The Biggest Non-Decision Ever

It arrived.

Recontracting papers.

Though really, this was a non-decision. I came here knowing it was only going to be for a year. Though I told myself "I'll be open to whatever happens, if I feel like I should stay another year, then I will." But when I actually had the papers in front of me it took all of two and half seconds to think about it, circle my intent and sign my name.

Not at all because I can't wait to get out of here. Leaving is going to be unbearably difficult, I know it already. And honestly the thought of how hard it will be to leave almost tricked me into staying.

But then, like in crazy action movies where the hero is in a stalled helicopter and manages to restart the rotor just before it hits the ground, my brain restarted and saved me from disaster.

"Seriously, it's time to get on with life. Do you honestly think you will do this forever? If you stay another year the likelihood of going back home, not to mention medical school, decreases exponentially. And then what do you do? Do this for the rest of your life? I don't fucking think so. It's a great break and a great experience, but it's not a life."

That's what ultimately got the rotor restarted. And I know I'll leave with the regret of knowing though I spent a year here I barely scratched the surface of what I could have experienced. But honestly, how much would another year deepen my connections here?

And maybe paradoxically that's why I'm leaving; I'm tired of just scratching the surface of everywhere I go. It kind of makes my throat seize just typing this, but I'm tired of living a life of scratching the surface; I want to settle. I want to find a place, find someone permanent, start my career and get the show on the road already.

I can't fucking believe those words just left my mind.

It's certainly true that teaching English in Japan could be my career I guess, but it took me all of three months to realize this job provides only the most superficial of satisfaction and I could never live with myself if I had to do this on a permanent basis.

Admittedly, if I was just biding my time, not sure of what to do next with my life, I would definitely stay. And I don't look down on people who say they get genuine satisfaction from this job (though I am suspicious). But when you compare being a permanent outsider teaching an irrelevant and generally non-applicable subject to beginning a career in medicine, where you are thoroughly in charge of your own life and are so revered (for serious lack of a better word) that perfect strangers willingly consent to your cutting them open, I don't think there's really a decision to make.

And you know what, it took me coming here to realize it. Before I came here I was just going to medical school because, what the hell, what else was I going to do? But now I'm closer to realizing that nothing else will give the kind of challenge and satisfaction I need. I'm still terrified of selling my life in trade for a medical career, but I'll worry about that when I get there, and I think it's safe to say that I'm a strong enough person that I won't allow that to happen.

So to any desperate JET applicants who have just sent in your application and are reading this, here's one more opening.

Maybe I'll be that faceless, mysterious Predecessor who emails you one random day in June.

Pop Culture Tuesdays XVIII

I was about to post something contemplative when I caught myself.

"No. No more of that shit. That'll be like the forth post in a row.", I said to myself.

While this post is far from demanding any serious soul searching, it is one of the more legitimate, interesting Pop Posts, I think.

Today's Pop Post is about the guy behind this:

Takashi Murakami.

The guy is pretty much everything Pop Culture should be. He's brought 'low' culture into high culture and simultaneously brought 'high' culture into low, mass culture. I think the video is pretty solid evidence of the mixing of mass and high cultures. Although, Louis Vuitton really walks a fine line between mass and high culture, maybe that's why the company decided to collaborate with Murakami?

Anyway, his most recent controversy has been putting up some crazy whimsical, totally out of place sculptures in the Palace of Versailles.

I don't know that you can make a clearer commentary on art and culture than that.

Even Murakami himself is part of the Pop Culture movement. I mean, let's be honest, he's really just taking the next logical step of Warhol and/or Lichtenstein. But that's what Pop Art is; keeping that nostalgia for the past while doing something new, right?

Anyway, as promised, no reflection. Unless you want to reflect on the roles of Pop Art and High Art in society, and whether there is really a point in distinguishing the two.

But why think? Just let the prettiness wash over you without thought.

"Ghosts of the OR"--My Greek Epic

Before coming here I had an internship in the operating room of a hospital near my house. During one particularly uneventful open-heart surgery (which despite what Grey’s Anatomy leads you to believe, is all of them), the surgeon asked me how old I was. He already knew I was going to medical school and he said he asked because he wanted to make sure I wasn’t one of those people who had wasted time between college and medical school trying to “find themselves”. I gave a short laugh and confidently replied “Of course not!”

Given his tone there was no way I was about to say, “I’m off to Japan in a few weeks for a year of teaching English to kids who will never use it!!” And it’s a good thing the only visible part of a person’s face in the OR is their eyes, because behind my mask and head-cover was definitely a face of shame.

Yet I look back on this and the only feelings of shame I have now come from the fact that I was so ashamed then. It’s not like I felt this anger on the spot and hid it just to please him. I was genuinely ashamed that I decided to not go straight to medical school, yet clearly, the shame wasn’t great enough to make me believe that it was the wrong decision.

I’ll never think it was the wrong decision. I’m not so shortsighted as everyone around me seemed to be.

The summer before leaving was difficult, to put it into polite blogging terms. Which was inevitable when I’d been living my life for everyone but myself, then suddenly decided that I’ve had enough.

I’m pretty sure everyone within 3 degrees of separation from my parents knew I was going to medical school, so I do feel a little bad when I picture their answer to people who ask them “So, how is he handling medical school?” Their story of humility is seriously biblical and gives me slight tingles of pleasure.

Not that I came here to spite my parents. My parents simply were not a part of the equation when I was deciding. They claimed I was being unbelievably selfish and stupid, which had the obvious implication that the only way for them to realize their ‘investment’ and therefore the only unselfish thing to do was for me to go straight to medical school.

And you know what? It was selfish. And I don’t apologize for it. However, what I am terrified of is it being a stupid decision. Not stupid for any of my parents’ uniformed reasons; in the grand scheme of things a year isn’t going to make a damn of a difference. However, that doesn’t mean it’s OK for this to be a wasted year. I need to get something worthwhile and profound out of it. It must mean something. And I am terrified of it meaning nothing. I fully understand that this ‘meaning’ will change many times as I get older and look back with more detached maturity, but I will consider it a failure if I get on that plane back to the US and cannot think of one profound lesson I’ve learned or relationship I’ve had.

And I’m not about to fail. If for no other reason than I can look all the doubters in the eye when I get back home and tell them in the most intimidating, fear-instilling way, with eyes narrowed, “You were wrong.”. Preferably with some dramatic thunder or some other suitably dramatic device. Maybe a chorus from an ancient Greek play?

Something like that.

Pop Culture Tuesdays XVII

After yesterday's post I really should be just posting some random SMAP video or pictures of some visual kei vocalist to counter balance the heaviness with pure Pop Prettiness.

But I'm not going to do that.

Instead, I'm going to be entirely blasphemous in the face of everything Pop stands for, and present elements from Pop Culture which also demand deep reflection.

I'm really sorry, but like the child who attempts to gouge out his parents' eyes trying to escape from a flu shot, you will eventually understand it was no big deal, and actually was for your own good. I'm sure of it.

Anyway, today I'm posting a scene from one of my favorite movies, which just happens to be an anime. Besides, doing a Japanese Pop Culture series and not mentioning this movie is just as bad as not mentioning AKB48.

The first time I watched this scene from Spirited Away I was genuinely dumbfounded. The serene, beautiful melancholy caught me totally offguard. It genuinely gave me chills. The deep, satisfying, someone-kissing-you-on-the-bend-of-your-neck type of chills.

So, here's the scene. I could only find it in Italian...but seriously there's like two lines throughout the whole scene and they're completely irrelevant.

I mean, really. How do you describe this as anything but truly haunting? I could honestly have a day-long conversation just about this scene...but I won't do that to you.

Prettiness (the cheap, shallow kind) next week, I promise.

Cherry Blossoms And All That Shit

I’m breaking a serious rule here, but this post is not going to be directly Japan related.

I suppose in a roundabout way it kind of is, but…ok whatever, onwards!

For whatever reason lately I’ve been totally preoccupied with death, specifically my own.

Now, hold it! I mean in a purely detached, non-emotional, non-suicidal purely academic way!

It started innocently enough; I had my first day at work after vacation and it dawned on me just how disposable I am. The feeling of “Ah, just like I never left” was not comforting at all, but extremely disturbing. I was gone and not a damn thing had changed, and my absence was basically unnoticed and had pretty much zero affect on anything.

Now, I’m not a total idiot, despite what this blog may lead you to believe. I was, and am, fully aware of my position as Disposable Foreign Novelty as part of the Japanese Government’s misguided attempt at grassroots internationalization of its citizens. I fully understand the goals of this program and part of those goals include keeping a revolving door of foreigners going. The program doesn’t want every foreigner to put down stakes in Japan. It’s meant to be temporary; “Come in, internationalize our young’ins, then get the fuck out. But please, tell everyone how much you love Japan (aka spread Japanese Soft Power).”

If you think this is all craziness, remember that while the Japanese government is surely as assbackwards as any, it's not about to piss away money on a mega project like the JET Program without expecting some sort of return. And I promise you, Japanese government bureaucrats don’t give half a shit about pictures of Aussie Ann and her family eating Vegemite, they only care about the returns for Japan (FYI: the program's goals for Japan don't have a goddamn thing to do with teaching English).

This is entirely fine, I have no problem with it. Until I start thinking about just how clearly inconsequential I am. I’m in the most destructive kind of relationship with Japan; the kind where I love Japan way more than it loves me.

I’ll leave here, and how long will it take before I’m completely and absolutely forgotten? How long before it was like I never even spent a year of my life here? 3 months? A year? Yet, I’ll never forget Japan and the time I spent here and the people I met. This relationship is completely destructive I think.

Then I realized, “Holy shit! I have the same relationship with the world!” And this is where things got a little morbid. I mean honestly, the world doesn’t stop spinning for anyone. There will be a time when I don’t exist, and while I clearly can’t fully comprehend such a thought, I understand enough to know that I don’t like it. And I especially don’t like the fact, that ultimately, it won’t matter. This is not the same as saying that my life has no consequence. I’m sure I’m going to have an impact on plenty of people’s lives and even if I’m loved by thousands, what happens when these thousands also disappear? Then I disappear.

My life in relation to the world is like my current relationship with Japan but on a slightly longer scale. Just like I spent time in Japan and it meant everything to me, yet Japan will forget me, the same thing is going to happen with the world. I’ll put in my time here (earth), it will obviously mean everything to me, but I will ultimately be forgotten. And while I’m sure this post is slightly disturbing to some, and is generally considered a taboo topic, it’s only because no one wants to acknowledge the one really, truly, Thing That Cannot Be Avoided.

I guess what I’m really looking for is immortality.

Thank God tomorrow is a Pop Culture Tuesday, full of prettiness and void of any reflection. Pop Culture, come, distract me from anything important!

Anyway, if you know where to find immortality, feel free to leave a comment. With a map.

(P.S. Don’t give me that trivial bullshit about “Who cares how inconsequential you are to, Japan let’s say, as long as you get something worthwhile out of the experience.” Yeah, no shit, but that doesn’t solve the real problem of disappearing like I was never here [in Japan, or earth in general])

What Can I Say? I'm Hopeless

One of the reasons I came to Japan was because I wanted my life to be like a Murakami novel, even if only for a year.

I wanted chance encounters which would possibly alter the course of my life. I wanted moments so surreal I couldn’t tell whether I was dreaming or awake.

I’m hopeless, I know.

Anyway, when I came here I was wide-eyed with hands clasped together just knowing that it was going to happen.

But, you know, like everything else, life tends to get in the way of living.

I focused on not losing my mind, going to a job that, on most days, is about as inspiring as working in a slaughterhouse, and just generally losing focus of why I came here.

Then in Tokyo I was wandering through a bookstore with an English section and decided to see if they had Murakami novels. Of course they did.

I have read quite a few of his books, but I still hadn’t read the one book that everyone who reads Murakami is supposed to read: Norwegian Wood.

I bought it and happened to win some kind of raffle thing, and the prize was a Norwegian Wood tote bag. Freaky right? My life was already looking more like a Murakami novel.

Or, rather, as I found out later a movie based on the book has just come out.

Anyway I started to read it on the Shinkansen ride from Tokyo to Kobe. Tearing through the Japanese country side by myself on the bullet train with misty valleys and mountains half-hidden by fog in the background pretty much demanded that I crack open this book

I don’t know that I’ve ever been so absorbed by a book. I brought it with me everywhere and finished it somewhere between Kobe and Okinawa, and the book totally made my vacation a vacation. Not to mention gave me a much needed kick in the ass to remind me of why I’m here.

I will of course never go see the movie because it’s certainly made with some ultra pretty actor and will totally strip the characters of any depth that made the novel so easy to identify with.

Then I got kind of annoyed with myself: Why hadn’t I read this before?! I’ve seen it a million times but never picked it up just because I hated the title.

Then I had a Murakami-novel moment and thought, “Maybe I didn’t read it until now because now was exactly when I was meant to read it.”

Like I said, I’m totally hopeless.

I’m not going to go into what it was about; this post is long enough and I’m not about to begin reviewing books.

But the book takes its name from this song, and listening to this song is pretty much like a book review:



My next goal is to find someone who appreciates this book as much as I do, then get absolutely shitwrecked with them as we listen to this song on a continuous loop.

Hope. Less.

Tokyo's A Douche, Osaka's A Whore, and Kobe Is Your Favorite Friend

It’s going to take quite a few posts to do this trip justice, so we may as well get started right away.

This will be more of an overview-type post.

So I never made it to Kyoto, just Kobe, Osaka, and Tokyo. In 6 days. It was way too much and I’ll never try to pack so much into such a small time again. I learned my lesson. I really felt like I spent more time in train stations, airports, and bullet trains than anything else.

It was like I was grocery shopping with each of the cities; checking off each attraction, taking pictures, then moving to the next as efficiently as possible. And that is not how a vacation should work.

So anyway.

Kobe was far and away my favorite city, despite (or because of) spending the least amount of time there. Admittedly, you really can’t even begin to get a feel of a city in 2 days, but me and Kobe just seemed to click.

Kobe is the perfect size, small enough to be entirely manageable and non-overwhelming, but big enough that it didn’t feel like a Japanese version of Indianapolis.

It is also easily the most attractive of the cities I visited. Tokyo is never attractive, Osaka had its moments, but Kobe, crammed between mountains and the sea and thoroughly clean and modern, is exactly my kind of city. If I were to ever settle in Japan (and I never would) Kobe is where I would go.

It may have been purely luck, but Kobe also had the friendliest people. It really was the only city I genuinely didn’t want to leave. Everyone I met in Kobe didn’t seem to have this artificial barrier that pretty much every other Japanese person I’ve ever met has. I’m clearly not doing a good job finding the right words to describe the amazing people here, so let’s just call them the most welcoming.

Let’s see, Osaka and Tokyo.

Tokyo just pissed me off. It may have been because it was at the end of the trip and I had had enough of vacation, or the fact that I happened to visit on a weekend when everything was crowded, but I couldn’t find anything redeeming about Tokyo. I said it before, and had it confirmed, but really, Tokyo is truly the prototype of a city that has gotten out of control.

Fuck Tokyo. I hate Tokyo, but I’ll of course go back. Because it’s Tokyo. No matter how much you hate the rich and popular kid, we all know everyone still wants to be friends with him. Tokyo is the rich and popular kid of Japan. It has this indescribable and confusing attraction. Fucking Tokyo, I’ll find something to like about you.

And Osaka. Honestly, Osaka was kind of a let down. Everyone’s always like, “Osaka! Loud, crazy people! Amazing food!” Again, I was only there for two days, but I saw none of that.

Although, it was painfully clear the people of Osaka have a totally different fashion sense than anyone in the other cities I visited. Way more loud and flashy. For me it was almost approaching the line of being over the top and overwhelming. Just because trying to keep up in such an atmosphere would be exhausting , and ultimately, self-destructive.

Thank God for Kobe, with its perfect surroundings, size, and people. It was just such a comfortable place to be.

Oh! That’s it! That’s my attraction with Kobe; it is a city that is so comfortable with itself. It’s not like Osaka with something to prove, or Tokyo with the arrogant sense of not having to prove anything, just by virtue of being Tokyo. Kobe and its people were genuinely comfortable with themselves and maybe that translated to their down-to-earth, welcoming aura.

That’s the summary. Tokyo; still trying to love it. Osaka; needs to seriously tone it the fuck down and clean itself up. And Kobe; a city everyone could learn a lesson from.

Detailed posts on the individual cities (with pictures!) coming soon!

Pop Culture Tusdays XVI: Real Life Edition!!

Hey look at this!

I’m returning from vacation and beginning to post again on a Tuesday!

Let’s do a combination Pop/Vacation Post! That’s incredible that it works out that way.

So

Happy Holidays from Japan: Where the only thing prettier than the women are the men!



This picture was taken from a holiday poster at Shibuya 109-2, the Mecca of all things Gyaruo.

I forgot to stop by last time in Tokyo, so it was high on my list this time.

I so didn’t belong and the Gyaruo were not too shy about showing it.

It was like walking through a cage of lions that are chained with a chain just short enough to barely miss your face when they try to pounce and maul you.

A super sexy lions’ cage where the lions wore so much tacky silver jewelry they made it cool, and where the lions had hair that could seriously make someone instantly orgasm just by looking at it.

Obviously, the Gyaruo weren’t actively unwelcoming, just the usual thing where they say welcome to every person that walks by except the foreigner.

(As a side note, the people who pass out flyers or restaurant ‘catchers’ also tend to ignore foreigners, which infuriates me.)

Obviously, I was a little dejected by being so blatantly ignored by the 109-2 Gyaruo.

“But I love you and your sleazy counterculture so much! I’m your greatest defender in the Western world and have tried to elevate your sleaze to the level of Academia! If only you knew!”

My thoughts went something like that.

So I got my fill of cold stares from badasses with big hair and got out of there.

On the way out I passed a guy and his girlfriend who were clearly white but were totally doing the Gyaruo thing.

No. Just. No. It was the saddest, most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen. I mean, what do they think? That they will blend in and be loved by the Genuine Gyaruo? Hell no they won’t. They’ll be tolerated, then mocked as soon as they leave. And rightfully so.

Leave Gyaruo to the Japanese, it doesn’t work for anyone else.

Honestly seeing them kind of blew my mind. I can’t believe how awful Gyaruo looks on white people. It conjures up the most disturbing combination of pity, nausea, and laughter.

Thankfully I ran into the previously shown holiday poster on my way out and felt instantly better. I saw it and had the same sensation as when you are swimming and test yourself to see how long you can hold your breath. You do it until you feel like your lungs are going to explode then you come up and breathing never felt so good because of the pain you just went through.

Seeing that poster was kind of like that.

All was once again right with the world.

Finally! Back To Real Japan!

So, for all two of you who like to read this...

I'm heading off on a whirlwind tour of Real, Mainland Japan!

Kobe, Osaka, Kyoto, and Tokyo! So I probably (certainly) won't be posting.

Finally, real cities, with crowds, and shiny flashing shit, and constant noise!

Cold concrete jungles how I've missed you!

Lots of posts and pictures when I get back, I promise.

Ja, mata ne!

A (Chinese) Japanese Firedrill

Wow, look at this 11 days without a post. You would almost think I had a life or something.

I mean, you know things are crazy when I skip out on doing at least the Pop Culture Posts, right?

So let’s skip the half-assed apologies and tedious explanations and move to the content.

Firedrills will always be exciting, no matter how old I am. I mean, how can you not enjoy wasting class time?

I recently got the joy of experiencing a firedrill at both of my schools. As you might expect things at the Technical School were much more exciting and blog-post-worthy.

At the Technical High School the fun began unceremoniously with the Vice Principal announcing “There’s a fire. There’s a fire.” over the intercom. The teachers in the staff room clearly picked up on his lack of urgency and enthusiasm and felt the need to make up for it by feigning terror and shouting “Fire!!” as only Japanese women could do (or get away with). So we all filed out of the main building and walked over to the gym.

It was here that the real fun began.

Because this is Japan there was insane and unnecessary amounts of picture taking. Teachers had apparently brought their camera for the occasion, and I shit you not, there were two outside professional photographers clicking away as we filed out of the building.

Once we made it to the gym, also because this is Japan, there were several rounds of speech making. Each pretty much reminding us of what a bad job we did. The students were clearly not devastated by this, and how can you expect anyone to take it seriously when you have everyone taking pictures like this is the most exciting thing to happen to them since the birth of their first-born?

I was entirely zoned out while in the gym likely due to the combination of incredible heat, the fact that I understood nothing, and the tear-inducing smell that is inevitable when you get 1000 people in a hot gym with no shoes and no airconditioning.

So it finally ended with about 15 seconds to spare before I passed out and it was over. Or so I thought.

The Vice Principal got on the intercom again to make another speech, but this one had a little more emotion than the “There’s a fire.” message.

Turns out someone had stolen a pair of the students’ shoes while we were all in the gym. Naturally no one confessed, so we had another meeting in the gym to try to shame the person into confessing. Clearly no one did.

I’m not sure if the issue was simply dropped or what. What I do know is that the school day lasted an extra hour because of the shoe-related witch hunt. That’ll teach that shoe-stealing bastard.

Life As An Ikemen

I think I just got one of the greatest compliments I could ever hope to receive, either in Japan or in the U.S. Or anywhere else for that matter.

I caught my students having a conversation about how ikemen I am. I’ve never been so flattered in my entire life, unless someone were to tell me I should totally go into hosting because I’d make a killing doing it. And although I have a definite image of what it is to be ‘ikemen’, and it’s definitely not me, I’m not one to turn down compliments.

Now, ikemen is a tricky word. It’s a slang-ish word that means a guy who is good-looking and has a general aura of suaveness, and even I don’t have the ego to say, ‘Oh yeah, that’s me for sure’. However, ikemen can also mean the complete opposite and be used sarcastically to mean someone who is pretty much the opposite of hot and awesome, but thinks he is.

Yet, I’m certain the student who said it meant it in the first way. Primarily because this girl and her friends are borderline unhealthily obsessed with me. No egomaniacal joke. I actually had my team-teacher of these girls talk to me after class and go, “They’re really into you. Like, really, you know. Even when you’re not here they’re always talking about you. Be careful OK?” These girls also think I understand way less Japanese than I let on to, which makes for easy eavesdropping, like in situations where we’re standing in the hall and they’re talking with their friends about how ikemen I am, as a hypothetical of course.

What’s creepiest about their putting me on the level of revered ikemen is the fact that I really try to be pretty firm about boundaries, but I think they interpret it as shyness, which makes me all the more ‘kawaiiii!’.

And while I’m totally aware a large part of their obsession comes from the fact that I’m the School Foreign Novelty and I’ll be forgotten about as soon as I leave, I was pretty flattered when I was described as ikemen. And as I looked at my black pants, Keds shoes, white shirt, and grey cardigan, the very antithesis of ikemen, I thought ‘No way’. This school (my lovable bastard child Technical High School) has plenty of very real examples of ikemen, of both kinds, and I’m not one of them, by any stretch of the imagination. But if they insist…

Then I thought, well maybe I do have a bit of an ikemen aura afterall. I’ve gotten cab fare randomly reduced more than a few times (by female and male cab drivers; my ikemen-ness knows no boundaries of sexuality), the people who sell bento outside the school sometimes give me discounts, and being talked to by random people (in Japanese) at the bus stop is pretty much a foregone conclusion.

While it could be easily argued that this is all the result of being nice to Novelty Foreigner, and I would tend to agree, the consistency of it makes me want to believe in the ikemen hypothesis instead.

The tricky part is now going to be continuing to be ikemen without trying to be ikemen. It’s easy to be ikemen when you’re being average English teacher, but once you find out you’ve been labeled ikemen, you may have the tendency to try too hard to live up to that label and in the process put yourself in the bad type of ikemen. Tricky, profound stuff, I know.

You know you’ve made it in Japan when you get to join the hallowed few in being described as ikemen. And honestly, part of me hopes that it's a trashy label no one wants, used only by those who are looked down upon by the mainstream (like Gyaruo) as I'd be doubly honored to be accepted as part of trashy Japanese subculture.

Like A Snow Day...Except With Typhoons Instead of Snow

I’m writing this at 2:30 PM on weekday. Do you know why?

Typhoon Day!! Classes are cancelled!

And justifiably so. I usually have no respect for the weather, but this typhoon definitely has my attention, and Chaba is not to be fucked with. I’m not sure Japan uses any sort of scale, but for those of you from the U.S. Chaba is the equivalent of a category 4 Hurricane.

Look at her (him?), it definitely warrants respect:



Like anything else, the anticipation is better than the act itself, and the anticipation surrounding a typhoon has the same sort of magic as the anticipation surrounding a possible snow day. Maybe it’s even better than a snow day because the anticipation for a typhoon can be dragged out for days as it spins and meanders across the ocean.

I, like most others, was hoping for the typhoon’s fury on Friday, thereby creating a 3 day weekend, but when I woke up to what sounded like my hood over the stove being annoyingly and non-rhythmically hammered on, I knew the day had arrived.

I was immediately wide awake as a million typhoon-related thoughts and plans raced through my mind, severely complicated by the fact that I don’t have a cell phone. First was, ‘OK, is this bad enough for them to cancel school (Yes)?’ then, ‘OK how do I make sure it’s cancelled before I just don’t show up?’ This was a little complicated due to the lack of cell phone, so I decided it was safest if I just got ready and went to work.

I had no idea what I was up against. It took exactly 2 and a half seconds for my umbrella to not only be turned inside out, but completely destroyed. So I wasn’t fucking around when I went to catch a cab. Having arrived at school I was shocked when I was told that there would be classes, as the ‘Official’ warning from the Prefecture had not been given. So Japanese. So I got through one class and 5 minutes into another when it became ‘Official’.

A major typhoon doesn’t just spring up out of nowhere, I’m pretty sure we all had plenty of warning, why not save everyone the trouble and cancel school before it begins, as we all know damn well when the typhoon will be making landfall? Because this is Japan and that wouldn’t be the ‘Right’ way to do it. That’s why.

So I was driven home by a teacher, and while I won’t say I was scared, it was one of maybe two times I’ve been nervous while in a car. Just because the wind was incredible and driving down tree-lined streets seemed like we were begging for a ‘Final Destination’ type ending to our lives.

By the time we got to my apartment it was an honest struggle to not fall over because of the wind.

Then I discovered I conveniently have nothing to eat. So I’ve spent the time cleaning and waiting for the wind to die down to levels where the odds of getting impaled by flying objects are less than 95%.

Pop Culture Tuesdays XV

I don’t particularly care for subject of this week’s post, but to do a series on Japanese Pop Culture and not mention them would be a serious oversight. Possibly bordering on the criminal.

I’m talking about the subject of every Otaku’s Saturday-night masturbation sessions…

AKB48!

They’re kitschy and tacky to be sure, but they also annoy the everliving shit out of me, and I just can’t like them.

Or maybe I don’t like them because they so shamelessly whore themselves for their target audience. Yet, because I’m human and have the capacity to hold contradictory feelings at the same time, I also respect the fact that they are so transparently devoted to attracting and keeping their fan base.

First some background information, then let’s take a look at what I’m talking about (All information is lifted from Wikipedia, because I know next to nothing, and want to know nothing, about this group.).

So AKB48 stands for Akihabara (the Tokyo Otaku district where their theatre, and fan base, are located) and the 48 stands for the 48 members of the group. The group is divided into three teams (A, K, and B…clever!) of girl-nextdoorsy Japanese women (though ‘girls’ is probably more accurate than women, as most are even younger than me). In their theatre they have their show everyday of the week and several times on the weekend.

If the shows are anything like the music videos it’s pretty much all about creating incredible amounts of sexual tension while faking innocence and pretending nothing’s going on. With some shitty, Disney-esque song playing at the same time.

Actually, that’s a pretty accurate description. AKB48: Like “High School Musical” but with lots of fanservice and thinly veiled sexuality!

Let’s have a look!





It’s so not my thing, but they’ve got their shtick down so well I can completely see how some people could find this hot, and are totally on the edge of their seats shouting at the computer “Kiss! Do it!!” (I admit the girl in the Sexy Cat Costume playing with the chandelier got me as close as I’ll get to liking this.).

But what’s with the one with short hair?? I guess it’s for the guys who are into that, but seriously, short hair on Japanese women is only for female members of the Diet.

And you totally know that after their 19th show on Saturday they’re herded back into their 48 stackable, pet-shop-style kennels and given dinner with those water bottles that hang on the sides of the cage.

It's Not You, It's Me

My dear,

While it is certainly true that things go infinitely more smoothly with you, that doesn’t nearly make up for your serious flaws. And while it’s also true that I’ve seriously almost walked out of the room because of how difficult my new lover can be, these instances are the minority and this would never be enough for me to dread seeing them like I dread seeing you.

While I can hear all the experienced (jaded) lovers in the world telling me in unison “Yeah, it’s easy to say that, you’ve been with your exciting lover for a grand total of 3 months, you’re young and idealistic, and you know this is not permanent. Try doing it for 30 years and see how it wears on you.”

Maybe that’s a valid point. I’ll never know.

What I do know is that you are cold and lifeless, you have no personality (or are too well-behaved/conditioned to show it), your friends are oblivious and have seriously misplaced priorities, and every meeting with you is generally predictable and unstimulating. I’m generally disinterested and detached when I’m with you, because there’s no room for anything else; it seems completely inappropriate to have a personality or joke around when no one else is doing it.

My new lover is full of personality, quirks, and life. Everything about them is much more genuine and sincere. New Lover’s friends are much less inhibited, way more down to earth, and, in short, everything is much more real.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not Romanticizing New Lover (well, maybe a little). There are definitely serious flaws, and there is also a quite a bit of sadness, but this only adds to the ‘realness’, and honestly, makes the whole experience much more grounded, healthy, and satisfying. And despite the fact that there are often some communication difficulties, I feel like the interactions are much more fulfilling than anything I could ever have with you.

And for all of New Lover’s flaws, I’ve yet to be bored with them. I can’t stand to be bored, and I’m not only bored with your conversations and friends, but I’m bored with you. Bored with the atmosphere, and bored with your lack of enthusiasm and life.

I want to connect with you, but it’s not happening; you just won’t let me.

My dear, Academic School, as you may have suspected by now, I’m breaking up with you. I’ve found someone better. Someone with a personality. Someone who doesn’t bore me to tears. Yes, my new lover Technical High School can be difficult at times, but I prefer difficulty over total lifelessness. Though we have to continue to see each other, let’s keep up the façade, purely for the sake of professionalism, OK?


Sayonara,

Yours Truly


P.S. You left a pair of shoes and your toothbrush here. If you want to pick them up, they’ll be with the doorman.

Pop Culture Tuesdays XIV

Oh man, where to begin with this one?

This video is such a crash course in Japanese culture and Japanese/Foreigner relations.

Seriously, there are some really profound things going on in this video. Really. I promise. I’m not just posting it for the drag.

For the typical Westerner, one might watch this video and go, “Oh those tacky and crazy Japanese, does their self-degradation-for-a-cheap-laugh know no bounds?”

Yet, this video is making fun exactly of that uniformed Westerner.

First, in case you missed it, the singers are in drag. The group is supposed to be a mother and her two daughters from Nevada who are trying to make it big as a singing group (as a side adventure, they’re also looking for their long-lost father). Just the costumes are telling; in this family unit from America you have the slutty Mom with a giant chest and huge ass, the daughter with blonde hair, and the other daughter with the Afro (and it’s interesting that the one character with distinctly African-American features is also portrayed as the most masculine). Because, you know, that’s American.

So they come to Japan and the song is basically about how they make total asses of themselves (and by obvious extrapolation, is meant to portray all Westerners) and put themselves permanently on the outside of Japanese culture.

The video strikes me as a great primer on the essential Japanese phenomenon of Honne/Tatemae (You're a big kid, you can Wikipedia it on your own if you need to.)

Although I like the video, and I definitely think it’s clever, as a foreigner in Japan it obviously makes me a little uneasy and possibly paranoid. I watch this video knowing full well that Japanese watch it and have a good laugh at the ignorant Westerner’s expense, agreeing among themselves that “It’s so true!”.

Yet, it may also be that the video is a parody of Japanese cultural phenomenon as well. I don’t know, it could probably be argued either way.

There’s definitely a lot of good-natured fun, and it is really smart, but it seems that there’s something also a little passive-aggressive and more critical right below the good natured fun…

It’s so Japanese!

A Tale of Two Schools (Part Two)

(This is a continuation of the last post, so you might want to read it to get a fuller picture. Or don’t; each also works on its own. Consider this a stand-alone-sequel post.)

For whatever reason, my supervisor (at the high academic high school) is fascinated by the wealth gap in America. He also likes to claim, much to my visible and vocal disgust (or at least as visible/vocal as one can get to a superior in Japan), that Japan does not have such a wealth gap.

I would like him to explain my technical high school to me then. Tell me about the high school literally in the shadow of a raised six lane highway and deafening recycling plant. Explain the school full of students who have been written off, a school where even the ones who know about, want, and can achieve something better are denied because of circumstances they didn’t ask to be born into.

Admittedly, not every student at this school looks up at me with giant deer-like eyes that silently wonder what they did to get so fucked by the world. Most are blissfully ignorant and don’t know or care about anything better.

But for the ones, like the student from the last post, who are willing to work for something better but are so concretely denied by a wealth gap that allegedly ‘doesn’t exist’, it is unbearably sad.

So many of the kids are so visibly poor I don’t even want to imagine their lives outside of school. And then there’s the ones who try so desperately to hide it but can’t. You know, the kids who have that one gaudy, highly visible designer thing that they cling to like it keeps them alive. It’s usually a Louis Vuitton wallet that’s always in plain sight, but it just doesn’t fit with the rest of their appearance. These kids are saddest because they clearly know where they stand in society, and need to buy these things they so clearly can’t afford as a sort of public denial of their poverty.

It would be so easy for me if the kids were fundamentally bad kids, then I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about them and wouldn’t have so many complex feelings for them. But they’re not, and it’s so painful when I see kids whose goddamn shoes are barely being held together, kids who are clearly going through things I could never imagine, somehow still give effort in totally irrelevant English class or become visibly frustrated when they want to tell me about something, but just can’t break the communication barrier.

So, to those like my oblivious assclown of a supervisor who claim the wealth gap is virtually non-existent in Japan, I encourage you to walk with me from the high school to the bus stop. Walk from the school, next to the recycling plant, walk down the street lined with factories that reek of paint, past the homeless guy under the highway, and stand with me as I and the students who legitimately want a future but are denied one wait for the bus.

Then tell me there is no wealth gap in Japan.

(Sorry for the somewhat heavy posts, but sometimes it's important to remember that life is real, and not just made of shiny pretty-boys in eye shadow or tacky commecials.)

A Tale of Two Schools

You see, I have two high schools I teach at. My base school is a fairly decent high school; the kids are well-behaved, most seem to be middle-class, and almost all are smart and/or fairly self-motivated.

The other school is honestly one of the worst schools in Okinawa, and I’ve actually gotten pity-laughs from cab drivers when they ask me where I work. (Fucking cab drivers pity me!) The students here are generally absolutely awful, and have seriously dim futures.

Yet they are my favorites. I so desperately want them to defy the odds, but I can’t help but be Cold Sociology Major and know that, by this point, their futures are effectively set. They’re my little runts of the litter; I want to kick the other fat puppies away from the food bowl and push them towards it. But they won’t go because they’ve been trained to believe that the food is only for the already-healthy dogs.

The high school definitely has a depressing air of resignation about it. And sometimes I’d seriously rather high-dive onto a bed of nails than teach class. Yet these same disruptive bastards who I want to throw out the nearest window during class end up trying to talk with me when they see me walking or waiting for the bus (and they’re always cheerful and adorably humble). Because they’ve been trained to know that doing well in front of others or liking class is only for losers, of course.

These two schools are seriously a SOCI 101 case study on the effects of class and children’s chances for success.

Anyway, the point was brought home hard today when I was grading tests (Look at me grading shit! Like a real adult/teacher!). Most of the students absolutely failed the shit out of this test, not because it was hard at all, but because they simply don’t care, and honestly, I can’t blame them, English has, and will have, no relevance to their lives.

But one student tries so hard, speaks relatively amazing English, and according to the other teachers is generally a really good student. He was seriously the one student who I had money on to beat back that bitch society and her totally arbitrary and cruel circumstances.

So I showed his homeroom teacher his test when I was finished and asked what his plans were after graduation. She said, ‘Well, he wanted to go to university (which is a huge deal for students at this school, where most simply want to find a permanent job after graduation), but you know…his family situation…his parents can’t afford to help with university.’ It was here that one of us began to get glassy-eyed, I’m not sure who it happened to first, but it definitely caused a chain reaction in the other person. So she continued ‘So, he is trying to find a job after graduation, hoping to save enough money, and then go to university.’

But let’s be honest, he’s not going. By the time he does save the money he will be too established in whatever he’s doing, and won’t want to sacrifice his income for the mere possibility of more money later on.

Where is the justice? This kid is just as smart as the kids at my academic high school, and I would say more motivated because of the environment he deals with on a daily basis, yet life and its social circumstances have completely fucked him.

In college I read countless articles and statistics on the effect of parent’s wealth, education, etc on children’s education, future wealth, etc. And while it sounds cliché, I really did forget that these surveys that provided the statistics are surveying real people, like this kid, who get fucked through absolutely no fault of their own. You forget that giant macro studies (and the giant, macro, misguided policies that attempt to solve the situation) end with real individuals.

And while you could certainly point to the few random people who have ‘overcome it all’ and made it big after coming from similar situations, those people are anomalies. People also like to say ‘Well, forget about social circumstances, if a person really wants to succeed, he will do anything to do it. People just use social circumstances as a crutch.’

Yeah? What about this kid?

Pop Culture Tuesdays XIII

No explanation this week; the man's awesome-ness speaks for itself.

I was lucky/random enough to get an autograph and some calligraphy from him (Maybe a picture next week?).

How much do I value that calligraphy you ask?

Well, if I had to choose between selling it or selling my grandmother into a prostitution cartel...well...I can't make any promises on what I would choose.

Failing At...

Garbage!

Here’s one I know I’m not alone in. If you’re a foreigner in Japan, you’ve failed at this at least once. Or possibly on a weekly basis.

Learning how to do the garbage routine in Japan is a definite Baptism by Fire scenario.

I think I saw the schedule and garbage separation requirements and nearly shit myself. Mother of Christ, the involvement that Japan demands of its citizens!

Let me digress and explain this garbage schedule, for the uninitiated reader. First and most importantly you separate burnables from non-burnables. Though, this really makes no sense to me, I mean won’t anything burn if the temperature is hot enough? Then of course there is the recyclables. But these are further separated as cans or PET bottles (caps and labels off!!). Then the cardboard, and paper. Then the cloth. Whatever. You get the idea.

But I studied it. I had a teacher call to confirm what days certain garbage goes out. I was going to be that one foreigner who doesn’t have his garbage left sitting at the curb.

So garbage day came along and I put my bags out with a smug smile and nod of my head to my landlord. “You watch, this bag won’t be there when they pick up the trash today. This bag is getting fuckin’ taken!”

Ohh the Hubris!

Sure enough, I get back to my apartment to discover my bags sitting just where I left them. I may have collapsed to my knees and shook my fists at the sky as I shouted

ffffFFFFFUUUUUCCCKKK!

I don’t think I wanted anything more than to get it right my first time. Dejected and head hung low, I did the foreigner walk of shame and took my garbage back to my apartment. Where it sat and made my apartment reek until the next collection day.

My fault, if you must know, was buying the wrong type of bag. I bought just a regular clear bag, while the correct bags have the Okinawa Prefectural label on it, and have this guy on it:




“Hi I’m cuddly lil’ garbage flame, and I burn shit!”

Pop Culture Tuesdays XII

Continuing right along with the theme of sex bomb hair…

This week we’re taking a trip through trashy fashion magazine Men’s Egg!

Because this is my thing, I have religiously bought each of the latest issues since I’ve been here.

I’m usually pretty good at drawing analogies between U.S and Japanese cultural phenomenon, but the subculture this magazine represents really has no U.S equivalent. Guido subculture in the U.S may be similar, but that’s somewhat of a stretch. And this magazine certainly has no equivalent.

Men’s Egg is like a combination of Maxim, Playboy, and GQ (GQ specific to the Gyaruo subculture).

Though I can’t read 75% of it, I can gather the gist from what I am able to read, and the stupidity of it is certainly not lost on me. About a third of the magazine is snaps of street fashion, a third is the magazine’s models showing clothing from various Gyaruo brands, and a third is articles or surveys about sex advice or what women/men most want.

And let us not forget the unbelievable fuck-ton of ads. Need hair removal products? Need a bigger penis? Need a Gyaruo-style wig (Seriously.)? Umm, fuck yes I do! (To the last one. Or maybe all of the above?):

Even through my piss-poor Japanese ability I know enough to know that the surveys especially are a total joke. It seems like half the time they’re just surveying the staff room or whoever they catch in the elevator; there’s no method to their surveying, and I wonder how much is meant to be taken seriously. I hope none, but something tells me they mean it to be serious. In general it seems like each issue is put together the night before.

But no matter, I’m not reading looking for the offspring of the New Yorker and Harper’s Bazaar. Though I feel like the asshats involved with this magazine think that’s what they put together every month.

OK, bashing aside, let’s take a look inside shall we!

Some street fashion snaps (You know the drill, click for larger/better):

(Did you click for larger?? You know you want to see that fashion victim with the orange vest in HD...)

And no Gyaruo wardrobe is complete without the Man-Purse. Exactly what-the-fuck could a guy be carrying around that is so important that he needs to trade in his balls for this never-cool, never-OK fashion crime??

Christ! Don't think too much about it! Don't you know thinking ruins your complexion!?! Let Men's Egg answer this highly important and relevant question:

And in this issue we have enlightening interviews with some of the Men's Egg models:

This particular model had quite the colorful prior work experience. I won’t say what, but think of the obvious thing, then make it more deviant. How do I know that you ask? Well, I didn’t read about it in this article, that’s for sure.

And there we have it. Men’s Egg: Class and a half.

Ruby Morena

Even before I came to Japan I was looking forward to the notorious Teacher’s Party. Opinions on this seem to be extreme: People either absolutely love them or they look forward to them like they look forward to a kick to the face. I knew I was going to get to experience one, maybe two, of these so I had damn well better make the most of it, language barrier or not.

So we recently had our Teacher’s Party, and I’m certain I made the most of it. (This is going to be a fairly long post, so just to let you know.)

Part of the fun/anxiety of a Teacher’s Party (for a foreigner) is watching/participating in the egregious amount of rituals, ass-kissing, and empty gestures. Luckily, I was briefed on what to expect beforehand, so I think I was ready.

The first thing I noticed was the insanity surrounding the toast. I’m not a fan of the toast—it strikes me as too dramatic and contrived, and should really only be reserved for weddings. However it was funny watching each person as they walk in, go to the bar and get a drink, then immediately dash to the principal and vice-principal to toast them. In the beginning, the important people were seated at the front in a row of chairs (no table) just accepting toasts—in a scene not at all unlike a royal court.

And, because this is Japan, the toast itself also has a very definite ‘Right Way’. If toasting the principal: hold the glass with two hands, say “Thanks for your hard work” (In Japanese obviously), bow while toasting, and make sure the glasses are not even. The lip of the mortal’s glass was usually well below halfway down on the principal’s glass. Follow this procedure for anyone who is more important than you (which for me is just about anyone).

Things tend to get a little outrageous when the hierarchy is more ambiguous, and the two people end up damn near the ground in a fetal position trying to get lower than the other person’s glass. My first few toasts I did this then I said ‘Fuck it’ and just bowed and held my glass out. And I definitely got a little pleasure when the person’s glass was lower than mine. By the end of the night I became super conscious of the toasting situation and who really tried to get lower than me, who clearly expected my glass to be lower, etc. Besides the Royal Court, the only people who I made sure to get lower than were people I really liked. So, it may sound crazy but there’s really a lot involved in toasting, and like most interactions in Japan, actions speak louder than words.

Thankfully things got much looser as the night wore on and people got liquored up. And as we all know, Japanese people tend to speak English miraculously better when they’re drunk, so my Japanese ability was rarely tested unless I wanted it to be. The party itself was generally uneventful—at first there was the mingling, then people grouped off, then it became like a comedy variety show as different teachers performed, sang, etc. The whole thing lasted maybe three hours and then the real parties began…

It was time for Nijikai (2nd party)!!!

We ended up at a pretty amazing izakaya. I’m a fan of the izakaya as it is, but this place really was pure sex. It had the layout and idea of a traditional large izakaya, but it was ultra modern: Instead of paper screens dividing the rooms, it was sliding mirrors (which led to a real mindfuck when you are trying to drunkenly get to the bathroom), instead of the warm yellow lighting there was cool blue and purple lighting, and of course no tatami, just white leather benches and tables. It was extremely modern and airy, yet still felt really private. Yet despite all of this, you never forgot it was an izakaya (which is good).

So it was here that the real fun was had. While most teachers go to the original party (as it’s basically mandatory), a much smaller number go to the after parties, so those who do go are there because they like to have a good time.

I was never bored and was genuinely surprised by just how much fun some of the teachers are. Somehow language was not a problem and it was such an amazing time.

Some highlights:

Being christened with my new nickname, Ruby Morena (who is apparently a Filipino actress). It was between this or Sony. Sony because when Japanese people say my name part of it sounds like Sony, and Ruby Morena was decided on by shortening my last name to Ruby, then someone drunkenly said “Hey! Like Ruby Morena!!”, and that was that.


Meeting my long-lost ‘Okinawan Parents’: Once a teacher heard my age, he said he could be my father. Then he said what year he was born, and I went “Oh! My mom was born the same year!’ and it caused an izakaya-stopping uproar. Then another teacher said she was born a year later, so it was decided that they were now my Okinawan Parents. Which was of course followed by much toasting.

And of course seeing sides of my coworkers that I never knew existed.

So by 1am the group had thinned to only the most hardcore (and mainly young) teachers. As we stumbled out someone hit me on the shoulder and said, “Third Stage!!” Even I couldn’t believe there was going to be Sanjikai on a Monday night. It was here that the group was narrowed down to the truly insane warriors of maybe 12 people.

It was decided that Sanjikai would be at Karaoke, which meant that it would be the last stop. I asked what time they would expect to wrap it up and I was told “Morning”. So I decided to call it a night. Not only because I would not be taking vacation the next day like most of the others, but also because I knew I would undoubtedly be expected to sing, and I wasn’t comfortable singing in front of the people who were going (not even when I was drunk).

All-in-all, it was a good, loud, drunken time, and one should never underestimate the power of alcohol in breaking barriers of all kinds.

Pop Culture Tuesdays XI

Japan has a lot of things that are 'Uniquely Japan', and for whatever reason just don't happen in other countries. Obviously this is especially true of Pop Culture phenomenon.

Japan seems to have an entire class of people whose job is simply to be over-exposed and be singing at you on the radio, staring at you from giant billboards or enticing you to buy some product. Basically they seem to be professional 'Jack-of-All-Trades (and masters of none)'.

It seems that in the US each Pop Sphere is independent from the others. Celebrities rarely whore themselves for a hairspray commercial, act in movies, and sing in Pop bands; they just do one. In Japan the movement between spheres seems to be much more common, and as mentioned in the previous Pop post, this leads to the creation of the Pop Aesthetic. And simultaneously is a huge money making machine.

For example, let's say I like Japanese band SMAP (I don't), and in particular SMAP member Takuya Kimura. So I buy their CD's, then I see Kimura advertising a hair product, now I need to have that hairspray because the guy from my favorite band uses it. Do you know what hairspray the members of your favorite band prefer? Of course not, unless you live in Japan. Then I need to go see Generic Action Movie because he is in it. And suddenly this guy has dominated every sphere, and in the process made lots of people (including himself) very rich.

Anyway, I'm getting carried away, all I wanted was to post these hair product commercials.

Please enjoy professional-pretty-boy Takuya Kimura and his open-mouthed hair twirling:







Gaa-tsu-byyyyyyy!

Maybe Okinawa's Not That Bad Afterall...

As mentioned in the previous post, I headed out to one of Okinawa's outer islands last weekend (Tokashiki Island, to be precise). It was an act of pure spontaneity; I went to watch the school's tennis match, and got there only to find out that my school would be playing the next day. So I figured since I was already up early I may as well do something productive.

A 10 minute cab ride later I was at the port in Naha deciding what island I wanted to try. Tokashiki was decided on purely because I could get there and back in the same day. Once on Tokashiki, I ended up on Tokashiku beach, which, as I understand, is only one of two beaches on the island. Most of the island is mountains and there are only three small towns on the island, so although Naha is certainly no Tokyo, it definitely felt like it after being on Tokashiki for an afternoon.

Can you imagine living on one of these Outer Islands having absolutely nothing to worry about and nothing to do but rent out life-jackets and stare at the sea all day?

With views like this (Click for much larger/better quality. Seriously do it. You can't appreciate the amazingness unless you do it):

it took all of my will power not to ask for a job and never be heard from again.

OK, no more words, let's look at some more pictures I took (None of these pictures have been edited at all, the colors are as they really are. Once again, click for larger/better.):

How Can You Expect Me To Go Back To Being A Common Schmuck?

While it's true that any foreigner in Japan (outside of Tokyo) is a minor celebrity, this is doubly true for foreign teachers I think. Students are curious and less inhibited anyway, so that awards the foreign teacher immediate popularity, but if you are even mildly outgoing and show a slight interest in the students you can approach immortality.

A long-winded example? Is that what you want?

Sure!

This weekend I ventured to one of the Outer Island of Okinawa (pictures later), and naturally I was the only foreigner on the boat ride there and back, so I was already doing a minimal amount of blending. So there I was standing around at this tiny port on some random tiny island, waiting for the boat back, when I hear someone behind me say "Ano...sumimasen?" I look up and it's some younger-looking guy (I say it like that because, as we all know, it's impossible to tell the age of a Japanese person. I just put him in the 15-25 age range, because that's as close as I could get.).

I look up nervously, because I know I'm about to have yet another communication failure. I respond with a suspicious "Hai?"

So the guy says my name. And I respond with an even more suspicious "Hai???"

At this point everyone around us in the waiting room is looking at me, and I know it. So this guy explains that he is one of my students. And while students will come up to me all the time in the grocery store or convenience store, I was especially flattered and impressed this time because: a) we were clearly nowhere near school b) we were both on vacation and c) he is definitely not one of my best students. I was also completely ashamed that I had absolutely zero idea who he was (to be fair, I do see like 300 students a week, who all pretty much look the same). So we struggled through a conversation, shook hands, took a picture and that was that. And he's now my favorite student.

So that alone made me feel like quite a celebrity. But after he left everyone was staring at me, and not trying to hide it, which was odd. Then I thought, 'Oh man, from an outsider's perspective, especially one who speaks no English, this totally looks like I am some sort of foreign celebrity (And not to be a douche, but I was kind of looking the part that day...)." So for the rest of the time while we waited, and all the way back, people would periodically stare, then talk amongst themselves.

And I will unashamedly say that I enjoyed every minute.

If fame was a drug, I'd definitely be the junkie on the corner selling sex for my next hit.

Failing At...

Answering the door!

Though if I can share a secret with you, I get a secret sadistic/masochistic pleasure from this one.

My doorbell rarely rings, as you might well imagine, and when it does it’s always someone who wants something from me. And let us not forget the shit state of my Japanese ability, so in this way, answering the door really can be a painful adventure.

But the pain that I know I’m inflicting on the unsuspecting Japanese person who comes to my door is a million times better. When I answer the door, it’s like they’re in a Gaijin Haunted House; the initial look of panic as I pop out of the door is priceless. I swear to God, I’m bringing a camera to the door from now on. One of those instant Polaroid ones would be the best.

Anyway, this post is prompted by my latest door encounter with the newspaper salesman.

I have no idea what possessed me to open the door on this particular occasion anyway. It was fairly late at night, during Obon, mind you.

So I answered the door, and I’m immediately being talked at in Japanese. Gradually a smile spreads across my face, and when this guy pauses for a half a second I bust out the usual “Sumimasen, wakarimasen, Gaijin desu.” OK not that last part, but I do use the first part, and it’s often enough to get people to either switch to English or leave me alone altogether.

So the guy switches to English and starts asking me all kinds of questions; Where I’m from, what I do, how long have I been here, how long will I be here, etc. At first I thought he was a neighbor introducing himself, “Oh, what a nice guy” I thought, and his English isn’t half bad, maybe this will be a fruitful neighborly relationship. It took me an honest 5 minutes before I realized he was trying to sell me a subscription to a newspaper. Then he pointed at the paper and said, “So you don’t understand Japanese words?” then it dawned on me, and I had to let him down gently.

Poor guy. I hope I didn’t hurt him too much.

Although I don’t feel too bad; what the hell was he doing trying to sell me newspapers late at night during Obon, I mean, he’s begging to get eaten by pissed off ancestor ghosts.

And mark my words, I’m buying a Polaroid camera and capturing the “Oh my God Gaijin! Shit! I can’t run now it’s too late, he answered the door already! Sonofabitch, Sonofabitch, Sonofabitch, what to do now!?!” face.

And I’m also buying a fog machine and strobe light to complete the Haunted House of Gaijin effect.

Pop Culture Tuesdays X

(I'll put it out there right away, this is a long, wordy post; not your typical Tuesday post. No shiny eye candy, so if you don't like that kind of thing, I'll see you next week.)

Look at this, I’ve been doing Pop Posts for how many weeks now, and I haven’t defined Pop and given even the slightest reasoning behind what makes it in these posts.

Although, I do think the best way to teach something is to give examples, then define it, then give more examples. But teaching pedagogy aside, this should have been the first Pop Post. And so important do I think this post is that it is also getting a tab on the top of the page.

Let me start with this: ‘Pop’ as I use it is an aesthetic, and in its truest form, a way of life. So something or someone can be ‘Pop’. SuG is Pop. Lady Gaga is Pop. Hachiko Crossing at night is Pop. Gyaruo is Pop. A particular outfit, song, or hairstyle can be Pop. To be Pop is to be faddish, fast, and forgetful of the past. Pop is sex, beauty, money, and fame. It’s always about the next best thing, trying to be shinier, louder, and more exaggerated than whatever is currently the shiniest, loudest, and most exaggerated. Pop is about capturing attention and the imagination.

Yet, paradoxically, Pop must also be nostalgic. Maybe because of the incredible pace required to be Pop, there is a tinge of nostalgia and, if not longing for, then respect for the past (specifically the Pop Past). Pop Nostalgia usually takes the form of references to other Pop Cultural phenomenon. In terms of music, Pop Nostalgia is a little more difficult to define, but you know it immediately when you hear it. Pop Nostalgia in music makes you immediately feel warm and tingly and think of summer when you were a teenager. Although that description is disgusting (and it feels just as disgusting when you feel like that), part of us likes it, no matter how much we pretend to be jaded and not like it. This façade of jadedness is likely to try to make ourselves feel better and give us an excuse not to enjoy it, when we secretly know the real reason we can’t enjoy it is because society tells people of a certain age we are too old to enjoy, or be, Pop.

Which brings us to another vital characteristic of Pop: It is by the young, for the young, consumed by the young and perpetuated by the young. That’s just the sad fact of it. You can’t be Pop if you are over a certain age. A person can certainly be stylish, classy, or fashionable, but after a certain age the person can no longer be Pop. Don’t ask me to pick an arbitrary age. It would probably be most accurate to say that once a person begins a serious life-long career, that’s when Pop, as a lifestyle, must be given up.

Pop (despite what people may say) is about creativity and innovation. The most successful Pop People have done something unique or taken a previous Pop fad to its logical conclusion. Let us take Lady Gaga for example. There is really nothing especially innovative about her music, let’s be perfectly honest here. It is undeniably catchy and sexy, but not really innovative. What makes Lady Gaga an immortal Pop legend is, first, the irony in most of her songs. But much more important than that is the performance of the songs, and the way that she lives Pop. She is never ‘off’; she can’t be; Pop is her lifestyle. If you only listen to a Lady Gaga song you are missing more than half of it; you must both listen to and watch a Lady Gaga song. And this says a lot about what Pop is—you must watch music, not listen to it. To fully understand and appreciate the song you must see the costumes, the choreography, and the fashion, hear the music, and understand the references. In this way, Lady Gaga (and SuG) have brought all elements of Pop Culture into one medium, and brought Pop to its logical conclusion. There is no longer Pop Music, Pop Fashion, or Pop Art, it’s all one thing now: The Pop Aesthetic.

Another good example is the way Pop Music (or maybe this is just a Visual Kei thing) in Japan seems to work. Every time a band comes out with a new single they also change their appearances—as in haircuts and styles, costumes, makeup, the whole shebang. So intimately is music and fashion tied that a new song demands a new look, and often a new music video. Which can really border on the insane when some groups have three major singles come out in a year. But that’s Pop at its purest.

There is nothing simple about Pop, and people who dismiss it as such are so much more simplistic than the culture that they enjoy haughtily ridiculing. Pop done right takes an incredible amount of skill, thought, and creativity. Not to mention the marketing of Pop is quite possibly the most calculating, least simple thing the human mind has done since putting itself into space.

So, although that doesn’t quite explain how a particular thing makes it into the Pop Posts, it should make seeing a coherent theme among the posts much easier. For each post, after reading this, the reader should (hopefully) be able to look at whatever is being talked about and go, “Oh yeah, that’s Pop”. Maybe you can’t specifically articulate why, but you know it’s Pop.

And please, don’t be a Pop-Hater.

Don’t make me choose between you and Pop. You’re only asking for heartbreak.

Because I’ll choose Pop every time.

Cumulative Acts of Swellness Will Destroy My Sanity

Japan’s swell, really it is. But sometimes. Sometimes…it’s a little too swell.

When I find myself at wits’ end because of the swellness it always sneaks up on me; it’s usually the accumulation of a bunch of small, well intentioned things that make me touchdown-spike whatever I may be carrying in the genkan.

Which makes the inevitable guilt that comes immediately after said touchdown spike to be that much worse, because I always think, “Aww, but look at the attention to detail. How can I be mad at someone for taking their job seriously and being so thoughtful?”

It also makes me question my sanity because I look at the mess I just caused and go “Wow, did I just explode because my shopping bag was taped closed?” But like I said, it may be the taped shopping bag that caused the explosion, but this was just part of a long chain of seemingly insignificant, but additive, small things.

So what causes the touchdown spike of frustration you ask?

Well, it can usually be traced to the aforementioned tape. Mother of Christ, the amount of taping that goes on in this country boggles the mind. Positively every time you go shopping whether you’re buying donuts, clothes, groceries, CD’s or anything in between, the handles of the bag are brought together, taped, and the bag is now taped closed.

Oh, how thoughtful you say? That’s what I thought, until I have a bunch of shit I just want to quickly unpack. And forget about just tearing it apart. Oh no. The tape stretches, mocking you as you grow frustrated to the point of tears, pleading with, then demanding that the bag opens if it knows what’s good for it. Then, because the bag is often plastic, it has no resistance, and it stretches along with the tape. Now you’ve got a mutilated bag, which is still taped shut, and your fingers have lost circulation because of how hard you’ve been pulling on the handles.

So, finally, you get that motherfucker open, and what do you find (if you’ve gone grocery shopping)? Each pack of meat, chicken, sushi, etc is individually wrapped, and taped, in its own bag. So. Fucking. Unnecessary.

But you breathe a sigh of relief, the bags are all opened, and it’s time for dinner.

How about that sushi you bought? OK!

Hold on? Why won’t the lid come off?

Because it’s taped in four different places!

Aaaaaand cue touchdown spike.

Back In The Loop

There must be some sort of cosmic irony in the fact that I'm in Japan, the country that invented robots that play soccer (and totally violate the Uncanny Valley), yet it took me nearly 2 months to get Internet in my apartment.

Anyway, I can finally stop doing productive things with my time, and instead spend it getting hopelessly tangled in Wikipedia's web of pseudo-knowledge, burning away my life one pointless 2-minute Youtube video at a time, or searching for porn. Because, be honest, the Intenet isn't good for much else.

And in between, try to nurse this blog back to health and vitality.

So, just a post to explain the hiatus, and get you ready for the hot and heavy rush of blog posts that is about to come your way.

Kampai!

I like to drink. Quite heavily on occasion. So I guess it’s a good thing I came to Japan where crazy drinking in the name of social solidarity is expected and demanded. I guess it’s a good thing I came to a place that has basically institutionalized alcoholism.

Let’s go over some of the fun drinking rituals you can expect to encounter should you be fortunate enough to get unspeakably drunk with your Japanese co workers (then never mention it again, in true Japanese fashion.)

First, never pour your own drink. What to do when your glass is empty then? Pour for someone else, even if their glass isn’t empty. They’ll get the hint and pour for you.

Second there’s pretty much always rounds of toasting before the drinking begins, even in less formal situations. Obviously, speeches are not made by every person in every situation, but as a good rule don’t start drinking until you hear “Kampai!”

Speaking of Kampai (Kanpai), say it with some enthusiasm. It’s a fun word to say, and it’s something to hear a group full of rowdy drunkards shout it.

When toasting with someone, the older person’s glass is always held higher.

In more formal situations, there’s some sort of clapping thing that happens to signal the close of the drinking festivities. I’m not too clear on the details.

I’m not sure if this is an Okinawan thing, or a general Japanese thing, but the fun rarely ends with the end of the original meeting. Often there are nijikai (second party) and for you crazy kids sanjikai (third party). These are often much more fun and rowdier than the first party as everyone is already drunk and ready for a good time. Supposedly once the group ends up at a karaoke place that is the sign that the after parties are over.

Fun’s over when you get to karaoke, kids.

Kampai!

Failing At...

Dinner!

Now this is not necessarily a Japan-specific failure, my cooking skills tend to end with the microwave, but this failure is taken to whole other level when you: a) have no microwave and b) are forced to cook with totally unfamiliar ingredients.

And yes, it is true I could buy lovely Western ingredients, but then again I’m not going to be that guy paying what essentially amounts to an Asshat Gaijin tax because I need to buy expensive Western ingredients, when I could just learn to live like a local. And besides, I’m in Japan, I’m eating/cooking Japanese food goddamnit.

But I must say, I’ve had some pretty spectacular failures.

First and most basically, is my failure at conquering the temperamental bitch known as Japanese style rice. I’ve yet to get it cooked properly. It’s either crispy and cemented to the bottom of the pot or it is a sloshy soup-like consistency. I really need to buy a rice cooker quick considering I’m in the land where rice goes with breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Second is the fact that I’m just a total shit cook with no patience, and that has nothing to do with the ingredients I’m working with. I just assume that everything is as simple as I think it must be. Need to cook a hamburger? Why just throw it in a pan and fry it of course! If you don’t mind burned outsides and totally raw insides. Need to make tempura chicken? Batter it and throw it in lukewarm oil so the batter falls off and melds to the bottom of the pan!

Third is the fact that I can’t read the directions on the back of the box, and clearly me and the person who makes the illustrations are on totally different wavelengths, because they’re not worth dick in helping me make a decent meal.

Thankfully, for whatever reason, Spam is popular here in Okinawa. Yes, I bought my first can of Spam the other day out of curiosity (desperation), and it actually wasn’t half bad.

I’m not kidding.

I don’t want to make it a regular thing, but when your cooking skills equal zero, you can’t read directions, and you don’t have the time to waste an hour and a half cooking a meal for one, Spam starts to look pretty appetizing.

Yet somehow, inexplicably, I think I’m gaining weight. I can’t believe it. I really don’t want to have to start exercising.

I certainly don’t have the time to both cook a meal and exercise all in one day.

So, Why Did You Come To Japan??

Here’s a question I’m asked constantly, and while I suppose it’s a legitimate question, it really does make me want to punt a kitten whenever it’s asked of me.

Whenever it’s asked of me, I think my face just goes blank. Then I stare the person in the eyes and calmly say, “Stop fishing for conversation and ask an intelligent question you fucking predictable dunce.”

OK, I don’t. But my eye twitches as I’m forced to hold back that natural response and fulfill my part of the social contract, as I answer with some light and trivial bullshit. Because let’s face it, the person who asks that question is likely a total assclown and won’t listen to any serious answer anyway.

But, as I said, I suppose it is a legitimate question, so I suppose it deserves a legitimate answer.

And like most questions like this, I really didn’t start thinking about an answer until I was already here. And very likely, my answer will change even after I’ve left.

I think I’m here because I see this as the Last Hoorah before effectively ending my life and going to Medical School. Once medical school begins, any spontaneity my life had, or could have had, is ended. Permanently, until maybe retirement. But by the time I retire, I may have the money to do all sorts of cool spontaneous things, but I will be missing something even more important: My Youth.

Which brings me to point two: I came to Japan as a Last Hoorah of my Youth. Not to be dramatic or anything. But really, I will be pissing away the best years of my life in medical school. The years when I have the most energy, am the most attractive, and can generally get anything I want. This is my only opportunity to be both young and (relatively) rich. It is the last time I’ll have no responsibilities, no expenses besides what I choose to spend my money on, and the youth, energy, and time to have a healthy social life.

Reason three: This is likely my last chance to spend any extended period of time abroad. After this, the realities of life demand that I settle down. That’s just the way it is. It’s a little difficult to establish a career, not to mention a career in medicine if you’re constantly moving.

So really, the bottom line is that Japan is my last chance to be young, stupid and fun, and I honestly can’t think of a better place to get it all out of my system. This is the society that pretty much invented escapism after all.

It’s going to be a year of pure hedonism and though most JETs save quite a bit of money in their time here, I plan on going back just as poor as I arrived. I will consider it a personal failure if I leave having saved any substantial amount of money, as it will be money that should have been spent getting trashed and doing my damndest to have a good drunken time. And besides, what will I need money for when I get back? I’ll be living on loans and taking out a cool 400K in loans (that’s right folks), so I don’t thinking having an extra 10K is going to improve my standard of living too much.

This year of hedonism needs to make up for the next 12 or so of pure shit. That’s a tall order, and you can imagine the unspeakable deeds that need to be accomplished to achieve such a goal.

Obviously I have lots of specific things I want to do, see, and be a part of, but it all basically comes back to those three main points.

So there, that’s why I came to Japan. Clearly not the kind of answer that should be tossed around during trivial, get-to-know-you conversation.