that leaves no room for escape.
Mishima has you believing that you are the master of your own destiny, in life, and, in death. The will to die at your own chosen time and in your own chosen way, as in the case of Lieutenant Shinji Takeyama and his wife Rieko, moves one to consider such a glorious and symbolic act of defiance and elegance.
Savoring the warmth glowing within themselves, they lay still and recalled the ecstasies they had just known. Each moment of the experience was relived. They remembered the taste of kisses which had never wearied, the touch of naked flesh, episode after episode of dizzying bliss. But already, from the dark boards of the ceiling, the face of death was peering down. These joys had been final, and their bodies would never know them again. – Patriotism by Yukio Mishima, Geoffrey Sargent (translator)
On November 25, 1970 with the death of Yukio Mishima Japan lost its last samurai and the final remnants of bushido. I write today, 40 years later, to pay tribute to a man who was not only an author, poet, playwright, director, and actor, but also, the very embodiment of thebushido spirit itself. Mishima’s ultimate sacrifice, dying for a “greater cause,” born from an uncompromising ideal will continue to reverberate for many, many years to come. Mishima took his own life through ritual suicide, or seppuku, hoping to inspire generations of Japanese to act upon what was believed to be righteous. The individualism that Mishima espoused, not dissimilar to that of Natsume Soseki’s idea, was one based upon a deep personal conviction in which the individual becomes an agent of change in the transforming of society for the greater good. For this unbreakable faith in an idealism that would be considered anachronistic today, I commend Yukio Mishima, Last Samurai of Japan.
His mother looked into his bright inquisitive eyes and asked in a sweet, gentle voice, "Oh, Johnny, can you give me a hand with the cookies?"
She was baking some peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies which needed to be put into the oven. Johnny standing near the kitchen, in the dining room, had his hands in his jean pockets with a serious look on his face, but didn't answer. Johnny was a bright and obedient boy of seven, always busy thinking of new ways to have fun.
His mother asked again in the same sweet, gentle voice. "Johnny, could you please give me a hand?"
He only stood there, innocently, watching his mother in the kitchen busily moving from one spot to another.
"Johnny, your mother really needs your help. Wouldn't you mind giving her a hand, just for a second?" His mother asked again gently.
Seeing that nothing was working, she tried to coax Johnny saying, "I'll let you have a cookie or two before dinner if you help me.
"
But again, Johnny only stood there with his hands in his pockets.
"Johnny, why don't you say something? Can't you at least answer your mother when she asks you a question?" his mother asked in the same gentle voice. His mother was a patient woman with a kind and gentle disposition.
"Mom, can't you see that I'm busy? My hands are full." Johnny shouted back.
"You're busy?" his mother said with a laugh. "And what may I ask with?"
"I'm counting my marbles in one pocket, and my quarters in the other," he said with a flustered look. "You made me lose my count. So I have to start over now.
"
Exactly one week later, Johnny's mother was again busy in the kitchen making dinner and dessert for her family.
"Oh, Johnny!" his mother called from the kitchen.
Johnny was standing there near the kitchen entrance, and again, with his hands in his jean pockets, the same pair he had worn last week.
"There you are, Johnny. I'm making your favorites today. Can you help your mother with the fudge brownies? I need someone to put the chocolate into the cake mix.
"
He stood there not taking notice.
"Johnny! Are you counting your marbles again?" his mother asked with a loving smile.
Again, Johnny didn't answer his mother. He was looking up toward the ceiling instead.
"Johnny, please come here and help with the brownies."
Still there was no reply.
"Johnny, haven't you counted your marbles and quarters already?"
He shouted back, "Mom, I'm in deep thought right now."
His mother, laughing, pretended to be amazed. "Deep thought? Really? What are you thinking so deeply about sweetheart?"
Johnny looked over to his mother and in as a serious manner as a boy his age could've managed said, "I'm thinking about how many marbles I could get for three quarters at the toy store."
As the summer was coming to an end, James' mother thought that it was a good chance to get the lawn cut before the start of the rainy season in autumn. She knew that it would be difficult to get one of the men in the family to do it without some careful nudging: "James, could you mow the lawn and pull the weeds? I’ll give you $20.00 if you do it this week."
James, who was sprawled out on the couch, replied without looking up, "...Sure, mom, whatever you want."
"Please do it this week. I know you won't have time once school starts."
"...Sure, whatever you want, mom." This was James' typical answer whenever he wanted to placate his mother, not because he was a bad son, but because his head was always in the clouds.
That entire summer passed as the mounds of grass grew taller, thicker, and wilder. In addition, weeds sprouted here and there between the overgrowth, eventually spilling out onto the sidewalk making it look more like a forest path than a suburban walkway. The situation was almost out of control; and week after week of scorching sun did little to hinder the growth.
That week was the last one before the start of the new school year and James was feeling down because he hated going to school. He only liked to lie around between the cushions and pillows as if he were part of the furnishings, lazily spending the days indoors with books. James loved to read and spent countless hours dreaming that he was the lone hero of a lost expedition in some remote part of the world, forever fighting off the natives, who wanted to have him and his men for stew, so he did little else but enjoy book after book, never lifting a finger to help with household chores.
It was evening when James' mother pulled into the driveway, and after inspecting the front yard proceeded into the house a little agitated. "Dear, why haven't you mown the lawn like I asked you?"
"It was such a beautiful sunny day that I couldn't get myself in the mood. You know people never mow their lawns on such lovely days."
His mother's patience running thin, shouted, "Then why didn't you do it yesterday?"
"Mom, you must have been born today because you seem not to remember one crucial fact,” he innocently retorted without looking up from his book. “It rained most of yesterday."
During this exchange James' father had stepped quietly into the living room.
In frustration, James's mother tugged at James' father's shirt sleeve and cried, "Have you been standing there the entire time? Look! This is the son we raised - too lazy to do anything I ask. Do something, dear!"
His father, with a hint of a smile, listened patiently then proudly proclaimed as if he were speaking to the world: "That's my boy!"
