Fun With Nagoya

Flowers For A Pollen-Free Wedding

2006-02-21T00:24:00.000+09:00

Team America Saves The Day

2006-01-30T14:03:00.000+09:00

Saturday was a beautiful day, so my fiance and I decided we would enjoy the fresh, high-50s air by walking to the local Blockbuster, renting a movie, and holing ourselves up in our dark apartment for the rest of the afternoon.

My fiance and I have somewhat different tastes when it comes to movies. I prefer historical human dramas with a hint of tragedy. He prefers shoot 'em ups. Saturday was a charmed day, however, because we both instantly seized upon the same movie. Team America: World Police satisfied both of our needs. Minus the history and human bits, but whatevs.

It turned out the South Park duo had more to offer than laughter, tears, and ambivalent feelings toward the United States. They found my mystery celebrity. Not only is Tim Robbins, according to Matt Stone and Trey Parker, an annoying liberal actor who is totally down with Kim John Il, but he is also the guy who was strolling down fifth avenue a couple of weeks ago. OK, so maybe I have actually seen some of the movies he's been in, but come on, Mystic River? Nobody's going to remember you from that

Yesterday I saw Al Sharpton in a coffee shop. I wasn't in the coffee shop too, but I was on the sidewalk outside and someone walking by said, "hey, that's Al Sharpton!" And so I looked. So I don't know if it counts as a real sighting if someone else sights them first. I guess I'm still kinda new at this thing. But oh how the world is small and full of celebrities.

What Celebrity Did I See Yesterday?

2006-01-14T02:13:00.000+09:00

Living in New York, I am constantly spotting the stars. I am like a magnet for celebrities. So far, I have rubbed shoulders with Penn from Penn and Teller, Ed Bradley, and the entire cast of The Daily Show (they're all cuter in person). Yesterday, however, I experienced my biggest celebrity sighting yet. This guy is no TV star — we're talking movie star. Strutting down fifth avenue, this guy was tall, had gray hair but a youthful, slightly rodent-looking face, and he was attempting to blend in with a black trench coat.

I was completely star-struck, but I played it cool, only glancing in his direction a couple of times while we were both stopped at a crosswalk. Imagine — I was stuck at the same crosswalk as he! We were totally sharing a crosswalk.

The thing is, as familiar as this movie star’s face was, as intimately as I felt I knew him from gazing up at his flattened image on the silver screen, I have no idea who he was. I've grilled my fiancé, slept on it, showered on it, and I still haven’t got a clue. No idea what movies he’s been in. So he’s one of those celebrities, like Alec Baldwin, who I know like my next door neighbor, but I couldn’t tell you a single thing about his acting career or degree of separation from Kevin Bacon. Come to think of it, what has Kevin Bacon been in that I’ve actually seen? Wait — no... yes... Footloose.

OK, so you’ve got all the facts: graying hair, rodent-like features, tall, and somewhere between big star and mega star. Any names, of course, I will do a Google image search on, and determine if it's him. Please help it’s driving me crazy!

Getting Bored

2005-10-22T03:36:00.000+09:00

Being a homemaker isn't easy. There's only so much online shopping a girl can do every day, and I've got to do something about the one side of the couch that's beginning to sag. Those mini packs of candy corn are not about to eat themselves, either.

Despite my harried state of inactivity, yesterday I decided it was time to get out of the house. Broadway is not but three or four blocks away, and while I'm totally over that scene, I haven't yet seen an actual Broadway show since moving here. Unfortunately, a friend who was eager to prey on my inexperience and boredom convinced me to get tickets to see this show:

(This is where I would have inserted an image of the poster for the new Broadway musical In My Life, which shows two people in an embrace, surrounded by giant lemons. But it seems that the musical is so bad, it is impossible to find an image of it on the web, except for the one on this page, which sadly is not a copyable file.)

Sure, the poster is kind of lame and cute, like a harmless Benny and Joon knockoff, but just listen to the description, also from the above linked site:

In the new musical In My Life, a musician with Tourette's syndrome and a journalist with obsessive compulsive disorder meet cute at a grocery store - with some help from above - and begin an unlikely romance that proves that life's greatest affliction is the one they share - true love.

Actually, after reading this, I was more than ready to pay 30 bucks to see it on opening night. Hell, I would even be willing to pay 40. But not the 76 dollars that the anal man at the box office was insisting was the cheapest price on opening night. I wanted to say to him, "did you see the posters they've got plastered all over this theater?" (I assumed this sensible-looking man had nothing to do with the production himself.) "You're better than this, ticket-man."

But he didn't look so eager for a conversation, and I almost never engage in unnecesary talk with strangers, so I just left without getting tickets. My friend was OK with that, but we might give it another try before the show closes any moment now.

Then I walked down the street while talking on my cell phone, and almost ran smack into the Naked Cowboy's guitar.

What a day!

"Joint After Joint!"

2005-10-14T04:05:00.000+09:00

After being here for a week and a half, I have come to realize that, contrary to everything my television has ever taught me, nothing really goes on in New York. CSI: New York? Totally filmed in Los Angeles. And the ratings aren't that great, anyway.

It's only now that I've learned that my church-going, strip-mall-loving hometown in Oklahoma has really been where the action is all along. If nothing else, my brief stopover in Owasso, Oklahoma, a couple of weeks ago yielded a fresh crop of police logs that I've spent tens of minutes poring over. They're like a snapshot of daily life in the town I grew up in, the town that my parents still dream of leaving. You can't make up this kind of quaintness.

And so today I offer the best of the police logs, printed, word for word, I swear to God, in the Owasso Reporter on Thursday, September 29, 2005.

Incidents

Wednesday, Sept. 21
10:16 p.m. — Check person, 12900 blk E 86 St N. In football stadium, cutting down trees east of stadium, north-east corner. Handled, everything quiet, people at stadium doing construction.

Thursday, Sept. 22
2:25 p.m. — Accident no injury, 12700 blk E 86 St N. Hit a bail of hay this morning. Report.

4:47 p.m. — Check person, 12900 blk E 86 St N. Kids sitting there passing joint after joint around. Checked area, unable to locate.

Friday, Sept. 23
9:19 a.m. — Animal control other, 200 blk E Broadway St. Wanting to shoot a skunk.

5:37 p.m. — Check vehicle, E 98 St N at 138 E Ave. In front of address, he is waiting to mow the lawn but has no equipment to mow with. Handled.

7:05 p.m. — Check hazard other, 100 blk W 2 Ave. ATM has been spitting out money. Caller will be there in 10 minutes. Handled.

7:13 p.m. — Check hazard other, 12900 blk E 86 St N. Advised that the ATM spitting out money is on 86.

10:18 p.m. — Vandal report all, 8800 blk N 129 E Ave. South end of parking lot, black Honda Passport, cement block in windshield. Report.

Saturday, Sept. 24
6:50 p.m. — Check person, 12600 blk E 86 St N. Person puking at the movie theater. Handled.

9:42 p.m. — Juvenile nuisance/truant/other, 12900 blk E 86 St. N. Run juvies out of parking lot. Handled.

11:23 p.m. — Traffic vehicle stop, US 169 at 116. Officer advised OK. Handled, asleep.

Sunday, Sept. 25
7:34 p.m. — Harass threats, 12800 blk E 86 St N. person being harassed. Officer advised this is the same people we have be dealing with, one guy drove through the parking lot and pointed at him. That is it, nothing illegal. Handled.

Do I Have A Job Yet?

2005-10-12T04:33:00.000+09:00

As promised, an exciting new feature for Fun With Nagoya: New York Edition. Here goes nothing!

Do I have a job yet?

No.

I'll be honest — that wasn't as exciting as I thought it would be. I do, however, have an occupation as of yesterday.

My fiance and I decided that it was time to start acting like adults and open a joint checking account. Our "personal banking consultant" was Veronica, a less-than-sassy middle-aged woman who was either Asian or wore too much makeup.

As Veronica handed my fiance and me our personal information forms, she said, "both of you have jobs, right?" I didn't say anything, but I wondered if we would be denied a "totally free" checking account if I admitted to being unemployed. I considered writing "homemaker" in the blank under "occupation" and my fiance's name under "employer." I didn't think he would find that very funny, so I just left the blanks as is.

When we passed back our completed forms, Veronica scanned them, and stopped in the middle of my form.

"I'm currently looking for a job," I admitted, a little anxiously. "I've got some great leads, and as soon as I catch up from my jetlag—"

Without skipping a beat, Veronica nodded and wrote "home maker" down, pronouncing the words clearly as she wrote them. Home. Maker.

So it's official. I have a lot of catching up to do.

Welcome Back

2005-10-07T03:39:00.000+09:00

So now, nearly three weeks after my last post, I have finally made my triumphant return to "the states." Wow that was a long boat ride. And a lot of live chickens.

My new post-Japan life is already full of surprises. My sister, who recently moved to Indianapolis, met David Letterman's mom about a month ago. And now here I am, living in the same city where Dave himself lives and works. It's so crazy I could die.

If you're wondering, yes, the blog name will stay the same, only now it has a new cleverness that I've been waiting months to achieve. The material will change somewhat, however: whereas it was mildly interesting for me to talk about the wacky fads and fashions in Japan while I was living there, to continue to do so from New York would just be lame to no end.

So to keep you reading faithfully, I have come up with a number of exciting new features for the coming months that take advantage of my new locale:

•What's That Smell?
•New New York Fashion Trends
•Am I Hired?
•You Paid Too Much for that Soda
•I Found a Bathroom!

And more. Plus, occasional sarcastic nods to my hometown back in Oklahoma and —why not— that lovably kooky Japan.

So stay tuned, and don't forget to check back for continual, non- inexcusably late posts from yours truly.

Japan Is Still Adorable

2005-09-10T20:40:00.000+09:00

Overheard whle waiting in line to buy popcorn on the opening day of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (yes, it just now started playing here):

Babyfaced 25-Year-Old Girl No. 1: So, Is Charlie the little boy or Johnny Depp?

Babyfaced 25-Year-Old Girl No. 2: Uh... I think it's the boy.

Girl No. 1: But Johnny Depp is so famous.

Girl No. 2: Yeah, I really like Johnny Depp.

Try Us Over The "Ether"!

2005-09-07T23:49:00.000+09:00

Tonight it finally hit me that I'm moving out of my little Japanese apartment: my TV is gone. It had had no choice but to go today, the day of the week that Fuji TV broadcasts its ratings darling Spring of Trivia. I'm not really that sad to miss it on my last week in Japan; some the trivia has been a stretch recently, like last week's lame "flamingos are pink... only because the food zoos give them is pink!!" Useless "talento" Becky squealed with all her might at that one, but I could tell it was a little forced.

So with no J-TV to occupy myself with this evening, I turned to going for a walk, reading books, gorging myself on the expensive grapes that I finally broke down for, and finally, listening to NPR's 24-hour program stream. (I get internet up to the day I leave, thank god.)

You have to be pretty desperate to go for the stream. All of NPR's shows (at least all that would ever appear on the stream) can be listened to individually on the NPR website, and I hear that NPR has more or less jumped on the all-too-welcoming podcast bandwagon as well, but still the stream persists. Sure, the quality is more pixel-y, the schedule is wonderfully vague, and the programming is often older than what is available on other parts of the site. But for the lazy person who is not too lazy to find the NPR website, have the proper player downloaded, turn on her computer's sound, and wait for the download to load or whatever, the stream is the way to go.

You never know what daypart or day you're jumping into when you go for the stream. It may be last Thursday's Talk of the Nation, yesterday morning's Morning Edition, or something timeless but boring nevertheless. The stream is where I go after I've listened to the latest Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me! and Terry Gross' most recent probing of a dead rapper's childhood, and I have completely lost any public radio- related will. Just give me soothing voices being all nuanced about something.

Most people who go for the stream have a good reason to do so. Or at least, they have a good reason not to be listening to NPR over the radio. For example, someone might be stranded in Japan. On a related note, the absolute cutest thing about the stream is the constant pleas for listeners to switch to the radio waves. "Find your local NPR radio station," one of the news hosts begs every half hour. The "radio," you say? Why, my cousin Ralphie just got him one of those in St. Louis, Missouri!

Don't worry, NPR — as soon as I have a steady job and a local radio station, you will be able to guilt me with as many semi-annual fund drives as you like.

Reason No. 7: Tommy's Gifts

2005-09-06T20:45:00.000+09:00

Tommy, my emotionally needy 40-something English student, has made it a point to find ways to make me uncomfortable over the past year. A few of his big successes have been: calling me a "machine" (because I always appear relatively cheerful), telling me how "unfortunate" it is for him that he's never cheated on his wife, and imploring me, "what kind of relationship do we have?"

The cherry on top of this jumbo sundae of unwanted attention has been the gifts that Tommy has chosen to lavish on me, purely out of the "traditional Japanese custom of the omiyage souvenir," of course. From Tommy's travels over the past few months, I have reluctantly recieved a scented fan (eh), fried bean cakes (yuck), lavender-flavored chocolate (really, really yuck), and green tea rice sweets (not bad). I was half-expecting a framed picture of himself (the most inappropriate thing I could come up with) for my going-away present, but instead, Tommy outdid himself in a different way entirely.

To the right you see the pair of chopsticks that Tommy handed over on our last dinner together. ("Is this really the last time we can meet this week?" I was asked about five billion times over the course of three hours.) At first glance, the brownish spots look kind of like the gold flecks you sometimes see in Japanese paper, right? That's what I first thought, too. But actually (and you'll have to take my word for this), the brown is actually grubby rusty grodiness that the metallic paper developed after years sitting under Tommy's sink. I'm not going to jump to any re-gifting conclusions, but ew. To keep my serene face, while I was "admiring" these chopsticks that were as old as Edo itself, I just kept imagining myself gently placing them into my "burnables" garbage bag. (Or would these be non-burnables? Nah, let's burn em!)

Goodbye, Tommy. You would have been a reason to leave Japan, but then you also provided 25% of the material for this blog to date. Instead, I will run away in horror from all of the creepy things you have foisted upon me. Good luck with the priesthood!

Reason No. 6: Prices

2005-09-02T19:56:00.000+09:00

This may sound like an easy one, but I think I'm generally well adjusted to high prices in Japan. Fruit costs more per pound than gold here (my local grocer was selling a small bunch of grapes recently for nine bucks), so I just cut that minor food pyramid level out of my diet. Similarly, a potted orchid plant runs for about the equivalent of 100 dollars, so I decorate my apartment with sunflowers instead.

But today, at the Nagoya Maruzen book store of all places, I experienced my long overdue "what the @*$& am I doing here?!" moment. I had been searching for The New Yorker for 11 and a half months with no success. I haven't liked being without it for so long, because it is fun to read and reading it makes me feel smarter than most everyone else. Today, I happened to glance at the English magazine rack in the dark "English books" corner, and there it was. Three copies of the slim early September issue were just lying there, right next to GQ and Wired. My knees weakened instantly as I thought about that long flight home...

Then I looked at the price. 15 dollars.

Japan really doesn't have a soul.

Judy Garland Would Not Be Pleased

2005-08-30T23:26:00.000+09:00

It finally arrived last week — the day that I was talked into going to the Aichi World Expo. It was pretty much the gratuitous line-fest that I had imagined: I had to wait 15 minutes to get on the "special electromagnetic train" (it was a train, and crowded to boot) to get to the expo site, an hour to get my bag rummaged through to get through the gates, 15 minutes for the Turkey pavilion, another hour for Austria (whose only attraction was literally a giant block of ice), 20 minutes for the restroom, 30 minutes to get into a Belgian "restaurant," 10 minutes to pay my check at the Belgian "restaurant," etc.

Because I knew going into the 95-degree day that it would do no good to fume over waiting everywhere so much, I decided to concentrate on finding things that I didn't have to stand in line to enjoy. These were:

1. the Yemen pavilion
2. nausea

Technically, no. 2 doesn't count, because I didn't really enjoy it. Yemen, on the other hand, was completely worth not waiting for.

So... What Happened On Commercial Day?

2005-08-30T00:21:00.000+09:00

Good question. The answer is a disappointing Absolutely Nothing. The little monkey was nowhere in sight, and instead Fuji TV gave us two hours of Beat Takeshi acting like a loon. WTF, Japan?

Thanks Tom (And Mom)!

2005-08-27T23:58:00.000+09:00

I give Japan more attention than it deserves on this blog. We all know how hard it is to break off an unhealthy relationship, but I really am sort of trying. Actually, I have been scanning the online version of my hometown newspaper every week for some time now for "news" that I can treat with sarcasm here, but that has only made me realize that Owasso, Oklahoma is just one of those border-line suburbs — not interesting enough to be scandalous, and not boring enough to be adorable. Supernatural small-town incidents a la Northern Exposure are, much to my dismay, few and far between.

But then my mom, sensing my dramedy-deprived dismay from the other side of the world, sent me a gentle reminder that all I had remembered about my home state really was true. I just had to read the New York Times.

And now, dear readers, from the senator who objected to the broadcasting of Schindler's List on NBC because all those naked dehumanized bodies lying in heaps were just too damn sexy for him, another reminder of why you get that reflexive icky feeling whenever someone mentions Oklahoma.

Yes, I'll Have Another Beer Please

2005-08-25T02:10:00.000+09:00

Absolutely true-to-the-letter comments made by the two Europeans I had dinner with tonight, whom I have been trying to avoid for the better part of six months but who managed to wrangle me into one last sushi meal before we go our separate ways:

"I am so sad, because today was Ukrainian day at the Aichi Expo, but we overslept and couldn't make it!"

"What, you don't eat fish? I could have sworn you ate fish! I really thought you could eat fish. Well, they have a seafood salad here."

"Chinese people are just so... rigid in their thinking. All they care about is money.... I don't know, maybe I would have had a different experience in China if I could speak Chinese. But I'm never going back."

"Anna, I can just see you... on the Weather Channel!"

"Japan has the perfect society."

"We're going to the Ukraine in the fall, but then who knows where we'll end up — we might even be your neighbors in New York!"

"Sea chicken? Is tuna? No, I don't think that's correct."

"OK, so maybe there were non-native Japanese instructors where you went to school, but I'm talking about famous universities in Britain! It will be impossible for me to get a position in one of those."

"I have the perfect idea for a new internet business venture."

"We are definitely coming to your wedding, Anna. We would not miss it for the world!"

Another Tommy Detail I Just Remembered

2005-08-23T20:36:00.000+09:00

Amazingly, my lonely, middle-aged English student has a rich family history that has a tendency to reflect the national mood at any given moment. Among other things, Tommy's father was a kamikaze pilot during World War II. Or, at least he was trained to be one. "But," says Tommy on more than one occasion, "fortunately or unfortunately, my father's orders to carry out his mission were cancelled before he got off the ground."

How half-unfortunate that Tommy's dad didn't get to kill himself and lots of other people before Tommy was born!

This memory was triggered by news of Ishihara Shintaro's latest venture into popularizing suicide bombing among impressionable Japanese youths. They'll come for the popcorn, but will they stay for the creepy nationalist indoctrination?

Breaking Tommy News

2005-08-23T00:23:00.000+09:00

Tommy — yes, that Tommy — wants to be a Buddhist priest when he grows up. Or when he retires. You know, whichever comes first. Why? "Because I don't care about material things and because I worry a lot." Sounds like he's halfway there already.

He also likes the badass shaved head. Oh, and the whole self-mummification thing sounded fun to try too.

Who wouldn't want to be a Buddhist priest?

Commercial Day

2005-08-19T23:04:00.000+09:00

Japan is madly in love with advertising. TV shows generally end around a quarter before the hour, with the next 15 minutes taken up by solid commercials. Sounds like a recipe for not getting your precious sponsors' ads watched, but the system certainly works on me. The ads are usually just as entertaining as the programs, and by that I'm not knocking the gloriously talentless "talento" shows. Even McDonald's ads are better here.

Next to advertising, Japan loves self-conscious advertising. Half of the ad campaigns in Japan include the (English) word "campaign" as part of their campaign. (An ad in a subway car might read: "Button Soda: Summer Campaign!") I've already seen one life-affirming NHK special on a television commercial production company (the NHK man really is brilliant, I've decided), and my favorite chain bookstore Village Vanguard stocks a very hip monthly magazine (plus back issues for collectors) all about the latest ad campaigns, complete with interviews and pages of screen shots.

And now there are commercials popping up on Fuji TV for... commercials! August 28, we are told by a half-monkey half-television set character, is going to be "Commercial Day."

I'm still not so sure what Commercial Day is going to be all about, but the ecstatic monkey (whose name is Komasaru, btw) gives me the impression that it's going be a blast. Japanese "Millionaire" host Mino Monta is even getting in on the fun with commercials, or "CM"s, as they're known here. The "CM Campaign for CMs" has its own supercute website, of course, where we can learn about commercials in general, and the commercials for Commercial Day in particular. According to the website, Commercial Day was created "to introduce the many charms of television commercials." Japanese TV, you are a genius in more ways than one.

I've cancelled my usual crepe outing for the 28th of this month, so expect a complete update here on this perfectly Japanese phenomenon.

Reason No. 5: The Samba That Wasn't

2005-08-17T00:30:00.000+09:00

Another Japanese holiday has just passed, this one a little less creepy than most.

As far as I can tell without doing any actual research, Obon is the holiday for the dead that involves inviting deceased ancestors to the home for an evening of revelry and dancing. And it sees more trends than Paris Hilton's doggie door.

This year, the must-know Obon dance was the "Matsuken Samba," a, shall we say, "postmodern" little ditty that could only have been invented in Japan. That picture of suave Ken Matsudaira over on the left says pretty much everything. You've got the old-school chonmage hairdo. You've got the blinged-up yukata getup. And you've got — wait for it — samba. (Aren't you glad I made you wait for it? Even though you probably knew what it was going to be?)

The "Matsuken Samba" has been around for about a year, appearing mostly at multi-generational holiday activities that require a distraction from the rampant alcoholism. Jidaigeki star Ken Matsudaira himself was judged "totally hot" by lonely women having cherry-blossom-viewing parties who were interviewed on TV last spring. And Matsuken is back for Obon, with a samba for us all.

I don't know anything about samba, but I do know that it does not typically involve Japanese folks dressed up in their summer yukata (the lazy man's kimono) dancing in a circle around a big drum. The "samba" itself is simple: wave your arms around, clap a little, and try to do what the person in front of you is doing. Don't worry that the repetition of the movements don't fit the musical phrasing one bit — that's part of the Obon tradition! Want more "Matsuken Samba?" You're in luck! It's slated to be played six times (I'm not exaggerating) before the night is over!

Surely, you're thinking, this harmless "Matsuken Samba" is no reason to leave Japan? Well, I would agree with you, but it's pretty annoying how every person who made it to the Obon dances this year thinks she can do the samba now. Also, my mom said she liked the "Reasons" theme, and I'm a sucker for Mom.

The Other Anna

2005-08-11T21:43:00.000+09:00

I have an unusual last name. I'm pretty sure I could name all of the people with my last name who are living in the United States, because they're my dad's brother and his kids. (Actually, I seem to remember one other guy in Missouri or something who is distantly related, but I hear he's kind of weird.)

All the other people with my name live in parts of Europe that haven't been outfitted with the internet yet. Or so I thought.

Today I got an email forwarded to me from a publication at my alma mater. Apparently one of these European people with my last name found his way onto the internet, and he immediately did what most people do the first time they are faced with the possibilities offered by the world wide web: he googled everyone he knew.

The cute but creepy result is as follows:

dear [publication] team,
my name is matthias from germany and i have a toughter (8 years old) her name is Anna [H.]. This is the same name if the people have in your reports. It is very interesting to see, that a wife have the same name as my toughter. [H.] is a seldom name. Can i have a eMail -adress from Anna [H.]? I want to contact her. Sorry for my bad english. I hope you
understand my words.
Best regards Matthias [H.]

First of all, why is this guy so sure that I am a wife? (I am very much not a wife.) The second of my concerns is figuring out what I would be expected to say to the father of this other Anna. I bet I won't ever hear from Anna herself. She's probably mortified that her dad sent this email at all. Sounds like something my dad would do, so this email will likely get forwarded again for him to deal with.

I'll admit that curiosity got the better of me while writing this post, and I found the emailer's homepage. It's all in German, so lord knows what embarrassing "rants" this guy is attaching to my last name. His three photos feature a house, a dog, and a close-up of a pair of rollerblades.

Wherever you are, other Anna, just remember not to let your dad put a photo of you up on his page. That would mean robbing both of us of our biggest blessing: never getting confused with anyone else in a google search. (Also, no blogs or other mentions on the internet. Thanks!)

Here's An Idea

2005-08-09T21:58:00.000+09:00

Let's not put on a magic show that uses fire in the Gas Pavilion at the Aichi World Expo. Something might go wrong.

Reason No. 4: You Have This In America Too?!?

2005-08-09T01:17:00.000+09:00

This past Saturday was intense in Japan, culturally speaking. Not only was it a big weekend for fireworks displays, but it was also the 60th anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima. My fiance tried to point out the incongruence of a day to remember a tragedy of war with big shiny blasts in the air, but really it was more a matter of the way the dates fell this year. And besides, over 43% of the creepy foreigners who read Japan Today voted that yes, they're totally sick of all the weepy Hiroshima and Nagasaki commemorations. Light those rockets!

Anyway, the fireworks were fun. But fun has a price. The cute-but-annoying question that everyone I ran into that day had ready to ask me was: "do you have fireworks in America too?"

Did Stella get her groove back? The answer is yes, but then my "gaijin as educator" side would always get the best of me, and I would have to qualify my response with "but really just once a year, on our independence day. Sometimes on New Years too." Then my companion would blink, then say "Just once? That's too bad."

The nerve! I mean geez, is there anything more American than fireworks? Maybe you could make a case for fortune cookies, but that is neither here nor there. My point is that the rest of the world still has a lot to learn about the U.S.

Other things my J-friends have been shocked to hear that we also have in America:

scarecrows
Yankees
kites
Valentine's Day
haunted houses
snow
Japanese people

You're just not as unique as you think, small island nation.

Reason No. 3: Foreigners

2005-08-06T02:17:00.000+09:00

What better reason to get out of Japan than to avoid all the Americans? I've spent an embarrassing amount of energy this year trying to hide from people who latched onto me because I'm white like them and that means we have something in common. I know I sound like your favorite high school snob, but next time you find yourself in a major bookstore chain, just wander over to the kids camped out in the recently added MANGA/ANIME section. Sure, they seem like the cute kind of otaku at first, but just imaging having lunch with one of them. In Japan.

There are other types of Westerners who come to Japan. There are the sleazy kind, who weren't accepted into the JET program, so they just sorta came anyway, 'cuz they just had to find out what it's like to be popular with the ladies. Unfortunately, these guys' dreams often come true, and then they end up becoming gaijin celebrities years later.

Then there's the European kind of foreigners, who don't seem to have a good reason to be here, but they're all unbearably annoying nevertheless. You begin thinking, "God, if all Europeans are like this, then maybe it's a good thing that I chose to go to Japan." But the thing is, I'm pretty sure that most Europeans aren't like that. Just the ones who decide one day that they're interested in seeing "the Orient" and bringing their unique European culture to it. Ooh! Did I hear someone say they is to be an international festival? Where can I sign up??

There's a good reason that very few Western women make it to Japan, and that reason is Japanese men. I don't actually know that many foreign women living in Japan right now, but every time I see one, I think, "wow, there must be something really wrong with her." These mysterious ladies come in all kinds, but I usually decide that a particular woman is a self-loathing anime freak, European, or has Asperger's.

As for myself, I was just tricked into coming... twice.

Reason No. 2

2005-08-04T23:18:00.000+09:00

After earthquakes, my next best reason for leaving Japan has got to be shoe-related. I don't have a size problem, but I do have a problem with wasting hours of my ever-shortening life searching for a wearable pair of sandals among the heaps ugly, ugly blister contraptions that every Japanese girl is in love with this summer.

We think of Japanese fashion as modern, cutting-edge, and vaguely Comme Des Garcons-like. I could deal with foot-high black S&M-inspired platforms. But no. This year tacky and uncomfortable is the new clunky and dangerous in Japan.*

If all else fails, I say, just give me another pair of boring black flats. (That's what I came with, but they quit after three straight months of wearing, and the rainy season made them smell like death.) But at the moment, if it doesn't feature impossibly high ankle breaking heels and razor-sharp strappie-straps, it's for rich old ladies and costs more than my grant can cover. What do all the Japanese girls do in those expensive torture clamps, you ask? Why, everything you and I would only do if we were wearing "good walking shoes": visit a temple with 200+ ancient, crumbling steps, work all day standing at a cash register, and run a cross-country race.

The compromise that I settled on last week, as I shuffled around Nagoya's underground shopping area in my half-broken sandals that have been attracting scavengers lately, was high, and strappy, and black. So at least when I'm tripping all over myself for the rest of the summer, I won't run the risk of searing my eyes out if I happen to glance down.

* The shoes pictured are not Japanese. Just imagine them even more spangly and uncomfortable-looking, and you get the idea.

NYT Gets "Naughty"

2005-08-04T11:24:00.000+09:00

This was the featured image that greeted me this morning when I opened the New York Times online. I was a little perplexed. When I read the caption, I was thoroughly convinced that I was looking at a drawing of aging men arranged in some kind of bizarre group sex position:

Gilbert and George's Mischief
For more than three decades, the artists Gilbert and George have made a profession out of being naughty.

Does this not look thoroughly kinky at first glance? It gets less interesting if you enlarge the image and read the boring article.

Reason No. 1

2005-08-04T02:47:00.000+09:00

I leave Japan in a little over a month. Just so I don't cry too much at the airport, National Geographic gives me reason no. 1 for getting out now: to avoid getting sucked into the Earth's mantle. Good luck with that, everyone else!

So far, my experience with earthquakes in Nagoya has been relatively tame. Often in the evenings, I hear a squeaky rumble and feel a slight shaking, and it never fails to send me into a panic. But so far, it's always just been my drunken neighbor stumbling into his bathtub.

Blog Names I Totally Would Have Used

2005-08-02T23:48:00.000+09:00

If Someone Else Hadn't Taken Them First:

this aint your life it's mine
Because people are constantly mistaking my thoughts and actions for their own.

My Thoughts And Ideas
This blog was started by the same guy of this aint your life it's mine fame, after he began a prozac regimen and got all boring.

One writer's rambles ...
Sure, everyone with a blog is a "writer," but who wants their blog to be called The Other Writer's Rambles? Not me!

POLITICALLY CORRECT
Ooh — I bet this blog title could be used ironically, or something.

The Franklin Project
Before Fun With Nagoya was born, I envisioned a blog devoted to my research on Benjamin Franklin. It would be called The Franklin Project. But when I discovered that the name was already taken, and by a crappy indie band from West Virginia to boot, I lost all respect for my scholarship.

Meanie
My stuffed dragon named Meanie also wanted to start his own blog, all in an incoherent language that is only occasionally interpreted by me, his "mom." That is, until he found the other Meanie's blog and realized what a stupid idea it is.

Hungary 2005
What a great name for a blog! That is, until it's 2006 — d'oh!

nicolas' blog
So that no one will ever mistake this web page for professional journalism. No, wait— nicolas' blog is actually all one big string of ads! I guess this Nicolas is even more clever than I thought.

Asia
Like Fun With Nagoya, except less specific. Also, more interested in advertising things than FWN.

Updated ... maybe
This blog title is virtually guaranteed to keep readers on their toes.

Go Away, Please.
I also haven't yet figured out how to make my blog not public.

A Tucson Story

2005-07-30T01:41:00.000+09:00

Another Friday, another 20,000-yen day trip to Tokyo to see a movie. My poor planning landed me in the middle seat both ways on the bullet train, squeezed between salary men of varying ages and booze-y smells.

The older businessman to my left on my return trip was feeling talky after he got two big-sized Kirin beers in him. The conversation in English that he more or less forced upon me was a familiar one, with me admitting minimal details about myself, and him giving me his take on 500 years of Japanese history, his life raising kids in the U.S., what his kids are doing now, what their kids are doing now, and so on.

But then he told me a tale that raised the hair on the back of my neck. It's the kind of story that makes you rethink all those times that you rebuffed the conversation attempts of the boring-looking person sitting next to you on a 2-hour flight. As cliched as it is, every man really does have a story. I don't know if I can do this one justice, but I will try to relate it anyway:

Once, he was staying in Tucson on business. His company put him up in a La Quinta, but he wasn't very satisfied with the place. It wasn't terrible; it just wasn't that nice. He decided that he would find his own hotel by himself. So he got out a phonebook to find something a little pricier. Tucson is a pretty small city, or at least it was when he was last there, so there weren't many options, but he came upon a hotel a little out of the way that had a considerably higher room rate than the La Quinta. This new place (he couldn't recall the name) was a little farther away from the airport, but he decided that the luxury would be worth the distance. So he finds the hotel, and gets a room. But as it turns out, the room he reserved wasn't nicer at all — it was just a big suite, with several crappy rooms.

"It was a more of a family-type hotel," the businessman said.

And then I said, "Wow. That's too bad."

Indoya

2005-07-26T22:35:00.000+09:00

According to the "occupation" options listed on the comment slips at my favorite Indian restaurant, if you are Japanese, you are doing one of these for a living:

Company Employee
Freeter*
Housewife
Student
Other

My favorite Indian restaurant in Nagoya is, by the way, Indoya. It's nothing fancy, with a soapless restroom that you have to get a key for after 6 p.m. and always the same 20-minute Bollywood song playing over the speakers. (The song was what inspired my fiance to fill out a comment slip last time, right before he entered a state of unresponsiveness.) But the nice sari-clad Japanese lady who waits on the tables always gives us coupons at the end of our meal (we always forget to bring them the next time, but still), and the toilet key ring is delightfully Disney-themed, giving the place a real homey feel.

Name me a Japanese city or ward of Tokyo, and I'll name you the Indian restaurant that I went to there. Indian quickly became my go-to ethnic food in this meat-lovin' country, where a "vegetable salad" is no guarantee of a vegetarian meal. The nan is generally better than what I've had in the U.S. As an added bonus, Indian restaurants in Japan are always part zoo, with the surly nan-baking man showcased in, well, a kind of showy glass case.

*Calling yourself a freeter means that you have decided to take a series of unfulfilling part-time jobs in order to support your drinking and/or Louis Vuitton habit. (It's currently the preferred occupation of an increasingly broader segment of the population in Japan.)

Soon They'll Stop Dying Altogether

2005-07-23T00:10:00.000+09:00

The Ministry of Health, Labour, and Welfare in Japan just reported that the average Japanese life span has climbed to its oldest, most stooped over, knee sock-wearing age ever. According to this article on Asahi Times online, the average life span for Japanese women in 2004 reached 85.59 years, and for men it was 78.64.

Not unlike their morbid fascination with suicide, the Japanese have a morbid fascination with how long they can live. While an increasingly longer life sounds like a good idea, the post-war Japanese aversions to both having babies and importing foreigners means that the aging population is going to be a real drag down the road.

Still, this news-less island nation is always ready for a heart-warming fluff piece about their latest honorable mentions in agedness.

The world's oldest twins, Kin and Gin, whose names mean Gold and Silver, died a year apart in 2000 and 2001 at the ripe fruity ages of 107 and 108. They were from Nagoya, and they were soooo cute.

And the guy who had been celebrated as the oldest man in Hyogo Prefecture was found dead in 2004. Really, really dead. This one's not so cute.

Super Japanese New Wave Pop!

2005-07-20T01:55:00.000+09:00

I always knew the Japanese were New Wave geniuses, but I could never find strong evidence for this obvious truth until now.

The Plastics have been around since the early 90s, when New Wave revivals were decidedly not cool. Now their newest album, Origato 25 is out and playing in the J-Pop listening station at Tower Records, which is the admittedly lame way that I came to know of their existence. The album cost me a pretty 2500 yen, but the girl at the cash register gave me a sticker for my good taste in music. (It says PLASTICS25, in neon pink on aquamarine.)

To my surprise, Origato 25 is actually a double CD, sort of. The second CD only consists of four normal-length tracks, all of which are remixes of songs on the first CD. I guess the Plastics felt they had to be true to their album name and put out 25 tracks, no matter how many CDs it took. No matter, though; I love all of the songs, even the occasional annoying one.

Like most of the other Japanese groups I have come to love and then loathe, and then love all over again, the Plastics stick with mostly English lyrics. The difference is the real playful, experimental quality of their tunes. It's full of synthesizers, of course, but also guitars and strange squeaky and/or speaking voices. The Plastics are deeply New Wave, but some of the tracks (like "Dance in Metal") remind me of that 60s bizarro stuff that I've got hidden deep in my collection, but never regretted purchasing.

The new CD isn't on American Amazon yet, but others are gettable, including one from 1997, intriguingly named Origato Plastico. I think they're just playing around with album titles until they hit the perfect one. Can't wait for the next.

Also see:
Pizzicato Five
The 5.6.7.8's
Shonen Knife

Kitty Cakes

2005-07-17T01:47:00.000+09:00

As per your request. Sadly, I gave them all away before I got a chance to try one. Happily, I'm going back to Tokyo tomorrow!

Kristof's Krazy North Korean Vacation

2005-07-17T00:03:00.000+09:00

Hey, didja hear that New York Times Op-Ed columnist Nicholas Kristof is tooling around North Korea? Fortunately, we can all follow him along in his travels via his recent video series on his trip (no direct link, sorry). Kristof seems to be having a blast alternately making fun of the locals and having not-very-insightful things to say about the creepy communist stronghold.

My favorite is the bordering-on-offensive "Pyongyang Noodles" video. "North Korea may be known for famine," Kristof thoughtfully begins, "but Pyongyang at least is also known for famous food." Kristof then precedes to spend a long minute sloppily —really sloppily — eating what looks like a pretty bland bowl of cold noodles. Then he grimly signs off with, "Pyongyang noodles are great. I recommend you come to Pyongyang and get some more."

It occurs to me that Kristof might have been told by the North Koreans that he must try their "famous noodles" and say something positive about them, or risk reeducation. Still, that doesn't seem like justification for using precious New York Times bandwidth to show Kristof's exercise in humiliation to millions of intelligent Op-Ed-craving individuals all over the world.

When the Times starts making people pay to read their Op-Ed columns online, I'm totally not paying for it. Hopefully awesome Sarah Vowell will be finished filling in for tiresome Maureen Dowd by the time that happens.

My Monthly Report

2005-07-16T03:05:00.000+09:00

To continue to receive undeserved checks in the mail, I am only required to write an email on the 15th of every month, detailing how I have spent my time and someone else's money over the past 30 days. The folks in charge are either inexcusably trusting or inexcusably lazy — no one has ever dropped in to interrogate me or collect receipts, and I doubt they even read the emails I send them so dutifully each month.

Still, I take care to make what I'm doing here sound as worthy as possible in my reports. Each month, I take all that ambition I have stored up and apply it to writing a helluva impressive recap of stuff that may or may not have actually happened. To entertain my parents and assuage my guilt, I'm doing the noble thing this time and coming clean on my personal blog.

What I wrote: I had an intense week at that conference I went to in Tokyo.
What I meant: I took a bullet train to Tokyo, saw a couple of movies, and bought custard-filled cakes in the shape of Hello Kitty.

I finally have an outline for the paper I plan to write.
No I don't.

It's so interesting to compare my classes here with those back in the U.S.
I can show up and sleep, or not show up and sleep.

Recently, I've taken on a side-project of studying a series of Oshima Nagisa films.
Instead of studying kanji this afternoon, I watched this movie in my underwear.

Sampling the native cuisine is my favorite pastime.
The closest convenience store just got coconut Pocky!

I've been spending a lot of time with my new Japanese friends.
Drinking.

I feel like I've really immersed myself into exploring different versions of Japanese culture — it's so fascinating to see how the culture can change so much from region to region. Often, I wish I could just bring all this culture back with me to the states.
Replace every instance of "culture" with "drinking culture," and you've got the basic idea.

I can't believe my year in Japan is almost over.
Please please please don't make me get a job.

Happy Birthday

2005-07-13T22:15:00.000+09:00

Today is my birthday. It was one of my better ones, featuring Indian food, crane games, and a sweet boy, among other things. I don't demand much from birthdays, but I sure have had my share of crappy ones. To round this year's good birthday off, here's a recap of all of my past not-so-good ones:

6th
Not so bad overall, but I seem to remember a Slip 'n Slide-induced skin irritation.

11th
Food poisoning from a Frito chili pie, in addition to a sick feeling I got from receiving a very creepy present.

12-14th
Birthdays spent at summer camp. I didn't like camp that much (especially not the "band" kind).

16th
I had to babysit two small cousins, whom I had only met once before. Then I had to share my birthday cake with them.

18th
In Japan. A pretty good birthday, but I had to spend it in school, because summer vacation doesn't start until August in crazy Japan Land.

19-20th
Don't remember these.

21st
In China. It was Saturday, but the language program I was in required us to go look at ancient tombs that day.

23rd
I decided I wanted to make my own birthday cake, and everyone thought it was yucky.

Japan Gets ZINGED!

2005-07-12T01:45:00.000+09:00

It's official: Japan is totally racist. A visiting U.N. representative says so, and Tokyo mayor/creepy nationalist Ishihara Shintaro refuses to meet with him. Actually, the mayor's just too busy coming up with more memorable things to say about women, the Chinese, and the whites.

International Media Injustice ALERT

2005-07-12T00:49:00.000+09:00

You know how American celebrities like to sneak off to Japan during breaks between movie shoots to make embarrassing commercials? Ooh, and speak of the devil — just now Richard Gere bought a shitload of birds for a starving girl in India in a particularly un-PC J-spot. Apparently the Japanese are a little more ready to buy into the premise that Indian street vendors take credit cards...

You may have heard how republicans are solving their little PBS problem by taking it over and reprogramming it to be evil. Well, it seems that part of their re-education program for Sesame Street characters includes pimping the fuzzy puppets out to appear in TV commercials in Japan. Commercials for Sesame Street merchandise, you ask? No, that would involve too much dignity. Big Bird and Elmo (who has a new creepy Japanese voice) are selling bread. At midnight, on Fuji TV. I think it was wheat bread, if that's any consolation. Still, email your senator.

The Breakfast Club Meets Dead Man Walking

2005-07-09T18:24:00.000+09:00

If you've been thinking about checking out a 1960s Japanese "New Wave" film (and who hasn't?), I've got just the thing for you.

Death By Hanging (Koshikei) is a dark 1968 film by Oshima Nagisa about a botched execution and the crazy antics that ensue. "R" is a Korean man sentenced to death in Japan who survives his hanging in the first few minutes of the film. The police and prison officials who are overseeing his execution decide that R can't be legally re-executed until he regains consciousness and fully remembers who he is and why he is supposed to die.

The remainder of the film is a series of increasingly extreme attempts to jolt R into remembering his past. The tactics go from hilariously creepy to just plain creepy, all in a theatrical style that reminds me of my favorite John Hughes movie ever, The Breakfast Club.

Death By Hanging's one reviewer on IMDB "warmly" recommends it. That's a strange word to use in regard to this movie, but I guess I feel the same way. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be available through Amazon as of this posting. I would be surprised and saddened if it's completely ungettable outside of Japan.

By the way, Japan and South Korea are the only developed nations aside from the U.S. that still have the death penalty, though I don't think either of them is as execution-happy as we are.

"I'm Worried About Speach"

2005-07-09T15:06:00.000+09:00

Don't you love people who are both sticklers for language and completely wrong in what they're bitching about?

This guy, who claims he is "worried about speach," is hoping to enlist some elitist support for his groundless gripes on Ask Metafilter. He still has zero friends, but the real unsettling thing is that a child is involved. Let's hope that the horrified response he's getting means that his son will be spared from a fate of suffering for his parent's linguistic sins.

But What Did Jerry Maguire REALLY Mean?

2005-07-09T00:25:00.000+09:00

My professor, eminent scholar that he is, has undertaken the task of translating an important film studies textbook into Japanese. Hopefully, this means that more film students in Japan will know what the hell film studies is. This particular textbook contains a lot of subtle references to films and popular culture, so I was called in today to act as the "cultural translator" of some of the more nuanced sections of the book. My qualification was that I'm American and sometimes I watch movies.

We spent a good 12 minutes or so on Jerry Maguire. My Japanese professor was particularly concerned about how to translate the the catch phrase "show me the money," and what it meant to people who started using it in their daily lives. I never saw Jerry Maguire (neither had he), so I made something up.

"Well, I think the scene is he's negotiating with someone, right? And he wants to get as much money as possible out of the deal," is what I said. "And then I guess some people — particularly teenage boys — liked that line, so they started using it in various situations."

I think I was pretty right on, but my professor had to go into questioning five-year-old mode. But what did Jerry Maguire really mean when he asked for the money? In what kinds of situations did people start saying that phrase, and why was it so popular? In retrospect, I think I should have come up with something about the 90s and capitalism in the digital age. Can you guess what I really said? "Uh." Then, "I don't know." Nevertheless, that seemed to satisfy my prof for the time being. The phrase translated to, more or less, "show me the money" (in Japanese).

Then he had to bring up the other side of the Jerry Maguire coin, the phrase "you complete me." (Did the idea of someone "completing" someone else really originate from a Tom Cruise line?) I thought this was a pretty obvious one, until my professor asked me if it had to do with two people finishing each other's sentences.

"I think it's more like two people who love each other" — an awkward pause followed here — "and because of his wife or girlfriend or something, he's a better person." My prof seemed to understand, or at least he was nodding. "There's a phrase like that in Japanese, right?" I pleaded.

It didn't seem that there was, so my professor went literal once again: "you did me the favor of making me complete." Pretty close, Professor. Pretty close.

Spending Warm Summer Days Indoors

2005-07-08T02:09:00.000+09:00

Finishing college last year was tough. I worked all through the summer, and the only time I got to go swimming was when I took my idiotic swim test that they require for graduation. This is what my alma mater wants me to pay them to let me do with my summer this year:

It's no mystery. Gather some of America's best crime fiction writers and experts together in [college town], invite alumni and friends to join them, offer sessions on the arts of memoir-writing and fiction plus an opportunity to dive into a new language, and you have all of the ingredients for an unforgettable summer learning experience.

I'm going to assume that this email that I got is asking me to participate in a writers' workshop and not organize one, despite the imperative sentences. Still, I'm not longing to "dive" into anything like a new language until my thesis burnout heals a little more. Give me a pool instead, or a Chuck E Cheese ball pit.

Japanese people are really into summer learning experiences. There's this ad all over the subway cars here that shows an adolescent girl and boy all open-mouthed ecstatic over something just out of the frame. The other half of the long summer cram-school ad is a photo of rows upon rows of dull wooden cubicles. OVER 200 INDIVIDUAL LEARNING SPACES the ad screams. And somewhere, very quietly, over 200 summer-loving Japanese kids are screaming too.

I would try to help them out, but I've got a paper to write over the next month an a half.

We Can All Relax

2005-07-06T20:18:00.000+09:00

I confronted Tommy yesterday about his standing me up for our English lesson last week. It turns out that his out-of-range cell phone and two mysteriously DOA calls to me were not signs that he was kidnapped by a band of Japanese "yankees" looking for a laugh. Instead, Tommy was just "very, very drunk."

And he's sorry.

I Don't Get It Either

2005-07-06T00:53:00.000+09:00

Q: What's less funny than a New Yorker cartoon?

A: A new Yorker Cartoon with no caption.

Get it? The top-hatted dandies at the New Yorker have decided that after years of going way over their readers' heads, humor-wise, it's finally time both to pay their cartoonists less and lower their readers' self-worth in a more interactive way. Such is the mission of the new-ish back page feature, Cartoon Caption Contest. No matter how subtle the humor you come up with, it will never be nearly as subtly subtle as that of a real New Yorker cartoon.

Its like President Bush holding a contest to see who can come up with the most embarrassing thing for him to say that day, and then he says it in front of some country's prime minister. The world can spot a fake, and we would all end up feeling more cheated than embarrassed.

What I Won't Wear To My Wedding

2005-07-04T01:13:00.000+09:00

Just for kicks, I've been browsing the over 2,000 wedding dresses they've got lying around collecting dust at theknot.com. As it turns out, they really do have the perfect dress for everyone (except me)!

Are you looking for a way to reenact the first time you met your husband-to-be, when you were wearing that gingham halter top? And then you had your first date, and you were wearing your sequined halter top? Oh, and how could you forget the day he proposed to you — you were wearing that leopard-print halter top. OH MY GOD Kaylee I've got the perfect dress for you — you're gonna shit!

This one won the tri-state championship last year in our "can we get some rich coke addict to pay $5,500 for this nightmare" portion of the competition. Not only does it have a creepy mermaid silhouette, but it also features an inside-out corset thing that I'm sure I saw on more than one cover in my aunt's romance novella collection. Designed to get the blushing bride mistaken for one of last night's bachelor party escorts.

OK, I know I'm admitting to a lot when I mention the RPG con in Louisville, but this little number wouldn't have lasted five minutes in the cosplay corner, no matter what it cost. Too bad nobody in the real world cares, and your medieval-slut costume will make all of your wedding guests feel embarrassed for you, no matter that you paid $2500 for it and it's your LOTR fantasy wedding, damn it.

All hail the Ass Dress!

We Would Like You To Wash Even Your Butt

2005-07-01T02:08:00.000+09:00

The top headline at the moment at the Asahi Shimbun website is The Washlet: 25 Years and 20 Million Toilets Later. Unfortunately, the newspaper's English page does not offer a translation of the engrossing article, so I'll have to relate some highlights myself:

• I thought I misread this the first time, but it appears that the washlet (or other imitation bidet/toilets) currently makes up 59.7% of the toilets in Japan.

• The washlet's original marketing slogan in 1982 was "We would like you to wash even your butt."

• The article attributes the washlet's slow sales in the U.S. in part to the fact that "butt" is not generally considered a word that plays well in market research in America.

• Toto, the company behind the washlet, sees big things for China. But "... it's a real difficulty trying to change the daily habits of the Chinese," reads the article, clicking its tongue.

A mostly unrelated washlet story: In place of more books in the library, the newer buildings at my university are all washlets, all the time. (These are the basic models, with only the flushing sound, butt wash, "front" wash, and dry functions; more fancy models, I hear, come equipped with music and fragrance buttons as well.)

So one day I was using the restroom at school. It was business as usual, when my washlet suddenly started washing me, without my asking it to do so. A requested wash can be a heavenly thing, but an unexpected wash is certainly not welcome in these parts.

Fortunately the off button worked. But after I pushed it, I could hear some water trickling in the next stall for a few more seconds — the girl next to me seemed to be using her wash function, too... I got out of there pretty quickly (easy to do when there's no soap at the sinks to motivate you to wash up), so I'll never know for sure, but I'm convinced that my washlet somehow was mistakenly obeying orders given to the washlet next door. Communal washlet experiences? No thanks.

Want a washlet but can't afford one? Try the travel washlet, which comes in your choice of pink or blue.

What's The Sound Of Me Buying A Slurpee?

2005-06-30T00:24:00.000+09:00

Whatever happened to Circle K? Overshadowed in the past couple of decades by sexier convenience stores like Git 'N' Go, Stop-N-Go, and Kum & Go, Circle K has gasped and floundered its way into the 21st century. The company has tried in recent years to pep up their image with creepy "experiments" on Lotto tickets and wireless internet, and now the folks at Circle K have decided that their biggest selling point is how well they can hide their stores.

Fortunately, Circle K managed to make it to Japan back in the 70s, and the Japanese have a thing for saving American retail and fast-food refugees.

Yes, Circle K is alive and well in Japan, and though I have pledged my undying love to Lawson for the duration of my year in Japan, Circle K does have a certain je ne sais quoi here that I never noticed back in America. OK, I really do sais quoi — it's their ingenious marketing that Circle K's "team Japan" has developed over the 26 or so years that they've been studying consumer habits on this island nation.

It all comes down to two silly words: waku waku? Circle K's slogan for Japan is an onomatopoeia that means, more or less, "the sound of being excited" (or "are you the sound of being excited?" as the question mark begs). Add some fluffy clouds to the corporate website and you've got yourself a sure thing in the world of Japanese convenience stores.

I say, let's have more marketing campaigns built around a word like "zig-zag" or "BANG."

Tommy Stood Me Up!

2005-06-28T23:40:00.000+09:00

My mildly depressed English student apparently had better things to do today than meet with me as we had planned. As I waited in our hip cafe for five, then 10, then an embarrassing 15 minutes, I decided to chalk up his absence to confusion: our meeting day this week had already been changed once (by him), and then there was that other time that he called and I couldn't be bothered to pick up.

On another Tommy-related note, I have a short anecdote to relate that, I think, really exemplifies the way Tommy interacts socially. Last week, Tommy told me that he used to have a friend from college who went on to become a lawyer. They didn't talk so much after college, but called each other on the phone every once in a while.

"The last time I talked to him on the phone," Tommy said, "we were talking for about 30 minutes. Then I asked him how much he usually charges to talk to someone for 30 minutes, and he said it was 5,000 yen. So I sent him a check for 5,000 yen." Tommy laughed. "Then I never heard from him again."

Was Tommy's lawyer friend giving him professional advice? "No, we were just talking," Tommy said with a smile. He seemed to think the whole situation was pretty funny.

After the laugher subsided, I guess I got two things out of this conversation: 1) don't pay your friends to talk to you for no reason, and 2) Tommy has Asperger's.

By the time I left the hip cafe tonight (the walls are big blackboards!), I decided that Tommy had admitted himself into a mental ward and was too ashamed to tell me about it. I tried calling his cell phone about six times while I waited, and I only got an "out-of-service-area" message. When I tried again a couple of hours later, the line picked up, I heard some scuffling, and then it went dead. I hope he's not dead by now. Maybe I should be contacting some authorities... Oh, that reminds me of something totally hilarious: you dial 119 for emergencies in Japan.

Sorry, We're All Out Of Horse

2005-06-28T01:29:00.000+09:00

The other night I went out with some Japanese friends for drinks and revelry. Like always, after we'd had a few, somebody ordered the raw chicken innards. As an American, I felt obligated to educate my friends about salmonella. "You can eat raw fish all day long," I said, "but it's really in your best interest to put a little fire under that bird."

According to this website, there are about 655,390 cases of salmonella poisoning in Japan every year. That sounds like a lot to me, at least, but I'm sure my J-friends would have some other statistic ready to throw back at me, like how the U.S. has 1,511,461 cases of salmonella poisoning of its own every year.

You know how people in Europe eat horse meat, and how that makes you feel a little uncomfortable around Europeans? Well, the Japanese are into chewing on horse too, except — you guessed it — they like their Mr. Ed raw. It's surprisingly easy to find "horse sashimi" on the menu in Japan, although it's not quite the trendy dish that it sounds like.

I've actually never seen anyone order the raw horse, but I've always been alert to the possibility that someone could do so at any moment. They might miss their chance soon, if the United States stops exporting horse meat to Asia.

Yes, horse processing has existed in the U.S. as a small but healthy industry for years now, with two meat plants in Texas and one in Illinois. Never knew this? In a country where eating horse meat is illegal, those in the business of slaughtering horses — to be eaten by Asians and Europeans, no less — probably like to keep a low profile.

But an agriculture bill that was passed in the U.S. House of Representatives recently contains an amendment that would ban the export of horse meat (for some reason, few politicians are stepping up to save those people's factory jobs), making the rest of the world settle for horse raised in — where — Mongolia, or something? That's gotta be some tough horse.

But what about the glue, you ask, in that whiny voice of yours? These guys say that turning horses into glue is pretty uncommon these days. To a vegetarian who will admit to using glue products from time to time, this is the real relief.

A New Favorite Blog

2005-06-27T02:05:00.000+09:00

I was having a bit of a blah day, but then that "next blog" button up there really turned things around. fine life is like poetry, except it's interesting and moving.

"Miyazaki Hayao Is A Fascist"

2005-06-26T01:05:00.000+09:00

So said Oshii Mamoru (who directed the anime Ghost in the Shell) at a screening of his live-action film Avalon at the Japan Film Forum in Tokyo last night. (That's where I've been lately instead of here.) He was critizing the way that Miyazaki makes his underlings adhere to his creative vision, at times attacking one of them in front of the others as an example (a tactic often used by communist regimes, Oshii noted). Totoro will never look the same to me. Then Oshii spent 30 minutes talking about dogs.

What My Fellow Owasso High Alumni Are Up To

2005-06-22T01:45:00.000+09:00

Hey everybody — glad you could make it to the reunion. How many years has it been? Well, I guess we could just count the number of kids Jennie Wilson's got back at the hotel. Ha!

But seriously, some of us couldn't make it here today, and we sure wish they could have. Fortunately, I've got some updates from their websites, which they've been thoughtful enough to link to on our alumni directory.

Ol' Dippin' Debbie has some advice for her fellow alumni in Oklahoma. She writes:

There'll be another tattoo page soon too... Just as soon as this sonofabitch heals up enough for me to quit havin' to worry about it all the time. Smilin' Jack is the Devil. If you decide to go get a tattoo, and some scrawny little old bastard wearin' great big glasses gets near ya, run like hell. If they ask you why you're runnin' like hell, I don't mind if ya tell 'em who told ya to. Just run, don't let 'em touch you. I made five trips to the doctor and even Cipro wouldn't clear it up.

The Andersons are still going strong at 4 and counting. What fills their lives, post-Owasso High? Apparently Mormonism and ESPN. Helpful links to both!

Adam appears to have started his own religion! And what have I done since graduation? Seen the rest of you God-fearing folks in church every week, that's what!

Everybody remembers "tha jerm," right? Well, we can all be proud of him. First thing he says on his website — awesome fire background, by the way — is that he is an Owasso High A-lumni. Well, it served him well, 'cause he managed to land that Jaclyn babe, after all the jocks got their fill of her. (Just kidding, ladies.)

Well that's it until we raffle off this here propane gas grill. Enjoy the all-you-can-eat biscuits 'n' gravy!

Singapore?

2005-06-20T23:47:00.000+09:00

What do we know about Singapore? Until I came to Japan, Singapore was "that place where those Americans were caned." Caning or no, lots of Japanese dream of going to Singapore someday. Why? "Because it's so clean," they chortle without a hint of irony, as we wait for the subway in a station you could eat off of. Now I really don't want to go to Singapore.

The other thing I know about Singapore is that they're extremely interested in blogging and designing shitty layouts for their blogs. Why are they so into that? I imagine a country of oddly-proportioned cartoon children running around kissing each other and never completing a sentence.

In an effort to discover the "real" Singapore, I unearthed these fun facts, thanks to Google:

Singlish is that weird semi-English you see on Singaporean blogs. It's English peppered with words from Malay, Chinese and other languages. Singaporeans like to add emphatic endings to their sentences too, like "lah" (from Malay), or "what" (from stuffy Englishmen).

Gum is no longer completely banned in Singapore, but you have to have a note from your doctor.

Singapore Airlines has the largest games selection in the sky!

Right under their "Singapore Sport" section, the Singapore News website has a section devoted to Women's Rights.

Some guy keeps stripping on Singaporean TV, and concerned citizens are out to stop him.

They have their own cats in Singapore.

Hooters opened their first overseas restaurant in Singapore in 1996.

Still don't want to go to Singapore? Me either!

Blocked!

2005-06-20T02:18:00.000+09:00

My fiance and I went to see the new Batman movie today. We got there half an hour early "just in case" the opening-day show was crowded with sweaty Japanese Bat-fans (it wasn't), so we just sat in the near-empty theater eating popcorn that we knew we would finish before the movie started.

After a few minutes, they started showing these local ads on the screen — hot spring resort, medicated shampoo, and something involving an airplane and "believing in yourself" — and then they started showing the same five ads over. and over. again. So it was time for more popcorn, my fiance decided. I stayed behind to "save his seat."

Enter two obnoxious Americans. I chose not to take a good look at them, but my peripheral vision and ears told me that they were male and of the tool variety. They bumbled around a bit, trying to decide which seat in the completely empty theater to take. I started to grow a little uncomfortable as they approached my aisle from the other side, then one grunted "how 'bout this one?" And what did these two charmers do, but walk right up next to me, and leave one empty seat between themselves and the only white girl in the theater.

Fortunately, my fiance returned as the one nearest to me was still wracking his brain for a clever way to introduce himself. Sporting his embarrassing-turned-retro Star Trek t-shirt, my fiance cut an intimidating figure for sure. As he sat back down in his empty seat, I could feel the awkwardness rising from a few feet down the aisle, and it felt good.

Then the movie started, and the guy next to my fiance gifted us with intermittent "heh heh"s and "that was cool"s for the duration of the show. Gosh I miss America.

Lonely Japanese Gamer Girls

2005-06-18T02:36:00.000+09:00

While the Nintendo DS marketing in the U.S. seems content to fantasize about hot sorority girls holding a portable game system, the DS marketing in Japan is taking their female demographic a little more seriously.

Aside from the new candy pink DS, Nintendo has been running ads that feature girls... playing video games. This girl gamer pictured is plenty cute, but her red sack dress screams "look at the game, not the girl!"

One of the DS's first hits in Japan has been Nintendogs, a sophisticated virtual pet game. The game (I just got it today) lets your call your dog by name and teach it tricks using the built-in microphone, and your biggest job is petting your puppy until it lights up with affection. It's an obvious pick for girls, but the game's example "command voice," a grown-up sounding 20-something woman, indicates an older target demographic than screeching uniformed teenagers.

I found the television ad for Nintendogs particularly fascinating. They showed our 20-something Japanese woman, going through a soap opera season's worth of emotions with her DS doggie. Woman and game system are in a relationship that can only be described as romantic — she laughs at her DS at the kitchen table, gazes longingly at it in the bathtub, and cries at it in bed. Whether in this commercial we are witnessing the cause or the symptom of a nation that just isn't "into" getting married and having babies anymore is debatable, but the immediate message of the ad is pretty straightforward: you're never getting married, your dinky apartment is too small for a real dog, so get a virtual pet to fill your empty life with emotional significance.

The virtual puppies themselves are, admittedly, very cute.

No Catch

2005-06-16T21:45:00.000+09:00

You can win a pink Nintendo DS just by writing a bad joke.

Now I Really Understand You

2005-06-16T00:29:00.000+09:00

As my teenage years grow fainter in the distance, my relationship with my mother has been getting more fun. The inevitable similarities have begun to appear, as my fiance delights in pointing out, but these are mostly harmless points of agreement, at least for now. Because it's hard for us to find other people to talk to in a country full of officially bad English speakers, Mom and I have explored many a new conversation topic in Japan. Waiting for a bullet train the other day, we discovered another like-mother-like-daughter shared tendency: we both frequently diagnose people we encounter with Asperger's syndrome.

If you don't recall, Asperger's syndrome is characterized by a lack of social skills and often a rigid preference to have things a certain way. People living with Asperger's can sometimes go on talking for hours about their job or hobby, without realizing that the people around them are bored, angry, or anything else but attentive. Asperger's has only been officially recognized as a disorder for about ten years, and most experts describe it as a mild form of autism. Because Asperger's can be very mild indeed, many people with the disorder are misdiagnosed with ADD, or never diagnosed at all.

Both my mom and I recognize Asperger's syndrome as a serious issue that needs much awareness-spreading, but both of us have also found its broad definition useful for dealing with our more painful social interactions. That Italian "friend" of mine who's always blabbering on about "Italian culture," "Italian food," and "Italians"? Mild case of Asperger's. Bob, who loves asking people for directions more than anything else on this Earth, and whom Mom had the unfortunate luck to run across twice during her travels in Japan? Asperger's all the way. That annoying guy at Starbucks (mostly men are affected) who still can't tell that you're clearly not interested? Honey, he's not an annoying creep — he's just living with Asperger's.

In fact, once I saw a special on the disorder on one of those prime-time "news magazines," I realized that roughly 80% of the people I know have some form of Asperger's. This knowledge hasn't made me feel sorry for these folks (and I certainly wouldn't go around telling the world about it without their permission), but it's made me treat them with a little more patience, kindness, and understanding. After all, we've all got something "wrong" with us. If what's wrong with 80% of the world is a condition that they're born with, that's just all the more reason for all of us to cut one another a little slack. So go ahead, tell me all about your love of RPGs, Japanese dialects, or blogging. I'm listening, and diagnosing.

CLASSIC Blogger Post Titles

2005-06-14T23:17:00.000+09:00

Welcome
Who Am I – Volume III
Wistful Feelings about Art
i miss him!!! ALOT!!!!!!!!
Le Sigh...
Yay!
This Morning's Soundtrack
Beautiful memories of mine with old PCs in my youth about a decade ago (revised ed.)
Musings on Bob Saget
My God - he takes care of me!
Workout Update
Blogging!

A Michael Jackson Story

2005-06-14T22:30:00.000+09:00

I don't have much to say about Michael Jackson, but in an attempt to "fit in" with the "cool" bloggers today, I offer up this, my only MJ story:

In my six months living in China, I encountered many people who thought they knew a lot about the United States, but very few people who had actually been there. For the most part, their ideas about the U.S. were not that different from those of whiny foreigners everywhere: America is violent, fat, and white. But the Chinese have somehow cultivated another image of America, based solely on what they know of Michael Jackson.

The Chinese (at least two of them, with whom I had personal encounters) believe that although most of us Americans are fat and white, we uphold Michael Jackson as the epitome of male beauty. This really creeps the Chinese out. I let one middle-aged Chinese businessman go on all night about Americans' puzzling admiration of MJ's "skeleton nose" (no oxymoron intended, I think) before I gave him an average American's take on Michael Jackson.

His reaction to "yeah, we think he's totally creepy too," was — I kid you not — like that of a man who had just found Jesus:

"All this time, I thought there was something wrong with Americans, to be loving than scary man so much. Anna, you have completely changed my view of America. I finally understand your country."

I, of course, humbly took credit for changing this man's outlook on the Western world, and congratulated him on seeing the light. If only more Chinese could have come across me during those six months. Communism wouldn't stand a chance.

Conclusion: China didn't really import American popular culture until what, the late 80s, early 90s? Just when MJ was entering his "living dead" phase. So the pre-metamorphosis Michael was entirely missed by the Chinese, and what would you think if a country's new-to-you "king of" anything looked like Michael Jackson, or Elvis in his late years, for that matter?

Case closed.

Three Stars, I Think

2005-06-13T22:01:00.000+09:00

It looks like Miyazaki Hayao’s newest animated feature, Howl’s Moving Castle is out in the U.S. I saw it in Nagoya a few months ago, the first week it was released. I remember feeling extraordinarily well rested after it was over. Since I missed a great deal of it, I guess I can’t not recommend it. Hope that was helpful.

The Fanny Pack Is Back

2005-06-11T00:34:00.000+09:00

Mom came to Japan armed with a rolling suitcase and a fanny pack. The idea was that she could leave the suitcase in our postage stamp of an apartment while she tooled around Japan with just a backpack borrowed from me (and preferably also carried by me) and the fanny pack.

She got the fanny pack at Wal-Mart before coming, and by day five in Tokyo it had a quarter-sized hole in the small front pocket. "I’m only concerned that I might lose a pen," she said. And in the most expensive city in the most expensive country in the world, Mom declared that she wouldn’t pay "a penny more than ten dollars" for a new fanny pack.

After rephrasing her declaration as the more accurate but slightly less elegant "a yen more than a thousand yen," Mom waited for me to stop laughing. We happened to be at the Shibuya Loft at the time, so we made a pass at the "variety" floor to see what the hippest of Japan’s youth are carrying these days.

Believe it or not, they’re carrying a lot of fanny packs and fanny pack-ish small bags. It’s pretty hard to ignore the (probably real) Louis Vuitton fanny packs that all the boys are sporting on the street, but the selection at the Loft really hit the whole fanny pack craze home for me. They had a whole section devoted to fanny packs — fanny packs as expensive as 30,000 yen and as cheap as 2,300. I pictured my mom pulling her passport out of the same fanny pack that Japanese 20-something boys pull their Mild Sevens out of.

Mom didn’t share my J-fanny fantasy, insisting that there must be somewhere where she can find a fanny pack for a more reasonable price. No matter if, like the Wal-Mart one, it too falls apart after a few days of use. I certainly wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a fanny pack, so we bid Japan’s coolest home store goodbye.

Mom actually managed to find an 800-yen pack just down the street, at some tacky "American goods" knockoff store. It’s big and purple — a real '80s fanny nightmare — but it’ll get the job done. I graciously did my job of reassuring Mom that if Japanese people are staring at her, it won’t be because of the ugly bag she’s got strapped around her waist.

My Amazon.com Review

2005-06-08T00:02:00.000+09:00

A recent self-googling revealed that, unbeknownst to me, I am an Amazon.com reviewer. A solitary book review was attributed to me, and I was sure that I hadn't written it. (The only other person who shares my name is my 19th century ancestor, btw). It didn't appear to have been written as a prank, but the review made my google biography read like one of those people who had a liver transplant that completely changed their personality: recently won a grant to study in Japan, used to work with a young women’s group, said something stupid about politics to a school newspaper reporter in her freshman year of college, and loves nothing more than settling in before a blazing fire with a good non-fiction book about salty explorers.

Quote the review: "Here is a must read for anyone who has ever been cold, wet, caught in a snowstorm, or would prefer to just read about it."

I was pretty shocked at this review that I wrote but didn’t (and which 1 of 1 people found helpful), and after I recovered use of my vocal cords, I called over my fiance to share this chilling mystery.

"It’s your dad," he informed me dryly. "You remember — he used to use your Amazon account to order stuff because he was too lazy to log in himself after you left for college."

Of course.

It had all started in my junior year of college, when, in addition to its perennial recommendations of the Shins and Of Montreal, Amazon thought I might like to try a little Michael Buble. I had politely asked my dad to start ordering stuff under his own name, but self-proclaimed "luddite" dad couldn’t be bothered.

I tried to take a harder tack after the review incident, but to no avail. Dad apologized, then told me to figure it out myself. Because I no longer use the same account (email address changed, and frankly, I take after my dad), I couldn't just log in and erase the plagiaristic (isn’t it?) review. I’m hoping a fiery email to the people at Amazon will do the job, so I’ll get around to that sometime. A more recent googling did not turn up the review, but I checked back on Amazon today. It’s still on page one.

Before There Was Rocky Horror

2005-06-04T02:15:00.000+09:00

There was Kurotokage. The 1968 Japanese film (Black Lizard is the English title) is a bit of a precursor, without the singing or confusing alien premise. Same use of whips, elaborate costume changes, and turning people into statues. And Kurotokage has its own real transvestite.

Miwa Akihiro is more woman than I could ever hope to be, and his flocks of female fans seem to feel the same way. He still appears on TV and in bookstores, dispensing advice on practicing the art of femininity. This is the point at which I say something about how the Japanese have traditionally been more willing to acknowledge gender as an act, which explains their respectful fascination with professional male and female impersonators, yada. (In my own experience, however, this gender fluidity doesn’t keep young people from making unsettling homophobic comments.) Also, Miwa was the voice of the 300-year-old wolf in Princess Mononoke.

Factoid: When he was younger, Miwa was the muse of writer Mishima Yukio, who actually appeared in Kurotokage as one of Miwa’s living statues. Mishima was really into bodybuilding at that time, says my professor. Just a couple years later, he was really into committing seppuku for his dead emperor.

Tonight I went to see the stage version of Kurotokage, which still stars Miwa Akihiro, almost 40 years after the movie. It was a little long (four hours, two intermissions), but mostly enjoyable. At 70, Miwa is still convincing in his seduction of poor young men, and his 10-minute death scene was breathtaking and gorgeous.

The best part? By far, the audience. It was 90% female, ranging from teenagers to grannies. On the way out, I saw a young gothic Lolita type guiding her silk-draped grandma out the glass doors. In Japan, there's nothing like an old queen to bring women together.

Guns Are Boring

2005-06-02T22:53:00.000+09:00

Action movies are boring. More specifically, guns are boring. I can get sufficiently caught up in the first ten minutes of trite backstory, in which we learn about the protagonist’s childhood trauma, fear of commitment, and needy girlfriend, but as soon as the guns appear, I’m out like a light.

A lot of people liked Pulp Fiction, which I think had a lot of guns. I remember something about hamburgers, then guns, then credits and I had a little drool on my shirt. That was embarrassing. I guess guns are supposed to be thrilling and sexy, but give me a good cinematic knife fight any day for my phallic fantasies. Better yet, make it a gay "coming of age" movie. We can’t have too many of those.

I’m only a little troubled by my inability to stay awake for half the movies and TV programs that others enjoy, but I find myself genuinely troubled by my lack of interest in guns. It’s unlikely, but what if someday I’m caught in the middle of a convenience store hold-up? If I can quietly doze on the floor for the duration, things might work out OK, but an errant yawn or absent-minded trip to the bathroom might land me in some real trouble.

“Can you just let me know when we’re back to the dialogue and feelings and stuff?” I’ll ask the armed robber.

Confused and nervous, he’ll shoot me. If I live, guns will probably be more exciting from then on. But I'll still rather rent Edge of Seventeen.

Fake Meat

2005-06-02T00:30:00.000+09:00

Japan is no place for vegetarians. They may lure you in with their long life expectancy and seaweed paper, but their secret is to eat just a little meat, ground up into tiny bits and mixed in with every kind of food imaginable.

Take Chinese food. Chinese food in America isn’t particularly vegetarian-friendly, but usually I can squeak by with some fried rice and cheese wontons. Go to China, and vegetarian dishes are everywhere. You’d probably think that Chinese food in Japan is a bit more like the real thing (same general direction, after all), but I get blank stares when I request a vegetable dish composed of just vegetables here. Tofu? What good is tofu if it doesn’t have little bits of unidentifiable flesh sprinkled on top?

There are two vegetarian restaurants that I know of in Nagoya, and one of them is run by a bunch of new-agey snobs. (No dinner without calling ahead, and dessert is — I kid you not — a one-inch-long sweetened soy cracker.) The other is a Chinese restaurant, located in a new-ish building comprised entirely of fancy Chinese restaurants.

The Chinese vegetarian restaurant is in the style of a hip new diner that doesn’t know how hip it is. Their menu says that their dishes include no meat, eggs, or garlic (is that a thing?), and the owner is the nicest guy in the world. We’ve debated before whether he is Chinese or Japanese, but finally agreed that he was raised by friendly soybean people on planet Sunshine. Every time my fiance tells him that the food was good at the end of the meal, the little 60-something man shrieks with delight. Tonight we got some kind of complimentary prune pudding thing with our meal. It was pretty revolting, but the sentiment was just darling.

I’m always a little lost when it comes to choosing fake meat dishes. As a vegetarian of eight years, would I like to try the fake chicken, or something more exotic, like fake lamb or fake prawns? I’ve heard the argument that it’s silly for vegetarians to eat fake meat when they’re supposedly so disgusted by the real thing (I’m not), but to me it just seems like a waste to go to a restaurant that has fake meat and not order it. Not unlike the kids who go to asthma camp in the summer, sometimes I just want to pretend that I'm a normal person. So I’ll take the kung pao chicken.

Oh yeah, and Mom came with us tonight. (She "loved" the prune pudding but refused my offer to give her the rest of mine.)

My Mom Is In Japan

2005-05-28T00:54:00.000+09:00

For three weeks. I’ll be with her for the first few days, then she’ll be on her own for a while. I think she’ll be fine with her limited Japanese.

Mom: "Hi" means yes, right?
Me: Right.
Mom: So what is no?
Me: "Iie." But you never say that.
Mom: You never say no?
Me: No.
Mom: So what do you say?
Me: Something much more complicated. Or you can just tilt your head to the side and smile. [demonstrates]
Mom: Like this? [tilts her head, bats her eyes]
Me: [repeats demonstration] We’ll have a few days to practice before you’re on your own.
Mom: [rolls eyes] I’d like another beer.

I’m sure I’ll have her bowing and arranging flowers before her three weeks are up. The posts will drop off at times, but that is a small price to pay for the upcoming Fun With Nagoya: Mom Edition.

I Hate The Library

2005-05-27T01:33:00.000+09:00

I used to like the library, before I tried a library in Japan. I hate everything about it. Here was today’s experience trying to return two Interlibrary Loan books, one of which was a day late:

The due date slips that came with the two ILL books included instructions for shipping payment. I'd never heard of paying for what I had always taken to be such a basic library service, but I was willing to let this go as a funny Japanese thing. From there it just got funnier, then not so funny.

First, I had to go to a post office and get 540 yen in stamps for one of the books, and 590 yen in stamps for the other, heavier one. I did that, and I even managed to do it with an ironic sort of pleasure.

In addition to the stamps, I owed the same amount in cash to the library upon returning the books. So I went to the library, had a brief awkward encounter with a nice American whom I couldn’t remember meeting before, then faced the librarian. She was already not happy with me because of my "late" book (I had gotten the books on the same day, and hadn’t realized that one was due five days before the other, for no reason at all). I handed her 1130 yen in cash, and she corrected me, saying that I owed her 1140 yen. I didn’t have another 10-yen coin, so I fished a 50-yen piece from my wallet. That got me a look. As she returned with my 10 yen in change, she tersely said, "try not to need change next time."

Try not to need change next time. I almost never get angry, but this was so worth it. To keep from kicking something on my way out, I looked down at the 8x10-size receipts the librarian had given me. I had been right in giving her 1130 yen in the first place. But there was no turning around for me at this point. So I walked back home and cried like a pathetic grantee who feels infinitely sorry for herself. (It was generally not a good day.)

In total, borrowing these two ILL books cost me 2270 yen, which is about 20 US dollars. And the books were completely useless, of course.

Creepy Chinese Stuff

2005-05-25T23:38:00.000+09:00

I once had a Chinese language professor in college whom my friend dubbed "Vampire Lady." The 60-something woman had short (but flowing) salt-and-pepper hair, often wore dark purple lipstick, and always sported robe-like black clothing. Vampire Lady was not Chinese, but she conducted her class "the way the Chinese used to do things." For three months, my early mornings and late nights were occupied with rote memorization and genuine, soul-purifying fear.

Vampire Lady was not actually as cold to the bone as she presented herself. I heard rumors about her crying in front of a favorite student (because kids "these days" didn’t seem to like her) and buying pillows for another favorite student when she (the student) was under the weather. Still, Vampire Lady never stopped scaring the bejesus out of me, and I was in no hurry to become a pet of hers, either.

Then I went to China. I don't remember encountering any scary Chinese people (except for the Chinese military officer who both wanted to be my friend and wanted to make it clear to me that he “hates” America), but I did learn one really cool and creepy fact about the Chinese during my six-month stay.

I knew that the Chinese were a little creepy when I first encountered the rampant cheesy Mao souvenirs, but second to Mao, the Chinese are totally into bats. The Shanghai Museum was absolutely crawling with ceramics and gold screen paintings that featured the little flying beasts.

The bats were no less creepy to me than the illustrations that came with my childhood Poe book, but there they were, all over stuff that was used by emperors and concubines from when the Chinese were into that kind of thing. And it’s all just because, I later learned, the Chinese word for bat is a homonym for the Chinese word for "good fortune."

It seems like the bat revelation should change the way I feel about Vampire Lady. It has, and it hasn’t. The thought of her still makes me want to forget Asian languages and cry for my mom, but my more diplomatic side wants to start calling her "Bat Lady," and pretend it's just an endearing nickname.

Oops.

2005-05-25T02:20:00.000+09:00

I just dropped my glasses in the toilet. That must happen to nearsighted people all the time, but my toilet’s bowl is the type that doesn’t have a lot of water in it. So if something big (or even some little) happens in there, it can stick around for a few days before getting properly flushed down.

Anyway, the glasses are back on.

Tommy, Linguist

2005-05-25T00:34:00.000+09:00

Last week, Tommy asked me to correct a short introduction that he wrote for his someday-to-be-published English textbook. Yes, the student is becoming the master. We went over my corrections tonight for about 20 minutes, half of which was devoted to talking about abstract nouns, and what I think of them (not a whole lot).

Once we finished jumping through the mental hoops that are words like "thought" and whether or not they deserve articles in front of them, we moved on to problems of a more colloquial nature. Tommy’s intro was written in the style of an informal letter to students, and he really got caught up in the inspirational catchphrases toward the end. "The most important thing, boys and girls, is to believe in you."

Tommy saved the best for last: his final sentence was "He’s looking at you, kids!" (punctuation his). He seemed really proud of that one, and it was so cute that I almost couldn't bring myself to correct him.

"It’s 'here’s looking at you, kid,'" I admitted, reluctantly. "Like 'here is looking at you.'"

"But that doesn’t make any sense," Tommy replied matter-of-factly. "'Here' doesn’t look at you. 'He' looks at you."

"And who do you suppose is he?"

"Probably God, originally." Tommy was using his etymological deductive powers from linguistics class to try to cover up his mistake. "Anyway, what does it mean?"

"I dunno. Something about the war?"

I told him I’d check it out for real, and my internet research skills have lead me to an answer that seems pretty logical. Prior to Casablanca (which almost starred Ronald Reagan, according to this website), the phrase appears to have been used to mean something besides “hey, I’m quoting a movie!”

On this website, in a reply to a question posed by a Japanese person (!), a guy or gal named Terry Gaus says that “here’s looking at you” was originally a threat recited as a toast that meant something like “I may be throwing my head back to ingest this vile drink, but I’ve still got my eye on you, so don’t try any funny stuff.” This was, of course, in the “good ol’ days,” when women wore gingham and bar fights were preceded with a toast.

Let's not send Tommy back to 19th century America anytime soon. Or rather, let's do.

When Will The Persecution End?

2005-05-23T22:18:00.000+09:00

First it was banning Christmas, and now America is hunting down Christians the old-fashioned way. Beware, believers: they want your children. For the rest of us, the good news is that there appears to be a reward!

No, this isn’t some tacky Bill Maher joke, or even something dreamed up by more committed Christian victimizers. It’s a VBS (vacation bible school) theme used all over the country since 1999, and it’s coming to my hometown this summer!

The VBS program’s website claims that the Western theme centers around "David’s 'outlaw' years," but I think we all know better: talking about how the "secularists" in America are persecuting the 75% of Americans who are Christian is way more exciting than learning about some guy who lived thousands of years ago. Hey, wasn’t there some other important guy who lived thousands of years ago? I forget.

The posters really make the persecution theme come to life. The above child after God’s own heart looks like he could use a shave and a little sobering up — just like the Christian kids I used to know in high school, after they’d been "persecuted" a little by peer pressure. I especially love the fiddler poster. Fiddling Christian children? If such a thing exists, they probably do deserve extra protection from those who would throw them to the lions.

I’ll admit I was pretty psyched the first time my parents sent me to a week of VBS at a nearby church. (They had puppets! And I was five.) But I think most kids would agree that VBS is pretty lame — nowhere near as fun as that "movie camp" that you always see promoted in theaters. (What lucky kid convinces their parents to let them go to that?) I guess you can’t really blame church mothers and youth group leaders for trying to make their VBS experience as exciting as listening to secular rock music or sipping secular slurpees at the local convenience store.

Crapware Saves The Day

2005-05-21T00:14:00.000+09:00

Looking for a new way to discourage that mildly obsessed jerk, get fired from your boring job, or get that annoying girl from college to stop emailing you? Sigh no more, ladies: the good people at Smiley Central, Cursor Mania, and Popular Screensavers have you covered.

Let’s start with the "smileys." Though they used to be just a little annoying in an innocent sort of way, the newer crazily animated smileys from Smiley Central (seen here in extra shudder-inducing X-mas themes!) are guaranteed to give you that je ne sais quoi that only 10-year-old boys and tacky housewives carry on the web these days. Just pop one of these babies off and bingo! No more "let’s get together sometime" emails from your superficial sort-of friend. She will instantly begin to associate your email address with a developmentally disabled bald kid with creepy eyebrows. Ew, they’re so creepy.

On to the cursor. Oh, you want to use my computer again, Joe? Because yours is on the other side of the office, away from the bathrooms? Sure, go ahead! By the way, you want to point the upper left-hand corner of the pair of high heels — not the pointy toes — at the thing you want to click on. Isn’t it darling how I’ve set it to sound like Dorothy clicking her ruby slippers together every time you open a new— what, you’re gonna use your own computer?

Express your lack of creativity and taste with a **free** screensaver! The uses are only limited by your imagination and your ability to actually look at one of these things long enough to install it.

The only thing shittier than the services offered by these websites (whose owners are, understandably, reluctant to advertise their identity) are the websites themselves. Smiley Central didn’t load correctly the first time I tried, and the stupid cursor one took about five minutes over my superfast internet connection. Also, these guys seem pretty convinced that you won’t be doing your computer any favors by installing this virtual flotsam.

I guess the worst case scenario would be finding that your friend/ mother-in-law/ Joe is totally into your new look, and you now have this creepy junk that won’t let you uninstall it. But really, what are the chances that both of those could occur?

My Ikebana Club

2005-05-18T19:18:00.000+09:00

I’ve recently taken up ikebana (Japanese flower arranging), which is delightful, but not embarrassing, boring, or bureaucratic enough to write about. I did, however, add my new hobby to my profile. It turns out that other people with blogs are interested in ikebana too, so I’ve decided to put together a virtual ikebana club. We’ll meet once a week until we kill one another off. Here are the original members:

Carlota Ferreyra
None of us will understand what she’s muttering to herself over in the corner, but she’ll be a riot to have around anyway.
Flowers: Big and fluffy, like those chickens with fur instead of feathers.

ChRyStAlSnOw
The art theory will get real old, real quick. Nobody cares about your thoughts on White.
Flowers: Probably something "Bauhaus." Whatever.

Daibo
She’s "just a digital manga girl, really." Oh good. That’s just who I’ve been wanting to interact with weekly.
Flowers: Ooh I hope whatever it is, it’s inspired by Clamp.

Petit Panda
Our token Japanese member, she will soon become my friend, and not anyone else’s.
Flowers: They will be cute and small and so very "Japanese."

Jack Kennard
I don’t think he’ll get past flirting with all the women to actually get around to arranging any flowers. He’ll become buddies with Carlota, who will eat up the attention.
Flowers: Like his redundant Hooters aesthetic, "delightfully tacky yet unrefined."

Me
Whatever gave me the dumb idea to start an ikebana club? I’m gonna go play video games now.
Flowers: Whatever Petit Panda’s doing.

Insert Joke Here

2005-05-18T00:04:00.000+09:00

Some schmuck in Japan just paid 600,000 yen for a pair of melons. What's more, he thinks he can recover from his blunder by reselling them on the internet!

This blurb in Japan Today does not do the story any justice, but some of its inane reader comments do.

Is Tommy Hitting On Me?

2005-05-17T23:40:00.000+09:00

Apparently Tommy judged our meal out last Friday a success, and now I think he’s worked up the nerve to attempt seduction. It's cute in a pathetic way, but mostly it just creeps me out.

Since we were meeting late this evening for his English lesson, Tommy suggested that we get dinner somewhere again. He turned down my repeated suggestions to go to the nearby and well-lit Mos Burger, so we ended up at an Italian restaurant with candles and cushy chairs. That choice was half my fault, but boy, was it uncomfortable.

He brought me a real gift this time: a scented fan from Osaka. I took this to mean, of course, "you’re hot" (here’s a fan).

When we were ordering, Tommy suggested that instead of a coke, why not try a Shirley Temple?

After I mentioned my fiance, who would be returning from the states tomorrow, he said, "you know, love and marriage are completely different things," as he gave me the eye and stroked his Shirley Temple.

This is how Tommy invited me to see Constantine with him: he slowly drew out a flier for the movie from his pocket, and said in what I took to be an effort at a seductive voice, "I want to invite you… to Constantine."
I said "no" pretty flatly.

Twice he got up to speak privately to our waitress, and he wouldn’t tell me what that was all about. I never found out, but in the back of my mind I was readying myself for a violinist to appear at our table. I was a nervous wreck by the time we finally got out of there.

The easy listening has turned into the Beauty and the Beast theme song.

La La La

2005-05-16T23:10:00.000+09:00

I’ve recently given up trying to find that profoundly wonderful and life-changing Japanese music that my gut tells me exists somewhere. Instead I’ve fallen back into my old "strange and girly" ways, which I can originally attribute to Shonen Knife and their love of bad English and food products.

Today's shopping spree turned up three notable albums, the majority of which I would recommend to a friend.

School Girl Pop — Mummy the Peepshow
Blah. I don’t remember how I first came across Mummy the Peepshow, but I’ve been pushing them big time ever since. These girls, who I remember in an interview once said that one of their biggest influences is The Ramones, have both attitude and high voices, and their version of "Hateful" will always be the real one to me. Sadly, their 2002 album was not so great.

I just finished listening to the whole thing, and I can’t recall a single song from it. What’s worse, it looks like this was Mummy the Peepshow’s last effort before evaporating into the “J-indies” firmament. We should remember them instead by their earlier albums This is Egg Speaking and Electric Roller Girl, the latter of which includes a great cover of The Smiths’ "This Charming Man." Yes, those were the super-sweet and punkish days… Oh well, I got their dud album used, in any case.

Marshmallow Hello — Marshmallow C Major
A and a "good job" sticker. This female duo has made the greatest album I’ve ever heard at a Japanese listening station. The album art looks like it was designed by a Japanese six-year-old, and the music faithfully adheres to that aesthetic, without getting annoying. Think seriously cute melodies and words, put together by someone who’s just discovered the concepts of harmony and syncopation, and accordions. And English.

My favorite is probably "Mr. Santa Clause," a base and accordion ditty. Its delightful chorus is a repetition of "Mr. Santa Clause, Mr. Santa Clause, la la la."

Warp — Judy and Mary
Surprisingly complex and fun. JAM are well known enough to be available on Amazon.com, but my previous experiences with them have ended quickly in dismissals of the group as "annoying anime pop." This album, which I happily paid 350 yen to rent (!) at a video store, is far more interesting than the JAM that I remember. The sugary vocals of Isoya Yuki are still around, but slightly toned down and moved over a little for rock’n’roll-y guitars and fun electronic flourishes. The result is a little chaotic, but anything that makes me want to tackle Harajuku shopping is worth a permanent (if not frequently visited) slot on my playlist.

My web research (a reviewer on Amazon) tells me that this 2001 album is Judy and Mary’s last. So here’s to putting out a strong last one, JAM. We never really knew you. We might get to know you if we get around to going to the video/DVD/CD rental shop again sometime soon. That place is awesome.

To B2 Or Not To B2?

2005-05-15T15:15:00.000+09:00

Remember the stories about that gum in Japan that’s supposed to make your boobs bigger? Well, after a month of searching, I found it. Sort of. All along, the Nagoya Parco department store has carried the much-hyped Bust-Up brand of breast-enhancement products. So I could begin my promised experiment today, if not for two problems:

1) Parco carries only the Bust-Up pills and drink mix (yuck!)
Somehow, I’m more willing to chew breast-enhancing gum 3-4 times a day than to take breast-enhancing pills twice a day. As it is, I barely manage to choke down my two vitamins per day, but I can easily go through a pack of Extra gum in a matter of hours. The only other gum product I found at Parco was for weight loss, and though I suppose it could be argued that I need smaller hips more than I need a bigger chest, my mother has forced me to watch enough after school specials to avoid that nightmare of overwrought dialog.

2) Japanese women are apparently willing to pay a high price for their curves, money-wise
A box of 60 pills was more than 6,000 yen, and the pills with added Rose Hip (for more "rose-like" breasts?) were a hefty 9,000 yen. If I had to choose between an even more stacked chest and a stack of new CDs, my instinct would be to go with the music. I’m tired of my current playlist.

Recently, a style article in the New York Times mentioned in passing the most popular size for surgically enhanced breasts, and it happens to be the one that I already possess! So maybe I should just count myself lucky and forget the weird and entirely unnecessary experiments. But I can’t give up the Bust-Up idea entirely, so I promise to do my best to recruit my flat-chested British friend as my guinea pig. She has actually expressed un-ironic interest in using the products, and I can’t pass up exploiting that.

Tommy’s Driving Tips

2005-05-14T03:29:00.000+09:00

My English student took some time out of his mid-life crisis to take me out for Chinese tonight. He was in an unusually talky mood, and for some reason our conversation kept swerving back to Tommy’s unusual relationship with automobiles.

Tommy tells me that he likes to go out drinking, after which he usually ends up sleeping in his car. "I’m not as strong as some other men, so I have to sleep a little before I can drive home." How long does he sleep in his car? All night? "I don’t remember, because I’m drinking when it happens."

Tommy has had his fair share of traffic accidents. He claims to have been in "lots" of them in his 20-odd years of driving, and he’s been hit by a car both while he was on bicycle and walking. I asked how badly he was hurt when he was hit as a pedestrian. "I don’t remember, because I was leaving for America the next day, and I was very excited about that."

How Tommy fooled the breathalyzer: "I sucked in, instead of breathing out."

"One time, I hit someone. I don’t remember, but maybe I was drunk. So I sent my wife to the police in place of me, and they didn’t care."

Not "noticing" that there were speed limits in New Zealand, Tommy got slapped with a fine in the mail. How much did he have to pay? "I don’t remember, because I paid it through the internet."

If this were any other country, I would be desperately trying to get Tommy out from behind that wheel. But, as he assures me, the "stronger" Japanese salarymen often go cruising the streets after throwing back the same number of drinks that makes Tommy pass out in his car. I did, however, decline the ride home, if only to forgo more of Tommy’s selection of "easy listening" CDs.

I Hope I'm This Well Remembered

2005-05-13T02:35:00.000+09:00

I’m not as easily impressed by the Japanese language as many of my embarrassing fellow countrymen are, but tonight I came across a word that has an astonishing array of meanings attached to it.

According to my handy kanji book Kanji & Kana: A Handbook of the Japanese Writing System (great book), the word "daruma" (the two leftmost big characters in the image, read top to bottom) can mean:

1) Bodhidharma (whose arms and legs fell off from meditating so much)

2) Any old quadruple amputee (Hang gliding is no longer a "before 30" goal of mine.)

Or

3) Prostitute

It’s also 4) a creepy doll that people use for good luck. Make a wish for the future, and you paint one of the daruma’s eyes in. Land that dream job, break ground for your new singles bar, or win the election, and you paint the other eye in. Now, wasn’t that fun?

I think it’s safe to guess that it all started with the Buddhist whatsit guy. What a namesake!

I Should Watch More TV

2005-05-11T22:40:00.000+09:00

Fuji TV lays the trivia on thick Wednesday nights, and by far their best is the flashy hour of Trivia no Izumi.

The show offers plenty of "gee whiz" moments, but the segment that stands out the most is the Ancient Egyptian-themed part of the show when the hosts seek to "gift" the world with a new item of trivia. Last week it was "What are the ten most common bad jokes that mothers tell?" which got a couple laughs out of me, but not much more. This week, however, I feel that I’ve really learned something useful for those awkward cocktail party lulls.

Tonight, the hosts read a letter from a viewer who was concerned about what his date might have imagined him doing when he spent a long time in the bathroom at a restaurant. (He was actually taking a call on his cell phone, which is questionable behavior in itself, if you ask me.) Put succinctly, the young man wanted to know how many minutes a guy could spend in the restroom before his date suspected he was taking a dump. What did the hosts at Trivia no Izumi do? They actually checked, of course.

After testing 70 couples with a stopwatch, a hidden camera, and follow-up interviews, they determined that the average time it takes for a female companion to figure that her date is pooping in there was 4 minutes, 15 seconds. And another trivia fact was born.

Apparently Spike TV is still around, and Hey! Spring of Trivia (the show's purposefully awkward English name) is in its lineup of cheaply acquired Japanese reruns these days. But even if you’re neither 18-24 nor male, H!SOT is worth checking out.

What’s Our Country Called Again?

2005-05-11T21:29:00.000+09:00

According to the Asahi Shinbun, researchers in Japan have determined that there is a definite preference among Japanese to pronounce the name of their country "nihon." The outdated (though arguably snappier) alternative "nippon" has mostly fallen out of favor with all except old men and creepy nationalists.

Now that that’s all cleared up, let’s work on my name. It's supposed to be pronounced slowly, like "an-na." I’ve even met Japanese people who have this name. But pronounce my name quickly, like "ana" — many people do this, perhaps on purpose — and it means "hole" in Japanese.

Speaking Of Tags

2005-05-11T18:32:00.000+09:00

I almost made it through the entire day without noticing that my shirt is on backwards.

Japan:1 Me:0

Please Remove This Tag

2005-05-11T00:01:00.000+09:00

You’ll never get them to admit it, but Japanese people have a thing about not removing any tags or stickers from the products that they buy. You know the garish plastic stickers that you see on stereos in the store, or the thin plastic sheet that came covering the face of your new watch? Maybe you don’t, because you inaugurate the official use of your things by removing the product from its packaging and getting rid of unnecessary warning labels, ads, and tags.

Unless you’re Japanese, of course. The picture above is misleading, because I’m not talking about collectibles, which people all over the world like to preserve beyond sanity. (I chose the Beanie Baby image purely for shock value.) I’m talking about things like the postcard-size tags that came with the chairs that fill every classroom in one of the buildings on my university campus. Each blue rolling swivel chair (they’re quite nice, if a bit unwieldy at times) has one of these tags dangling from a piece of thread from the bottom of the chair. The overall effect, I’ve decided, is that of either an office product showroom or some kind of uninspired art installment.

Even if some (even if most!) of the tags had been missed when the chairs were first installed, I could forgive the school for its laziness. But after seeing literally hundreds of these chairs, I can verify that not one of them has had its tag removed. This is beyond anal, if only because the preservation of these tags requires the cooperation of the entire student body. What’s on the tags? The name of the chair, and maybe a serial number of some sort. Nothing profound.

I’ve thought about asking one of my Japanese classmates why the hell leaving the tags on the chairs is so necessary, but I know what kind of response I would get. Just like the time I asked my friend Hiroshi why he left the store stickers on his drinking glasses, and the time when I asked my other friend Eri why she insisted on keeping all the little annoying promotional cards that came with her CDs, my classmate would say, "oh, I never noticed."

You know what I just noticed? The plastic covering is still on the screen of my cell phone, after eight months. I think I'll try to leave it on as long as possible. Let's see how Japan likes that.

Post-script: The plastic is off. Wow, I feel much better now.

Groping Becomes "Less OK" In Tokyo

2005-05-09T22:40:00.000+09:00

Two weeks after Japan’s worst train wreck in 50 years, railways in Tokyo are giving their morning commuters something different to think about: some women would prefer not to have their asses grabbed this early in the day. Earlier this morning, employees at stations across the city were busy educating the public about sexual harassment issues, by slapping "women only" stickers onto train and subway cars. The designated cars are reserved for female commuters until 9 in the morning, when the passenger load is considered light enough to discourage rampant groping.

Japan has long embraced the theory that the best way to combat sexual harassment is to empower women: I’ve seen numerous public service notices in subway stations that feature a cartoon drawing of a cute, unsuspecting female, about to be groped by a cute, lecherous salaryman. At least visually, the signs translate to "Watch out, Honey — you might think about wearing a longer skirt next time!" It’s up to you, girl.

And now, women are again empowered with the choice of whether or not to avoid men altogether for 15 minutes in the morning. You men had better watch out, ‘cause there just might be some bra burning around the corner, lol.

Speaking of men, maybe somebody should let them in on what this whole "women’s car" thing is all about. Because… nah, never mind — the men surely have more important things to think about on their way to work, like how they need to get around to firing that "office lady" who's getting a little too old to be pouring tea anymore. Those salarymen who do take the time to look into it will be relieved to learn that the women who still choose to ride in the mixed cars are definitely "asking for it."

So props to Tokyo for finally sticking a cheap band-aid on that annoying "sekuhara" problem. Actually, Nagoya has had "women only" cars in its subways for a while now, but I’ve never really grown used to them. It’s rare that I’m riding the subway during rush hour, but I still hesitate when I see that pink "women only" sticker at other times of the day. "Wait, does that include me?" I’m always thinking, "or just the women wearing short skirts?"

Love You Mom!

2005-05-08T00:58:00.000+09:00

I’ve had to spend a lot of Mother’s Days apart from my mom, and this year is no exception. I’m not so great at getting cards in the mail (especially overseas), so she at least merits her own post this year.

Even when we haven’t been together physically, Mom has always been there to share the special events in my life. A few memorable Mom moments:

When I got into the prestigious college that I wanted: "That’s great! Now, how much is it going to cost us?"

When I graduated from said college: "You know, you can’t come home and mooch off of us like some of your friends are doing."

When I won a prestigious grant to study in Japan for a year: "How much is that going to cost us?"

When I got engaged: "Can you afford that?"

To be fair, the answer to her first question more than justifies Mom’s subsequent concerns. And luckily, Mom’s got a great sense of humor. And she doesn’t read my blog.

But seriously, my mom has been an inspiration to me in every aspect of my life. She is the best teacher, nurturer, and friend that I could ask for. Thanks Mom!

Coke Is Kinki In Japan

2005-05-07T09:51:00.000+09:00

The nearest vending machine from my apartment is about a minute away, which is a minute too far for me. If you’ve got to love the Japanese for something, love them for their vending machine-friendly lack of vandalism. And their ability to design great drinks. And great vending machines. We’ve all heard the hype: hot drinks (including corn "potage") in the winter, endless varieties of opaque fruity drinks in the summer, and schoolgirls’ undergarments in the red light districts. I’m here to tell you that Japan’s culture of non-alcoholic beverages really is as strange and enchanting as it sounds. And Coke is to thank for a great deal of it.

I cringe every time I see the mountains of stuffed Disney characters that are taking over the crane games in arcades in Japan. Things didn't use to be that way, and I pray that I’m not the only one who cares deeply about the fates of Rirakkuma, Miffy-chan (who is unofficially Japanese), and plush Slime toys.

But Coke is a little different, because Coke has been here practically since the occupation. (I guess the same needs to be said for Disney, but Japanese characters are just so much cuter, damn it.) Although I’m never crazy to see the Coca-Cola logo on my bottle of chilled green tea, I’ve learned to suck it up, because Coke makes some of the best beverages in Japan. Also, they work through a distributor called Kinki, and you can’t complain about that combo.

Here are some of my Kinki-Coke faves:

Royal Milk Tea

"British Style" Royal Milk Tea is the best thing that’s happened to both Japan and me, beverage-wise. It comes hot in the winter and cool in the summer, and it’s like lapping up a little bit of heaven. Coke's secret was to take a sugar-loaded milk drink (like Calpis’ new and thoroughly wonderful Milq), and to add a touch of black tea for color. It loses points only for its extra heavy steel can, which always tricks me into thinking that I’ve got a sip or two left when I’ve already drunk it dry.

Qoo

What’s not to love about this cute little blue gremlin? The drink he brings us (pronounced “coo”) is like that powdery “orange drink” that they used to serve at MacDonald’s, only a lot better.

Morning Deli Banana Drink

OK, so I haven’t actually tried this one. But just look at it — not only is it packaged in a space food squeezy container, but it has the word “deli” in its name. So if you’re out on the streets of Nagoya trying to impress the foreign tourists, this is the drink to have in hand.

Real Gold

OK, so I haven’t actually tried this one either. But I’m using it as a classic example of the salaryman “vitamin” drinks that I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. I can’t read most of the ingredients listed on Real Gold, but I can tell that the first three are sugar, honey, and royal jelly. You know, stuff that would be good for you if you were a little buzzing worker insect. Wait, was that racist?

If you’re dying to try any of these Coke products, you can give me a ring and we’ll talk shipping and handling (plus a small commission, of course). Alternatively, I’ve heard that the Coca-Cola factory in Atlanta has an area where you can try Coke products from around the world (I’ve never been). It’s probably worth the trip, because you can also stop by the Cyclorama, the “longest running show in the United States.” I’ve been there, and it is so worth it.

Shall We Dansu?

2005-05-05T23:34:00.000+09:00

Like the rest of Japan, I’m pretty far behind on my movie viewing. Ticket prices don’t offer much incentive to catch a show, either: my "exchange student" discount usually gets me in for 1100 yen, down from the normal price of 1800 yen (about twice as much as it costs to see a movie in New York City).

Today, however, I braved Golden Week crowds and buzz-killing ticket prices to see Richard Gere and Jennifer Lopez steam it up in Shall We Dance, the Hollywood version of the 1996 Japanese film by the same name (give or take a question mark). I resisted my gut feeling to skip this one because I couldn’t think of anything more wacky than me, an American, going to a theater in Japan to see an American movie (subtitled in Japanese) that is a remake of a Japanese film (a very "Hollywood" Japanese film, according to my college film professor) that I originally saw in America. I mean, only in Japan, right? By definition!

It was predictably bad, but not unentertaining. I especially enjoyed Ms. Lopez’s imitation of a jilted ice princess. She's meant to be dour, but any given moment, she just looked as if she might throw up right on the studio dance floor.

More interesting than lamenting the acting and creative plot devices (Richard Gere spends quality time with his son at some kind of rap concert?) was noticing the unaltered similarities with the original Japanese film. As pointed out on this website, the original’s overriding theme of shame doesn’t quite ring true in the context of upper-middle-class Chicagoans, but the folks at Miramax went with it anyway. And many of the casting decisions seemed to have been made via a look-alike contest. I kept finding myself enjoying the movie because my mind would be wandering to the original, better version of same scene that was playing onscreen. I’m mildly interested in learning why these Hollywood remakes of Japanese hits tend to be so literal in their translations (think The Ring). I guess I’d put my money on laziness.

At least my fellow audience members seemed to be enjoying themselves. I heard both laughter and sniffling, and the Japanese are usually a quiet bunch in movie theaters.

I can’t review an American remake of a Japanese film about taking dance lessons without relating my own experience as an American taking dance lessons in Japan. (If I didn’t know better, I would use the word "ironic" to describe all this wacky cross-cross-cultural exchange.)

For a few months in the fall and winter, I was living the dream, taking salsa lessons at a small studio in Nagoya called Cafe Macondo. I have since stopped going because of a reluctant fiance, but it was quite an experience while it lasted. Every week, I got to see instructors "Pepe" and "Joaquin" (both of whom are Japanese, but just barely) try to assist new Japanese beginners in getting that stick out of their ass. Exercises in eye contact were like pulling teeth for me, so I can only imagine the obsessive hand-washing sessions that followed the lessons for my Japanese classmates. The non-newbies were all old and pervy, of course.

I got a free salsa CD after my 15th lesson, so at least I'm really putting that grant money to work for me.

Tommy Update

2005-05-05T01:45:00.000+09:00

My weekly meetings with forty-something English student Tommy have taken a more somber turn lately, so much so that I’ve felt compelled to suggest professional counseling to him. Tommy, ever the passive aggressor, is quick on his feet when it comes to obscuring important assertions of mine in a thick haze of language barriers and conclusion-jumpings. We spent a good chunk of one hour shifting seamlessly between my own family’s mental health history and Tommy’s recent visit to Pokemon Park.

Even in the midst of these serious topics, our recent sessions have also included some lighter "Tommy" fare, much of which makes me proud to know him.

• My smile reminds Tommy of Julia Roberts. For the second week in a row. "Oh yes, you don’t like her. Well, you don’t have such a big mouth, in the physical sense."

• One of Tommy’s big problems these days (aside from a self-diagnosed lack of affection) is the Americans he encounters on his favorite "pen pal" chatroom: "They’re just interested in learning Japanese," as opposed to letting Tommy practice his English, "and they’re all, what do you call it — nerds?"

• Tommy examines my "character": "I’m interested in which traits are your true character, and which traits you only have because you are American."

• Why won’t Tommy let his daughter sleep over at a friend’s house? "She’s only 13. And she might not get enough sleep."

• Unbeknownst to me, Tommy’s had religion this whole time: "I can heal you, by putting my fingers together like this." His gesture resembles praying hands, with only the fingers touching. "But I must not be very good at it, because I’ve been trying to heal my two kids for years with no results."

• Justice is served, Tommy style: "If a man kills another man, it’s the first man’s fault, but it's also the fault of the second man’s ancestors."

• Tommy on Mother’s Day (which is also celebrated in Japan): "I don’t understand it."

Ew.

2005-05-04T03:34:00.000+09:00

As a consolation prize for enduring the worst sunburn in my life, I now get to peel miles of skin off the backs of my itchy legs. The process is gross as hell (I’ve been told), but satisfying in the way that only your own bodily functions can be.

I won’t go into too much detail, but today (day 3) we’ve got some light flaking in patches, a couple of red areas that are just about to crack, and a few prime spots of shrink-wrap-peeling goodness. I’m not much for horror flicks or classroom dissection exercises, but I am pretty fascinated with my rapidly growing pile o’ skin lying next to my bed. A few more intense sunburns, and I’ll have a extra me on hand!

But enough about my epidermis.

Amphibians grow out of their skins a few times each year. Being some of the more practical creatures on the planet (they really got the ball rolling in evolution, for starters), frogs and slimy lizard-things eat their soft skins after shedding. Big brother lizard to little sister lizard: Hey — you gonna finish that slimy tube of dead skin of yours?

Ever wonder how you could best preserve that snakeskin that you found in the backyard while you were out hunting for squirrels? All of these people did, and lucky for us, they also preserved their experiences on a website. My favorite? Gary Champagne II's suggestion to "just apply several coats of hair spray."

What’s a water dragon? I don’t know either, but it looks like they sometimes need extra help when skin-shedding season rolls around. Pet owners are encouraged to prepare a warm bath, and be ready to help with some "working off" of "difficult areas," especially around the claw-y dragon toes.

If you’ve been trying to burn off an unwanted tattoo at home — it’s so cute how you’re always doing crazy stuff like that — it’s time to put away the lighter. Turns out that no matter how many times you slough off that epidermis, your embarrassing ink stain will stay securely lodged in your slightly lower dermis. Why? You can go here for the "scientific" explanation.

The lyrics to Pantera’s "Shedding Skin" appear to be a gross and pseudo-satanic metaphor about starting over in life, until you get to the end and it turns out that he’s just ticked at someone for giving him syphilis. Like, ew?

Apparently seals can do it too? OK, now I'm beginning to gross myself out.

Playing Nintendo The Old Fashioned Way

2005-05-03T02:28:00.000+09:00

What with the success of VH1’s no-budget "I Love the '80s" series and the reincarnation of '60s gender-bending cult classic Chitty Chitty Bang Bang into a hit Broadway musical, it doesn’t take an "expert" to see that retro is hot.

Take Nintendo. What could be more hip among the retro-geek elite than old-school Duck Hunt? Nintendo playing cards, of course. Wow, you are just so not with it, are you?

You might have heard that before they went into sapping adolescents’ brains with pixels and whatnot, Nintendo was making Occupied Japan a brighter place by manufacturing colorful playing cards. But I bet you didn’t know that they’re still doing it. Let’s hope no one ever tells them that the occupation is over, because these are some sweet-ass playing cards (or "trump" as they like to call them in Japan lately — those Japanese are always ready to jump on a successful reality-show bandwagon).

Yes, Nintendo playing cards are so retro-chic that they’ve never gone away. Most popular are their plastic cards, which come in a variety of designs and price ranges. These are the kind that I found at my neighborhood Lawson convenience store, right next to the UNO. (God, who plays that anymore?) The Nintendos were a steep 1200 yen, but the darling plastic Nintendo case that they came in made it a pain-free purchase.

Some people might object to the sleek (they would call it "slippery") feel of the plastics, but after two rounds of gin (yes, gin is back), they still felt sexy to the touch, without the "cardboardy" or "mealy around the edges" issues that we’ve all encountered with run-of-the-mill paper cards. If I had a burglary habit and a little more dexterity, I would choose a Nintendo plastic every time for my lock-picking feats. And if I could shuffle, I bet they would be good for that too.

The design on the back of the cards almost goes without saying. This is Nintendo, remember? There are actually four different price categories of designs, so by looking at their website, you can learn if your tastes fall into the classy 1200-yen range, or if you’re more of a 600-yen dullard.

Points off for the nail polish smell and the mannish queen of hearts, but points on for the instruction booklet and whimsical "mermen" jokers.

With Mother's Day right around the corner, why not spend some quality time with just you, Mom, and Nintendo?

You Up On Your Slang, DUDE?

2005-04-30T02:38:00.000+09:00

I was positively PSYCHED to find a website that has a "slang of the day" feature. If anyone could use a little boning up in the "street wise" department… well, it’s not me — DUH — but I thought I might learn something new anyway. Today’s "slang of the day" is:

Love handles.

I don’t think my grandmother would even call the term "love handles" slang. In fact, I’m sure I’ve heard Dr. Phil use it without his "I know I sound like a jackass, but I’m speakin’ your language" tone of voice.

There is even a feature on the "slang of the day" website that lets you "hear it pronounced." Curious, I tried hearing it pronounced. Yep, it’s the same "love handles" that I grew up with.

Perplexed, I checked out the website’s other "slang" suggestions. These included "all that" (okay, I guess, for maybe a clueless dope of 10 years ago), "amigo" (?), and "keep in touch" (???).

I thought this website might be the most incomprehensible and funniest thing I had seen in a long time, so I ran to make my fiance stop what he was doing to share the moment with me. As I wiped away tears of laughter, my fiance suggested that this was a website for people who are studying English as a second language.

Turns out he was right, and I just feel kind of sad now.

Oh my god — are there whole countries full of ESL students running around calling one other "amigo"? That thought just made me even sadder.

Correction

2005-04-29T21:49:00.000+09:00

Golden Week is even more of a gyp this year than I indicated a couple of days ago. The "week" of holidays are as follows:

Friday, April 29 - Greenery Day
Tuesday, May 3 - Constitution Day
Wednesday, May 4 - Day Between Two Holidays Day
Thursday, May 5 - Boys' Day

Neither Monday nor Friday of next week are holidays. So that trip you were planning to Aomori? Better make it the Lawson down the street instead.

Make Fun With Nagoya Your Homepage

2005-04-29T00:20:00.000+09:00

There’s nothing cuter than a naively self-important blog. Here’s a roundup of today’s “next blog” dearest:

Solitude is an above-average teen blog, with daily "musings" on adolescence, bouts of stomach flu, and youth group. The black background really gets across a deeper than usual sense of angst-y-ness. Lucky for us, our ambitious young blogger Dosic Endus has made it easy for the world to keep up on the latest math test. A convenient link — first thing, top of the page — encourages visitors to "Make Solitude Your Homepage." Sign me up!

Loki at Symphony EXPERIMENTAL kindly assures us that, regarding the controversial content of his blog, "reading it AND believing it IS up to you." Now there’s a weight of my mind, ‘cause I was really beginning to have doubts about Loki’s take on his most recent cell phone purchase. Panasonic? I mean come on. Loki himself tells us that Panasonic phones have been “popping up” at school "like a disease lately."

I’m unsure about what Jacek at Burning The Ice does for a living, but I do know that she is "an ontological anarchist," among way too many other things. Apparently Jacek was thinking of calling it quits with the blog recently, but was then convinced to keep on keepin’ on "after a few comments on last post." I hate to think of it — if there were no more Ice to be burned, we wouldn’t have gotten to enjoy the entire lyrics of one of the more mediocre Smiths songs in her last post.

Blogger newbie Andres V. (he’s got one of those accent-thingies in his name, but I don’t know how to type one of those) is writing his blog mi blog en blogger.com entirely in Spanish. Yeah, as if we’re supposed to learn a new language just to read your stupid blog?? That’s got to be the most adorable thing I’ve seen all day.

Thanks to Blank of the Day for this unbelievably fascinating post idea.

Another Misleading Japanese Holiday

2005-04-27T22:29:00.000+09:00

The first time I came to study in Japan, I arrived about a month before Golden Week, a series of national holidays in April that were combined by a law that aimed to get Japanese citizens to "chill out a little." In the two weeks leading up to Golden Week, I was asked constantly by friends and acquaintances what my plans for Golden Week were. I didn’t have any plans, but I was sure excited to have an entire week off from high school just because of the coincidence of a couple of holidays. I imagined it to be like getting a second spring break — Japan was turning out to be an even greater country than I had thought! Then the highly anticipated Golden Week finally came around, and… it wasn’t a week at all.

Yes, Golden Week (or as I like to call it, Golden "Week") is technically only four days long. Hey, Japan? The last time I checked, a week was seven days long, even for you guys. You might argue that Golden "Week" usually incorporates a weekend, making the vacation last seven days long (as it does this year), but that’s like your boss saying, "sure, you can have a day off! Hell, take two days — Saturday and Sunday."

Golden "Week" is especially cruel this year, because it begins on a Friday (April 29) and ends on the next Thursday (May 5). So we… could give you a whole week off, but… nah, you’d better come in on Friday. The productivity that will surely come out of that single day of work or school next week is absolutely essential to the running of this country. So you can forget that trip to Spain you were thinking about. Better make it Aomori instead. Or there’s always the Aichi World Expo. I bet nobody’s gonna think of doing that.

I don’t have much to say about the GW holidays, except that the first one, Greenery Day, is going to be changed back to its original emperor-worshipping name, "Showa Day," in 2007. So Golden "Week" in two years will not only be less than a week long, it will also be a time for Japan’s conservatives to remember the "good ol’ days" of Japanese fascism.

The Spirit Of The Clump

2005-04-26T22:03:00.000+09:00

Thanks to my lingering sunburn, it’s a big production just to get to the bathroom today. So, like Fred Savage in The Princess Bride before his senile grandpa waltzed in with a salacious "kissing book," I have been making the most of my physical "down time" by playing video games. I’ve been checking out a new game about every six months for the past two years, and the latest, Katamari Damacy for PlayStation 2, is proving to be a grand diversion from these sunburned blues.

Katamari is a Japanese word for clump or clod, and damacy (more typically romanized as "damashii") means spirit (as in the nationalist catchphrase "Yamato Damashii"). In Katamari Damacy, you are the littlest prince from a tiny planet (the Saint-Exupery similarities stop here) trying to win the favor of your deadbeat dad by restoring the universe that he destroyed on a whim. You accomplish this by rolling up all the material that makes this Earth beautiful and tedious — starting with small things like erasers and balls of fried octopus and building up to people, vending machines, and parts of buildings — into a ball that your demanding daddy will then throw up to the heavens to replace the cosmos star by star. You’re only in danger of running out of time, so as far as the rolling is concerned, you’re encouraged to just go crazy.

A highlight for non-Japanese players of the game (and probably Japanese players as well, for different reasons) is the fact that a great deal of the stuff that you’re collecting is specific to Japanese houses, parks, and city streets. Ever wonder what those green and yellow stickers are that you see on the cars of bad Japanese drivers? Yes, KD is an educational tribute to Japanese consumer society, and it is so satisfying to smoosh all the trappings of this Japanese life together a la Pee-Wee Herman with his foil ball (or his less impressive but arguably more realistic rubber band ball).

And nothing beats folding unsuspecting humans into your mass of destruction. Who needs bloody martial arts games when you can squish an entire middle school student body (including principal) into your 2-meter wide katamari?

The default music is lovely (and strangely reminiscent of Wendy Carlos), and while the game music can be repetitive and annoying, it is all happily katamari-themed.

We hear there is a Katamari 2 that we haven’t yet gotten our hands on. If it involves princes and clumping and disaster, you can be sure that it’ll be here as soon as the next stipend-day rolls around. Also: Katamari Christmas cards.

I Need A Vacation

2005-04-25T23:57:00.000+09:00

I decided I needed a "vacation" from my responsibility-free all-expenses-paid year in Japan, so I spent the entirety of this past weekend in a tropical paradise, playing in the sand and swimming in crystal-clear ocean. I spent a little time checking out the locals, but the locals were far more interested in checking me out.

As a blond, fair-skinned beauty from the West, I get my fair share of stares anywhere I go in Japan. Okinawa’s not so bad, since the U.S. military has taken care to acclimate the islanders to loud-mouthed Americans. The remote island that I had my sights set on, however, was teeming with old folks who were not ashamed to gawk at what was probably the third westerner they had seen since the occupation. We’re talking open-mouthed, full-bodied shameless gawks. Staring back doesn’t do anything but make me more uncomfortable. Who ever said the Japanese were not "into" eye contact must have been blessed with Asian looks.

By the end of the weekend, not only was I bizarrely non-Japanese looking, but I was also walking as if I had something big and barbed stuck up my ass, and down both legs too, if that were possible. In other words, I got the worst sunburn of my life.

It’s easy to ignore staring when there’s no over-the-counter pain medication available on your weekend-getaway island of choice. What with the moaning and cursing and crying, I had enough to occupy myself with in public. Still, the staring occasionally worked to take my mind off the hellish pain. The highlight of the return home, aside from the 16,000-yen taxi ride back from the Nagoya airport (to avoid two uncomfortable train rides), was my fiance’s play-by-play of the "classic!" stares I was getting in the airport.

"They start with your face, then as you hobble by, their eyes move down your lobster legs, then they get their friends and family to look too."

No one got their eyes scratched out by the end of the trip, so I’ve judged it a success. Now that that’s over, it’ll be a relief to concentrate on my vacation from my "vacation" from my… vacation.

Sit, Puke! Good Boy.

2005-04-21T02:40:00.000+09:00

Today I was idly walking around my neighborhood, spying on my rich neighbors and their enviably luxurious lifestyles, when I came across a doghouse that I hadn’t noticed before. It seemed out of place among the concrete houses — almost Tom Sawyer-ish, it was pretty big for a doghouse, and crudely fashioned out of wood. Above the door (no dog to be seen, by the way) was the name "Papy" in drippy red painted letters.

I thought it was a little weird when my host family here five years ago had a dog named Papy. They pronounced it more like "poppy," but I never got over feeling sorry for the dog. She was pretty old, but in no way did she seem like the toothless Appalachian grandfather type that, to me at least, her name suggested. Still, I laughed it off as a one-time poor name choice. Papy died sometime after I went back to the U.S., taking her unfortunate name with her. Or so I thought.

Today’s discovery taught me that "Papy" is more of an institution in Japanese dog naming that I had ever imagined. Weird, huh? Well, that's about all I’ve got to say about the "Papy" issue. But here’s something even better. My Japanese friend Yoshimo (of “Cremains” fame) once told me that she used to think that if she ever got a dog, she would name it "Puke." Not because she’s one of those passive-aggressive animal sadists, but because she didn’t know what the word meant and she thought it sounded cute.

"You, know, like it would just sound so cute to say, 'Here, Puke! C’mere Puke!' No?"

No. But I wouldn’t be too surprised to find a couple of overweight, doggie sweater-wearing Pukes this time around either.

NO, You Can’t Come Over

2005-04-20T21:46:00.000+09:00

Nagoya isn’t much of a tourist destination. I’ve heard rumors about a castle somewhere, but I’ve never met a Japanese person who would admit to having visited it. I guess to the travel-starved American, however, any place in Japan sounds just about as exotic and/or otaku-friendly as the next. But before you jump on that plane bound for Japan’s fourth-largest city (birthplace of pachinko, the manga cafe, and the controversial "Nagoya curl"), make hotel reservations. ‘Cause you’re not staying with me.

My apartment is really small. No, really. You know that horrible fold-out bed thing at your aunt’s that you dread sleeping on every time you visit? That’s my bed every night, and my fiance and I have to fold it up into a saggy couch-bed every day. Sleeping means accepting the risk of getting stepped on by a more awake individual for lack of floor.

Everything that is not uncomfortable couch-bed is stuff that looks like trash, but only because there’s no better place to put it. Examples include a rice cooker (floor), knitting materials (floor), and telephone (on top of the VCR, which is on top of the TV, which is on top of a scanner, on top of a cardboard box full of stuff). The bathroom is what would be in a commercial airplane if those came equipped with a miniature bathtub. The kitchen is a sink. In other words, there’s no room for you. There’s no room for me. There is no room for those three video game systems we’ve got stacked one on top of the other in the corner.

Also, half of the room smells like Italian dressing.

How Can I Make Japanese Friends In Nagoya?

2005-04-20T01:21:00.000+09:00

Apparently, when typed into Google, the above query erroneously gets you to my blog. For the lonely soul who stumbled upon me this way, I thought I would actually do a good turn and answer your question.

The following are surefire ways that, believe it or not, I just this moment came up with to find Japanese friends:

Give someone a small gift so that they will feel obligated to give you an even bigger one, until the cycle blossoms into a full-blown relationship based on spite.

Participate in an activity in which Japanese people are at an automatic disadvantage, like salsa dancing or socializing.

If you’re white and male, don’t do anything. Japanese friends are at this moment working on ways to find you.

Get an English teaching gig. Don’t speak English? Probably no one will notice.

Pretend to be a robot guide at the Aichi World Expo.

Drop Nagoya-based seagirl a line. Her online personal ad proclaims that she’s "good at making friends!"

Start a "new religion."

Kidnap native Nagoyans and take them to your home country of North Korea for educational purposes.

Give up the weekend cosplay.

Do it the Japanese way and pay for friends at a hostess or host club.

Evangelical Buddhists At My Door

2005-04-18T23:10:00.000+09:00

My doorbell doesn’t ring very often. When it does, it’s usually something good, like a package for me. Sometimes it's something bad, like a package returned to me all the way from the U.S. because I didn’t use the right address, or the NHK man.

Yesterday a couple of evangelical Buddhists arrived on my doorstep. It was pretty awkward, with me once again pretending that I didn’t understand Japanese, and them determined enough to try using their limited English skills to reach out to me. The younger of the two seemed content to just hand me a brochure and leave it at that, until his elder reminded them that the brochure was all in Japanese. So a few more awkward moments passed — being rude was no option, because they looked so cute in their salaryman suits. They finally moved on when they felt that enough apologies had passed between us.

Generally speaking, Japanese people aren’t wild about religion (see It’s A Beat Takeshi Easter) — ask one of them about Shinto or Buddhism and you’ll likely get a polite nod and a change of subject. But zany "religious types" exist here too, in varieties that only an omnipotent being could love. Always eager to improve on a prototype, the Japanese have been inventing sleeker, more efficient "new religions" since the 19th century. According to the U.S. Department of State, in 2002, 4.7 percent of Japanese participated in one of the "new religions." Maybe that doesn’t sound like much, but Christians in Japan were at a whopping 0.8 percent of the population that year.

I’m not one to make fun of someone’s religious beliefs, but how about some Japanese new religion fun facts?

Tenrikyo is an internationally successful new religion. Like the homoerotic all-female review Takarazuka, Tenrikyo has its own city in the Kansai area. Tenrikyo believers are creationists all the way — their only dispute with Christian fundamentalists arises when someone mentions Tenrikyo’s big wooden pole that marks the place where humans were first created. In Japan.

Adherents to Honmon Butsuryushu (who are somewhat Buddhist) have a professor to back them up. "Prof. Weis" (no first name) sez:

There were many of the same scenarios being repeated over and over in the past world. Perhaps, the traumas that one experiences in this present world are similar traumas that took place in the past world as well.

I guess I can’t argue with that.

Shinreikyo (not to be confused with the Aum Shinrikyo of poison-gas infamy) still has a way to go, at only 100,000 members. But they have something that's got the other new religions kicking themselves over (for not having thought of it first):

And, Shinreikyo mothers give birth to their babies painlessly, through natural delivery. In fact, usually it takes a Shinreikyo mother less than forty-five minutes to have a baby. Shinreikyo babies, moreover, have thick navel cords.

Tommy's Take On World Affairs

2005-04-16T01:05:00.000+09:00

Tommy is the grown man who pays me to speak English with him. Today I thought we would put aside our usual banter about parts of speech, and talk world affairs. It went a little like this:

Anna: So what do you think about those anti-Japanese protests in China?

Tommy: I don’t know anything about that. I don’t watch television, and I don’t read the newspaper.

Anna: I hear the Chinese are upset over new textbooks that the Japanese government just approved. Apparently the books kind of gloss over some serious Japanese war—

Tommy: Textbooks? [laughs] Nobody in Japan reads textbooks.

Anna: Good point. Still—

Tommy: And isn’t this a… a private affair? Those textbooks are private documents!

Anna: Private documents.

Tommy: Yes, private to the country of Japan. [leans in] They’re written in Japanese.

Anna: But I guess since they’re for use in public schools…

Tommy: [blank stare]

Anna: Let’s talk about something else.

Tommy: OK. Have you ever noticed how Indians— the ones in India, not in America— all look the same?

If you’re wondering what’s gotten into the Japanese lately, I guess you have informed citizens like Tommy to thank.