October 2004

Skinhead
As some of you have heard, I shaved my hair right down to the scalp as soon as I arrived. I originally did it for the sake of efficiency, but it turns out it was a good financial decision. Haircuts here cost 3000-5000 yen ($37+ CDN). But I can't keep the skinhead look. My hair grows too quickly, and thickly, for that. I'd have to shave it every day...a severe drop in efficiency! So I'll copy 90% of the gaijin men I've seen here, and just keep it at a "buzz cut" length.

Being a Gaijin
I've thought a lot about being an alien in this country. The stereotype that you pick up at home, and even here, is that the Japanese are an insular people and don't like gaijin (foreigners). I've tried to determine how true that is. Certainly I get the occasional stare when I go out into the streets. But I don't think it's an unfriendly stare. I think it just shows their curiosity. I've never really felt unwelcome...more than that, I've known acts of kindness from the locals. They are always gracious and helpful when I ask for directions. Sometimes they'll even walk along with me for a block or two, showing me exactly which streets I need to use. One morning a nearby apartment custodian let me take his dolly (the platform with wheels, not his barbie) when I had to move some furniture. He didn't know me at all. But he trusted that I would bring it back. Just about the only example of rudeness - if you can even call it that - is the occasional giggle or laugh. This phenomenon pops up only in teenage girls...when I board their train car they'll stop speaking for a second, glance at me, giggle and cover their mouths, and then resume their conversation. Teenage boys don't do it, nor do people of older/younger ages. It doesn't always happen - and when it does I'm not bothered. Again, I just chalk it up to curiosity.

Eye of the Tiger
Those of you who know me well know that physical exercise was never really my scene. I've always been lazy when it comes to movement. That's all over now. Since walking and biking is the most practical way to get around this city, I've had to adapt. Those of you who loved the old me will be sad to hear that I am now willing to go on a 20-minute bike ride at the drop of a hat (in my previous life I would have gotten tired just thinking about it). According to my fellow gaijin I'll eventually be at the point where an hour's ride will seem like nothing. Since I've arrived, I've probably done about 2 hours of walking/biking per day. I get tired, sure, but I have to do it. And it does get easier every day.

Mayonnaise
I'd forgotten about the Japanese predilection for putting mayonnaise into EVERYTHING. You have to be careful - you can find it inside baked goods, inside battered fish...it's even inside pizza. As in, baked right into the crust of the pizza. The characters for mayo are some of the first I've learned. I also made sure to learn how to say "hold the mayo" in Japanese, but Peter tells me that won't really work. Most times if you order a food item that's made according to a "standard", like a mayonnaise pizza, then you are going to get the standard. It doesn't matter if you put in a special request or not. It's comparable to going to McDonald's and asking for a hamburger with no meat. It just isn't done. Although at McDonald's they'd probably follow through with your request, here they just assume that you don't really mean it and give you the standard item. Although I have no first-hand experience of this, I met a fellow gaijin named Joe who is trying to go vegetarian. Every time he orders a meal without meat, it comes exactly the way he didn't specify.

Alien Registration
The big prerequisite to organizing a life here is Alien Registration. Gaijin have to register at the local city ward office and receive their "gaijin card". This is a photo id card that shows your address. You need it to conduct any real business, like opening a bank account, signing a job contract, signing an apartment lease, etc. I've heard from gaijin here that police can stop you at any time and demand to see it...but I'm sure it's a rarity. In the 3 years Peter has spent here it's only happened to him once. But just to be safe, the card was the first thing I arranged.

Hanko
Another nifty prerequisite is getting your hanko. This is a little plastic stamp bearing your name in Japanese characters. Again, you need it to stamp on bank documents, contracts, etc. Mine is apparently "cute" according to the locals. It says "suuchi" - my Japanese name - in 3 simple characters. The price varies wildly. My first time out hanko shopping, the store was selling them for 2500+ yen...$30+ CDN. Pretty steep for a little piece of plastic. They also said it would take 24 hours to make. I told them I'd think about it. The very next day I went to the very same store, ready to fork over the yen. They made it inside 5 minutes and charged me 300 yen. I hadn't hassled them, hadn't bargained - so I have no idea how I scored such a great deal. I've asked a few gaijin what could have happened there but nobody knows...so far nobody else has paid less than 1500 yen for theirs. I guess the shopkeeper just liked the cut of my jib.

"So I have to pay what to whom now?"
I've arranged for my apartment - and it was without a doubt the most challenging thing I've done here. I had to go to two separate offices - the in-house office in the apartment building as well as the rental company's main office downtown. Neither place had someone fluent in English; at best their English was at the level of my Japanese, so the rental agents and I went through some serious mental exercises. My Japanese is good enough to get me around town but it's a whole different arena of communication to discuss utilities, an up-front security payment, automatic withdrawal from my bank account...I tell ya, it's a good thing I'm such an incredible genius. Between their English and my Japanese we did work it out to everybody's satisfaction. I went straight to bed afterwards, no doubt all the rental agents did the same thing. I'm moving into the place in a couple of hours. Now all I need is a washing machine, stove, fridge, etc. Just the minor appliances that Japanese apartments don't come with. I've gotta find me a Wal-Mart around here!

"Irashyaimase!"
Whenever you go into a shop, bank, restaurant, etc, you will get this word tossed at you. It seems to mean welcome and/or thanks for your patronage. Sometimes you'll just hear it once, sometimes EVERY salesperson/teller/clerk will look up and say it to you. They never miss a customer and they never miss a beat. I've seen a clerk who was already in the middle of counting out change for one person, while explaining something to another person, still glance up and give an "irashyaimase!" to every single customer who wandered by. When I first got here I tried to say something back each time - a little hello, or thank you - after all, it seemed like I was being engaged in conversation. But I've learned that the clerks are really acting on an almost robotic level. It's just something they do when a customer walks in and it usually has nothing to do with communication or interaction. So far, NONE of the locals I've observed have said anything in response. I've followed suit and mostly stopped responding. Just as well, I was running out of things to say back. A little note on the omnipresence of this word: in the apartment complex I share with Peter, there's a drugstore/salon with an automatic sensor on the doormat, connected to a little speaker above the door that squeaks "irashyaimase!" in a feminine mechanized voice.

Here Comes The Rain Again
I've been through 2 typhoons now, and about one day in three of scattered rain. It rains a lot. A LOT. When the rain comes, it stays for about 12 hours straight...or in the case of the typhoons, 48 hours straight. We haven't had the bad typhoons in Osaka - the ones that would inspire Hollywood films starring Bill Paxton or Helen Hunt - but we've still had the wet fallout from them. When the rain is on full-blast it's quite annoying. It gets so I don't even want to go out (remember I'm a strict pedestrian now). But it'll all be worth it in the winter months when this place will be a tropical paradise compared to home. Plus, there's a bit of a "home" feeling every time the rain ends. When it finally stops, there's this wonderful "it's over" feeling - the bad weather's broken and you've managed to get through it. To those of you who know what an Ottawa winter is like: it's that feeling on that first not-so-cold day (often far after the so-called "first day of spring" in the calendar). That first day when you know you can go outside without a bitter wind biting through your coat. That first day when you consider walking 4 blocks to the corner store instead of driving. That amazing, happy relief. I kinda get that every few days here.

The perils of biking
In a casual conversation with three gaijin it came up that all three had been hit by cars while biking in Japan. I asked if getting smacked by cars was an inevitable occurrence for bicyclists here; they seemed to think that it is. None of the hits were of any severity; the worst accident was Peter's when he got flipped right over his handlebars but somehow landed, Spiderman-like, on his feet. I guess it does follow when you look at the constant flow of bikes and cars that regularly ignore traffic laws and cross against the red when they THINK they can make it. Not to worry though, I've always been preternaturally lucky so I believe I'll get out of this country without a scrape. I believe it so much, I won't even knock on wood after typing that. Well...maybe I should at least knock on my tatami....

"Wait, why is she walking her rat?"
I've seen just one dog bigger than a Beagle here, and most of them are much smaller than that. The popular breeds seem to be the Pekingese (those little pointy-eared yappy ones, think Chihuahua with more hair) and the Daschunds (those wieners with tails). But these miniature dogs are treated just like, if I could use a biased term, "real" dogs. I saw a wiry, athletic Japanese man jog past me at a decent clip, trailing a wiener dog by a leash. The little guy (or gal) was running at top speed to keep up, doing the best it could with its stunted little wiener dog legs. Its tail was wagging so I'm sure it was having a grand old time. It was just a bit odd to see Mr. Athlete going the distance with a Daschund. I guess these mini-dogs are appropriate for their environment; you couldn't keep a Shepherd or Husky in the average Japanese apartment. They're convenient, too: easy to carry (I've seen a lot being hefted around town in their owners' arms) and compact (I've also seen a lot plunked into the baskets of their owners' bicycles). So far I haven't seen any purse dogs a la Paris Hilton, but I'm sure it's just a matter of time.

Guess who's coming to dinner?
I managed to score two hallowe'en parties this year. The first was a nice pot-luck dinner with Miki-chan and Sumiko-chan, two of Peter's friends. The guest list was 12 Japanese ladies, plus the two of us burly louts. Each guest brought a great homemade dish. Peter and I brought Jinro and Coke. Jinro is a fantastically cheap Korean liquor with the appearance and taste of water. As I said, burly louts. The ladies were extremely kind; most tried to use their rusty English so I wouldn't be left in the dark.
As is my custom, I introduced myself as Suuchi. Later in the evening they asked me what my last name was. After that confusion was cleared up, they asked me what my first name was. The answer prompted an excited Japanese conversation about a movie, during which I was able to catch the word "naifu" (knife). They were trying to remember the name of the movie. Their stabbing motions clued me in. "You're talking about Friday the 13th...ummm...furaide za sachintsu desu." Their applause and "so desu"s confirmed that I was right. Hanae-chan, the third and final fluent English speaker at the party, explained to me that the name Jason always connotes to the Friday the 13th films here. I'll just keep introducing myself as Suuchi.
There's a certain sound that you will only hear when a room full of Japanese women agree on something. It's a chorus of rising "Ehhh"s. I got to hear this a few dozen times throughout the dinner, such as when we discussed how great our costumes were. To my western ears the sound conveys mild surprise and disappointment. But that doesn't seem to be the meaning here. It's used in agreement or to show that one has received new information. As with any language, there is more to learn here than just words.
Like hand gestures. I should have remembered that hand gestures are not universal. One of the ladies was giving me her best wishes for the future, so I held up my hands with crossed fingers and said "I hope it comes true." She was mildly surprised and disappointed - genuinely so. With help from Peter I figured out that I had gestured poorly - crossed fingers are a negation here, so I had casually dismissed her wishes. We cleared everything up and we all learned a new meaning for one of our "universal" gestures.
I did uncover one sad aspect of bigotry at the party. I'd been on the lookout for it since I arrived - at home I'd received a wealth of opinions on the Japanese perspective. Some were mild ("you may not be welcome there"). Others were extreme ("if you come across a Japanese child, don't pick it up, for then it will carry your scent and its mother won't take it back"). The bigotry I learned of was actually internal. Hanae-chan is of course Japanese. But from the ages of four through twenty she lived outside of Japan, in English-speaking countries. As such her English is flawless. Perhaps not better than mine, since I'm such a cunning linguist, but still, she's certainly fluent. No trace of an accent. However, she can't get a job here as an English teacher because she is Japanese. She doesn't "look the part" of an English teacher. Sad.

November 2004

�Whoa, whoa, is that guy trying to eat his soup with a SPOON?�E#060;br> So I finally sat down at a ramen/udon place (noodle soup place) to get a break from the conveyor-belt sushi. In a hurry to eat, I ordered the first thing that I could recognize off the menu, a spicy Korean ramen soup. It arrived quickly, a hot broth filled with chewy veggies, spicy meat, and a nice big spoon. I was ever-so-slightly relieved. Although I can handle my chopsticks as well as any seasoned tourist, I was in the mood for a meal with a familiar western utensil. So I grabbed the spoon and heaved-to, slurping down sauce and veggies with abandon. Until I was interrupted about 30 seconds later. �Excuse, can �Eyou - use - chopstick?�E One of the servers pulled a pair from a nearby supply, broke them apart, and handed them to me. I did my best imitation of an unfazed me.
�Oh, sure, of course.�E My abandoned spoon slid back to its place in the bowl, the handle still peeking out over the lip as though to remind me of what might have been. I took the chopsticks and managed to awkwardly finish off the veggies and most of the noodles. To this day, I have no idea why my spooning was disallowed. Other gaijin have told me that they�ve spooned their ramen without hassle. Was the server trying to point out that chopsticks were available, should I have that preference? Did she have to settle a bet with the other servers over whether I would be able to use them? Was her English perhaps nowhere near as good as it seemed, and was she in fact urging me to use the spoon?
I haven�t yet summoned up the courage to go back to McNoSpoon�s. When I do go back, I�ll be sure to grab the chopsticks.

4 more years of King George
We have a legion of disappointed pro-Kerry gaijin in Osaka these days. There are apparently two Americans here who voted Bush, but I haven�t met them. I have met a good sample of liberal Americans here, all of whom spent the few days after November 3 being just plain bummed out. I have to feel sorry for them. We Canadians have had our idiots in office, to be sure, but at least we�re free to buy marijuana, marry homosexuals, and have abortions. I don�t plan on doing any of the three but I�m glad to know I could if I wanted to. As for our oppressed and repressed friends down south, I can only hope that they�ll stick to their practice of 2-term limits for their Presidents so that we can have our nice neighbours back in 2008.

Department Stores �Eanother example of the glass ceiling
For most of my shopping trips to outfit my apartment I turned to Daiei, a large department store in the neighbourhood. Inside Daiei, as with a lot of the big-name stores here, there is a near-constant blare of theme music. Not popular radio stations, but store-specific theme music. Against a swelling symphony that might have been composed by a young and confused John Williams, there is a paternal voice that sings �Dai-ei! Dai-ei! (some string of Japanese I can�t follow)�Eai-ei!�E This then repeats. Ad infinitum. It�s not overpowering or annoying but on the other hand it�s nothing you could dance to. It�s just the sound you get to hear if you shop at Daiei. When I went to the electronics giant Joshin for my appliances, I heard, against a slightly different John Williams-esque symphony, �Jo-shin! Jo-shin! (some string of Japanese I can�t follow)�Eo-shin!�E
Anyways, Daiei is a 5-floor one-stop paradise, like Sears or the Bay back home. But between each floor is an imperceptible glass ceiling�Eou see, although there are convenient escalators running from floor to floor, and although there is absolutely nothing to stop you from taking merchandise from floor to floor, and although there is no decoration, sign, or marking to warn you that you are doing anything wrong, apparently each floor is its own separate enterprise. You cannot pay for the goods from floor 1 at, for example, the cash register of floor 2. And if you start at floor 1 as an innocent and unsuspecting gaijin, and work your way up to floor 5, collecting goods in a basket the whole way up, and then try to pay for everything at floor 5�Eell, good luck. Let me know if you find a way to do it. My only solution, once I cleared up the confusion at the 5th floor register, was to work my way back down to the ground, paying for the appropriate items at the appropriate levels.

December 2004

Where everybody knows your name
In addition to teaching I�m also tending bar on Wednesday nights. The place is called People�s Pub. It�s a tiny joint �EI can�t imagine more than ten people squeezing inside at any given time. The owner is a sweet old Japanese lady named Nariko. It�s just Nariko and I behind the bar, dispensing liquor and chatting with the customers. Whenever things get too slow, which happens at least a couple of times every night, she pours a free drink for me and joins me in a �kanpai!�E(�cheers!�E.
The pay is dismal �Efor a gaijin job. With a little luck any gaijin should be able to find a private English class that pays double or triple my salary. But I�m honestly not there for the money. It�s just too much fun to quit. I love talking with the customers; they help me with my Japanese and I help them with their English. I know the diehard regulars �Ethe guy who always sits in the corner and plays the same three songs on his guitar; they guy who shows up already drunk and tries to down as many beers as he can during happy hour; the businessmen who love hearing me say �rice�Eand �lice�Eor �right�Eand �light�Ebecause they can�t understand the difference.
One of the diehards took me out to another bar after we�d closed People�s for the night because he wanted to keep partying. He�d been disturbed earlier that night when he found out that I was still single at 27, so he tried to woo the waitress at the next bar on my behalf. Unfortunately, his idea of wooing was just brusque. He called her over, grabbed her, and wouldn�t let her go while he told her about me. I managed to gently pry his hands off so that she could go about her business. I told him he had to show her some more respect but he just giggled at my strange Canadian ideas. I don�t want to paint him the wrong way. He�s not a jerk. He�s just�Eapanese. Now, I don�t want to paint the Japanese the wrong way. Of course there are lots of guys here who are nice, quiet and who keep their hands to themselves. But the unfortunate truth is that there are also LOTS of guys here who don�t.
In any case, at People�s, you might like to know that I shout out a little �Irashyaimase!�Ewhenever a customer walks in. It is, after all, the thing to do.

Here�s a sample of my Wednesdays:

5:00am: wake up
5:30am: curse my life for having to be awake
6:30am: head out the door
8:00am: arrive at school. Exchange �hello�s with ten or twenty students as they head to their various classes.
8:15am: daily teacher�s meeting. Don�t understand a single word as the principal and teachers discuss some kind of plan for the day. Pay attention to each person as they speak, just hoping they will use some Japanese I know, like �how much does it cost?�Eor �do you know the way to the train station?�E But they never do.
8:30am: plan the day�s classes with my JTEs (Japanese Teachers of English). These teachers have fairly solid English so my first real communication of the day starts here.
9:00 am to 12:30 pm: spend one or two hours in class. Spend the rest of the time at my desk in the teachers�Eoffice, studying Japanese. Interrupted between each class by students who want to say hello and are then too shy to try anything else. Have several of these aborted conversations each morning. Praise my life for having such an easy job.
12:30pm to 1:30pm: lunch. Could pack my own, but there is a delivery service at the school that is just too convenient. The lunch is always a healthy Japanese meal with rice, fish and veggies. Once had something that looked like a grape but when chewed it turned out to be a horrible salted pickled plum.
1:30pm to 3:30 pm: spend an hour or rarely both hours in class. Spend the rest of the time at my desk. Have more aborted conversations with students.
3:30pm to 4:30pm: classes are over. Student club activities. Walk around, helping or just watching a different club every day. Students are not shy here and get their friends�Ehelp to have a real English conversation with me. Students learn more English from me now than they did all day.
4:30pm: on any other day, stay around and continue to work with clubs, talk with JTEs about life in Japan and in Canada, praise my life some more. But today, have to get to second job. Leave school.
6:00pm: arrive in Osaka. Stop at home if there is time, otherwise subway straight on to People�s Pub.
7:00pm: arrive at People�s Pub. Curse my life for having to be at work 14 hours after waking up. Sing the same three songs with the guitarist in the corner.
8:00pm to 11:00pm: get a second wind. Pour drinks, wash glasses, wipe down the bar, chat with customers. Praise my life for having such a fun job. Enjoy free drinks with Nariko.
11:00pm: chase out the one or two late customers. Wash up the last of the glasses, make sure Nariko is set for the night, head home.
12:00am: fall asleep, ready to wake up in 5 hours and go to work.

How I got Gaijin�d
Yes, I finally received a proper Gaijining of my own. In the elevator en route to my apartment, my fellow tenant and elevator passenger shyly peered at me through the thin lenses of her glasses and said �I know you. You live on the 9th floor.�E At first, alarm bells went off. Who was this cute librarianesque stalker and just how long had she been stalking me? Then I thought it through�Eight, only Indian in the complex, only guy with a buzz cut�Ekay, perhaps I was locally recognizable. I shifted from my defensive �Stalked Tiger�Estance to my normal slouched position.
�Oh, yes?�E Was my engaging reply.
�Yes, you held the elevator for me once before.�E#060;br> We bantered a little bit about how I�d just moved in here and tried to suss out if we knew any of the same people in the building. Our elevator is painfully slow, so we had time to chat. I realized that her English was really quite good, which set off another alarm. Since it�s often the crazies who have the best English, who was this cute librarianesque psycho and just how long had she been psycho? But, my butter-knife-sharp intuition and the dusty memories of my old Psychology 101 course told me that she was all right. Just a clear-headed Japanese girl looking to exercise her English.
I�ve no idea who she is, name-wise, but in my heart she�ll always remain that wonderful Japanese person who gave me my first Gaijining.

Hey, cutie, what�s your blood type?
�What�s your blood type?�Eis a common question here and the locals are quietly astonished when we gaijin don�t know the answer. A person�s blood type here is almost like a person�s zodiac sign back home. Although the locals don�t really believe in it, blood types can be used to stereotype your personality and to determine your best romantic matches. Type A�s can marry type O�s, and type B�s can marry type O�s, but type A�s can�t marry type B�s. Or something like that. I�ve no idea what my blood type is (could one of my relatives please go ask our family doctor so that I can finally have an answer ready for these locals) but I�ve been told that it�s A. During my first game of Go, my opponent Sumiko (from my hallowe�en update) told me that I was A because I planned my moves too carefully.

Last of the gentlemen
When it comes to getting a seat on the trains, it�s every man for himself. That is to say, the men and boys will rush to the seats and occupy them without checking to see if there are any women, including elderly women, who would have to stand. There are two ways I could think about this. One, perhaps the Japanese are doing this the right way. After all, if the long battle for equality between the sexes is to end, we shouldn�t assign seating priority by gender. Or, two, the Japanese are doing this the wrong way. Elderly women should get top priority for seats, followed by elderly men, followed by younger women, followed by younger men. The sexes can be equal but some sexes can be more equal than others.
Whatever the right course may be, I choose to surrender my seat to any nearby woman. But I have to be very careful about how I handle the seating transfer. You see, when I first started using the trains, I simply didn�t take a seat at all, trusting that the empty ones would be filled up by deserving parties. But that didn�t work. Now when I vacate my seat, I�m on the lookout for what I call the Sharks. The Sharks are businessmen or young boys who will zoom in and grab my seat as soon as I leave it. As I stand up, I have to position my body or extend an arm so that I block a Shark�s path to my seat. While blocking, I invite a woman to use the seat. Usually she will be confused and refuse since this is simply not done here. But after I repeat my request she does take the seat in order to avoid causing a public scene with a gaijin. It works like a charm. Meanwhile, over my shoulder, I see the disappointed face of the Shark who couldn�t get around my arm in time.

Zen and the art of bicycle maintenance
I don't maintain my bike at all. I don�t grease the chains, or rotate the tires, or whatever you�re supposed to do with a bike. So I shouldn�t have been too surprised one night, fortunately while close to home, when a pedal fell off. Just fell right off. And me with no tools and even less mechanical aptitude.
I considered my options: 1) Leave it as is. Pedal around using only one leg. Pros: path of least resistance. Cons: would develop one super-muscled leg and one freakishly atrophied leg. Would not be able to score with �the ladies�E 2) Go to a bike shop. Pros: don�t need to end up showing my legs in a travelling freak circus. Cons: would have to spend precious, precious yen.
Well, I did take it to a shop, where they fixed the pedal AND greased the chains AND sprayed some kinda spray on some kinda bike part AND charged me nothing. I was more than a little confused when they sent me out the door without a bill. I even pulled some yen out of my wallet to force on them, but they wouldn�t accept it.
While I scored a good deal with the new pedal, I lost out when the coppers snatched my bike a few days later. See, there is basically no legal place anywhere to park your bike on the streets. Every now and then the police swoop down upon the city and haul off any illegally parked (i.e. parked) bikes to some godforsaken bike jail that�s a good hell�s half-acre beyond the recognized limits of Osaka. When your bike gets snatched you can either pay a 2500 yen fine, plus the cost of a train ticket, plus the cost of a bus ticket and waste a day �Eliterally waste 12 hours �E getting your bike, or go to the nearest bike shop and pay 5000 yen for a new one, which would take you all of half an hour. Guess which option I chose. Guess which option any sane person chooses. I assume this mythical bike jail must be just overflowing with old bikes �Ea veritable Fort Knox, if the world economy were to adopt the Used Bike Standard.
Well, there are no hard feelings here. The coppers did their job. I just have to find a sneakier place to stash my bike. Or do it up with tinted windows so it looks like a Yakuza bike �Ethen they�d leave it alone.