It's a hot week. In rural western Massachusetts, that means we get up to eighty-five degrees with a humidity of seventy percent or more. The air feels heavy when you walk outside, and it's a recipe for a good deal of sweat. Everyone complains bitterly about how "oppressive" and hot it is.
But I have a not-so-secret weapon.
I have been "lucky" enough to have lived through much, much worse. You see Gyoda, where I lived in Japan for three years, borders Kumagaya, which is widely known as the hottest city in Japan. By virtue of the fact that the two towns are right next to each other, this also makes Gyoda the hottest town in Japan. Don't believe me? Look it up, though you'll probably have to do it in Japanese.
But anyway, it is hot there. While I was there it regularly reached ninety-five during the day, usually with ninety percent humidity. The summer I left, it actually reached one hundred and seven (point six!) degrees, again with that same lovely humidity. Phoenix ain't got nuthin'.
"Oppressive" doesn't begin to describe the air in Gyoda. Walk outside, and you're hit smack in the face with a brick wall of heat and humidity. You haven't sweat until you've spent a summer there, I can tell you. Literally the moment you walk out of the sweetly air-conditioned train, your shirt is soaked. Add to that the fact that you're using a bike to get anywhere, along with the fact that your apartment's air conditioner is broken (and will be for three years), and it's a surefire way to get heatstroke. I'm pretty sure I had it every day there.
So now when I sit in the relatively balmy New England heat, I just remember that I've been through worse. This is nothing!
But somehow when I tell that to people, they don't quite appreciate it...
Apparently I have a thing for frogs. I've posted about them here and also here.
I made a recording of frog noises back during rainy season in Gyoda, but never got around to posting it. It's a noise that I find strangely compelling. Perhaps, along with the sound of squealing cicadas and the smell of damp tatami, it serves as a reminder of Japanese days past.
That recording you may find here: Gyoda Frogs
Contrast it with a recording I just made a few days ago in Massachusetts. These frogs are much bigger than their rice field compatriots, making them much easier to see. Don't let recording levels fool you; they actually manage to be quieter than the frogs in Japan.
Enjoy the natural ambiance here: Massachusetts Frogs Recording
Now if only I can get close enough for an adequate recording of the rather-elusive "peeper frogs."
UPDATE: I got a recording of the peepers! Oh joy, right?
Check them out: Massachusetts Peepers Recording
If you're reading this without reading Part One, I seriously suggest you go read it now. You my find yourself a little lost without it.
Where did I leave off? Oh yes, am I gay, no, blah blah blah. Right.
The whole tone of the interview, along with the little giggles and reactions from everyone involved, gave it a distinctly abstract feeling. I couldn't imagine that this was a real interview, and maybe it was just some elaborate joke on the gaijin (foreigner). Where were the TV cameras? Thinking back, I can definitely see this kind of thing happening on some comedy/variety show in Japan. However, had it actually been a television show, at least I would've had a moment of fame! No such luck.
The president meandered through another "normal" section of the interview, his segues between questions like "Are you gay?" and "tell me about your design skills" executed with masterful straight-facedness. Then he came to what I still consider "the winner" of the interview.
He asked me (of course in Japanese): "Do you like to do 裸族 in your apartment?"
He'd used a word I'd never heard before. "Excuse me, do I do what?"
"すっぽんぽん."
Ah, this was a word with which I was familiar. Roughly translated, it means "butt naked." Wait. Do I go butt naked in my apartment?! Naturally, I was utterly shocked into answering completely honestly. "Well, uh...I...my town is the hottest town in Japan, so sometimes it does get awfully hot..." Everyone laughed. But what possibly could that sort of question have to do with my ability to properly do my job? You can imagine this wasn't the first time I had second thoughts about exactly what kind of job I might be doing.
The interview itself wrapped up not long afterwards. It was explained to me that in the line of work that they do, it is relatively common to be dealing with gay men and selfish women, as they have dealings with celebrity and artistic types. Go figure. It helped explain part of the interview, but certainly I was still left wondering why it mattered if I liked to get naked in my apartment.
The president brought the interview to a close and brought me around the rather small and very cluttered office. He announced me to the staff who were still working at 10PM (virtually everyone), including the fact that I was currently girlfriendless, looking actively, and love Japanese women. Never mind the fact that it wasn't necessarily true, everyone seemed to take it in stride. He then proceeded to introduce me to all of the single women in the office. First off was a woman who'd studied in the States and therefore knew a bit of English. He told her to introduce herself to me in English. I've changed the name, but this is exactly how she introduced herself:
"Hello, my name is Mayuko. I lived in the States for a few years. I've divorced three times!"
Upon which I promptly replied, "Oh...nice to meet you! Your English is excellent." What else to say, really?
I met two other single women in much the same manner, minus the divorce and English. The last one had such a fake smile during the exchange, it was kind of painful and not a little uncomfortable. The president told us to exchange business cards, so we could "get to know each other" or something. But...I'm not even working at the company, and nor do we even like each other...so why would I want to do this? We obliged of course, no doubt both thinking similar thoughts: "yeah right." He was, after all, her boss and my potential boss.
I remember thinking as we walked back out into the oppressive humidity that there was no way I'd take the job.
Three weeks later, I took the job. Go figure!
I think enough time has passed since this experience to let the trauma settle a little bit. At the time I didn't quite feel this way, but I can now say with not a small amount of pride that I had a job interview that was probably far stranger than most people will ever experience.
Through the good graces of a coworker at my school, I had managed to secure an interview at a small advertising and marketing firm in the heart of cool: 表参道 (Omotesandou) in Tokyo. On a rainy and sweltering evening in June myself and my coworker decked ourselves out in full suits and took the train down to Tokyo.
Let me give you a short background on interviewing in Japan. There, if you are lucky enough to have a connection who gets you an interview, you actually go to the interview with that person. At the interview, your person (a sponsor, really) will give a spiel about you for a little while, and then the interview will turn over to you, where you will give a little prepared speech about yourself and why you want to work at the company. This explains why I, my contact, and his contact all ended up in a very small meeting room with uncomfortable plastic seats.
I came into the interview knowing it was going to be different. I had been told that we would be meeting with both the company president and vice president, something that doesn't happen often in Japan. Usually, you see, you meet with an underling. In any case, as we sat waiting, all three of us in our full suits, I'm sure we all felt a tad jealous of the VP who had just come in looking a little dumpy in his khaki slacks and a polo shirt. The real moment of truth, however, was when the president himself walked in. His white t-shirt had some outrageous print on it, and his jeans (jeans!!) were ripped quite liberally. His hair was spiked. Oh, this was definitely going to be a different sort of interview.
Things progressed smoothly enough. First my coworker's contact gave his little speech about me, then my coworker did the same. I couldn't help but think about how great this was. Here I was at an interview, and it had already lasted a half hour without me saying a word! One could only hope that it would only contin-
"So," the president said, turning his puffy sleep-deprived eyes to me, "do you by chance play rugby or practice boxing?"
Knowing that many companies in Japan sponsor rugby teams, I thought maybe he was asking about my interest in sports. I practice neither, so I volunteered what I do practice: "No, but I do practice Tae Kwon Do..."
"Ah!" He sat back with the look of a mystery solved. "So that's why your nose and teeth are crooked!"
Now, I'm pretty sure a comment like that would end an interview in the States, perhaps with the interviewee walking huffily from the room. I, however, was astounded into silence. My two sponsors laughed a little, so I figured maybe this was some sort of icebreaking strategy. I never thought that icebreaking by way of pointing out physical flaws was particularly effective, but there are innumerable differences between my opinions and Japanese society as a whole.
Believe it or not, the interview continued in much the same fashion. The president did most of the talking and asked me most of the questions, concentrating for short stretches on relevant topics such as my skills, my interests, my love of Japan, my love of the women...what?
Among other things, he asked me if I had a girlfriend (American interview no-no #1). I told him no, we had broken up not long ago. He expressed that after the interview he would introduce me to the single women in the office. He asked me if I liked Japanese women, and being that his manner and questions were so shockingly direct, I couldn't think of anything to do but to answer. It happened time and time again, and every time I was a deer in headlights, unable to do anything but answer honestly. I tell you, giving well-considered, strategic, perfect answers is entirely out of the question in this sort of situation.
After we got out of the way that I loved Japanese women and was desperate for a new girlfriend, (What? Even I wasn't aware of that...) we moved on to more mundane job-talk. Not for long, though, I assure you. There was a short pause before he switched tack again.
"Do you like selfish women?"
Again, being that I had hopelessly lost all ability to answer cunningly, I pondered for a moment my dating history. "Well, it would seem that I do..."
"Are you gay?"
"Um, no..." Didn't I just say I liked women?
"Do you like gays?"
"Well, I have a few gay friends, so yes."
Satisfied, he returned once again to talk of the mundane. A little breather, no doubt, before the next wave of shock and awe. Stay tuned for Part Two, in which we explore the nuances of discussing nudity, as well as the interview's aftermath!
One of my favorite things to laugh about in Japan was the legendary status of the Tanuki. They're a fun little critter that is often described as a raccoon, though it's an entirely different animal. I've only seen one in real life at a zoo, and I wouldn't really know how to describe it other than "smaller and pointier" than a raccoon.
Anyway, legend has it (according to two Japanese people I know, so obviously it must be true what I say) that Tanuki are notoriously crafty. Certainly, Japanese folk tales featuring Tanuki do tend to accentuate the naughty things they do. Western raccoons are fairly naughty in real life, so I can see why Tanuki might be translated the way they are.
But I digress. The real reason I'm posting is to talk about Tanuki balls. I remember the first time I noticed them. I was standing outside a restaurant and noticed a statue of this weird owl/bear looking creature. I asked what it was, and I was told it was a Tanuki. I also asked why he had enormous testicles. Accordingly, I was told that his balls represented his enormous luck, and any restaurant that has a Tanuki statue was rewarded with good luck. So if you're ever in Japan, you'll see a lot of these guys around. You might even see some in the States.
Tanuki balls represent good luck with money (or so I've been told). It's interesting to note that very long hanging earlobes also represent good luck, I believe also with money. As such, you see a lot of Buddha/Hotei statues with very very long earlobes. I suppose we may further assume that hanging body parts in general provide good luck.
Yesterday on my way home I heard for the first time this year the call of a Cicada. This morning I can hear perhaps the same one chirping from somewhere in the trees near the school.
I love that sound. If there were two things I had to give as my strongest memories of my first months in Japan, one would be the call of the Cicadas. For me at least, that sound defines my Japanese experience.
I still remember every day in early August sweltering in my apartment, surrounded by the smell of tatami and the steady squeal of those creepy but lovable bugs. The sound brings me back.
Yesterday I took a long-overdue trip to the nearest 100-yen store, which also happens to be the first one I've ever been to. These days a lot of things are happening with people leaving and my tenure drawing to a close, so I've been thinking a great deal about my time here. My reflections lead me to start a little mini-series I'll call Recollection. I hope to be able to include a little photo with each of my remembrances.
For maybe the first week in Gyoda, I had no real access to internet. I remember huddling in one uncomfortable corner of my apartment, trying in vain to get a suitable connection to a neighbor's unsecured wireless network. Failing that, I took to roaming the streets on my bicycle (a total "mamachari" or Mama Chariot if you must know) with my laptop tucked in the basket, screen open and ready to display any signal I might come across. It was summer (and damn hot) and I was ready to camp out just about anywhere so I could write home. Remember, at this point I don't even think I knew my phone number, much less how to call out. Regardless, I found no signal.
Unfortunately I don't quite remember how, but I stumbled across the best free internet in town on the top floor of Paseos, our local throwback-to-the-80s department store. If you sat in a certain area, you could get a signal that was reliable enough to send out some emails before conking out. The bonus was that the area in which you could sit also happened to be the cafeteria for Paseos, which meant that there were actually tables and food and drink! After my search, I had come to paradise. It was made doubly enticing by the fact that though it was sweltering outside, it was nicely air-conditioned within.
Once we got to know each other more, I remember sitting there for quite the long stretches with Nichole and Peter, sharing computers before we all had one and sometimes plastering ourselves to the window in vain attempt to get back a signal that had died. I've never eaten mediocre cafeteria curry so many days in a row, and I do hope I never do again! We always got soft-serve ice cream after our curry/wi-fi fix, and since we were still all furnishing our apartments to our liking, often a 100-yen store visit followed.
These days, any trip back to Paseos brings back those memories. All I have to do is look out the window and remember those first summer days.
You can read one of my original posts about it here: http://www.shock-e.com/archives/2004/08/a_town_called_gyoda.html