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.