26 students stung by hornets in Kumamoto
I don't think I've ever been stung by a hornet, but I've survived bee and wasp attacks. When I was about 8 years old, some friends and I were trying to pull a toy machine gun out of a bush where it was stuck. We disturbed a bee's nest and out they came, filling the air and stinging us repeatedly while we ran away screaming. We met up later to compare damage. I think I came off best, with four stings that weren't all that painful. One of my friends had six. Years later I crouched down to pet a bulldog and trapped a wasp in the meat behind my knee. It stung me once, causing me to stand up rather abruptly and free it to go off and kill again. That one hurt like a hot needle and left a nasty sore that took a few days to heal. In the years between, I'm sure I was stung here and there by individual insects but not as spectacularly as either of those.
Large hornets sometimes sneak into our apartment. The largest hornets I've ever seen. They look like flying telephone handsets from the coiled cord days. I can't say I blame them for coming in and trying to make themselves at home. Our apartment is a comfortable place and we certainly enjoy it. What I don't like is how they hug the windows and refuse to participate in conversations no matter how we try to engage them. I'm willing to discuss the sharpness of stingers, flight dynamics, living in bushes. Whatever interests them. But since they're a little standoffish, I find it best to shoo them out the sliding glass door on our balcony before feelings are hurt.
We're having a battle with wasps right now. A few months ago, wasps nested in our mailbox. The rental company warned us away and hired someone to come remove them. Now there's a nest on our bedroom window. My wife found it yesterday and called the office. The rental company's solution this time is to tell us not to open that window. Which we rarely do anyway. Eventually they'll get around to sending someone to kill these wasps or relocate them back to the mailbox.
Going out to our car this morning, we were dive-bombed by several wasps, more than likely from the bedroom window. Sleek black helicopter-shaped attackers zipped in and around us while we dodged. I'm not particularly afraid of wasps, but I'd prefer to remain sting-free. This does not extend to my musical tastes because I have been known to listen to early albums from the Police.
Showing posts with label living in Japan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label living in Japan. Show all posts
Sunday, October 19, 2014
Friday, October 17, 2014
Univ student stabs woman to death because he 'wanted to kill someone'
Univ student stabs woman to death because he 'wanted to kill someone'
You don't need me to tell you this story is horrifying. Where was it in the US not so long ago a group of young guys cited boredom as the reason they killed a guy out jogging? I wonder about the malaise in people's souls that causes them to harm others then give these nonchalant excuses. I don't believe their excuses are their real motivation. These words are translations of some untranslatable feeling or tangle of feelings, a way of speaking the unspeakable. Or maybe people really do kill simply out of curiosity or boredom and I refuse to believe that because it's the more horrible concept.
Yes, this is another crime in Saitama story. After reading the comments, I admit I tend to associate Saitama not with crime but with extra-sick crime. I wrote a very pissed-off blog entry about Saitama after the guide dog stabbing, but at least I pointed out the positive example of the man who collected money for a reward for information leading to an arrest in that case. I could easily have made him the focus of that entry with an intention to "prove" what a wonderful place Saitama is.
When we read articles about Saitama crime and immediately feel something is wrong there that goes beyond the wrongness of other cities, this is confirmation bias. Sick crimes happen everywhere, but even that statement is something of an example of bias because it focuses on a supposed universality of wicked behavior. Crimes do happen, but most people aren't committing crimes at all. Even the worst "per 100,000" statistics feature tens of thousands of law-abiding people to create their ratios.
The people in the comments who argue Saitama is hardly the worst place for crime in Japan are correct and I'm wrong. But once a misconception forms, it's hard to get rid of. We allow stories like this to reinforce our mistaken beliefs while ignoring evidence to the contrary. Even now I have this irrational dread of Saitama. I'll try to do better in the future.
You don't need me to tell you this story is horrifying. Where was it in the US not so long ago a group of young guys cited boredom as the reason they killed a guy out jogging? I wonder about the malaise in people's souls that causes them to harm others then give these nonchalant excuses. I don't believe their excuses are their real motivation. These words are translations of some untranslatable feeling or tangle of feelings, a way of speaking the unspeakable. Or maybe people really do kill simply out of curiosity or boredom and I refuse to believe that because it's the more horrible concept.
Yes, this is another crime in Saitama story. After reading the comments, I admit I tend to associate Saitama not with crime but with extra-sick crime. I wrote a very pissed-off blog entry about Saitama after the guide dog stabbing, but at least I pointed out the positive example of the man who collected money for a reward for information leading to an arrest in that case. I could easily have made him the focus of that entry with an intention to "prove" what a wonderful place Saitama is.
When we read articles about Saitama crime and immediately feel something is wrong there that goes beyond the wrongness of other cities, this is confirmation bias. Sick crimes happen everywhere, but even that statement is something of an example of bias because it focuses on a supposed universality of wicked behavior. Crimes do happen, but most people aren't committing crimes at all. Even the worst "per 100,000" statistics feature tens of thousands of law-abiding people to create their ratios.
The people in the comments who argue Saitama is hardly the worst place for crime in Japan are correct and I'm wrong. But once a misconception forms, it's hard to get rid of. We allow stories like this to reinforce our mistaken beliefs while ignoring evidence to the contrary. Even now I have this irrational dread of Saitama. I'll try to do better in the future.
Thursday, October 16, 2014
Beautiful: Snow falls on Mt Fuji summit 3 days earlier than last year
Snow falls on Mt Fuji summit 3 days earlier than last year
I'm not a fan of winter here in Japan. Where we live winter is long and windy, but largely snow-free. It feels colder than it is because I can never get fully warm. We don't have much, if any, insulation in our apartment walls and central heating and air is almost unheard of. We leave most of the windows open at work, too. Walking the hallways here in January and February is like hanging out inside a meat locker. I can't imagine living up in Nagano or... holy moly... in Hokkaido. I'd freeze to death.
How do we manage even a little warmth? We wear layers, we drink hot tea, we eat nabe and miso soup, we sit in the kotatsu. We think warm thoughts. I dream of vacationing in Vietnam, Guam, Australia or Hawaii. Sometimes I set my clothes on fire or sit on a lit blowtorch. I take baths in molten steel. And still I spend the winter months with goosebumps and the shivers and feet of carved marble.
But Japanese winter has its beauties. A snow-capped Mt. Fuji is chief. We can sometimes see snow-covered mountains along the horizon from our car when we go to the supermarket. The skies become blue of seemingly impossible brightness and depth. Skirts and shorts tend to go higher up the thighs. Holiday illuminations at the station and in the trees downtown. Festively lit Tokyo on Christmas Eve with young couples walking hand-in-hand as George Michael and Paul McCartney serenade them with two of the most god-awful holiday songs ever written. Colonel Sanders in a Santa costume. Families gathering for New Years. Kohaku and Downtown on television and all the news programs and talk shows with merrily-decorated sets. The emptiness of Shinjuku on New Year's Day.
I love all of those things. But once we get past the first week of January, I'm ready for spring again. After the season fun, all I can think of is sakura time and when will it arrive? After the first of January, I have no use for winter.
I'm not a fan of winter here in Japan. Where we live winter is long and windy, but largely snow-free. It feels colder than it is because I can never get fully warm. We don't have much, if any, insulation in our apartment walls and central heating and air is almost unheard of. We leave most of the windows open at work, too. Walking the hallways here in January and February is like hanging out inside a meat locker. I can't imagine living up in Nagano or... holy moly... in Hokkaido. I'd freeze to death.
How do we manage even a little warmth? We wear layers, we drink hot tea, we eat nabe and miso soup, we sit in the kotatsu. We think warm thoughts. I dream of vacationing in Vietnam, Guam, Australia or Hawaii. Sometimes I set my clothes on fire or sit on a lit blowtorch. I take baths in molten steel. And still I spend the winter months with goosebumps and the shivers and feet of carved marble.
But Japanese winter has its beauties. A snow-capped Mt. Fuji is chief. We can sometimes see snow-covered mountains along the horizon from our car when we go to the supermarket. The skies become blue of seemingly impossible brightness and depth. Skirts and shorts tend to go higher up the thighs. Holiday illuminations at the station and in the trees downtown. Festively lit Tokyo on Christmas Eve with young couples walking hand-in-hand as George Michael and Paul McCartney serenade them with two of the most god-awful holiday songs ever written. Colonel Sanders in a Santa costume. Families gathering for New Years. Kohaku and Downtown on television and all the news programs and talk shows with merrily-decorated sets. The emptiness of Shinjuku on New Year's Day.
I love all of those things. But once we get past the first week of January, I'm ready for spring again. After the season fun, all I can think of is sakura time and when will it arrive? After the first of January, I have no use for winter.
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
People really hate bosozoku, apparently: Biker assaulted by iron bar-wielding Nara innkeeper
Biker assaulted by iron bar-wielding Nara innkeeper
Bosozoku are deliberately annoying people who customize their motorcycles (usually shitty little dirtbikes of some kind) and scooters so they're as noisy as they can possibly be. Ear-injuring noise levels. The kind that causes permanent threshold shift the likes of which Pete Townshend has had to adjust to. They ride these bikes around late at night because that's the best time to piss people off and get noticed for something that makes zero sense to anyone who is not a bosozoku. Or simply to avoid traffic and the police. Judging by the comments at the end of this article, few people have sympathy for them or their loud hobby.
We have one or two bosozoku out where we live. This area has a lot of broad avenues with straightaways and you can probably boom through as many red lights as you want after midnight. Our local bosozuku don't ride every single night. Once or twice a month. Occasionally during the day. I was waiting to cross a major street so I could get to a pizza restaurant for lunch one day and one of them was waiting at the traffic light. I had to close my ears with my fingers to avoid hearing damage. I hope he was wearing some kind of muffler or earplugs. I have to admit to some interesting thoughts regarding the bososoku late at night when I've lost sleep because of their motorcycle antics.
People seem to grudgingly tolerate them when they appear. This may have something to do with not wanting to be the one to violate the concept of group harmony while secretly deploring those who do. Or maybe it's because bosozoku intimidate. I saw a small group of them cruising slowly through downtown Hamamatsu a few years back. When traffic became too heavy they simply switched their bikes from the street to the sidewalk and drove on. People made way for them and no one waved a fist or cared to tell them to stop.
Hitting someone with an iron bar is a bit extreme, though. I don't know what the best solution to this problem is, but that's definitely a step too far. Did I receive a vicarious thrill from reading this article? Of course. But if we all give into vigilante thoughts we're going to end up with a worse society than one where a few noisy people with a dumb hobby cause us to lose some sleep.
Bosozoku are deliberately annoying people who customize their motorcycles (usually shitty little dirtbikes of some kind) and scooters so they're as noisy as they can possibly be. Ear-injuring noise levels. The kind that causes permanent threshold shift the likes of which Pete Townshend has had to adjust to. They ride these bikes around late at night because that's the best time to piss people off and get noticed for something that makes zero sense to anyone who is not a bosozoku. Or simply to avoid traffic and the police. Judging by the comments at the end of this article, few people have sympathy for them or their loud hobby.
We have one or two bosozoku out where we live. This area has a lot of broad avenues with straightaways and you can probably boom through as many red lights as you want after midnight. Our local bosozuku don't ride every single night. Once or twice a month. Occasionally during the day. I was waiting to cross a major street so I could get to a pizza restaurant for lunch one day and one of them was waiting at the traffic light. I had to close my ears with my fingers to avoid hearing damage. I hope he was wearing some kind of muffler or earplugs. I have to admit to some interesting thoughts regarding the bososoku late at night when I've lost sleep because of their motorcycle antics.
People seem to grudgingly tolerate them when they appear. This may have something to do with not wanting to be the one to violate the concept of group harmony while secretly deploring those who do. Or maybe it's because bosozoku intimidate. I saw a small group of them cruising slowly through downtown Hamamatsu a few years back. When traffic became too heavy they simply switched their bikes from the street to the sidewalk and drove on. People made way for them and no one waved a fist or cared to tell them to stop.
Hitting someone with an iron bar is a bit extreme, though. I don't know what the best solution to this problem is, but that's definitely a step too far. Did I receive a vicarious thrill from reading this article? Of course. But if we all give into vigilante thoughts we're going to end up with a worse society than one where a few noisy people with a dumb hobby cause us to lose some sleep.
What to do with that junk you can't bring yourself to throw out
What to do with that junk you can't bring yourself to throw out
With limited land space for trash, Japan makes its citizens divide their trash into categories like "burnables," "plastics" and "annoying relatives." I don't pretend to understand all the nuances of what's burnable and what's not. As far as I'm concerned, everything is burnable with the application of enough heat, even those annoying relatives. I still think this is a sensible system, though. I'm hoping all our separated trash goes to recycling centers and ends up rendered into brand new things we can recycle later when we deplete their usefulness.
The small town my parents lived in for many years tried in vain to get people to recycle. Either the city or county government set up large bins clearly marked as to what you were supposed to feed them. My dad became a stickler for putting everything in the correct bin, but our old-fashioned neighbors felt this was creeping Clintonism (read "socialism") and refused to participate in separating their refuse. Eventually the city gave up and removed the bins and restored freedom to the local republic. They were just a step away from atheism and race mixing, I guess. A guy I used to know when I lived in Athens, Georgia, raged at all the "progs" who advocated recycling. He was so pro-America he loved to throw his garbage out the car window just to spite them.
One thing I love about living in Japan is recycling exists as a common sense measure rather than something you can argue politics over. It's very pragmatic. Like my dad. There may be some assholes like the people who wouldn't do it in that town or that guy I knew but they're more than likely acting out of laziness rather than some willfully antithetical philosophy. Laziness I can understand. Destroying what you claim to love because you think you're proving a point is incredibly stupid. But I prefer my dad's way of doing things. Do the right thing at the right time in the right way.
Always.
Because we're consumers, my wife and I have accumulated a lot of things we're kind of stuck with for the moment. Well, let me clarify. I have accumulated these things. My wife grudgingly tolerates them. I have clothes I've worn almost to pieces and obsolete electronics with dangerous metals and chemicals inside them. The local municipality provides each household with a calendar showing the dates when you can dispose of these items. Your refrigerators that no longer refrigerate and kerosene heaters that have decided the best way to heat your house is by burning it down. It's very easy to miss the correct days, though. They come just once a month and sometimes you're doing other things that day. And sometimes we just forget. Forget for months or even years at a time.
Recently, though, they've taken an empty lot near a pharmacy and set up a 24 hour collection point for all kinds of bulky, difficult-to-dump crap. So we'll soon begin the tedious process of figuring out what we need and what we don't. Now that someone, somewhere, has made it easy for us to drop this stuff off and send it away where it can be rendered into its constituent molecules and reassembled into brand-new things to buy and re-recycle, there are no more excuses. I'm actually happy about this. I hate going through the process (although once I start, all sentimentality drops away and I become ruthless and even cruel about what I toss out), but at the end we're rewarded by endorphins and the feeling we're traveling light, free of burdens.
With limited land space for trash, Japan makes its citizens divide their trash into categories like "burnables," "plastics" and "annoying relatives." I don't pretend to understand all the nuances of what's burnable and what's not. As far as I'm concerned, everything is burnable with the application of enough heat, even those annoying relatives. I still think this is a sensible system, though. I'm hoping all our separated trash goes to recycling centers and ends up rendered into brand new things we can recycle later when we deplete their usefulness.
The small town my parents lived in for many years tried in vain to get people to recycle. Either the city or county government set up large bins clearly marked as to what you were supposed to feed them. My dad became a stickler for putting everything in the correct bin, but our old-fashioned neighbors felt this was creeping Clintonism (read "socialism") and refused to participate in separating their refuse. Eventually the city gave up and removed the bins and restored freedom to the local republic. They were just a step away from atheism and race mixing, I guess. A guy I used to know when I lived in Athens, Georgia, raged at all the "progs" who advocated recycling. He was so pro-America he loved to throw his garbage out the car window just to spite them.
One thing I love about living in Japan is recycling exists as a common sense measure rather than something you can argue politics over. It's very pragmatic. Like my dad. There may be some assholes like the people who wouldn't do it in that town or that guy I knew but they're more than likely acting out of laziness rather than some willfully antithetical philosophy. Laziness I can understand. Destroying what you claim to love because you think you're proving a point is incredibly stupid. But I prefer my dad's way of doing things. Do the right thing at the right time in the right way.
Always.
Because we're consumers, my wife and I have accumulated a lot of things we're kind of stuck with for the moment. Well, let me clarify. I have accumulated these things. My wife grudgingly tolerates them. I have clothes I've worn almost to pieces and obsolete electronics with dangerous metals and chemicals inside them. The local municipality provides each household with a calendar showing the dates when you can dispose of these items. Your refrigerators that no longer refrigerate and kerosene heaters that have decided the best way to heat your house is by burning it down. It's very easy to miss the correct days, though. They come just once a month and sometimes you're doing other things that day. And sometimes we just forget. Forget for months or even years at a time.
Recently, though, they've taken an empty lot near a pharmacy and set up a 24 hour collection point for all kinds of bulky, difficult-to-dump crap. So we'll soon begin the tedious process of figuring out what we need and what we don't. Now that someone, somewhere, has made it easy for us to drop this stuff off and send it away where it can be rendered into its constituent molecules and reassembled into brand-new things to buy and re-recycle, there are no more excuses. I'm actually happy about this. I hate going through the process (although once I start, all sentimentality drops away and I become ruthless and even cruel about what I toss out), but at the end we're rewarded by endorphins and the feeling we're traveling light, free of burdens.
Monday, October 13, 2014
Lots of cute comments on this one: Mothers react to being called by their first names after years of just being 'Mama'
Mothers react to being called by their first names after years of just being 'Mama'
I suppose Japan can feel rather impersonal at times. You go to work and everyone calls you Mr. or Ms. Whoever. People tend to want to be familiar with me because they know I'm a friendly American and we're all casual like that, but I don't encourage it. I can be Mr. Bryan among the Suzuki-sans. Or Bryan-san, which I prefer while I'm here. I don't get angry when someone slips up and says Joel or simply Bryan, and I don't correct them. But when I'm asked what I prefer, I tell them I want to be called what you call any other co-worker, as if I'm Japanese, too.
After all, I'm largely expected to follow Japanese office protocol. I could probably demand a foreigner's pass, but I haven't and won't.
Even your friends might call you by your surname (although I do have some close friends where our relationships are friendly enough we use cutesy nicknames for each other, which I will not share with you). In English class kids are so reluctant to put each other on a first-name basis. Halfway through the year, you're asking them, "When is your friend's birthday?" and they're still telling you, "Miss Nakamura's birthday is June 15th."
"Thank you. And your friend's?"
"Miss Naito's birthday is September 20th."
And these are best-friend pairs.
This respectful distancing even extends to families, where you're called by an honorific based on your relationship to the person addressing you. Oto-san, Okaa-san, onii-san, one-san, ojii-san, obaa-san. Father, mother, older brother, older sister, grandfather and grandmother. You might be "kimi" and your husband "anata." Literally, "you."
The reason for all of this escapes me. And, to be honest, I don't really care why. I don't mean to judge it one way or another. It simply is. One person might feel happy if you break the honorific barrier, another might feel offended. My wife and I use our first names and she calls my mom by her first name. She asked first to make sure it was okay. I use Japanese family honorifics with her family. I don't feel this is unfair or unequal. It's simply in the nature of blending families and cultures.
Anyway, the comments at the bottom of the story tell a different tale. Everyone has their little pet names and some of them are pretty funny. I love reading about other people's experiences being married in Japan. I wonder why. Maybe it has something to do with being married in Japan.
I suppose Japan can feel rather impersonal at times. You go to work and everyone calls you Mr. or Ms. Whoever. People tend to want to be familiar with me because they know I'm a friendly American and we're all casual like that, but I don't encourage it. I can be Mr. Bryan among the Suzuki-sans. Or Bryan-san, which I prefer while I'm here. I don't get angry when someone slips up and says Joel or simply Bryan, and I don't correct them. But when I'm asked what I prefer, I tell them I want to be called what you call any other co-worker, as if I'm Japanese, too.
After all, I'm largely expected to follow Japanese office protocol. I could probably demand a foreigner's pass, but I haven't and won't.
Even your friends might call you by your surname (although I do have some close friends where our relationships are friendly enough we use cutesy nicknames for each other, which I will not share with you). In English class kids are so reluctant to put each other on a first-name basis. Halfway through the year, you're asking them, "When is your friend's birthday?" and they're still telling you, "Miss Nakamura's birthday is June 15th."
"Thank you. And your friend's?"
"Miss Naito's birthday is September 20th."
And these are best-friend pairs.
This respectful distancing even extends to families, where you're called by an honorific based on your relationship to the person addressing you. Oto-san, Okaa-san, onii-san, one-san, ojii-san, obaa-san. Father, mother, older brother, older sister, grandfather and grandmother. You might be "kimi" and your husband "anata." Literally, "you."
The reason for all of this escapes me. And, to be honest, I don't really care why. I don't mean to judge it one way or another. It simply is. One person might feel happy if you break the honorific barrier, another might feel offended. My wife and I use our first names and she calls my mom by her first name. She asked first to make sure it was okay. I use Japanese family honorifics with her family. I don't feel this is unfair or unequal. It's simply in the nature of blending families and cultures.
Anyway, the comments at the bottom of the story tell a different tale. Everyone has their little pet names and some of them are pretty funny. I love reading about other people's experiences being married in Japan. I wonder why. Maybe it has something to do with being married in Japan.
Typhoon slams into Japan; 68 injured
Typhoon slams into Japan; 68 injured
There are some seriously stupid comments at the end of this article. "Overreaction," "a dud," and "better safe than sorry is a terrible excuse for train stoppage" to paraphrase them. Apparently some people aren't satisfied until they've been paid in blood for their attention to news stories. And don't understand that overreacting on the side of caution early is much, much better than making a late decision and getting it disastrously wrong. This is the difference between thousands mildly inconvenienced and dozens or even hundreds injured or killed.
I'm not sure how bad conditions got where we live. It was wild and windy enough and both the rain and wind crashed against our apartment loudly at times. But the power stayed on and we were safe and dry. My wife monitored the TV news most of the evening and we watched some dramatic footage of waves exploding in white showers and subway staircases turning into waterfalls. Mostly we were glad to have avoided the station crowds as the stoppage time came closer.
Later, we enjoyed warm bowls of delicious nabe and watched Halloween-themed DVDs. That 68 people suffered harm from this storm wasn't lost on us. We don't take typhoons lightly and we don't scoff at the results just because work continues as usual the next day or not enough houses fell over to suit us. We made our own luck, but there are others who don't have our options. As a nation, Japan has been reeling from news of natural disasters lately, so we have to expect the decision-makers to show extra caution in hopes of avoiding yet another one. Better safe than sorry is an excellent excuse, and if things don't develop into worst case scenarios, then we can all relax be thankful for that instead of getting all pissy about it because we don't know the difference between foresight and hindsight.
There are some seriously stupid comments at the end of this article. "Overreaction," "a dud," and "better safe than sorry is a terrible excuse for train stoppage" to paraphrase them. Apparently some people aren't satisfied until they've been paid in blood for their attention to news stories. And don't understand that overreacting on the side of caution early is much, much better than making a late decision and getting it disastrously wrong. This is the difference between thousands mildly inconvenienced and dozens or even hundreds injured or killed.
I'm not sure how bad conditions got where we live. It was wild and windy enough and both the rain and wind crashed against our apartment loudly at times. But the power stayed on and we were safe and dry. My wife monitored the TV news most of the evening and we watched some dramatic footage of waves exploding in white showers and subway staircases turning into waterfalls. Mostly we were glad to have avoided the station crowds as the stoppage time came closer.
Later, we enjoyed warm bowls of delicious nabe and watched Halloween-themed DVDs. That 68 people suffered harm from this storm wasn't lost on us. We don't take typhoons lightly and we don't scoff at the results just because work continues as usual the next day or not enough houses fell over to suit us. We made our own luck, but there are others who don't have our options. As a nation, Japan has been reeling from news of natural disasters lately, so we have to expect the decision-makers to show extra caution in hopes of avoiding yet another one. Better safe than sorry is an excellent excuse, and if things don't develop into worst case scenarios, then we can all relax be thankful for that instead of getting all pissy about it because we don't know the difference between foresight and hindsight.
Thursday, October 9, 2014
Japan's sozzled salarymen: the lost tribe in a modern pickle
Japan's sozzled salarymen: the lost tribe in a modern pickle
Commercials for energy drinks and stomachache relief tend to lionize the salaryman. AKB48 members cheer for them as they drink their instant remedies and soldier on. They're the dudes-- and some women-- you see all over the trains in the morning and evenings. White shirts, black suits and ties. The young guys sometimes sport pointy-toed shoes and trendy hairstyles, but they're all off to the office to grind out another day.
It's a hard life, no doubt. Up early, out late. The company comes first, even above your mental and physical health. There's a word for dying from overwork. The buzzword is "black company," used for businesses that bully and abuse their employees, demand unpaid overtime, pay little, allow for no sick days and no paid vacation days, expect employees to work six or even seven days a week. But the real word is just "company." People are complicit in this exploitive system as well because they respond passively, but you can't really blame someone because the system grabs them as early as kindergarten. Everything is preparation for tests and tests are preparation for lifetime employment of 60-80 hour weeks, after hours drinking and eventual retirement to a house you're not very familiar with to live with a family who have become strangers. And resentful strangers because you lack basic social skills and disrupt their otherwise orderly lives with your disheveled presence.
And as lousy a time as these guys have, women involved in the workplace have it much, much worse. You work just as hard for even less money and then you're expected to act as hostess at these after-hours parties. Sexual harassment and stalking cases are on the rise but this is only because women are learning to report these crimes rather than suck it up as they've been trained to do at every stage of their lives
Increasingly, too, the entire idea of lifetime employment with attendant security and safety has become a lie as well. Companies depend on dispatch workers or temporary workers to skirt labor laws. But even then you just define an employee to suit your corporate whims. I had a friend who was listed on the payroll as a part-timer but worked 60 hour weeks, every week.
Some people break the mold, though. The "going my way" people. That same friend introduced me to a co-worker of hers who eventually quit to become a full-time theramin instructor and performer. I had a conversation student who quit one job with higher pay for one that allowed him to leave the office every day at 5pm and be with his family and have his weekends free for cycling. Some people drift through a variety of part-time jobs, getting one then leaving it when the mood strikes them to live abroad for a while. I see young families sometimes on weekend outings and the father's the one wearing the baby-carrier. Shoot, just seeing an entire family unit together warms my heart.
Commercials for energy drinks and stomachache relief tend to lionize the salaryman. AKB48 members cheer for them as they drink their instant remedies and soldier on. They're the dudes-- and some women-- you see all over the trains in the morning and evenings. White shirts, black suits and ties. The young guys sometimes sport pointy-toed shoes and trendy hairstyles, but they're all off to the office to grind out another day.
It's a hard life, no doubt. Up early, out late. The company comes first, even above your mental and physical health. There's a word for dying from overwork. The buzzword is "black company," used for businesses that bully and abuse their employees, demand unpaid overtime, pay little, allow for no sick days and no paid vacation days, expect employees to work six or even seven days a week. But the real word is just "company." People are complicit in this exploitive system as well because they respond passively, but you can't really blame someone because the system grabs them as early as kindergarten. Everything is preparation for tests and tests are preparation for lifetime employment of 60-80 hour weeks, after hours drinking and eventual retirement to a house you're not very familiar with to live with a family who have become strangers. And resentful strangers because you lack basic social skills and disrupt their otherwise orderly lives with your disheveled presence.
And as lousy a time as these guys have, women involved in the workplace have it much, much worse. You work just as hard for even less money and then you're expected to act as hostess at these after-hours parties. Sexual harassment and stalking cases are on the rise but this is only because women are learning to report these crimes rather than suck it up as they've been trained to do at every stage of their lives
Increasingly, too, the entire idea of lifetime employment with attendant security and safety has become a lie as well. Companies depend on dispatch workers or temporary workers to skirt labor laws. But even then you just define an employee to suit your corporate whims. I had a friend who was listed on the payroll as a part-timer but worked 60 hour weeks, every week.
Some people break the mold, though. The "going my way" people. That same friend introduced me to a co-worker of hers who eventually quit to become a full-time theramin instructor and performer. I had a conversation student who quit one job with higher pay for one that allowed him to leave the office every day at 5pm and be with his family and have his weekends free for cycling. Some people drift through a variety of part-time jobs, getting one then leaving it when the mood strikes them to live abroad for a while. I see young families sometimes on weekend outings and the father's the one wearing the baby-carrier. Shoot, just seeing an entire family unit together warms my heart.
Thursday, October 2, 2014
Tokyo pulls plug on late-night Roppongi-Shibuya bus service
Tokyo pulls plug on late-night Roppongi-Shibuya bus service
Well, this has zero effect on me. I was never a Roppongi party person anyway. Back in my party days if I was in Tokyo I was in Shinjuku. Not because I'm some cool, danger-seeking guy. I don't know how dangerous Shinjuku is at night, really. I'm told it's dangerous. I may have been in a bubble of obliviousness or else people tend to over-estimate the dangers. I've been in the middle of actual riots in the US, so there may be a subtle skewing of my sense of what's dangerous and what's not. I never felt endangered by the elderly man who propositioned me for oral sex in Shinjuku on two different trips months apart, for example. I certainly didn't feel endangered by the young woman who did the same my first time in Shinjuku, although when her pimp came running up I thought it best to walk away. Allowing the guy from Boston to lead me through some back alleys in search of a nomi-hodai place was probably not my smartest moment, although he did take me to the same hostess bar where a friend of mine and I once spent $200 in an hour before depositing me at the Hub about a block from my hotel... where I drank beer and ate fried food alone.
Anyway, Roppongi has never held much appeal for me. I've never been a "scene" person. Even when I lived in a small town here and the scene consisted of the same 12 people, I wasn't interested. I don't really need to be seen by others, don't feel my appearance is necessary. My scene has always been the people I'm with and my immediate surroundings. Wherever we are drunk--be it a parking lot outside my apartment, a smoky bar full of townies and college students, a live music venue, a sweaty, groping dance party, naked after-hours trespassing in apartment complex swimming pools or eating pancakes and sausages at IHOP at 6am as cops make a pot bust in the parking lot outside-- is my "scene." And I've always been more in search of really solid drunkenness than a one-night hook up. When I want to dance, I want to dance all night to rock music, not club beats. I'm not into dressing up and using "product" or whatever. So it usually turned out my ideal night on the town was just getting trashed on beer, eating some yakitori, then doing karaoke until 3am with some close friends. You can probably do that in Roppongi. I wouldn't know. That's not my image of the place. I'm sure I'm wrong about it. I don't really care to find out otherwise.
Well, the last train. I suppose a bus that takes you to Shibuya Station at 5am from Roppongi could be pretty convenient for some, but it didn't work out that way. One that drops you off at 1am is completely useless. There's no train. You still have to wait. You'd be better off back in the club, if it's still open. Or walking around to find one of those clubs that open after all the other ones close to cater to people who don't like to end their evenings based on train schedules. Or taking a nap in a 24-hour Internet cafe, the kind with big comfy chairs and showers. I've known people who had to take out of town business trips that invariably wound up with after-hours drinking parties who regularly slept over in Internet cafes. Cheaper than a hotel room.
This leads me to wonder how the abrupt end to the partying will go over with the Olympics crowd in 2020, or if the various city governments in and around Tokyo will come up with some kind of plan. The anti-dancing laws put a damper on the fun, too. Another thing you can do is just stick to your ward when you're out getting wasted and hooking up. Get you and your partner to a love hotel within easy walking distance of your meeting place.
Actually, these days my "scene" is lying in bed reading books on my Kindle while my wife does Facebook on her laptop beside me.
Well, this has zero effect on me. I was never a Roppongi party person anyway. Back in my party days if I was in Tokyo I was in Shinjuku. Not because I'm some cool, danger-seeking guy. I don't know how dangerous Shinjuku is at night, really. I'm told it's dangerous. I may have been in a bubble of obliviousness or else people tend to over-estimate the dangers. I've been in the middle of actual riots in the US, so there may be a subtle skewing of my sense of what's dangerous and what's not. I never felt endangered by the elderly man who propositioned me for oral sex in Shinjuku on two different trips months apart, for example. I certainly didn't feel endangered by the young woman who did the same my first time in Shinjuku, although when her pimp came running up I thought it best to walk away. Allowing the guy from Boston to lead me through some back alleys in search of a nomi-hodai place was probably not my smartest moment, although he did take me to the same hostess bar where a friend of mine and I once spent $200 in an hour before depositing me at the Hub about a block from my hotel... where I drank beer and ate fried food alone.
Anyway, Roppongi has never held much appeal for me. I've never been a "scene" person. Even when I lived in a small town here and the scene consisted of the same 12 people, I wasn't interested. I don't really need to be seen by others, don't feel my appearance is necessary. My scene has always been the people I'm with and my immediate surroundings. Wherever we are drunk--be it a parking lot outside my apartment, a smoky bar full of townies and college students, a live music venue, a sweaty, groping dance party, naked after-hours trespassing in apartment complex swimming pools or eating pancakes and sausages at IHOP at 6am as cops make a pot bust in the parking lot outside-- is my "scene." And I've always been more in search of really solid drunkenness than a one-night hook up. When I want to dance, I want to dance all night to rock music, not club beats. I'm not into dressing up and using "product" or whatever. So it usually turned out my ideal night on the town was just getting trashed on beer, eating some yakitori, then doing karaoke until 3am with some close friends. You can probably do that in Roppongi. I wouldn't know. That's not my image of the place. I'm sure I'm wrong about it. I don't really care to find out otherwise.
Well, the last train. I suppose a bus that takes you to Shibuya Station at 5am from Roppongi could be pretty convenient for some, but it didn't work out that way. One that drops you off at 1am is completely useless. There's no train. You still have to wait. You'd be better off back in the club, if it's still open. Or walking around to find one of those clubs that open after all the other ones close to cater to people who don't like to end their evenings based on train schedules. Or taking a nap in a 24-hour Internet cafe, the kind with big comfy chairs and showers. I've known people who had to take out of town business trips that invariably wound up with after-hours drinking parties who regularly slept over in Internet cafes. Cheaper than a hotel room.
This leads me to wonder how the abrupt end to the partying will go over with the Olympics crowd in 2020, or if the various city governments in and around Tokyo will come up with some kind of plan. The anti-dancing laws put a damper on the fun, too. Another thing you can do is just stick to your ward when you're out getting wasted and hooking up. Get you and your partner to a love hotel within easy walking distance of your meeting place.
Actually, these days my "scene" is lying in bed reading books on my Kindle while my wife does Facebook on her laptop beside me.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
A man of action: Longtime anti-suicide crusader patrols cliffs of Tojinbo
Longtime anti-suicide crusader patrols cliffs of Tojinbo
This is a feel-good story with a sad background. I've lived a life touched by suicide. Maybe you have, too. A recent celebrity suicide made news even here in Japan, where the man was much admired. But some of us know first-hand what it's like to have a close friend or relative commit suicide. I can't bring myself to judge anyone who takes this drastic step.
What I really admire about this guy is he doesn't say things like, "Think about the pain you're causing." He lets people talk, finds out what's wrong, then does something real and practical about it. Rather than offer cheap sympathy or a lot of advice, he simply takes them to employment agencies and financial aid services. Without judgment. Even if the outcome remains the same in the end, at least he gives people at the brink a moment to step back and reassess the situation. They gain a little more time and, in some cases, a lot more time. An entire new life.
This is a feel-good story with a sad background. I've lived a life touched by suicide. Maybe you have, too. A recent celebrity suicide made news even here in Japan, where the man was much admired. But some of us know first-hand what it's like to have a close friend or relative commit suicide. I can't bring myself to judge anyone who takes this drastic step.
What I really admire about this guy is he doesn't say things like, "Think about the pain you're causing." He lets people talk, finds out what's wrong, then does something real and practical about it. Rather than offer cheap sympathy or a lot of advice, he simply takes them to employment agencies and financial aid services. Without judgment. Even if the outcome remains the same in the end, at least he gives people at the brink a moment to step back and reassess the situation. They gain a little more time and, in some cases, a lot more time. An entire new life.
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
One of those genius things about Japan: Japan's bullet train hits half century
Japan's bullet train hits half century
I've been in love with the shinkansen ever since my first visit to Japan way back in October 2003. My friend and I bought the JR rail pass, the one you can only buy overseas, and rode the shinkansen all over the place. It was his idea all the way and a brilliant one. If you travel here, you have to buy one. My brother and niece did the same when they came and it paid for itself with all the miles they put on it.
On that first trip, I had a wonderful time zipping along the countryside, taking in wide swaths of scenery while reclining in a comfy, padded seat. We got to see pretty much everything there is to see along the Tokaido Line from Tokyo to Hiroshima and back. Mountains and sea, flood plains, rivers, cities, fir and bamboo forests. Small stations. Large stations. Forty-five minutes in Osaka. These days I've taken the shinkansen here and there so many times I tend to feel complacent about the experience. It takes an article like this to remind me of the comfort, safety record and efficiency of this amazing feat of engineering.
Now let me tell you one of my fondest shinkansen memories. A few years ago I was on my way to Tokyo for a New Year's holiday excursion. The car I rode in was crowded with people in a festive mood. Families and friends journeying together either back to their hometowns or else to winter resorts. Reunions with relatives or skiing and snowboarding. Or maybe all of those things at once. We all had on bulky jackets, most of us had red cheeks. People smiled and laughed and talked quietly but cheerfully. Mt. Fuji rose clear and beautiful on our left, and out came cameras and the voices rose a little more with excitement and getting such a fine view of a huge mountain that is nevertheless frequently clouded or fogged over and all but invisible at times.
The young man sitting next to me had brought along a few boxes of chocolate candy, which he shared with everyone sitting around him. I was already feeling cheerful about traveling and having some time off and feeling the anticipation of strolling around Shibuya and Shinjuku still lit up with seasonal illuminations. This guy's generosity to strangers turned a fun trip into something of a moveable party.
I want to remember that moment. I want you to think about it when you think about Japan.
I've been in love with the shinkansen ever since my first visit to Japan way back in October 2003. My friend and I bought the JR rail pass, the one you can only buy overseas, and rode the shinkansen all over the place. It was his idea all the way and a brilliant one. If you travel here, you have to buy one. My brother and niece did the same when they came and it paid for itself with all the miles they put on it.
On that first trip, I had a wonderful time zipping along the countryside, taking in wide swaths of scenery while reclining in a comfy, padded seat. We got to see pretty much everything there is to see along the Tokaido Line from Tokyo to Hiroshima and back. Mountains and sea, flood plains, rivers, cities, fir and bamboo forests. Small stations. Large stations. Forty-five minutes in Osaka. These days I've taken the shinkansen here and there so many times I tend to feel complacent about the experience. It takes an article like this to remind me of the comfort, safety record and efficiency of this amazing feat of engineering.
Now let me tell you one of my fondest shinkansen memories. A few years ago I was on my way to Tokyo for a New Year's holiday excursion. The car I rode in was crowded with people in a festive mood. Families and friends journeying together either back to their hometowns or else to winter resorts. Reunions with relatives or skiing and snowboarding. Or maybe all of those things at once. We all had on bulky jackets, most of us had red cheeks. People smiled and laughed and talked quietly but cheerfully. Mt. Fuji rose clear and beautiful on our left, and out came cameras and the voices rose a little more with excitement and getting such a fine view of a huge mountain that is nevertheless frequently clouded or fogged over and all but invisible at times.
The young man sitting next to me had brought along a few boxes of chocolate candy, which he shared with everyone sitting around him. I was already feeling cheerful about traveling and having some time off and feeling the anticipation of strolling around Shibuya and Shinjuku still lit up with seasonal illuminations. This guy's generosity to strangers turned a fun trip into something of a moveable party.
I want to remember that moment. I want you to think about it when you think about Japan.
Sunday, September 21, 2014
Judo: Topsy turvy
Topsy turvy
That's a fantastic photo. We watched a bit of this competition yesterday. The highlights, I suppose. Congratulations to the winners. We were pulling for Japan, but I love good, clean competition where both athletes strive to the utmost.
Immediately afterwards, we watched a short piece on a local high school girl who competes in sumo. My wife translated the gist of it for me. The girl discovered wrestling in elementary school but found the weight classes constraining. She wanted to test herself. This led her to sumo, where she could fight seemingly lopsided contests against heavier, stronger opponents. She began cross-training in wrestling and judo to learn quickness from the former and throwing techniques from the latter. And so she found a practical application for her theory that a smaller, faster fighter with superior skill could defeat a larger one. If the smaller fighter is this girl, then theory vindicated. She's had great deal of success in the sumo ring where she soon began toppling big girls by ducking under their attacks, seizing their thighs and using her smaller yet still strong body to lift them, unbalance them and send them flying with video-blurring speed.
Another aspect we enjoyed about this story is the unconditional support given her by her own mother. Her mother is her biggest fan, cheering happily as her daughter wreaks havoc among her fighting peers. Very heart-warming story. This girl reminds me of a number of young people I've had the good fortune to come across during my time here in Japan. Kids who come up with definite ideas and goals for themselves at a young age, sometimes well in advance of their years. These kids knock me off my feet and make me look back on my own childhood and wonder what happened? I had ideas and convictions, too, but the difference is these kids put theirs into practice, while mine remained locked in my mind and unexpressed and unrealized.
I'd certainly do a few things differently if I could project my consciousness back along the timestream with the things I've learned since, but I don't feel regret or shame. Those feelings are for losers. But what I really want to do is communicate to the next generation the need to try. Propose, dispose, do. Strap yourself to a giant arrow of dreams and fire it at the most difficult to attain goal. If you miss, or fall short, you will still have time to recover. Failure is nothing to fear. You can end up with some pretty interesting stories if you take chances and allow yourself to fail once in a while.
And, hey, you might end up like our favorite sumo girl or some of my young students. You know-- a success.
That's a fantastic photo. We watched a bit of this competition yesterday. The highlights, I suppose. Congratulations to the winners. We were pulling for Japan, but I love good, clean competition where both athletes strive to the utmost.
Immediately afterwards, we watched a short piece on a local high school girl who competes in sumo. My wife translated the gist of it for me. The girl discovered wrestling in elementary school but found the weight classes constraining. She wanted to test herself. This led her to sumo, where she could fight seemingly lopsided contests against heavier, stronger opponents. She began cross-training in wrestling and judo to learn quickness from the former and throwing techniques from the latter. And so she found a practical application for her theory that a smaller, faster fighter with superior skill could defeat a larger one. If the smaller fighter is this girl, then theory vindicated. She's had great deal of success in the sumo ring where she soon began toppling big girls by ducking under their attacks, seizing their thighs and using her smaller yet still strong body to lift them, unbalance them and send them flying with video-blurring speed.
Another aspect we enjoyed about this story is the unconditional support given her by her own mother. Her mother is her biggest fan, cheering happily as her daughter wreaks havoc among her fighting peers. Very heart-warming story. This girl reminds me of a number of young people I've had the good fortune to come across during my time here in Japan. Kids who come up with definite ideas and goals for themselves at a young age, sometimes well in advance of their years. These kids knock me off my feet and make me look back on my own childhood and wonder what happened? I had ideas and convictions, too, but the difference is these kids put theirs into practice, while mine remained locked in my mind and unexpressed and unrealized.
I'd certainly do a few things differently if I could project my consciousness back along the timestream with the things I've learned since, but I don't feel regret or shame. Those feelings are for losers. But what I really want to do is communicate to the next generation the need to try. Propose, dispose, do. Strap yourself to a giant arrow of dreams and fire it at the most difficult to attain goal. If you miss, or fall short, you will still have time to recover. Failure is nothing to fear. You can end up with some pretty interesting stories if you take chances and allow yourself to fail once in a while.
And, hey, you might end up like our favorite sumo girl or some of my young students. You know-- a success.
Friday, September 19, 2014
Officials spray insecticide in Ueno Park after new dengue fever case
Officials spray insecticide in Ueno Park after new dengue fever case
We had our own little scare last night. We're in fall now, but obviously there are still mosquitos around. One came into our bedroom while my wife and I were lounging on the bed. She was reading a job search magazine and I was reading a book. A quick, dark flitting in front of our eyes and we both saw the mosquito at about the same time. Little tiger-striped thing, whining as it came in for a drink from one fountain or the other.
Or do the whining ones not drink at all?
I should look that up later. As soon as we moved, the mosquito zipped away, out of reach. My wife wanted to gas it, but I favored the ambush approach. Rather than spray poison all over our bedroom and possibly onto our clothes in the closet, I suggested we just go back to our regular activities as if we were presenting ourselves as a blood banquet. When the mosquito decided it was safe to attack again, the closest of us would clap it between our hands and smash out its life. That person turned out to be me, and I blew it. I clapped and injured the mosquito enough that it landed on the mattress. It looked like a bundle of black thread. When I brushed it to see if I'd killed it, the mosquito flew away with a whine. Sounded as if it had the tiniest of radial engines inside.
"They like to go near these," I said, standing and tapping the ceiling light, a luminous platter that attracts all kinds of insects whenever they come inside our place. I batted the curtains, swept my hands around our mirror, shook the clothes hanging in the closet and felt around the headboard on the bed. It has a deep crevasse behind it where mosquitos sometimes lurk and dream their dengue dreams. My wife got up with her blanket and waved it around it around the room. None of our efforts stirred the mosquito.
She stayed up to watch a TV program with a comedian she admires. I went to bed because I had to teach a first period class in the morning. Once more around the room and no mosquito. I decided I must have injured it badly enough it was no longer a threat, shut the door and turned out the light. I felt it would let me know it was still around by zinging near my ear as it came in for a drink, but the darkness held nothing but the muffled sounds of the TV in the next room.
Sometime in the night my wife joined me and when we woke up in the morning, we were both unbitten.
We had our own little scare last night. We're in fall now, but obviously there are still mosquitos around. One came into our bedroom while my wife and I were lounging on the bed. She was reading a job search magazine and I was reading a book. A quick, dark flitting in front of our eyes and we both saw the mosquito at about the same time. Little tiger-striped thing, whining as it came in for a drink from one fountain or the other.
Or do the whining ones not drink at all?
I should look that up later. As soon as we moved, the mosquito zipped away, out of reach. My wife wanted to gas it, but I favored the ambush approach. Rather than spray poison all over our bedroom and possibly onto our clothes in the closet, I suggested we just go back to our regular activities as if we were presenting ourselves as a blood banquet. When the mosquito decided it was safe to attack again, the closest of us would clap it between our hands and smash out its life. That person turned out to be me, and I blew it. I clapped and injured the mosquito enough that it landed on the mattress. It looked like a bundle of black thread. When I brushed it to see if I'd killed it, the mosquito flew away with a whine. Sounded as if it had the tiniest of radial engines inside.
"They like to go near these," I said, standing and tapping the ceiling light, a luminous platter that attracts all kinds of insects whenever they come inside our place. I batted the curtains, swept my hands around our mirror, shook the clothes hanging in the closet and felt around the headboard on the bed. It has a deep crevasse behind it where mosquitos sometimes lurk and dream their dengue dreams. My wife got up with her blanket and waved it around it around the room. None of our efforts stirred the mosquito.
She stayed up to watch a TV program with a comedian she admires. I went to bed because I had to teach a first period class in the morning. Once more around the room and no mosquito. I decided I must have injured it badly enough it was no longer a threat, shut the door and turned out the light. I felt it would let me know it was still around by zinging near my ear as it came in for a drink, but the darkness held nothing but the muffled sounds of the TV in the next room.
Sometime in the night my wife joined me and when we woke up in the morning, we were both unbitten.
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
The taste of depression: Black burgers
Black burgers
Just joking. They're actually quite cheerful! These Burger King black burgers are like the Hamlet of burgers, at least visually. I don't know if they're prone to seeing ghosts or indecisive in pursuing revenge. Or, if you like your cultural references more modern, they're the Darth Vader of burgers. At least in the photo attached to the article they're somewhat Sith-like in that there are two of them. Always two. One master and one apprentice.
Burger King existed in Japan for a while then gave up because they couldn't compete with McDonald's all-pervasive presence and grip on the Japanese fast food consumer's appetite. Makku has been slipping of late, but Burger King had already made a comeback. I stop by the outlet in Shibuya on occasion to eat a Whopper, which I find a superior burger to the Big Mac or even Quarter Pounder. But I haven't seen one of these black burgers. This is their third go-around and I'll be giving them a miss again this time.
Why? Well, there are no Burger King restaurants in this city. And I'm not going to Tokyo anytime soon, probably not until the black burgers have retired to whatever mysterious realm of the senses from which they originally sprang. A culinary dreamland, no doubt. Nightmare to some, fantasy to others.
I admit I'm curious about the taste, but I do have two other concerns that are preventing me from finding one or both of these burgers. One is the cheese looks like a partially-melted plastic square, much like the monstrosity I once created with one of those electric molding toys popular in the 1960s-80s before people decided it was a bad idea to give kids molten rubber goo to play with. The other is I'm afraid the squid ink will discolor my mouth and make me look like Uncle Fester's skinny Goth little brother.
Just joking. They're actually quite cheerful! These Burger King black burgers are like the Hamlet of burgers, at least visually. I don't know if they're prone to seeing ghosts or indecisive in pursuing revenge. Or, if you like your cultural references more modern, they're the Darth Vader of burgers. At least in the photo attached to the article they're somewhat Sith-like in that there are two of them. Always two. One master and one apprentice.
Burger King existed in Japan for a while then gave up because they couldn't compete with McDonald's all-pervasive presence and grip on the Japanese fast food consumer's appetite. Makku has been slipping of late, but Burger King had already made a comeback. I stop by the outlet in Shibuya on occasion to eat a Whopper, which I find a superior burger to the Big Mac or even Quarter Pounder. But I haven't seen one of these black burgers. This is their third go-around and I'll be giving them a miss again this time.
Why? Well, there are no Burger King restaurants in this city. And I'm not going to Tokyo anytime soon, probably not until the black burgers have retired to whatever mysterious realm of the senses from which they originally sprang. A culinary dreamland, no doubt. Nightmare to some, fantasy to others.
I admit I'm curious about the taste, but I do have two other concerns that are preventing me from finding one or both of these burgers. One is the cheese looks like a partially-melted plastic square, much like the monstrosity I once created with one of those electric molding toys popular in the 1960s-80s before people decided it was a bad idea to give kids molten rubber goo to play with. The other is I'm afraid the squid ink will discolor my mouth and make me look like Uncle Fester's skinny Goth little brother.
News of the Dumb: Pop idols’ management demands Y8 million in damages after two members caught dating fans
Pop idols’ management demands Y8 million in damages after two members caught dating fans
The life of a pop idol may seem glamorous from the outside. What it really amounts to is a kind of indentured servitude. You're expected to give up all semblance of selfhood in order to embody a set of ideals which, to put it mildly, are complete and utter bullshit. You're not even paid particularly well to do this.
When they're finished with you, you "graduate." This means you may go on to an independent career of some sort, maybe acting or singing. But most performers, having only debatable ability outside of fitting into their group role, fade into anonymity. This probably seems like a blessing at the end of their idol years. At least they go through this process while they're young enough to have at least some chance to recover and rehabilitate themselves. Every so often, a TV tracks down one of these idols and finds her living as a shufu, working at an "esthe" salon or living abroad. No word on PTSD after years of managerial abuse, encounters with lunatic fans, being shuttled from appearance to appearance, job after job, all day, most of the night and all the while pretending to be a cartoon of yourself. The ones we've watched interviewed-- the ones willing to be displayed again-- seem reasonably happy and healthy. I have to wonder about the disposable others not shown.
Last year we watched a program on Mei and Kei, the two members of Pink Lady, where they were open and honest about the rampant sexual harassment and routine degradation they faced. The show featured a recreation of one of their photo shoots where a leering photography took shocking liberties with their bodies while they tried to put on a professional front and be tough soldiers about it. A far cry from the public image of luxury and celebrity sold to us peasants along with all the merchandise from which beloved pop idols typically receive very little-- if any-- remuneration. I think Pink Lady made out all right, though. For the rest of these stars, working at a 7-11 would probably be a better choice.
Anyway, can you imagine signing a contract that forbids you from dating? That's a regular part of an idol's career. So this news a couple of performers have gotten themselves in hot water for a breach of such a contract is no surprise. I hope their fans rebel en masse against this kind of exploitation, but I have this cynical feeling they're going to be lambasted for not playing the game correctly. Apologies and more humiliation to follow. I furthermore hope all the parties involved-- the women, the fans they dated (although "fan" is difficult to prove; how does anyone really know a person's motivations for dating, and how does one prove such knowledge?) and the legal guardians who signed these asinine documents in the first place all say to the management company, "Take your threatening letters and shove them straight up your asses!"
The life of a pop idol may seem glamorous from the outside. What it really amounts to is a kind of indentured servitude. You're expected to give up all semblance of selfhood in order to embody a set of ideals which, to put it mildly, are complete and utter bullshit. You're not even paid particularly well to do this.
When they're finished with you, you "graduate." This means you may go on to an independent career of some sort, maybe acting or singing. But most performers, having only debatable ability outside of fitting into their group role, fade into anonymity. This probably seems like a blessing at the end of their idol years. At least they go through this process while they're young enough to have at least some chance to recover and rehabilitate themselves. Every so often, a TV tracks down one of these idols and finds her living as a shufu, working at an "esthe" salon or living abroad. No word on PTSD after years of managerial abuse, encounters with lunatic fans, being shuttled from appearance to appearance, job after job, all day, most of the night and all the while pretending to be a cartoon of yourself. The ones we've watched interviewed-- the ones willing to be displayed again-- seem reasonably happy and healthy. I have to wonder about the disposable others not shown.
Last year we watched a program on Mei and Kei, the two members of Pink Lady, where they were open and honest about the rampant sexual harassment and routine degradation they faced. The show featured a recreation of one of their photo shoots where a leering photography took shocking liberties with their bodies while they tried to put on a professional front and be tough soldiers about it. A far cry from the public image of luxury and celebrity sold to us peasants along with all the merchandise from which beloved pop idols typically receive very little-- if any-- remuneration. I think Pink Lady made out all right, though. For the rest of these stars, working at a 7-11 would probably be a better choice.
Anyway, can you imagine signing a contract that forbids you from dating? That's a regular part of an idol's career. So this news a couple of performers have gotten themselves in hot water for a breach of such a contract is no surprise. I hope their fans rebel en masse against this kind of exploitation, but I have this cynical feeling they're going to be lambasted for not playing the game correctly. Apologies and more humiliation to follow. I furthermore hope all the parties involved-- the women, the fans they dated (although "fan" is difficult to prove; how does anyone really know a person's motivations for dating, and how does one prove such knowledge?) and the legal guardians who signed these asinine documents in the first place all say to the management company, "Take your threatening letters and shove them straight up your asses!"
Monday, September 1, 2014
What habits have you picked up from living in Japan that you sometimes have to try and stop yourself doing when you go overseas because you don't think it will look right?
What habits have you picked up from living in Japan that you sometimes have to try and stop yourself doing when you go overseas because you don't think it will look right?
The comments are worth reading. There are different gestures used here, body language and different things to lubricate social interaction that go beyond simple vocabulary. If you live here for any length of time and have cultural sensitivity and a desire to adapt, you learn to do many of these. Bowing, handling someone's business card the correct way, the hand chop meaning "I need to pass through here/in front of you," the giving of obligatory souvenir snacks to coworkers after taking a trip. Three little examples of behaviors I've adopted to get along.
Some other adaptations we make seem counter-productive or flat out dumb to me, such as using Japanese nouns when speaking English to other ex-pats. Why say keitai when you mean cellphone when you're talking to another American? Others are as necessary because you're in someone else's country and you need to learn their ways. I think this is one of your important tasks when living abroad.
I'm very independent, and even in my home country I often felt like an alien observer. I had learn the niceties the hard way, with many difficulties and with much practice. Those little things, such as saying "Good morning" fifty times in five minutes because you pass fifty different people in the hallway when arriving at work. Making small talk or engaging in conversations that don't interest you in the least because you want the other person to feel validated. Using certain utensils in a certain order while dining. Drinking a single glass of wine and maintaining proper decorum at a dinner party rather than giving into social anxiety and chugging a 12-pack of beer in as little time as possible, then peeing in the bathtub because the toilet is too small a target and keeps leaping about.
Now that I live in Japan and I am a perpetual outsider, I make an effort to walk the line between my homegrown American ways and personal identity and the one I'm expected to adopt here to get along, make friends and be a productive member of Japanese society. When I go back to the US, though, I quickly revert to my original state. Maybe I don't internalize place as much as others do, or maybe there's something severely wrong with me.
The comments are worth reading. There are different gestures used here, body language and different things to lubricate social interaction that go beyond simple vocabulary. If you live here for any length of time and have cultural sensitivity and a desire to adapt, you learn to do many of these. Bowing, handling someone's business card the correct way, the hand chop meaning "I need to pass through here/in front of you," the giving of obligatory souvenir snacks to coworkers after taking a trip. Three little examples of behaviors I've adopted to get along.
Some other adaptations we make seem counter-productive or flat out dumb to me, such as using Japanese nouns when speaking English to other ex-pats. Why say keitai when you mean cellphone when you're talking to another American? Others are as necessary because you're in someone else's country and you need to learn their ways. I think this is one of your important tasks when living abroad.
I'm very independent, and even in my home country I often felt like an alien observer. I had learn the niceties the hard way, with many difficulties and with much practice. Those little things, such as saying "Good morning" fifty times in five minutes because you pass fifty different people in the hallway when arriving at work. Making small talk or engaging in conversations that don't interest you in the least because you want the other person to feel validated. Using certain utensils in a certain order while dining. Drinking a single glass of wine and maintaining proper decorum at a dinner party rather than giving into social anxiety and chugging a 12-pack of beer in as little time as possible, then peeing in the bathtub because the toilet is too small a target and keeps leaping about.
Now that I live in Japan and I am a perpetual outsider, I make an effort to walk the line between my homegrown American ways and personal identity and the one I'm expected to adopt here to get along, make friends and be a productive member of Japanese society. When I go back to the US, though, I quickly revert to my original state. Maybe I don't internalize place as much as others do, or maybe there's something severely wrong with me.
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Here's a guy who knows how to have fun: Chiba Batman
Chiba Batman
We saw him on TV the other day, but I thought he was a comedian or tarento. I didn't realize he was just some dude who enjoys dressing up like Batman to drive around on his funky four-wheeler. We see a lot of bikers out here where we live, far from the city center. To me, this Chibatman fella is hardly any different from these bikers, who love hitting the road every chance they get, to blow off steam and enjoy themselves. He just dresses a bit more flamboyantly.
We saw him on TV the other day, but I thought he was a comedian or tarento. I didn't realize he was just some dude who enjoys dressing up like Batman to drive around on his funky four-wheeler. We see a lot of bikers out here where we live, far from the city center. To me, this Chibatman fella is hardly any different from these bikers, who love hitting the road every chance they get, to blow off steam and enjoy themselves. He just dresses a bit more flamboyantly.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
Japan's economy stalls as incomes, spending languish
Japan's economy stalls as incomes, spending languish
Did the government here really think at any time people were spending less and hurting the economy because they were hoping things they wanted to buy would cost less later on due to deflation? I want someone to tell me if that truly is the case, as this article states. I have this suspicion people have been spending less and saving more because they're simply tight with their money, planning for retirement, insecure in their jobs, worried about unemployment or economic hardship or generally pessimistic about Japan's future. Or in some cases, they work such long hours they don't have time for recreational spending and simply limit themselves to necessities like rent, utilities and food.
You mean news stories about how the "bubble" popped a generation ago and Japan's economy has never bounced back and all those extra hours of unpaid "overwork" at the office and the paid leave workers are either not allowed to take or can only use one or two days at a time spread throughout the year doesn't put them in the mood to go crazy and lavish themselves and their families with a lot of consumer goods and luxury items?
Splurging means Uniqlo or Seiyu these days.
People did briefly go on a spending spree in anticipation of the consumption tax increase. They were goaded into by news stories leading up to the big change. You know, on the government-operated national television network. They made it seem that way, anyway. Probably in someone's vested interest to do so. Afterwards, people were more like, "Wow, stuff's so expensive now. Better not splurge because we can't really afford it."
It seems every time there's a problem here the solution bandied about consists of "Continue doing what we did before... ONLY HARDER!" If we all just work longer hours and toe the line more firmly then the nation's future is assured!
Did the government here really think at any time people were spending less and hurting the economy because they were hoping things they wanted to buy would cost less later on due to deflation? I want someone to tell me if that truly is the case, as this article states. I have this suspicion people have been spending less and saving more because they're simply tight with their money, planning for retirement, insecure in their jobs, worried about unemployment or economic hardship or generally pessimistic about Japan's future. Or in some cases, they work such long hours they don't have time for recreational spending and simply limit themselves to necessities like rent, utilities and food.
You mean news stories about how the "bubble" popped a generation ago and Japan's economy has never bounced back and all those extra hours of unpaid "overwork" at the office and the paid leave workers are either not allowed to take or can only use one or two days at a time spread throughout the year doesn't put them in the mood to go crazy and lavish themselves and their families with a lot of consumer goods and luxury items?
Splurging means Uniqlo or Seiyu these days.
People did briefly go on a spending spree in anticipation of the consumption tax increase. They were goaded into by news stories leading up to the big change. You know, on the government-operated national television network. They made it seem that way, anyway. Probably in someone's vested interest to do so. Afterwards, people were more like, "Wow, stuff's so expensive now. Better not splurge because we can't really afford it."
It seems every time there's a problem here the solution bandied about consists of "Continue doing what we did before... ONLY HARDER!" If we all just work longer hours and toe the line more firmly then the nation's future is assured!
Thursday, August 21, 2014
Let's discuss Japanese pizza again...
We ordered pizza last night. Well, we ordered pizza for me. My wife ate udon. She's on an udon kick lately because she's been having some stomach problems and udon makes her feel better. The less written about this the better. I, on the other hand, went for my traditional comfort food. Our delivery service of choice is Aoki's Pizza because we like their pies.
These pizzas aren't really anything special. There are better pizzas available even here in Japan. There's a place called Pizza Garlic, which I think is still open. They have delicious pies. Marisa is another pizza restaurant with stone oven pies. They have excellent pizza there. Kind of "craft pizza," definitely not New York or Chicago style, but amazingly tasty. I even like Happy Valley's pizza. The crust is a bit on the thin side even for a soft, bready type crust, but you can get a simple pepperoni pizza there. The trouble is, all these options require hopping a bus or driving a car. Aoki's brings a reasonably edible delivery-style pizza with thick, bready crust right to your house or apartment. So while it's not as memorable as any of those other restaurants, or even compared to American delivery pizza, it's within the standards I grew up with.
Which true pizza connoisseurs would probably find laughable, but I'm a philistine due to geography. The first pizza I ever tasted was probably Gargano's, which was a local tradition... in Albany, Georgia. That's pretty far from the places where people debate pizza. Then we got Domino's and life was never the same. There are some serious pizza snobs out there and I salute their dedication to pizza perfection, but I am not among them. I go for familiarity. Aoki's Pizza gives me this even while adding all those exotic Japanese pizza toppings. You know, like seaweed, corn, squid or octopus and even mayonnaise.
We've tried Pizza Time and Pizza-La. Pizza Time, while delicious, proved to be a bit greasy. You know, that orange pizza grease. I don't really like having to blot my cheese before eating a slice. We're willing to try Pizza Time again, but for now we're Aoki's customers. Pizza-La was the first pizza I ate here in Japan, back when a friend and I came for a two-week visit. Our hosts ordered pizza one night. I seem to remember we tried to order one matching American tastes, but it probably had corn on it. Have I eaten a Pizza-La pizza since then? It's likely, but I can't remember. If I have, it must not have actively offended me or else I'm sure I would remember. That's not a glowing recommendation, but you can order Pizza-La in English from their online site. This means there's another Pizza-La pie in my future.
When I lived in a small, rural community in Chiba prefecture, the local delivery pizza place was met with derision by its target demographic, school kids. The all said they loved pizza, but openly mocked this company in class when we discussed food. I can't remember the chain's name and I never tried one of their pies. Maybe that's just as well.
Here's a quick tip for English conversation instructors-- ordering a pizza makes for an easy lesson in making simple requests. Give your students a few topping and drink choices, throw in a salad and drill them on how to ask for things, make one the restaurant employee and one the customer and your students practically teach themselves.
Thus concludes today's pizza topic.
These pizzas aren't really anything special. There are better pizzas available even here in Japan. There's a place called Pizza Garlic, which I think is still open. They have delicious pies. Marisa is another pizza restaurant with stone oven pies. They have excellent pizza there. Kind of "craft pizza," definitely not New York or Chicago style, but amazingly tasty. I even like Happy Valley's pizza. The crust is a bit on the thin side even for a soft, bready type crust, but you can get a simple pepperoni pizza there. The trouble is, all these options require hopping a bus or driving a car. Aoki's brings a reasonably edible delivery-style pizza with thick, bready crust right to your house or apartment. So while it's not as memorable as any of those other restaurants, or even compared to American delivery pizza, it's within the standards I grew up with.
Which true pizza connoisseurs would probably find laughable, but I'm a philistine due to geography. The first pizza I ever tasted was probably Gargano's, which was a local tradition... in Albany, Georgia. That's pretty far from the places where people debate pizza. Then we got Domino's and life was never the same. There are some serious pizza snobs out there and I salute their dedication to pizza perfection, but I am not among them. I go for familiarity. Aoki's Pizza gives me this even while adding all those exotic Japanese pizza toppings. You know, like seaweed, corn, squid or octopus and even mayonnaise.
We've tried Pizza Time and Pizza-La. Pizza Time, while delicious, proved to be a bit greasy. You know, that orange pizza grease. I don't really like having to blot my cheese before eating a slice. We're willing to try Pizza Time again, but for now we're Aoki's customers. Pizza-La was the first pizza I ate here in Japan, back when a friend and I came for a two-week visit. Our hosts ordered pizza one night. I seem to remember we tried to order one matching American tastes, but it probably had corn on it. Have I eaten a Pizza-La pizza since then? It's likely, but I can't remember. If I have, it must not have actively offended me or else I'm sure I would remember. That's not a glowing recommendation, but you can order Pizza-La in English from their online site. This means there's another Pizza-La pie in my future.
When I lived in a small, rural community in Chiba prefecture, the local delivery pizza place was met with derision by its target demographic, school kids. The all said they loved pizza, but openly mocked this company in class when we discussed food. I can't remember the chain's name and I never tried one of their pies. Maybe that's just as well.
Here's a quick tip for English conversation instructors-- ordering a pizza makes for an easy lesson in making simple requests. Give your students a few topping and drink choices, throw in a salad and drill them on how to ask for things, make one the restaurant employee and one the customer and your students practically teach themselves.
Thus concludes today's pizza topic.
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
111-year-old Japanese man becomes world's oldest
111-year-old Japanese man becomes world's oldest
Centenarians are cool. If you manage to hit triple digits, you've accomplished something rare and wonderful. I'm not generally one of those "the world is a horrible place" people, but let's be realistic. It is a dangerous place. As they say, most accidents happen in the home. And your bathroom is the most dangerous room there. So stay out of the bathroom and pee and poop in your living room and allow the family dog to lick your body clean every morning so you can avoid setting foot in the kitchen as well. Then you stand a pretty decent chance of beating Sakari Momoi's total. Or Misao Okawa's.
Centenarians are cool. If you manage to hit triple digits, you've accomplished something rare and wonderful. I'm not generally one of those "the world is a horrible place" people, but let's be realistic. It is a dangerous place. As they say, most accidents happen in the home. And your bathroom is the most dangerous room there. So stay out of the bathroom and pee and poop in your living room and allow the family dog to lick your body clean every morning so you can avoid setting foot in the kitchen as well. Then you stand a pretty decent chance of beating Sakari Momoi's total. Or Misao Okawa's.
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