keitaidensha
10-07-2005, 12:25 AM
i have to take a satire/comedy class for school so i figure what the hell, mise well post it here too.
ASSIGNMENT: essay in the style of "this american life"
This Japanese Life
Everyone talks about how crazy, interesting and different other cultures are. Whether it’s your aunt lamenting British cuisine or your brother remarking at the armpit hair epidemic among French women, every conversation is a fortuitous comment away from a five-hour dissertation on the finer points of Greek cab drivers. This is different, though. Unlike all those other, boring memories, my experiences really are crazy, interesting and unique. Why? Because they’re about Japan!
A short history of my torrid affair with the land of the rising sun: after becoming interested in the country through video games (Nintendo is Japanese, after all), then sushi, I took the language in high school. Having not lost interest despite two years of formal education concerning the place, I applied for a scholarship to go there on exchange for six weeks during the summer of 2004 and was accepted.
Before departure, all of the scholarship students were required to spend a few days in an orientation designed to give us a cursory understanding of Japanese culture and help us brush up on our language skills. The orientation itself took place at San Jose State University, which meant that while all the other students were flying in from all over the country, I spent the day on a relaxing hike before driving the five minutes it takes to get from my house to the college.
During the orientation, we learned the essential cultural and language tips that would help us get by in the coming six weeks. We then forgot any useful information and focused on the disturbing, bizarre and just plain weird. For instance, if a Japanese boy clasps his hands together, sticks out his two index fingers together and shoves said fingers up your butt as hard as he can, he is just playing kancho—it’s like tag, but with anal violation!
Upon arrival, I was overwhelmed by the shock of Japanese culture enveloping me. Signs written in Japanese littered the airport terminal, Japanese voices emanated from the intercom system, and short people with black hair flooded the building as far as the eye could see. Keeping with local custom, I bought a “furappuchino” from “Sutaabakkusu.” It was oishii.
My next enriching cultural experience was taking a ride on one of Japan’s many horizon-broadening freeways. Japanese freeways are just like American freeways, except that the cars drive on the other side of the road and the speed limit is way too slow kilometers per hour. Assuming my friend’s information was correct, and our hotel was about 30 kilometers from the airport, the fact that it took us two hours to get there in light traffic means our bus driver was probably speeding.
After a grueling eighteen hours of travel time, we finally showed up at the hotel. Exhausted, sore and ready to keel over at a moment’s notice, I did what anyone in my situation would do: I messed around with the toilet. Unlike our boring American commodes, Japanese toilets are equipped with enough features to make my computer look like a Game Boy. Seat-warmers, water jets, automatic flushing and nuclear strike capabilities come standard with every unit. Mark my words, God’s throne itself is nothing more than a glorified Japanese toilet.
A refreshing shower and ice-cold cola were all it took to get me running again, so I decided to celebrate my first day in Japan by taking a night on the town with a few friends. Highlights:
Meeting Japanese teenagers in noisy, crowded arcades. Apparently, exploding zombies make up a large part of the vocabulary of video games, the universal language.
Alcohol. As an average westerner, I looked older (and fatter) (and clumsier) than an average Japanese boy of the same age. Compound that with the fact that nobody could make sense of my school ID, and suddenly I’m going from zero to drunk in two thousand yen.
At “Seeban Ireeban,” a local Japanese convenience store, I by chance decided to skim through some magazines while my friends bought some snacks. An avid manga (japanese comics) fan, I picked up a magazine with a cartoon policeman on the cover. As I flipped through, I saw comics with detectives, sports, guys beating the crap out of each other, and…a full color spread of a naked woman. A closer look at the Japanese on the magazine cover reads: “Pureiboi.”
In the middle of one of my favorite activities, shopping for t-shirts with nonsensical English on them, my stomach started acting up. Alas, I was forced to part with my friends and make the short walk back to the hotel by myself. You’re a big, strong American guy, I thought to myself. You can handle this. Confident, I made my way past a Makudonarudo Hanbaagaa and an insurance firm, when—BAM!—a young Japanese woman appeared out of thin air and stated assertively, “wujurakamakaji!”
“Mou ichido onegaishimasu.” Please say that again.
“Wuu juu raiku a masaaji?” Would you like a massage?
“Iie, kekkou desu.” No thanks.
As I walked through the automatic sliding doors and into the cool hotel lobby, I made a mental note to check “Get propositioned by a whore” off my list of “Things to Do in Japan.”
The days and weeks that followed soon became a blur, although I can recall a few choice moments from the amorphous mass of indistinct memories that makes up what I can recollect of the rest of my trip. I remember being told I resembled Frodo Baggins from The Lord of the Rings, my first ever authentic Japanese karaoke room (if you value your ears, never let me near the Beatles) and my second ever authentic Japanese karaoke room (the only thing funnier than hearing a German exchange student singing in English is to hear him sing in German).
Still, the most memorable days of my foray into Nihon were the first. The wonder of tall buildings and enormous swarms of people, the excitement of feeling like a part of a big city, the sense of danger that at any moment a Japanese kid would stick his fingers in your butt—truly, those nights were magical.
That’s all for now, so until next time! Or, as they say in Japanese, “Wuu juu raiku a masaaji?”
ASSIGNMENT: essay in the style of "this american life"
This Japanese Life
Everyone talks about how crazy, interesting and different other cultures are. Whether it’s your aunt lamenting British cuisine or your brother remarking at the armpit hair epidemic among French women, every conversation is a fortuitous comment away from a five-hour dissertation on the finer points of Greek cab drivers. This is different, though. Unlike all those other, boring memories, my experiences really are crazy, interesting and unique. Why? Because they’re about Japan!
A short history of my torrid affair with the land of the rising sun: after becoming interested in the country through video games (Nintendo is Japanese, after all), then sushi, I took the language in high school. Having not lost interest despite two years of formal education concerning the place, I applied for a scholarship to go there on exchange for six weeks during the summer of 2004 and was accepted.
Before departure, all of the scholarship students were required to spend a few days in an orientation designed to give us a cursory understanding of Japanese culture and help us brush up on our language skills. The orientation itself took place at San Jose State University, which meant that while all the other students were flying in from all over the country, I spent the day on a relaxing hike before driving the five minutes it takes to get from my house to the college.
During the orientation, we learned the essential cultural and language tips that would help us get by in the coming six weeks. We then forgot any useful information and focused on the disturbing, bizarre and just plain weird. For instance, if a Japanese boy clasps his hands together, sticks out his two index fingers together and shoves said fingers up your butt as hard as he can, he is just playing kancho—it’s like tag, but with anal violation!
Upon arrival, I was overwhelmed by the shock of Japanese culture enveloping me. Signs written in Japanese littered the airport terminal, Japanese voices emanated from the intercom system, and short people with black hair flooded the building as far as the eye could see. Keeping with local custom, I bought a “furappuchino” from “Sutaabakkusu.” It was oishii.
My next enriching cultural experience was taking a ride on one of Japan’s many horizon-broadening freeways. Japanese freeways are just like American freeways, except that the cars drive on the other side of the road and the speed limit is way too slow kilometers per hour. Assuming my friend’s information was correct, and our hotel was about 30 kilometers from the airport, the fact that it took us two hours to get there in light traffic means our bus driver was probably speeding.
After a grueling eighteen hours of travel time, we finally showed up at the hotel. Exhausted, sore and ready to keel over at a moment’s notice, I did what anyone in my situation would do: I messed around with the toilet. Unlike our boring American commodes, Japanese toilets are equipped with enough features to make my computer look like a Game Boy. Seat-warmers, water jets, automatic flushing and nuclear strike capabilities come standard with every unit. Mark my words, God’s throne itself is nothing more than a glorified Japanese toilet.
A refreshing shower and ice-cold cola were all it took to get me running again, so I decided to celebrate my first day in Japan by taking a night on the town with a few friends. Highlights:
Meeting Japanese teenagers in noisy, crowded arcades. Apparently, exploding zombies make up a large part of the vocabulary of video games, the universal language.
Alcohol. As an average westerner, I looked older (and fatter) (and clumsier) than an average Japanese boy of the same age. Compound that with the fact that nobody could make sense of my school ID, and suddenly I’m going from zero to drunk in two thousand yen.
At “Seeban Ireeban,” a local Japanese convenience store, I by chance decided to skim through some magazines while my friends bought some snacks. An avid manga (japanese comics) fan, I picked up a magazine with a cartoon policeman on the cover. As I flipped through, I saw comics with detectives, sports, guys beating the crap out of each other, and…a full color spread of a naked woman. A closer look at the Japanese on the magazine cover reads: “Pureiboi.”
In the middle of one of my favorite activities, shopping for t-shirts with nonsensical English on them, my stomach started acting up. Alas, I was forced to part with my friends and make the short walk back to the hotel by myself. You’re a big, strong American guy, I thought to myself. You can handle this. Confident, I made my way past a Makudonarudo Hanbaagaa and an insurance firm, when—BAM!—a young Japanese woman appeared out of thin air and stated assertively, “wujurakamakaji!”
“Mou ichido onegaishimasu.” Please say that again.
“Wuu juu raiku a masaaji?” Would you like a massage?
“Iie, kekkou desu.” No thanks.
As I walked through the automatic sliding doors and into the cool hotel lobby, I made a mental note to check “Get propositioned by a whore” off my list of “Things to Do in Japan.”
The days and weeks that followed soon became a blur, although I can recall a few choice moments from the amorphous mass of indistinct memories that makes up what I can recollect of the rest of my trip. I remember being told I resembled Frodo Baggins from The Lord of the Rings, my first ever authentic Japanese karaoke room (if you value your ears, never let me near the Beatles) and my second ever authentic Japanese karaoke room (the only thing funnier than hearing a German exchange student singing in English is to hear him sing in German).
Still, the most memorable days of my foray into Nihon were the first. The wonder of tall buildings and enormous swarms of people, the excitement of feeling like a part of a big city, the sense of danger that at any moment a Japanese kid would stick his fingers in your butt—truly, those nights were magical.
That’s all for now, so until next time! Or, as they say in Japanese, “Wuu juu raiku a masaaji?”