Monday, April 27, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
स्ट्रिप
Choking down another can of liquid courage I raise the empty vessel and crush it against the wall. A panicky anime otaku rambles loudly on a nearby tube. The dating show he has appeared on has hilariously paired him with a female miles out of his league and left him a nervous wreck. By "hilarious" I mean funny only to the Japanese. I, on the other hand, remain thoroughly unamused.
"Couldn't a bar in the center of Osaka do better than lousy prime time and 1 dart board for entertainment? For christsakes I just got served a beer still in the can!" I toss the wrinkled shrapnel over the bar and into their trash can - spill a few 100 yen on the table and stumble into another stale night.
Steam from the road grates smear the red and yellow car lights streaking through the tar. A salaryman kicks his mate's ass and sends him a few feet into the path of a marauding taxi. He merely veers and gives a quick honk. Meanwhile the man's friend laughs heartily and attempts to drag his friend along with him as though it were just as casual as falling into a pool together.
I pour through a crowd of expressionless hosts in shinsaibashi. Here they dawdle, playing with their hair, and staring into window reflections. All Self obsessed and repeating pick up lines in their head. Turning the corner at the end of the street I collide with a wedding party that has just spilled out into the street.
The groom is being held up over the heads of the groomsmen. In the background one goes down on his side and pumps out a fresh stream of vomit as though his stomach were a squeeze bottle. His girlfriend apathetically removes his 五万円 Dolce and Gabbana tie in order to save it from irrepairable digestive damage.
I make it almost to the end of the party when the bride's dad stops me with a painfully drunken smile spread across his impossibly squinting face. "Picture!" He shouts. Unsure of his intentions I find his arm wrapped around my shoulder and Oba-chan squeezed next to me. I look down to see she only reaches my elbow in height, and by the time I look back up my pupils are forced into pinhole size by camera flash. With that the whole episode is over. ありがとう、is yelled by the marching party, and the chanting of the groomsmen slowly fades and echos down the street.
I am left alone once more. Standing still in a windy vacant side alley. It is just me and tumbling scraps of trash. I stop for a moment to open a fresh can of yebisu and ponder the next morning for the old man who just snapped a quick shot with me.
"how much did I drink?..and who the fuck is this gaijin?"
"Couldn't a bar in the center of Osaka do better than lousy prime time and 1 dart board for entertainment? For christsakes I just got served a beer still in the can!" I toss the wrinkled shrapnel over the bar and into their trash can - spill a few 100 yen on the table and stumble into another stale night.
Steam from the road grates smear the red and yellow car lights streaking through the tar. A salaryman kicks his mate's ass and sends him a few feet into the path of a marauding taxi. He merely veers and gives a quick honk. Meanwhile the man's friend laughs heartily and attempts to drag his friend along with him as though it were just as casual as falling into a pool together.
I pour through a crowd of expressionless hosts in shinsaibashi. Here they dawdle, playing with their hair, and staring into window reflections. All Self obsessed and repeating pick up lines in their head. Turning the corner at the end of the street I collide with a wedding party that has just spilled out into the street.
The groom is being held up over the heads of the groomsmen. In the background one goes down on his side and pumps out a fresh stream of vomit as though his stomach were a squeeze bottle. His girlfriend apathetically removes his 五万円 Dolce and Gabbana tie in order to save it from irrepairable digestive damage.
I make it almost to the end of the party when the bride's dad stops me with a painfully drunken smile spread across his impossibly squinting face. "Picture!" He shouts. Unsure of his intentions I find his arm wrapped around my shoulder and Oba-chan squeezed next to me. I look down to see she only reaches my elbow in height, and by the time I look back up my pupils are forced into pinhole size by camera flash. With that the whole episode is over. ありがとう、is yelled by the marching party, and the chanting of the groomsmen slowly fades and echos down the street.
I am left alone once more. Standing still in a windy vacant side alley. It is just me and tumbling scraps of trash. I stop for a moment to open a fresh can of yebisu and ponder the next morning for the old man who just snapped a quick shot with me.
"how much did I drink?..and who the fuck is this gaijin?"
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Public Transport Rage
The streets of Osaka are once again lined with undigested ramen, puréed tako yaki and haggard russian whores nabbing stragglers on their way home from brutal benders with the ubiquitous promise of a "massaji." Meanwhile, the wind chill factor is stealthfully robbing me of my body heat as I struggle to stay warm on a chilly February night in Nishinagahori. My friend the Neon Kani waves a dandy hot red claw at me beckoning me home, but my palette for adventure has yet to be breached.
Gambling on a chance encounter I blow on the dice and roll into a crusty dive bar with a bad choice in decor and an even worse choice in background music. Agnostic Front rattles through blown speakers poorly nailed to the walls as I shout over the chorus for a Kyohou Milk. While I wait for the bartender to pause her game of Tekken, and shout a nasal "irrashaimase", the guy on the barstool next to me makes an intoxicated and ungraceful swing on his chair to face me.
"You english?" He says?
I question myself as to if he means," am I from the UK, or do I speak the english language?" I decide not to pile drive his obviously inebriated cranium and answer with a simple "yes."
"Then, friends?" He asks in non-sequitur fashion which once again leaves me in a quandary of what verbal goal he was actually trying to accomplish.
I decide again to cut him some slack and fork over a smile and a "thumbs up."
He lurches as he slaps my shoulder then orders me a second Kyohou.
I can't complain about that.
The night continues on as my new found nihonjin friend, who looks like a reject from Smap, and wears more gatsby in his hair than the entire band, fights to manuver his mouth around the limited english his alcohol damaged brain still grasps. I in turn share his struggle as I exercise my infantile command of the japanese language.
Although our language barrier is sky high we end up sharing a few laughs and mangled conversations over our attractions to the opposite sex.
Finally, as he stumbles ahead of me out of the bar we continue our chat as we find ourselves headed to the same subway station. Once there we are cattle herded into the cars as weary station workers try their hand at caroling in the last of the bingers before the trains shut down, and all souls are left on lonely streets destined to ride the depressing doily laden seats of a cab home or flop down in a 2 meter capsule.
Our ride is uneventful until a younger salary man to my right loses his balance when the train jerks to a stop at the next station. This would be of no incident if he did not in turn land his elbow into the face of the ojichan next to him who, already disgruntled and drunk, now becomes enraged and drunk. A pathetic, if not childish brawl breaks out between the two, and they begin to tug and pull at each others collars; Both too cowardly to actually land a punch. I keep my mood apathetic while I catch the action out of my peripheral.
That is until I notice a young mother and child seated dangerously close to the action.
I personally don't care about another man's tiff, but with lag time on these two's motor skills and their sensory perception being equal to that of a pile of packing peanuts, I decide to intercede so as to avoid outside injury.
Its a short but slow stroll into the shoulder high heads of the "train raged troglodytes" stepping on each others Oxfords and wrinkling their Armani apparel. With a simple and calm swipe I divide the two with my forearms placing them on opposite sides of the train (width-wise, duh!). At first they are disoriented and confused by what just played out. Still, I can tell they are pondering a return to their juvenile behavior. So I shoot each of them a stern glance I have practiced on my K3 kids who will be graduating from kindergarten this year. Finally, they decide being intercepted by an "unpredictable gaijin" is more than they bargained for tonight, and they both throw in the towel and eventually pass out on their respective sides of the train. Most likely waking up many stops past their destination and forgetting the whole thing even happened.
I turn to laugh with my bar-buddy for the night, but find in a panic he has jumped off on an unplanned stop. The whole incident severely tested the limit of his nerve while slumming it up with a gaijin, and alas he buckled.
I wave a brief adieu to my lost doe-eyed friend as he stares back in a look of betrayal and dismay. The train slowly jerks to life once again and heaves with a sigh as it begins its last chug on the tracks for the night.
"So long, see you again never," I mumble to myself as the iambic pentameter of the train rails resume their role as the soundtrack to my life.
Gambling on a chance encounter I blow on the dice and roll into a crusty dive bar with a bad choice in decor and an even worse choice in background music. Agnostic Front rattles through blown speakers poorly nailed to the walls as I shout over the chorus for a Kyohou Milk. While I wait for the bartender to pause her game of Tekken, and shout a nasal "irrashaimase", the guy on the barstool next to me makes an intoxicated and ungraceful swing on his chair to face me.
"You english?" He says?
I question myself as to if he means," am I from the UK, or do I speak the english language?" I decide not to pile drive his obviously inebriated cranium and answer with a simple "yes."
"Then, friends?" He asks in non-sequitur fashion which once again leaves me in a quandary of what verbal goal he was actually trying to accomplish.
I decide again to cut him some slack and fork over a smile and a "thumbs up."
He lurches as he slaps my shoulder then orders me a second Kyohou.
I can't complain about that.
The night continues on as my new found nihonjin friend, who looks like a reject from Smap, and wears more gatsby in his hair than the entire band, fights to manuver his mouth around the limited english his alcohol damaged brain still grasps. I in turn share his struggle as I exercise my infantile command of the japanese language.
Although our language barrier is sky high we end up sharing a few laughs and mangled conversations over our attractions to the opposite sex.
Finally, as he stumbles ahead of me out of the bar we continue our chat as we find ourselves headed to the same subway station. Once there we are cattle herded into the cars as weary station workers try their hand at caroling in the last of the bingers before the trains shut down, and all souls are left on lonely streets destined to ride the depressing doily laden seats of a cab home or flop down in a 2 meter capsule.
Our ride is uneventful until a younger salary man to my right loses his balance when the train jerks to a stop at the next station. This would be of no incident if he did not in turn land his elbow into the face of the ojichan next to him who, already disgruntled and drunk, now becomes enraged and drunk. A pathetic, if not childish brawl breaks out between the two, and they begin to tug and pull at each others collars; Both too cowardly to actually land a punch. I keep my mood apathetic while I catch the action out of my peripheral.
That is until I notice a young mother and child seated dangerously close to the action.
I personally don't care about another man's tiff, but with lag time on these two's motor skills and their sensory perception being equal to that of a pile of packing peanuts, I decide to intercede so as to avoid outside injury.
Its a short but slow stroll into the shoulder high heads of the "train raged troglodytes" stepping on each others Oxfords and wrinkling their Armani apparel. With a simple and calm swipe I divide the two with my forearms placing them on opposite sides of the train (width-wise, duh!). At first they are disoriented and confused by what just played out. Still, I can tell they are pondering a return to their juvenile behavior. So I shoot each of them a stern glance I have practiced on my K3 kids who will be graduating from kindergarten this year. Finally, they decide being intercepted by an "unpredictable gaijin" is more than they bargained for tonight, and they both throw in the towel and eventually pass out on their respective sides of the train. Most likely waking up many stops past their destination and forgetting the whole thing even happened.
I turn to laugh with my bar-buddy for the night, but find in a panic he has jumped off on an unplanned stop. The whole incident severely tested the limit of his nerve while slumming it up with a gaijin, and alas he buckled.
I wave a brief adieu to my lost doe-eyed friend as he stares back in a look of betrayal and dismay. The train slowly jerks to life once again and heaves with a sigh as it begins its last chug on the tracks for the night.
"So long, see you again never," I mumble to myself as the iambic pentameter of the train rails resume their role as the soundtrack to my life.
English and the Big Red Dot
The land of the rising sun is a pretty safe place when it comes to crime. Even the areas natives label as "dangerous" are laughably so in comparison with the states. Still, life in japan is not a constant dandy ride on the gravy train. Just ask the thousands of gaijin who ended up dead broke with nova or who are still foolishly hanging by a thread with newest corporate demon, G. Comm. Survival in japan goes beyond just having steady work and a minimal grasp of the langauge, and today I hope to enlighten those who maybe visiting or perhaps hoping to be gainfully employed in the big red dot.
Tip #1: Books written in your native country about japan are mostly obsolete and absurd.
No one cares if you point with your chopsticks, mix the wasabe with the soy sauce, or grab food with the wrong side of your hashi. This might be a concern if you are breaking bread with an oldschool jiijii conservative with a nationalistic head wrap still worshiping the emporer like a god. But the last time I checked it was 2008 and japan, just like other countries, is moving on. This means almost 90% of the etiquette advice you read in books like "japanese for dummies" is exactly that.
Tip #2: Learn japanese from people your own age.
When I first came to japan I thought I would just pick up a few japanese classes where ever they were offered and sound like a native speaker in no time. WRONG! My first lessons were from a nice old lady who, unbeknownst to me, taught how to speak in ultra formal settings. How well did that work out? Well lets just say I ended up sounding like a peasent begging for mercy beneath the blade of samurai in the edo period when I was merely attempting to order a burger at McDonalds.
Tip #3: All japanese are not super intellectual study-a-holics.
I once had to teach a lesson on lying in english. It was suppose to be a humorous lesson that showed a few examples of lies in my native langauge. The examples given where profusely obvious lies that would allow the students to call me out on my bluff. I started off with the most detectable lie I could..."This is a picture of the Eiffel Tower. It is located in Brazil." My students age 40-53 responded with great surprise and began to hastily take notes on the blatant lie I had just told them. I waited for someone to point out my error, but instead found out later that none of them had heard of the Eiffel tower and instead had taken my lie as a geographical fact. It was one of the longest lessons of my life.
Tip #1: Books written in your native country about japan are mostly obsolete and absurd.
No one cares if you point with your chopsticks, mix the wasabe with the soy sauce, or grab food with the wrong side of your hashi. This might be a concern if you are breaking bread with an oldschool jiijii conservative with a nationalistic head wrap still worshiping the emporer like a god. But the last time I checked it was 2008 and japan, just like other countries, is moving on. This means almost 90% of the etiquette advice you read in books like "japanese for dummies" is exactly that.
Tip #2: Learn japanese from people your own age.
When I first came to japan I thought I would just pick up a few japanese classes where ever they were offered and sound like a native speaker in no time. WRONG! My first lessons were from a nice old lady who, unbeknownst to me, taught how to speak in ultra formal settings. How well did that work out? Well lets just say I ended up sounding like a peasent begging for mercy beneath the blade of samurai in the edo period when I was merely attempting to order a burger at McDonalds.
Tip #3: All japanese are not super intellectual study-a-holics.
I once had to teach a lesson on lying in english. It was suppose to be a humorous lesson that showed a few examples of lies in my native langauge. The examples given where profusely obvious lies that would allow the students to call me out on my bluff. I started off with the most detectable lie I could..."This is a picture of the Eiffel Tower. It is located in Brazil." My students age 40-53 responded with great surprise and began to hastily take notes on the blatant lie I had just told them. I waited for someone to point out my error, but instead found out later that none of them had heard of the Eiffel tower and instead had taken my lie as a geographical fact. It was one of the longest lessons of my life.
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