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Konnichiwa, November in Japan is much like the bitter cold of Oregon, only dryer and more deceptive. I almost wore a skirt today because the sun was blinding, but at the last second I changed my mind. Thank god, it’s so bitterly cold that my nose is seceding from the great nation that is my face. Also, this morning there was a “human accident” on the way to class. Author’s Note: A “human accident” occurs when someone throws themselves in front of the train. It sounds more graphic than it really is; at least to the people currently in the train. We don’t actually witness someone imitating a thousand kilos of strawberry jam. All I was aware of was that something was making me late for my grammar quiz. Accidents like this occur frequently, or so I’m told. The other day my entire Japanese class visited NHK studios instead of having class. NHK is one of the main, and most well known, TV stations in Japan doling out news, dramas, and game shows, and the studio has a section for visitors to explore. This section…is pretty damn cool. Besides all the information you can gather on your favorite dramas there’s a 3D theater, a surround sound station, a voice over (dubbing) participation station, life size mock ups of your favorite NHK characters (Domo-kun), and even a small mock set of the NHK newsroom that one of my classmates was asked to do a fake news reading on. I caved at the gift shop and bought a stuffed Domo-kun. I sleep with him every night now though so buyer’s remorse doesn’t assault me too often. Sleeping with overpriced commercial item = negation of guilt over past actions involving said item (Like buying a hooker) Personal Declaration: People are people; regardless of geographic location people are still annoying. Rushing to class via the far too narrow sidewalks while random people weave slowly back in forth in front of you doesn’t inspire very many humanist impulses. I usually fight the contrary impulse. The one where your arm shoots out and shoves them into traffic. On a cultural note, Japanese baseball is quite different than American baseball. I attended my first game between my school (Waseda University) and our rival school (Keio University), and the deviations had more to do with the spectators than the actual game. For one, most of the student section (including myself and the other internationals) showed up for the game at about 7:30 to wait in line…the game didn’t start til 1:00. After finding our seats in the large, rather professional looking stadium, we are then trained in the various cheers we will be participating in during the game. These cheers are led by an EXTREMELY enthusiastic collection of female and male cheerleaders. I emphasize the gender difference because while Japanese female cheerleaders are virtually the same as American female cheerleaders, the male equivalents are completely reversed. They wear black uniforms, remain completely serious throughout, and tend to be the manliest men around. Their job is to strike exaggerated poses while screaming various one word cues for the crowd; the female cheerleaders do their thing behind them. When not cheering, these paragons of testosterone stand facing the field with their hands behind their backs, calmly surveying their domain. It’s really quite entertaining. Another thing of note is that the crowd supporting either team bows to each other before and after the game. This ceremony includes the bowing of massive team flags interspersed throughout the stands and is accompanied by the singing of your school’s anthem. I found the whole thing drawn out and boring for the most part, but the respect shown to the opposing team was a nice change of pace from American bad sportsmanship. The actual game was business as usual, except for the fact that every time your team was up to bat you had to stand and cheer/clap for them the whole time. I found myself wishing they would get out just so I could sit down faster. Most of the internationals shared this sentiment. I recently went out to a casual dinner with my host parents and the couple that lives next door to us. They are related to each other in some way and seem to know each other pretty well. The restaurant had a basket of those little finger puzzles (interlinked metal thingies) at each table for some reason, and all four of them started in on them immediately after ordering. They handed me one as well, and while I absently tinkered with it they set about solving theirs, proudly declaring each successfully completed puzzle. I didn’t realize I would be judged according to my performance until my Okasan handed me a different “easier” puzzle to work on with words of encouragement. Slightly alarmed at this point, I desperately worked on my item of communal worth. The solution to the puzzle continued to elude me, and I was nearing the use of my knife and fork when our food arrived, thus sparing my incompetence from public display. My brain isn’t meant for word games, finger puzzles, Chuck Norris, or Sudoku. I’ve come to terms with this, why cant the rest of the world? Ja ne -Spork |
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My four-day Thanksgiving weekend started out strong, full of promise. Then, much like finding out god is a teakettle, I was left feeling unfulfilled and embarrassed over my previous enthusiasm. On Thursday night the entire Oregon program went to a remote hole in the wall restaurant in Shinjuku called The Pink Cow for a Thanksgiving buffet. A vegetarian friendly Thanksgiving buffet. The tofu dishes were good, but the real reason I went was to consume as much pumpkin pie as humanly possible, which I did. The following three hours featured 5 of my close friends from the program and I racing all over Shinjuku expelling our calorie highs in the only way we knew how. Needless to say, we have a nice stash of pictures now. I wont call them incriminating because that would imply that I’m ashamed of what we did. At one point we raced each other up and down the escalators in this massive mall building/complex. Before you get up in arms over us giving Americans a bad name, it was late, and hardly anyone was even there. Better you should scold us for the numerous other “gaijin” (foreign person) things we do, consciously and unconsciously. My friends and I have taken to calling such activities the “gaijin smash”, as in: “Hey, Kevin, you should totally gaijin smash that crosswalk.” ----translation--- “Hey, Kevin, you should totally cross when the light is red for the crosswalk because there’s one every 10 feet in Japan, but everyone stops anyway.” After musical escalators was over, we ventured forth until we spotted a sign for “Nude Trump” (Trump is the Japanese name for card games such as poker) relatively close to the main drag which is an unusual location. Much like my previous encounter with the homoerotic street in Ikebukuro (see Update 10), curiosity trumped shame, and I found myself drawn unerringly to the seedy steps under the “Nude Trump” sign. Author’s Note: English is used everywhere in Japan in varying degrees of correct application. Also, Katakana (the alphabet used for foreign words) is manipulated often to create shorter combinations of words. Thus, “Nude” could very well mean “New Dictionaries”. The short colloquial word for the popular restaurant “First Kitchen” (pronounced “Faasto Kitchin”) comes out sounding like “Faaking”. I love it. Additionally, cities here are built vertically not horizontally; most buildings are extremely tall with each floor containing two or more shops. Maddy, Ken, Kevin, David, and Sue followed me reluctantly up the dimly lit steps and down the hall, vocally expelling bursts of anxiety. The next 3 flights of steps were narrow, twisting, and eerily quiet except for the persistent thumping of bass most likely emanating from our destination. I remember giggling as I tried to open the tiny door of the bar, pulling like an idiot, then pushing to greater effect. Apparently “Nude Trump” just means “bar” in Japan. Yeah I know, anticlimactic, but it was funny watching the 5 of them panic while ascending the sketchy building. Unrelated Side Note: There’s Nightmare Before Christmas paraphernalia everywhere here right now. I know it’s the best movie ever made but still, what gives? Hehe, “I am the clown with the tear-away face…” A bit ago my Okasan and her friend Satoko-san took me to a relatively close park for a small, local festival. Within this festival there would take place something like a local renaissance fair with samurais riding around on horses in full regalia, taiko performances, and various other traditional activities. The samurais were really kakkoi (cool), and their authentic armor plating and such was enchanting. The best part though was when one of the horses hurled his samurai into the flimsy divider. It looked far more embarrassing than painful as he chased after his errant beast, his little broken flag flapping around behind him. I may or may not have burst into disrespectful laughter. There was also a small zoo like configuration complete with petting zoo. The various tropical birds, a hyperactive squirrel, a sleeping silver fox, and a collection of sheep, goats, and cows weren’t too surprising. But there was a white lab presented too, and that is so not a zoo animal. The petting zoo was completely adorable. It contained within its wide fenced off area a variety of bunnies, baby chickens, geese, ducks, and other small furry/feathered things. The flock of geese and ducks waddled surprisingly fast around the pen in a huge group honking for snacks like little terriers. I was pretty exhausted that day, having been out to The Hub until late the night before, and after the first 3 hours wanted to return home. Unfortunately, we stayed until the whole fair was packing up, and then decided to walk home even though we took a bus initially. We wound through the countless narrow side streets in rather nice neighborhoods while my okasan, otosan, and Satokosan walked the pace of 70-year-olds and commented on the odd bush or flower gardens displayed along the way (much like an old man who reads the billboards out loud as you drive). Meanwhile, I grew more exhausted, accompanied later by a ravenous desire for food. It took forever to get back to Iogi, and by then I felt like slamming my face into the aesthetically pleasing fence they pointed out. Ill leave my stories of Malabar, my growing (disturbing) interest in coffee, and our programs trip to Nikko. Until then Ja’ ne! -Spork |
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Personal Declaration: If one more random, slightly creepy guy hits on me on the streets of Tokyo, I’m dying my hair black. I mean, in the bars is one thing but on public streets, really. My most recent run in occurred while I waited at my train’s platform at Takadanobaba Eki (station). I had observed a moderately ragged, mid " 40s looking guy imparting some vast wisdom to a less than interested girl on the way into the station, but since this isn’t altogether a strange sight I had dismissed it with an amused twinge of detached pity. Oh cruel irony. He looked like your garden-variety yopparai (drunkard) who, if not already homeless, looked to be on the waiting list. As he crested the stairs to my platform I swear I felt his eyes land on me, and I can make a fair guess at the internal dialogue that landed him next to me. Possible inner reasoning: Ooo, there’s a blond, blue eyed foreigner with headphones firmly inserted, reading an English book, and darting apprehensive glances in my direction. Think Ill go ask her some blatantly obvious questions in broken English while waving my saltshaker of Vodka around. Yes he was in possession of a (thankfully closed) saltshaker of Vodka, which he tried to pass off to me during our one-sided conversation. I knew it was Vodka because his unilaterally determined proximity to me was within wafting distance of his breath. I tried to gaigin smash the situation, but he just squashed me back. Despite my feigned lack of Japanese speaking ability, and my one-word answers to such questions as, “You foreign student?” he maintained the belief that I wanted him to continue with attempts to engage me in conversation. At about the time he went to go buy me a drink from one of the many vending machines on the platform, my train arrived and I gratefully boarded. I had hoped that he wouldn’t be able to track me onto the train, being too drunk to locate first the vending machine and then me. However, as the doors slid closed I turned back around to face the platform, and there he was. At the window. Pointing awkwardly with his saltshaker at the newly purchased beverage in his other hand, eyes eagerly inviting me to accept the drink. I was relieved when the train pulled away. All my friends here found this horribly funny. Seriously though, dying it black. Blond is a weirdo magnet. Recently Adrienne has chided me for not remaining loyal to my end of update previews (see end of last update). So, I will do so now. At least in this email. Starting with coffee. In the U.S. I admitted to loving the smell but detesting the taste of coffee and routinely expressed, rather self-righteously, that I had no need for it. I was more likely to snuggle up with a cup of warm tea. Now that I’m in Japan though…I cant seem to get enough of coffee. My host parents drink tea constantly and always have a pot ready made, while in the U.S. it was the opposite. I’m starting to think I’m just instinctively contradictory. When everyone wants tea I demand coffee (and vice-versa). It would explain why I experience such intrinsic enjoyment from arguing. However, I am well on my way, if not already addicted to this lovely new addition to my already full retinue of neurotic behaviors. Segue! I’d tell you all about our programs trip to Nikko, but there’s really not much to say. It was a fairly typical sightseeing trip. The nature was breathtaking, the food was sigh inducing, and the 4 hour bus ride passed quickly because Maddy, David, Ken, Kevin, Sue, and Clay are really entertaining. We did manage to get a picture of ourselves and Chuck Norris kicking a sheep at the farm we had lunch at (in front of a real sheep too). I should explain perhaps. David is a real whiz with paper clips and makes figurines/statues out of them. I can’t express to you all the sheer delight and awe that welled up within me when he showed up with a foot tall statue of Chuck Norris kicking a sheep. I have pictures though; can’t wait to show them off when I get back. We also visited an amazing beautiful temple and an auditory-only waterfall. Though, the intense fog made the drop off look like some sci-fi void of nothingness. Almost as cool as a real waterfall in my opinion. Aside: My Japanese friend Reiko recently told me, after listening to a brief exchange between me and another American friend (in English), “From your mouth, a lot of interesting words, uh, things I have learned.” She and another Japanese guy with us inquired as to the idioms and slang I was using. I explained to them that I tended to make up my own variations, and that my personalized permutations aren’t commonly used. Reiko is such a doll. Just the other day I explained the words “sketchy” and “creepy” to her and the slight differences between their colloquial usages. The last comment on update number 12’s end notes had to do with a restaurant called Malabar. There are more Indian restaurants in Tokyo than in the entire west coast, and my friends like to frequent this particular establishment since they have an unlimited Nan and curry lunch set. The last time we had lunch there however I had eaten just before meeting up with everyone and so declined when asked for my order. They indicated that I would have to buy something if I was staying and then scolded my friend Sue and I for nibbling on the unlimited Nan because we didn’t purchase the specific lunch set (only their grossly overpriced drinks). We were then stared at like we were sneaking off with the silverware, and I was mildly irritated over being treated as such. So. I decided to kill two birds with one passive aggressive stone. Let’s just say that I rid myself of a lot of very small change when I paid my bill. I couldn’t help smirking a bit when our bitchy server dropped some of it and had to start over counting. I’m not a vindictive person, really. Petty maybe. Ja -Spork |