Attitudes towards marriage and child raising in Japan are changing, in apparent in the country’s dismally low birth rate. It’s not that people don’t want to get married; rather, many don’t see a reason to. At least not right now.

    The phrase “Christmas Cake” was popularized in the 90’s to describe unwed women over 25. See, cakes sold for Christmas have a sell by date of the 24^th, and come the 25^th they’re stale and nobody wants them anymore. So it goes in the culture where cute is king.

   But this saying has fallen out of favor. More women are marrying later, content to concentrate on their careers well into their 30’s and indulge in all the pleasures the single life affords. Why tie yourself down with kids and an automaton salary man for a husband when you could be traveling the world with your friends, dining at fancy restaurants, and buying designer clothes?

   Initially the media labeled this new social class as “parasite singles” for how they leach off their parents while using money saved on rent and food to consume, consume, consume. But this is an unfair, generalizing term. It fails to explain what makes someone become a parasite and focuses more on domestic factors rather then society and the individual. There lacked a strong rhetoric.

   This is where Junko Sakai stepped in to fill a social and linguistic gap. Through a series of serialized essays, she chronicles the existence and behavior patterns of “makeh-inu,” or “loser dogs.” Across from them are the “kachi-inu,” or “winner dogs.” With this dichotomy between winners and losers the shape of modern Japan finally comes into focus. Why aren’t people in Japan having children, and why is it being treated as just a women’s problem? How did women overcome the culturally-held belief that a women’s place is in the home? And have they really?

   The book is a fascinating read. Delightfully tongue-in-cheek, the author is a self-described loser herself and not afraid to take jabs at her contemporaries. Reading it I was reminded of people I have met, and at times my own social responsibilities. Despite the results of the polls above, over 60% of women want to get married. They just can’t find a man worth marrying!

   I’ll be periodically translating sections of the book that I find pertinent or interesting on my way through, starting with the introduction. Hope you enjoy reading them as much as I did.  

Hear the Howling of a Loser

   A “loser” refers to someone who…

   By a narrow definition, is an unwed, childless, thirty-something women. The key characteristic being “unwed,” meaning women who were once married but are now single due to divorce are losers as well. By a wide definition, twenty-somethings ripe with loser-like characteristics and unwed single mothers are also losers. So I guess you could say that anyone without a so-called “normal” home qualifies as a loser.

   There will inevitably be people challenging my claim that unwed women=loser. “Are you saying that despite being beautiful and moving up the corporate ladder, she’s a loser because she’s not married?” People will argue that this sort of success nullifies one’s loser status. However.

   This book takes the stance that, regardless of how capable at work, beautiful, or sought-after a woman may be, so long as she fits the loser criteria, she’s a loser.

   Think of it as a life philosophy based on the realization that, “Since I can’t compete with married women with children I’d have an easier of things if embraced my failings by rolling over on my back like a dog who has admitted defeated.

   Furthermore, when I write “loser,” it is generally referring to the female sex, or women. Unwed, childless, thirty-something men will be referred to as “loser men,” so please be careful as not to confuse the two.

   A “winner” refers to someone who…

   Is a woman who doesn’t fall into the category of a loser. Which is to say, people who are married with children. In just one word, this broad definition covers bored housewives with rich husbands and children who make it into good schools to women who work part time to supplement their husband’s low income while their children fall through the cracks. Being a loser myself, I’ve taken it upon myself to decide that, a winner is a winner regardless of their household’s financial welfare or family togetherness. You can conjure up their own image of what makes a winner as you read this book.

   Note that unless specified as “male,” all losers and winners refer to females.

   About “Winning” and “Losing”

   Nowadays it is taboo to judge someone based on their wins and losses. This is precisely why people keep it to themselves and tend to keep an unreasonably detailed tally of people’s track records in our heads.

   Women are judged as winners or losers based on how many points they’ve earned through being married with children. In our modern time ruled by verbal restraint, discriminatory comments such as, “What do you mean you’re not married? You’re gonna be lonely when you get old” are decreasing, while thirty-something, single, childless women like myself are silently judged as “losers.”

   Ask the question, “So why are we judged as losers?” and I’ll respond, “What do we produce?” I believe this difference to be the key point of contention.

   Humans stand in a number of positions in society, from a member of a family, to a member of the economy, to a member of a country. Take away one’s country and winner housewives with children exist solely as a member of a family. Conversely, losers may have a family consisting of themselves and their parents but lack a family of their own making, meaning they exist solely as a member of the economy.

   Salary men with families and married women with children who continue to work stand as members of both their family and the economy.  So why aren’t winners and losers in the same world? Because losers either “ran away” or “weren’t wanted.”

   Losers either don’t want marry, or when they do they can’t find a partner to reciprocate, making them unable to take the crucial in creating a family. Likewise, winners are trapped by their families because they don’t want to work, or feel more obliged to raise children then to work, or are unable to do anything other then raise children. Winners and losers see what the other is missing and view each other as “incomplete.”

   Winners produce organic matter—children for their family. Conversely, losers produce inorganic matter—money for the economy. When the value of their output is viewed side-by-side, children versus money, children will win by a landslide, cementing the losers in their position as losers.

   Winners tired of raising children may say,

   “I’d much rather earn money for myself then raise children.”

   Then the losers, tired of making excuses for being losers, may say,

   “But I’m out there working paying taxes for the housewives too.”

   Granted, people who make a lot of money are viewed as “impressive” and many people obsess over wealth. However, due to negative stigmas inherent with money, these people are never viewed as “admirable.” The most “admirable” are the ones who produce organic matter that money can’t buy. Even during the Edo Period, farmers were considered more admirable then merchants.

   Losers treat winner housewives like they’re blessed with a golden spoon and winners treat losers like they’re truant in paying their debts to society. The two just don’t get along. Or rather, the two lack a common language and have nothing to talk about, resulting in the feeling that they just don’t “click.” To put it another way, losers live in a world that seeks the impressive while winners live in a world that values being admirable as the most noble of things. The two worlds don’t intersect. They can’t see eye-to-eye despite both being women on the same plane.

   This battle will continue without a winner for all eternity unless one side gives in. Little good can come of it. With that in mind, my fellow losers and I would like to take this opportunity to hereby admit defeat (I can hear some of you yelling at me not to put words in your mouth but please bear with me).

   Losers become losers for a multitude of reasons. It’s not that we despise normal family life. We simply woke up one day and found ourselves as losers.

   Why did we lose? Where do our futures lie? And what will become of the country which spawned so many losers? All I can do is howl my discontent.

   With that said, I understand the impossibility of splitting people into either clear winners or losers. But you can’t deny the simple pleasure of trying to do so! I’m not going to crow on about the paradigm of winners versus losers, but I will howl for all  that I’m worth.

    I was in Tokyo for ten days over the O-Bon summer holiday. O-Bon is like Halloween and The Fourth of July combined. Most of the country shuts down so people can go visit their parents and make their respects to their deceased ancestors. This extended national holiday would put everyone in a festive mood if it didn’t take place during the hottest week of the year. Tokyo, with its rolling seas of asphalt and concrete, is especially hot.

   And fun! Here are the highlights:

-Sung Karaoke at the Place Bill Murry Went in “Lost in Translation.”

   I got to fulfill my secret dream of singing “Ask” by The Smiths.

-Tried Indoor Rock Climbing For the First Time and Rubbed the Flesh off My Palms.

   Not that the surfaces were rocky; rather, my hands sweet like crazy and even with chalk they started to get gang green after a few hours, forcing me to stop due the pain of my hands peeling off.

-Got to Draft the New Magic Set, Shadowmoor

   Pili-Pali with Power of Fire is a beating. If you know what this means come to Kanazawa so we can get a draft going.

-Finally Got to See “Dark Knight” Forever After Everyone Else

   Japan’s movie release schedule sucks. I’m still waiting for “There Will Be Blood.” Seeing as how it’s being heralded unanimously as the “best movie of the summer” I’m hoping for a mass rush on Loeb/Sale graphic novels. Comics are good for you people!

-Went to a Famicon Themed Bar

   What’s better then 16-Bit Nintendo music? 16-Bit Nintendo music remixed to sound 8-Bit! The chip-tune jams were kicking and with nobody on the systems they had set up, the place was ours. For some reason playing Mega Man 2 with a beer between my legs reminded me more of college then elementary. I’d maybe go back if I knew they had a copy of Super C.

-Played in the Studio with the Guys

   Many people don’t believe that I play bass, and I doubt these recordings will convince you otherwise but I’m posting them for posterity: Click the “Midnight Society” folder and click on the down arrow to, uh, download the appropriate song.   

   The bass sounds like a broken woofer covered in mud and the guitar sounds like ladyfingers going off in a coffee can. Just the way I like it! “Brain Eaters” and “C’mon Everybody” came out pretty good if I do say so myself.

-Discovered a New Brand

   Magical Mosh Misfits are pretty awesome. They’re like a Japanese version of Mishka in the sense that they both pay homage to 80’s skate fashion and monsters, except Mishka is secretly ruled by Sonic Youth and MXMXM is overtly ruled by Kin-Niku Man (Ultimate Muscle)

Santa Cruz Screaming Hand + Atlantis VS Robin Mask=Awesome

   And that brings me back to Kanazawa, hopefully only for another year.

Given my stringent after-work routine it¡Çs close to 9:00 by the time I arrive at Katamachi. I still fancy myself as a starving college student and as such refuse to spend 400 yen on a cup of tea at a place where I can only linger for an hour or so. This leaves me one option:

The grandfather of Dunkin Donuts

Mister Donuts is the largest donut chain in Japan. Their claim to fame (in my mind, anyway) is that they offer free refills on coffee and café ole. For Japan, this is huge. You can¡Çt even get a free refill at McDonald¡Çs (obesity problem solved!) and family restaurants charge a stiff fee for access to their ¡Èdrink bar.¡É In hindsight a family restaurant would be just as good of a place to lounge the night away on the cheap, but I can¡Çt break myself away from Katamachi¡Çs magical social gravity.

Walking around Katamachi reminds me of the arcade in Westland mall back in my senior year of high school. If there weren¡Çt already people you knew when you arrived, you could count on someone dropping in for a game or two of DDR before long. The ultimate passive social network. The best Saturday nights start at Mister Donuts when people you know happen by after your 4^th cup of coffee or on your way to pick up your bike parked in front of the Tatemachi McDonald¡Çs.

Kanazawa is small, in a good way.

A lot of people (mainly natives of the region) tell me how people from Kanazawa are particularly reserved and cautious of strangers, but this train of thought runs parallel to the Japanese Have Longer (Or is it Shorter?) Intestines and Can¡Çt Digest Meat Properly Express. If I had to argue for their case I would say that people are comparatively morose due to the lack of sunshine and unyielding precipitation, but I¡Çve found people to be extremely accommodating!

Being blindsided willy-nilly is not without its disadvantages. Sometimes you just aren¡Çt in the mood to see anyone and just want to study in silence, hence being at a coffee shop alone save for your book. Sometimes you don¡Çt want to run into that person. A more likely scenario for me is that you don¡Çt know who the hell they are. Oh yeah, you¡Çve seen them, chatted a bit, exchanged names and handshakes. But when it comes down to it I can¡Çt put a name on the face, much less remember the face!

If only I had my mask I could get by without such intrusions

Case in point:

There was a well-publicized party at APRE (groan) last weekend where I met someone who I had gone to Karaoke with. Except I couldn¡Çt remember their name. Or that I went to Karaoke with them. And this wasn¡Çt more then a month prior!

This continued for most of the night until I stopped making eye contact with suspiciously familiar characters. I know where all the missile tanks are in Super Metroid but I can¡Çt remember a name? Jesus Christ.

I¡Çve found that if I smile and make a self-depreciating comment people let this casual affront slide. But it happens so much that it¡Çs starting to bother me. But not enough to seriously bother me. Just enough so that my cheeks reflexively flush and I go home to write about it in my blog.

There are too many people in the world!

Japanese love to party and will shoehorn any significant happening into a drinking event because once the alcohol starts flowing people are free to say what they like because it’s just “drunk talk.” Having this explained to you while you’re drinking seriously hurts the credibility of this argument and some serious suspension of belief is required to believe that your co-workers are only saying these things because they’re whacked out on sauce. It’s a real don’t ask, don’t tell policy. I’m happy that I got to have an on-the-level chat with my bosses so to each his own.

However, the whole concept breaks down when you consider that half of my co-workers don’t drink. Generally things flow as follows:

We go out for a nice dinner with everyone and our Director, who we only see at times like this. Everyone plays his or her roles to a T and once everything is said and done we send the director home with in a taxi with the cutest girl in the office. Nothing dirty happens you filthy dogs; it’s just a service to make him feel better about being 80 years old.

Ironically this is the only girl that drinks, so at this point the other two girls head home and me and the guys go the “Niji kai,” or after-party. This is where things get juicy and they talk about who is the best looking and best worker and most uptight and so on. It’s all very interesting as I rarely have a chance to interact with everyone due to our seating arrangements.

At the end of the night everyone makes a big how-to-do about paying, and whoever wants to look the most important ends up footing the bill (hint: Not me) and we go our separate ways.

Considering that the fiscal and academic year in Japan doesn’t start until April I don’t really get the whole “end of the year” angle but I’ll take it.I’d really like to go out with everyone, but that’s what the New Year party is for.

Psudo-religious holiday re-invented through an agnostic nation of foodies=Christmas Cake

But as we all know, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Cut off from the typical Christmas contrivances on the other side of the globe, everything about the season becomes enjoyable. Malls are open past 7:00 so I can actually go shopping. Shops start putting out awesome Christmas-themed drinks and candies. There¡Çs End-Of-Year, New Years, and Christmas parties happening all month. And for the first time in my life I actually enjoy Bing Crosby as I sink back into my seat in Starbucks, no-fat no-whip peppermint Mocha clutched warmly.

Kyoto protocol on its Winter holiday

But the weather¡Çs still crappy.

Normally I¡Çm in bed by Midnight and up by 7:00, but lately I¡Çm lucky if I can fall asleep by 1:00 and bump my alarm up an hour when it wakes me six hours later. Even though my body is telling me to sleep my mind runs circles around itself when I suffocate myself under the futon at night.

Maybe I¡Çm over stimulated.

My friend Amy used to say “You’re never too young to be a dirty old man.”

I took up ¡ÈBreakfast of Champions¡É again and it has reaffirmed my faith in, well¡Ä the idea of having faith in something. Vonnegut was able to get away with his tar black criticisms because he was right, and because he was funny. Presentation is everything. Dually noted. Similarly I just wrapped up ¡ÈNingen Shikkaku¡É (Barely Human), which everyone (Japanese) considers to be a depressing blurb about suicide but I found to be humorous and uplifting in a J.D. Salinger kind of way. Remember, alcohol is comedic, needles are tragic, and any buffoon of an author should know better then to mix the two!

My body wants me to become nocturnal.

That’s DAMN good coffee!

I¡Çve gotten used to not seeing natural light anymore—Japan doesn¡Çt have Daylight saving time and likewise is one shade away from Midnight by the time I get off work. The problem is my brain finally wakes up right when my eyelids start to give out. Maybe it’s the caffine from the coffee and tea I drink to combat the chill in my bones catching up to me 6 hours later. Or maybe I should stop watching ¡ÈTwin Peaks¡É before I go to bed. It¡Çs like eating too much candy before you sleep; it keeps me up and gives me crazy dreams.

I missed out on Halloween and I¡Çm not sure how to feel about that.

Kids should quit while they’re ahead before they grow up to be a bunch of pissers.

I was in Tokyo that weekend, so the lack of partying was completely my fault. There¡Çs always next year. Further proof that I¡Çm becoming a home-bodied old man is the satisfaction I felt from my Children¡Çs Halloween Event. This is the first self-directed event I¡Çve done at my job and it made me feel well enough to keep me from running away to Tokyo. For a while, at least.

Last time the odds were unfairly stacked against us. Who knew that trains moved backwards and convenience stores do weird crap like heat up your food and that every store ever has a point card system? Well, we all know now. Look out Japan; this time around I’m going to shove all that BS into your snaggle-toothed grin.

Is what I’d say if there was any BS, but there’s not, really. People are generally very accommodating if they know you speak Japanese, so if you make small talk with the clerks it puts them at ease and opens the door for great service. There’s still miscommunication, but nothing as bad as going to the same shop for half a year without being offered frequent shopper coupons simply because the register clerk didn’t want to deal with the inconveniant possibility that you don’t understand Japanese. Everything was moving along just fine until the McDonald’s reopened.

The Katamachi McDonald’s has had its dining area closed off for the past month or so for remodeling. The new design is swank, with a glass wall separating the smoking and non-smoking sections. I had just bought “Ningen Shikkaku” (”No Longer Human” in English, highly recommended!) by Dazai Osamu and was raring to tear into it over some Mc Coffee when asininity struck.

The clerk asks me if this will be for here or to go, I tell her I don’t need a tray so don’t sweat it. Now this draws blanks from the automatons in America so you better believe I get slack-jawed responses in Japan on a regular basis. Finger hovering hesitantly over the register, she watches me, eyes quivering.

I ask for a hot coffee and she continues to stare at me with the same puzzled expression. I feel a little embarrassed but figure my Japanese is just not on the ball today and point at the picture menu. Yeah, one of these, a hot coffee. Small.

It looks like I’ve made my point and we complete our transaction. I wait, feeling slightly dejected as she hands out the order in front me, and watch as she begins to fill up a small Coke. My gaze falls back to the picture menu; The Coke is right under the Coffee. I wince. She brings me my Coke and I play coy. Can I have cream and sugar? She gives me a look like she just bit into a curdled crepe and hastily spins around to fix my order. I feel like such a tool. Was my Japanese that bad? Did my Whiteness frighten her deaf?

As I contemplated our communication breakdown I hear her chattering to her co-worker about how to change the order in the register. Except they’re not speaking Japanese, they’re speaking Chinese. I’m not surprised—I know some of the Chinese exchange students in the area and they all work part time jobs, though their Japanese ability is questionable. Here I had come full circle, from being linguistically spanked by clerks to administering to linguistic spankings. I don’t know if I should feel vindicated or villainous.

2nd floor emergency escape rope

One thing’s for sure: The redesigned dining area on the 2^nd floor lacks a fire escape, so if similar oral abuse drives the Chinese workers crazy and they blow up the place by throwing blocks of ice into the grease fryers, I’m gonna have to McClain my way to safety. Puchi Bruce, eat your homuncular heart out!

I did it. It didn’t take me long, but I found my way to the ocean

Artist’s rendition. Actual clenliness of beach may vary.

Uchinada beach is about 30 minutes away from Kanazawa by train. You can’t see it in the picture, but the place is a veritable Coney island lined with bars, stages, DJ towers, and deck chairs. You also can’t see the dangers of the beach by the picture-namely, jellyfish, Reggee music, and APRE.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Since the beach excursion a few weekends ago I’ve been having intermittent fun with my fellow JETs and whatever Japanese people happen to be around. Hanging out with fellow English speakers is a slippery slope. You can wake up one day to realize you just spent every night of the past week at the bar socializing with your fellow Westerners and have nothing to show for it aside from a fleeting sense of security and an increasingly doughy midsection. This is the “Golden Cage”-you’ve trapped yourself, but your surroundings are quite plush so what’s the hurry to escape? And hey, why bother learning Japanese when most Japanese people speak English anyway?

But only the crazies. Well, that’s not entirely true. Plenty of ‘normal’ people speak English. But it’s the ones that really want to speak English, the ones that flag you down on your bike and get in your way in the checkout line really bother me. There’s something distinctly un-Japanese, un-rational about these people. It has nothing to do with culture, and everything to do with common sense not to hold a person up who is trying to juggle a weeks worth of groceries in their hands. It wouldn’t be so bad if there was some rhyme or reason to it, but these people just appear out of nowhere and scare the hell out of you. Like getting kicked while you’re sleeping or getting sideswiped in a rainstorm, it’s a jarring encounter that puts you on the defensive. And it will happen to the foreigner at APRE, where the loonies circle just out of your field of vision like gurrilla sharks waiting for their chance to strike.

The thing that has held the most sway over my life and attitude since my arrival has not been the people and experiences I have had, but rather the books I’ve been reading. On the airplane I began “Dogs and Demons,” a well researched account into the social malaise of modern Japan. I cannot recommend this book to anyone who wants to enjoy Japan any more then I can recommend “The Cather in the Rye” to people who want to enjoy the companionship of thers. Though I’m sure the book is by no means infallible, the truths presented are undeniable; their implications incorrigible. It made every day “Goddamn Japan” day. Goddamn Japan, if you all love nature so much why is there so much trash everywhere, goddamn Japan how can you tell me there is no racism among Japanese people when you make all non-ethnic Japanese born here register as foreigners, goddamn Japan how can you all be so skinny when all you eat is rice and coffee and bread what am I supposed to eat, goddamn Japan come up with something else to cover on the news I’m tired as Asashoryu, goddamn Japan fix your sun this country is too hot. And so on, with the inanity gaining momentum.

So I cut myself off, stopped reading after the chapter on Kyoto Station (I used to go there all the time without considering how it split the city in two and doomed the cities historic districts and now my boyish memories are forever tainted, goddamn you book) and proceeded to consume a novella I hated in Junior High but convinced myself that I must have been wrong in doing so:

The Great Gatsby

Somehow the fast paced, party-till-dawn and meandering lifestyle seemed extremely relevant. Now I’m through the better half of “High Fidelity,” which has put me in a very British and whimsical mood to the chagrin of those around me. Well, at least I’m having a good time. At this rate I’m going to start making Mix Tapes for people, but first I’d have to find people with comparative musical taste. Way too much Top 40 and club music around me.

Having to listen to club music when you go out is like over salting your food. It destroys the original intent of the event (relax and have fun) and at the end of the day only serves to make you feel bloated and tired. I mean, “Pulp Fiction” was such a corker because Tarentino wrote the energy he felt from “Misirlou” into the script, so is it too much to ask them to take off Reggae remixes of Coldplay and put on something that’s gonna pump me up?

Which brings me back to APRE: The Golden Cage lined with old club hits and rasta records, the sad comforting fact that it doesn’t get any better then this. There is an APRE on Uchinada beach, and there is also an APRE in Katamachi. For the better part of a week I somehow ended back at APRE every night and I don’t know how I should feel about that.

Objectively there’s nothing wrong with the place. It has no cover charge, cheap drinks mixed generously by a cool staff, free billiards, a lounge, and great food (real hamburgers! Not this meat-mixed-with-onions-served-on-a-hot-plate nonsense, but a juicy burger in a bun!). It’s a Western bar all the way, with huge TVs and an open party atmosphere. It’s foreigner friendly, and as such many of the clientele are up for a chat (and not just to mooch you for your English) so it’s an easy place to make friends. In short, the perfect place to spend your weekened, birthday party, weekday, every day, etc.

So what’s my hangup? I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it. If I forced into a debate discussing the pros and cons of APRE I would be mascaraed. There’s just, something about the atmosphere. The lights are too bright. There’s something sketchy about the management lurking just below the surface. The place has a weird aura that preys on people. It’s all intangible and barely noticeable so I should just ignore it but it’s still there and I can’t stop thinking about it, even when I’m having a perfectly good time.

Maybe it’s the way the place feels like a Western bar, but isn’t a Western bar. Where’s my Heffenweisen? My jukebox? My ambiance? My Misirlou? They played it once, actually. I pumped my fist in victory, jumping halfway out my seat to yell excitedly at the person sitting across from me.

“Holy shit! Yeah, so Grindhouse opens here soon right? Well one of the directors, Tarentino, he wrote Pulp Fiction while-”

And then it’s gone. No DJ cross-fade, no segue, not even a subtle fade out. Just, gone with an audible screech. Someone took it off without a sideways glance. Probably afraid that they would spoil the party. I can’t remember what they put on next and it doesn’t matter except for I’m sure I didn’t care for it. Times like this get under your skin in the wonderful way that reminds you why you’re alive and why you love the things you love, hate the things you hate. Goddamn Japan.

The main obstacle that I had to overcome was not one of necessifty but of luxary. Everything is so familiar, simple, and even expected. I can easily navigate through any situation because they are all simply altered states of past experiences. I take for granted the fact that I can speak and read Japanese-Explaining to my peers where a certain resturant or shop is, I can’t remember if the landmarks I have given them are written in Japanese or English, or if there will be any sort of English support for them assuming they reach their destination.

Day-to-day life offers no difficulties. Rather, it is an internal struggle with myself to challenge my expectations. Coming back to Japan is like a second marriige on the coattails of one that ended not due to divorce, but because my wife died unexpectly and tragically. I still love her so, even though she treated me badly at times. And so Kanazawa doesn’t have my favorite Japanese resturants. It doesn’t have my favorite grocery stores or shops. Most importantly it doesn’t have my favorite people.

These are all problems that could only exist because of my past experience. Coming to Japan the first time, everything was so fresh, exciting, and NEW that it didn’t matter what happaned to me. This time my mind is older, harder, and slightly less forgiving.

This is not without its advantages.

I am able to brace myself and accept the inevitable unplentries that life will bring. In a foreign environment, once the honeymoon period wears off every bad thing that happens to you is three times worse then it actually is. In particular making real friends can be daunting, seemingly impossible task. Knowing the problems you face ahead of time allows you to accept them for what they truely are: Not problems, but truths.

If you go into a situation with an empty frame of mind you will fill it with new insights. Go into a situation with a mind filled with expectations and bias and you will find that everything is just how you thought it would be. In other words I have learned to expect nothing from people and chreish whatever I get in return.

Kanazawa In a Nutshell
People from Kanazawa are proud of their city’s history and culture. Although this can be said for every region of Japan for they each have the ‘best’ something, be it apples, water, or neighborhood baseball team, Kanazawa makes (mostly) good on its boasting. For a modern city it has done a comparitively good job of protecting its historical gardens, temples, and crafts. In comparison I visited Kobe and Osaka last weekend and I found nothing to enjoy but concrete. To be fair, Kanazawa has its share of concrete riverbeds and dams, but the city feels more alive then other man-made tombs that dot the island.

The breathtaking view from my window

My apartment is located in the old Samurai district, with wooden architecture, shrines, and temples on all sides. Stepping out one evening the distinct plinking of the shamisen floated through the open second-story window of a classic home across the street. Unlike many other areas in Japan the link to past culture has not been severed.

This is perhaps due to Kanazawa’s long history of political and military amnesty. After the region was conquered by the Shogun in the early 1600’s it was designated as a cutural stronghold for the arts and local handcrafts. Kanazawa’s massive rice yield allowed it the resources to amass the greatest creative brain trust in Japan at the time.

Since then Kanazawa has become famous for seafood, sake, gold leafing (guess where all the flattened gold sheets that cover Kin-kakuji came from) and whatever else people feel like bragging about. This is, however, the dogma of tourists and Kanazawas elderly. Ask people my age inside the city what makes Kanazawa unique, and they respond with a dry laugh-”It’s close to Kyoto!”

Which is not entirerly true. There are beutiful beaches on the east, west, and northern coasts, as well as mount Haku-San in the south that becomes a mecca for snowboarders and skiiers in the winter. There is a lot to do just outside of Kanazawa, but it lacks the well developed train system that most other big cities in Japan enjoy and as a result you need a car, or someone who has a car, to make the most out of living in the region.

Bike 20 minutes outside of the city to find the real countryside

Work In a Nutshell
I work for the Kanazawa International Exchange Foundation (KIEF) under the employ of Kanazawa city. This distinction is important. While there are other CIRs on the floor above me, they are employed by the prefecture and as such operate under a slightly different set of regulation and bosses. Across the city there are more city CIRs working in the city hall, and as fellow city CIRs I see them more often then the folks above my head. Kanazawa has a comparatively large foreign population (1% of the total) with people from America, Russia, Europe, Korea, Brazil, China. As a result we have CIRs from these various countries to help those from their respective countries.

The contents of my work can be broken down into three catagories- In office, out of office, and events.

In office work includes translating/creating fliers for various events that are put on by the various international groups in Kanazawa. I also am in charge of other mundane tasks such as maintaning KIEF’s English homepage and assisting English speaking foreigners that wander into our corner.

Out of Office work includes interpreting and school visits/lectures. For example, execs from Thailand are coming in two weeks and I will be in charge of interpreting plant tours and lectures on Kanazawa’s history. Sometime in December I will be visiting a “Volunteer College” to introduce my country to senior volunteers. After that I will be going to a school for children with special needs to play games with the students. The context and content varies widely.

Events, or “Culture Classrooms” as we call them around the office, are short cultural events that I plan and put on for whoever is interestest, usually bored housewives and their children. In October I’d like to do a pumpkin carving event for Halloween, and in the Winter I’m planing to teach people how to make American chili and cornbread.

I’m not sure if I’m providing an important social service or just helping people to kill time and allow them to feel more cosmopolitan. In any case, I am my own boss for these events and am free to present whatever strikes my fancy. The possibilities are intimidating, but I’m going to have more fun working with kids then I did working with suits from the automotive biz.

My Life in a Nutshell
Work is 9:00-5:45 Monday-Thursday, and 9:00-12:00 on Friday. Japan gets dark around 6:00 (no Daylight Saving Time) and most shops close around 8:00, meaning, by the time I get home, shower, eat, relax, and head out into the town, Kanazawa has already called it a day. Generally I study for a few hours at a coffee place or fast food joint, then wander the streets until something grabs my interest.

Bars in Japan are very different then in the States. On top of absurd drink prices, most bars have a cover charge, generally 500-700 yen, although this can go up to 2500 yen for singles bars. Generally cover entails snacks to go with your seven dollar cocktail, though this eliminates the possibility of bar hopping.

An
d when you are the only patron in an establishment, you will want to hop, and quickly. Another interesting characteristic about bars in Japan is their size. Generally they are just that-a bar, with 6-10 stools. This creates a very intimate setting which while condusive to meeting people can at times be overpowering.

I have crawled through a great many bars and met a great many people these past few weeks. Connections were made, but will they lead anywhere? I have made acquaintances with the “English Leech” more times then seems probably in this short period of time. The English Leech is a person who is interested in becoming friends with you solely on the virtue that you can teach them English or that you will become their Gaijin buddy, a living fashion accessory much like pet or a baby.

I am willing to be suckeled by the English Leech.

The biggest problem I faced in Otsu was making friends. I’d meet someone at a party, have a great time, make some fun conversation, and exchange contact information, then never see the person again. This is a common pattern, but even knowing so you can’t help but feel that there is somthing fundamentily wrong with you that is keeping people away from you. Since then I have learned that even if it is a problem with me (which it isn’t, for the most part), but rather something about Japanese culture that I have to work through.

My first weekend I didn’t have a bike and had my hands full with mapping out my neighborhood by foot. My second weekend I was in Osaka. This weekend was my first chance to really explore the shops and malls that close before I can get to them. I discovered that my method of meeting people was terribly flawed. Previously I had been effectively paying for a Japanese conversation partner through the price of my drinks. By going into small shops staffed by the manager and his friends, I was guarenteed to meet people my age with a conversation piece, for free! What’s with these Cheech and Chong stickers, most people in Japan have never even seen marijuana. I saw a concert flyer on your door, are they any good? And so on. People are so shocked to see a foreigner that can actually speak Japanese that they do most of the bridge-building for you.

This leads me to my hypothsis-

In Japan, you need an “in.”

Water in a concrete tomb.

The easiest way to reach the ocean is to follow its streams. If you know one person, even if that person just wants to use you as free English teacher, you can go through them and meet their friends, and that person’s friends and so on. This may not be the best approach, but it’s better then no approach. My neighborhood, Nagamachi, is well known for its man-made waterways, which while beautiful to look at are depressing to think about. Is the social stream I find myself wading in as similarily shallow and artificial?

Time will tell.

See you then.