The Internets Arrive!

With them, a post- as promised.

I've been gifted with access to the internet from my very own home, so these updates will become a) much more frequent and b) much more dense than the sweeping summaries I've been tossing out lately. With any luck, my ASDL modem will arrive soon, and I can stop using this slow dialup connection.

But enough about me. More about Japan:

Should the Japanese people as a whole increase their average height by about a foot, we in the West would do well to watch out for our basketball trophies. These guys are AWESOME. I went to the basketball practice thinking what anyone else would think: Japanese Basketball. You're Kidding, Right? But no- I am astounded. The Kusatsu Gulls run their club like a pro team- synchonized drills, mechanical efficiency, and a complete and total absolution of the concept of "self". There are no ballhogs on a Japanese basketball team- it would be unthinkable. The good of the team is REALLY all that matters. They're great sports, and they put up with my horribly bumbling hoop skills with remarkable grace and aplomb. The biggest round of applause of the night was for my sole scoring opportunity- a layup that would make any REAL athlete blush and chuckle. But in between handing me my butt on a platter, they made time to teach me some more "street Japanese", and a good time was had by all. They are an amazing group, skills-wise. All I was on the court for was to look big and rebound stuff.

So the next day, there's this huge Omatsuri (festival) in Otsu, a famous little city on the shores of Lake Biwa. Lake Biwa is our Great Lake here in Shiga- it's freakin' huge, largest lake in Japan- and it's completely surrounded by mountains. Over the mountains to the west lies the city of Kyoto. Now that I've bored you with a quick geography lesson: It was beautiful. I have to go back when I get a camera (the 26th is my Foreigner ID Card Day, and I'm gonna get one of these cool 5 megapixel camera/cellphone/internet browser/size of a business card deals) and take pictures of EVERYTHING- the lake, sitting in what amounts to be a HUGE valley, is a heck of a sight. The festival was a Latin American Culture Fest- evidently, there's a huge Peruvian/Brazilian population that comes to Shiga to work in the factories and make a ridiculous amount of money doing so- and so all the tents and booths were serving food that neither I nor the Japanese people I was hanging out with really knew anything about. I went with a girl from my Japanese class- she's an instructor, don't get any ideas, Audience- and she showed me around, was my translator for the day (kinda- she doesn't speak much English, but she's REALLY patient and knows enough to fill in the gaps) and did me the biggest A Plus Number One Favor someone can do for someone else in Japan- she put me to work.

Allow me to explain. Japanese culture is a series of nested in-groups. Everything you do, you do with a group, and that group helps to introduce you to other groups and give you a context for social interaction. When she put me to work behind the counter of the Peruvian booth that she and her friends were working at, she in-grouped me, and as such I was included in all the activities for the day, and treated pretty much like everybody else. Work is the great equalizer. I met a bunch of cool collegiates from Ritsumekan University (say it five times fast, I dare you) in Kyoto, met one Australian, and a guy from Denver. All in all, a very productive day. And the food was AWESOME- if any of you have the chance to go to a Brazilian restaurant, JUMP AT THE CHANCE.

At no less than five times throughout the day, festival staff with clipboards and the Gaikokujin Survey (What the Heck are you Doing Here, Foreigner) rushed up and wanted to interview me. The first time (pre-Work), everybody gave me the "You're On Your Own, Buddy" look, and I answered all the questions in broken Japanese and slow, halting English. The creole that these two languages forms is pretty much my operational language here in Japan. Every time after that, the Peruvian Tent Crew (all Japanese) jumped to my aid (these guys take just about everything REALLY SERIOUSLY) and intercepted the survey folks, talking a mile a minute and pushing (yes, literally, pushing- it was awesome) them away.

Japanese Culture Note Number Whatever: Whenever you go into a store, whenever you enter a restaurant, whenever you pass by anyone selling ANYTHING, you are met with a loud and enthusiastic "IRRASHAIMASE!". It translates roughly into "Welcome, Honored Customer!", and it's answered on your part by COMPLETELY IGNORING THE GREETING. Weird, eh? I've asked at least ten people, and they all say to just ignore it- that's the way it goes.

So since I'm huge, and I can't fit UNDER the tent to sell the Peruvian food (yeah, it was about six feet tall...), the Crew puts me to work as the Irrashaimase guy. So I'm quiet- the whole phenomenon is a little strange to me, as when I walk into Best Buy I don't expect a loud and hearty hello, and I certainly don't expect to have to act as if it never happened.

Don't be quiet, if you're the Irrashaimase guy. Evidently, it's pretty rude.

So after some cultural correction, I put my Gaijin Lungs to good use, and was the loudest Irrashaimase Guy in our plaza. This prompted laughter- and increased sales.


So with the Matsuri over, the next day (Monday) was Respect the Elderly Day. I can't say I did a whole lot of elderly-respecting, as I didn't manage to see many truly old folks. They all visit their families, as I hear. I did stand up on the train for one- score points for Western-style politeness, and befuddled looks from most the occupants of the train. Later that night, I got to go to a Jet Party. I'm not a JET- Japanese English Teacher- but the Michigan Jet Posse is a bunch of cool folks, so they pulled me along. From this party, two lessons:

1. The Japanese LOVE the Carpenters. I couldn't name a Carpenters song if I tried, but they're HUGE over here. Yes, still huge. Yes, they're ancient.

2. There is nothing more wonderfully surreal than sitting on the floor of a Japanese apartment eating Italian food and listening to the host's collection of American music. Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen, fine and good- classics- but listening to Motown music roughly thirteen thousand miles east of Motown?

Surreal.


This week of classes- if you can call three days a "week", as Friday's the Autumnal Equinox- is absolute cake. All of the lessons have been planned, they're all staggered in classes that I've already taught, everything is rolling along nicely. Plus, the boss took me out drinking last night to a traditional Japanese establishment- despite all my protestations, he footed the bill- and that was a HOOT. These guys can really pack it away- and the food was amazing. It was all regional fare- specific to Shiga, as I understand it- salted and smoked fish rather than fresh, as we are a landlocked mountain-surrounded prefecture, and it takes time to ship seafood in- delicious grilled chicken (this one's universal, it's called Yakitori and it's the Bar Food of Choice for Japan), Tonpo (fried chicken... kinda) and all manner of tasty stuff. Interesting phenomenon- once you get inside the bar, the built-in politeness protection of the langugage VANISHES. Japanese has politeness levels- formats of the language that automatically connotate respect and distance. In the bar, there are no politeness levels. Everything is spoken in the fastest, plainest form possible, and slang runs RAMPANT. I had NO IDEA what was being said most the time, but it's rare that I get to hear unedited "Real Japanese". It was great. To top it off, my boss keeps little notebooks FULL of American slang, and every time something new comes up he pulls it out of his pocket and writes it down. Over the years, he has accumulated what amounts to a handwritten slang dictionary that is eerily comprehensive.

Yeah, the full reality of that just kicked in. He writes down EVERYTHING YOU SAY, so he can use it later. I'm impressed.

Today, in one of the Problem Classes, a kid wasn't paying any attention- loud, obnoxious, laying across the tops of a group of desks- and the innocent little girl next to him (this was a class of seventh graders) looked up at me, put her hands into Kancho Position, and said: "You should Kancho him." I couldn't believe it. I was dumbfounded. I guess she didn't think I understood, so she said it again. "Kancho. Like this," pointing her fingers at the unsuspecting boy. I stepped between them- this kid OWES ME, I just saved his butt, and he doesn't even know it- and the girl looked more disappointed than I have ever seen anyone look in my life.

More later- but that brings everybody up to speed on the big stuff. I'm sure there's stuff I'm forgetting, but that can go in later. Yay for the internets.

This post brought to you by Kansai Dialect: The Japanese That People Really Speak, Not What I Learned In Class.