Someone's out to get you
You ever get the feeling that someone’s out to get you? Well, not you EdenPrairie Adventures, we all know you’ve got plenty of people out to get you. Actually, I’m stealing this line from Calvin and Hobbes. “I just figure somebody’s out to get me.”

That’s the kind of feeling I get working at school. It’s hard being the only person of your culture in any environment. There’s so many misunderstandings and I constantly feel like I’m being judged or even condescended to. My first mistake was to take an American approach to problems, and try to solve them directly—explaining problems to my coworkers and being as honest as I could. No, no, that’s not the Japanese way, I’ve found. It’s kind of like a game of passive aggression chess. People hardly ever directly refuse you, they just lay thick, heavy hints here and there. Playing along with this charade, I might actually get to teach lessons my way, but with a larger class load than any other teacher, I don’t have the time to do it. Touche, Japan, Touche.

I’ve kind of learned to lay back and accept that there are bad teachers I have to teach with, similar to the patience you’d need to work with Kevin Costner in a film. I really don’t like going to the bitch teacher class who screams grammar at kids for 50 minutes (I can understand most of the Japanese in class now), occasionally turning to me with her winning smile, asking me to read a sentence. I swear, her transformation from “Oh, as soon as I write ‘conjunction’ on the board you understand the grammar. Figure it out yourself!” (in Japanese) to “Excuse me,” (Eyelashes bat) “[Whiteguyinjpan]-sensei, could you please read the sentence?”

But it’s worth it to put up with that (and learn a lot of Japanese in the process—I daresay more English than the kids learn), to go to hyper-sensei’s class, where he asks me an average of three questions a minute, such as “So, this sentence is difficult for Japanese students to understand, including meeee! So, the word, “sensual,” is very difficult. What is the meaning?”

Also I’m starting to garnish my own fan club—by that I mean I’m finding the students that are genuinely interested in learning English and speaking to me. From too many kids I get this superficial kind of interest, where they just like to shout random English at me, which is entertaining I admit, but they never stick around to speak to me in any language. And my letter-writing program is taking off. I got a sweet drawing of a samurai in one letter, and the stationary girls use is excessively cute—bunnies and hearts everywhere.

I tried going to both Judo and tea ceremony clubs last week. Equally painful, if you can believe it. In the tea ceremony, you have to sit in “seiza” position, which is the most unnatural way for humans to sit, and it took me a good five minutes to limber up enough to be able to walk. In judo, I had fun, but I was pretty nervous. At first, the teacher just picked different students and showed me the three basic holds—like pinning someone in wrestling. A girl student that speaks very good English had invited me to practice, and he made me wrestle her. That was a little awkward. I was very obviously hesitant, so he was like (in Japanese), “No, no, fight! Climb on top of her like this," and he wrapped his legs around her and pinned her without mercy. I was surprised that the boys and girls practice together in such a personal sport, since in every other sport—and in class—students always choose separate themselves from the opposite sex. So I’ve discovered that Judo must be the primary place for boys to meet girls—sort of like The Gap in America.

You need these things. I guess.
We took the night bus up to Tokyo, a trip that has been probably very common for Japanese people throughout the last few hundred years, but usually by other transportation means. It was me and three other of the lowlives that have divorced their motherland for the time being. And we were traveling.

I don’t think the main reason for people to travel is to see things, or have good weather. Everyone says that, though—“oh, yeah, you know, Frank and I are going to Cancoon. He know so much about history, I bet he wrote a book on it. He even knows the name of the Indians that lived there! I bet he could win Jeopardy.”

So while the boys had some things on the agenda, I think the main reason people travel, which is also the main reason I don’t like to travel very much, is that it’s a break in the normal monotonous routine you live. It forces your mind to be creative—gotta buy tickets, figure out train timetables, look at maps, find cheap restaurants and hotels, schedule a reasonable number of activities, get stomach medicine for the spicy Indian food you had, and tell the cab driver where to go in your third language. I think a lot of people who don’t have any other creative outlets rely on travel to do these things for them.

When you’re going out with the same guys over and over, the same old talk about how work sucks or how your girlfriend is too needy—it starts to lose interest. You need to shake it up. You need arguments over whether you should have taken the train that just left, or if you’re even on the right side of the platform. On a side note here, the word for platform in Japanese is taken from the English word, and shortened (as they always shorten words from English) to “homu,” which sounds like home, and so when I asked a Japanese girl what she thought the English word from platform was, she thought it was “home.” “It’s the train’s home, right?” I love these people.

You need arguments over whether you should drink first, then go to the public bathhouse, or skip both and stay out until 8:00am the next morning. You need adventures, like seeing the slowest police chase ever, involving Japanese guys who were very obviously off-duty pimps, who run form the police, successfully escape, then sit at the train station, while cops eventually arrive, trying to arrest them. One of the tiny cops will grab at the shirt of one of the suspects, and the suspect, a big guy with dread locks, will slap the cops arm away. Then, about twenty minutes will pass, while the train departure is delayed, since the cops are taking so long to arrest the guys. The cops will eventually leave with a fraction of the men they originally half-heartedly chased. You need these things. You need disgusting hookers making obscene offers to you when you pause to tie your shoe. You need to go to museums and see “34 views of Mt. Fuji,” (or is it 32?) so that you feel smart. You need to look at the cherry blossoms, along with thousands of other Japanese people who are sitting on tarps getting plowed before noon, as part of their seasonal tradition. You need to go to really old shrines, which have a religion you don’t understand in the least, and walk around them pretending that you studied their architecture and mythology for years. You need to have an intense, still unresolved argument with your friend about whether the fact that the word for “hug” in Japanese is a composite of “pull in” and “squeeze” makes it any less meaningful than a special, phonetically unique one like that in English on the night bus home while every other Japanese person is sleeping. You need these things.

wise men shut up
Is it just computer nerds and me, or are there others afraid of putting a space in the file name for fear that it won’t save? Just me, huh. Thought so. Another thing, I have never felt comfortable sitting at a computer. It’s like no matter what I do I can’t position myself very well for typing.

So today, the reigning teacher at my school, who is only a part-time worker, but has enough power to teach whatever class he wants and tell everyone how to do their job, dropped some little tidbit of his “wisdom” on me. He had asked me whether I wrote anything about my experiences in Japan, and I told him that I did in fact write some of the more interesting occurrences down for my own records. And so he said, “You must be interested in different cultures. The more different the better.”

“Well I like some cultures.”

“These kinds of people never experience culture shock, those who like different things,” he said, talking about himself, who had never spent more than two weeks in any one country.

“Well, I think everyone experiences at least some culture shock. What if you went to a cannibalistic society, for example. It would be hard to get used to eating other people, I think.”

At this, he just smiled and left. He doesn’t like to hear my opinion, but at least this time it seemed as though he actually heard it. He usually goes on talking as though I haven’t said anything. His idea of wisdom is telling other people the golden truths he has discovered in his long life. But I’ve found that wisdom is more acknowledging what you don’t know, rather than what you do. Like the Buddhists.

My poor teacher just likes to insist his ideas on everyone, like a fascist. But I’ve found it’s usually the most unwise people that insist their ideas so fervently or argue, specifically because they don’t completely understand what they’re saying, so they hope that if the bash the idea enough, it will crack open and they’ll see the light. That’s why I argue, anyway. A wise man just smiles at you when you get angry about something.

The wisest thing I think I ever heard was from my dad, who said one day, “I keep thinking, there’s some bit of wisdom I should drop on you kids, but everything I can think of you already know, so I can’t really tell you anything.” I think he meant that the idea of what we all want out of life is so simple, but it’s finding the strength to do whatever it is you think you should that makes it so complicated.

Reading Nooks
In response to Madame Flamingo's words...

I need a place to read a good story on a rainy day. Bastion’s reading room in The Neverending Story comes to mind. There's a shortage of reading nooks in Japan, so I go to the Starbucks in the mall when I'm feeling reclusive and read there, but I get the urge to hide when I read, so it's not that satisfying.

When I was a kid I would make a fort out of sheets in my room and bring in all kinds of snacks. I was a very slow reader, so I mostly just ate.

As an adult, when I was in Minnesota, I would set a lawn chair out on summer/fall days in the shade with a beer. No one does lawn chairs in Japan. I’ll have to start that trend.

For my down time at school, I'll have to break through one of the walls at my school, put in an old couch and a table for a hot water dispenser and tea materials—that or sneak into the tea ceremony room. Here's to reading nooks...

Frailty, thy name is WOMAN!
For those of you who didn?t figure out the title, read Hamlet. And I don?t mean anything against women, but there is the overriding theme in Shakespeare that chicks cause evil, but that?s just because Shakespeare was a dude, and for dudes, that?s definitely true, in my experience as a dude, that is, I can say. If he?d been a chick, well then dudes would suck. But he wasn?t, so guys are awesome. Anyway. I should connect this theme to Japan pretty quick or you?re going to start reading that other blog, and then my sponsors would ditch me and I?d have to do some kind of work for suckers like teaching to make money.

So I?ve known for a while that half the bars I pass in downtown Osaka are one of several categories with different rules about the women. The most innocent are ?hostess? bars, where women are paid to get flirty with the gentlemen that visit the establishment, drink with them, eat with them, laugh at their bad jokes, etc., or as we know it in the west, ?marriage.? The very self-respecting women that have chosen this kind of career also have the responsibility of calling their customers, and?this part is optional?going out for dinner with him and more. These kind of establishments have shades of gray all the way to prostitution.

Now, who frequents these wholesome businesses? Unmarried, lonely, good-willed young men? I don?t think so. I?ve seen the drunk jerks that make up a good chunk of Japanese society. The ?salary men? (sarareemahn they say) who, as if it weren?t bad enough that they stay out late drinking and neglecting their families, also spend a good chunk of their time and money at these places.

It?s learning the sad facts about reality like that that make me remember Jr. High School moments: seeing my crush holding hands with another guy. I?ll never forget the times I was secretly broken by a girl, watching helplessly as she smiled and talked to some big, muscled guy. I remember telling myself, ?This is just growing up. Everything?s different when you?re grownup.? Then I think about the fairytales I read as a kid. I want to take one of those prince and princess stories, march into one of the hostess bars, slam it on the table, and yell, ?See?! See? They ride off into the sunset together, and they live happily ever after, damnit! Can?t you read? Get it together, man!? Then the guy will say, ?I donta supeeka da Engurishu!? And I?ll be like, ?This isn?t English, this is life! Figure it out.? Then I?ll look at the girl and be like, ?so, what are you doing later??

I guess, as I wrote recently to my dear sister, if you look at the divorce rates in America, we?re not doing much better. But at least we manage to pack all of our infidelities into the confines of Las Vegas (sorry Buckwalter and Madame flock hunt, you two may be the only pure souls in that city of debauchery). Still, it?s sad to think that according to statistics, whomever you marry, you will most likely have more than one infidelity and/or divorce in your lifetime.

But don?t let the numbers fool you. Man?s power of ignorance is stronger than his intelligence, as Bush has demonstrated, so the happy ending is still there, for you, my friends. So I bid thee: follow the yellow brick road, drink from the fountain of youth and jump over the slough of despond, for "Love from one side hurts, but love from two sides heals? (Shakespeare).

Did you drink a beer for saint patty?
As I’ve said before, I think one of the most important steps into adulthood is to admit you are a hypocrite.

I’ve never really liked going out to packed bars with people, and I can’t recall any time I enjoyed enough to justify the cost and the sleeping in and the hangover of the next day. I think it’s something people do in response to the week of work or studying, or if they’re a bum, just because they have nothing else to do. They’ve been starved for social contact, so they go and shout at people in a hot room with music so loud that no one can understand them anyway.

But it was my friend’s birthday and St. Patrick’s Day, and with those hefty reasons stacked against you, it’s hard to worm your way out of a social call. First off the train we met with some other foreigners that I didn’t know. There was a girl, teaching at a high school much like my position, and she had come with an exchange student from her school—a high school student. So he’s like 18. I started talking to him and it turns out he’s from Minnesota, gosh darn wouldn’t yabecha. And he was a pretty witty guy, if a bit insecure about his age—but can you blame him? Still, if I were in high school here, I’d just hang out with the other high school kids. He applied through some program that lets him spend a year in the school here, apparently free of the responsibility to do any of the homework, and in spite of the fact that he had not studied a word of the language before he got off the plane. Is this really where my tax dollars are going? Well, not this year, if my income tax fancywork pays off.

The first bar was named “McMickey’s” or “McMarlow” or whatever and it was full of English-speaking foreigners who all had something desperate to say to each other. I crammed myself next to the bar and my friends started taking pictures, celebrating the great five minutes they’ve spent together sweating with other strangers. The crowd was your usual bar crowd: guys with wooden smiles talking to girls while they nod like a Labrador and pretend to wave or give even cheesier signals to their “friends” across the room. Then there’s the guys whose idea of a joke is saying a story louder and with more hand gestures. The women, well, the common bar-going women I know mostly shed their personality at the door, and just like to smile and stare into a guys eyes, nodding and saying “yeah” or “no” or a “no way!” or “that is so cool!” with more and more emotion as the conversation continues, then move on to someone new. Repeat.

I just kept saying we should get ramen. That’s the only thing I like to do past midnight. And it’s also the only place I can speak to people, other than in the street between bars, but in the street, you’re just trying to figure out how to get to the next bar. We never made it to a ramen place; I’ll just spoil whatever weak suspense I had laid out.

My favorite part of the evening was when my friend Mr. Mi started puking. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t out of sadism, it just forced me and a few people to hang out in the street and chat while he recovered. And also we got some drinks at a nearby convenience store (you never have to go farther than ten steps to find a convenience store in Japan). The only conversation of substance that I had occurred at this time, with Mr. G, who was telling me how he decided to call it quits with the JET program after two years to go back to his woman in the states. I’ve had two friends that have decided to do this, the other is quitting after one year. Both say that if it weren’t for their women, they’d stay.

The problem with falling in love is that it usually doesn’t fit into your schedule very well. I guess there's other problems with it too.

The Fool's Paradise
"Traveling is a fool's paradise... I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea and at last wake up in Naples, and there besides me is the stern fact, the sad self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from." --Mr. Emerson

I actually share a b-day with this man. But he has a more depressing view of traveling than I do. Kind of reminds me of my father in that way--even the things he loves, he will criticize and evaluate until they don't sound worth doing--everything except turning lights off. I think If my father were to have his own personal heaven, It'd be a long hallway with lots of lights on, and he could go running down it, turning lights off as fast as he can. "I'm saving so much energy! The electricity bill will be a fraction of what it was..."

So I went traveling. I'm in Japan, and I don't know when I'll be back here, so I figure it's worth seeing a temple or two before I get deported for acting too American.

There's a lot of people who came to Japan with me mainly because they like traveling. I'm sure most sane people enjoy traveling to some extent, but I'm a bit skeptical of people who list it as a hobby or they're favorite thing. I mean, if you're really interested in history and read about certain places as much as my father, or if you like nature a lot and you want to hike or ski, I can understand that. I'm not necessarily talking about checklist tourists, but I think some people travel because they honestly can't think of anything to do when they don't have work. There's people here that fly all over eastern Asia just to go bar hopping and sit on beaches or get cheap massages. Okay, if you're a soulless business executive, I say, bon voyage. Otherwise, grow up.

The age of airplanes will be short, I warn thee. Commercial airlines have been affordable to the mid to upper class for some 30 years or so, right? I can’t say that people will fly around the world the way they do for more than another 40 years. Other than gasoline, even if other technology were invented, it would never be nearly as economical, and therefore commercial airlines will never be the same. It will be a passing trend in human history, unless we get a shipment of oil from Jupiter or something. Then it’ll be back to trains and ships if you want to travel, suckers, and that means you just might have to read a book, or at least consider it during the long ride.

Then there’s people here than may or may not travel frequently, but I’m wondering why the hell they came all the way over here. There’s some that actually resist learning the language, culture or history. I mean like actually try not to. Maybe it’s an undiscovered disease called George Bush syndrome: must not educate self…must remain ignorant to other points of view…must used poor grammar…

I saw Hiroshima and southern Japan; you can check it out in the pictures section.

Playing the Fool
Why the hell did I move to Japan? Shouldn’t I be furthering my career on American soil and focusing on how great my country is? One of the hard things about living abroad, especially in Japan, is that you get the feeling that you’re a walking English lesson for everyone, and there the subtle strings of racism come through in passive aggression or through attitudes that you are not a responsible or capable person. Enough to give a guy a headache. Or at least an ache’n for a beer.

I can’t say that most of the foreigners here don’t fit the stereotypes made for them, but it’s so easy to meet the low expectations for foreigners because the Japanese want them to be clowns. (On a side note, they say JD Salinger's friends said that on the rare occasion he went out drinking, he 'played the fool.' I bet that guy dragged the piss out of everyone.) I work with a teacher who encourages me to be crazy in class, and for a while I was, but I realized that he liked to use me as a kind of toy—he the sensei and me the pet entertainer—he didn’t play along, as his own high opinion of himself and how a real teacher should behave was to only lecture from the podium in a monotone voice.

The other day, I was having dinner with the calligraphy teacher and her “family.” She has a daughter that’s in public health, a kind of adopted son who studies architecture and has a kid, and a kind of adopted daughter studying Japanese literature. They live with her and her husband. Good people, but it’s hard to speak with them since they don’t modify their vocabulary much for me, but unlike almost all Japanese people I meet, they’re willing to speak to me in Japanese, even though they know I might not understand it all. That’s really rare. And the calligraphy teacher cooks for me. You can’t beat a deal like that.

But try explaining the Bush administration to foreigners in your third language some time. It’s really quite an experience. I’d describe the mix of frustration and disappointment as something like trying to eat prime rib with a spoon, while both hands are tied behind your back. As you might imagine, there was a lot of crying and steak sauce all over my face by the end of it. At least they were relieved to know that I also think that our administration belongs in a Nike sweatshop somewhere in Mongolia. No, better make it Vietnam, I was planning on visiting Mongolia.

JET 1_28_06

I read somewhere this guy quoted another guy, so maybe he knew what he was talking about, and it was like, “The Japanese have perfected their manners to the point where they’ve become rude.” And I can’t say that I disagree. I’ve had this nagging feeling about how the Japanese manner bothers me at times, but it’s difficult to explain.
I’ve been missing America in little ways for this reason, which is a first for me. Like just going to the convenience store or something—let’s say I’m getting some beer or something, right, and I remember this one time the clerk said, “Oh hey, d’joo ever try the pale ale they make? It’s really good.” And I was like, “no, I’ll check it out.” That would never happen in Japan. The clerks have a string of lines that never change in the honorific/humble speech pattern. They hand you your change very carefully, taking care not to brush their hand against yours, or present it in a plastic tray, and bow to you. And if you ask them a question or remark on something they react like someone just dropped an ice cube in their pants. Let’s say I ask, “Oh, do you guys carry gum?” They’d nod fiercely, and then book for the gum rack ahead of you, and then patiently wait for you to select your brand.
I mean that’s nice and all, that they go all out and stuff, but it makes me really nervous, and this kind of attitude—the “must avoid conflict at all costs” attitude—makes it hard to trust people. I’m getting better at figuring out what my co-workers are really thinking. There’s one teacher who lays on her “kind voice” so thick, it’s almost sarcasm, and sometimes it morphs into passive aggression so hot you could turn your sushi into fried rice. “Bly-sensei, can you tell me if this sentence is correct?”
“Yeah, well, it’s a little awkward. I would say, ‘If I had remembered my textbook…’ not, “If I had remembered a textbook…’”
“Yes, but zat’s not zah paht I’m concerned abaut. What I want to know, is if zis is zah transitive vahb or intransitive vahb.”
“Ah, I think it’s both.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
And it goes on like that forever. I remember one time I had to listen to a teacher read the same sentence for like fifteen minutes while I just sat there nodding each time she finished, affirming that it was correct.
It’s ironic how the Japanese have become so obsessed with teaching their kids to be able to read college level English by the time they graduate high school, that they seem to have forgotten the purpose of language. Most students can’t make a sentence without the use of a dictionary, but they can recall words like “terrorist” or “influence” without batting an eye.
I remember yesterday the teacher was late, so as I was telling an amusing story, I translated student comments, which they had no idea how to say. One girl who jumped when I responded to something yelled, “bikkurishita!” So I asked everyone okay, “Okay, how do you say that in English?” “Surprise!” “Yes, or you can say, ‘You scared me!’” And by the end of three minutes, I had given them more communication ability than four years of intensive English.
What really kills me is how teachers say simple things in Japanese (now that I can understand most of the Japanese used in class) “this means…” or ask students “What is this in Japanese” which are such simple English phrases, but in order to save a few seconds of class time, they rattle it off in Japanese.
In another class, I explained the Skittles commercial slogan, “Taste the rainbow,” and then figured out how to say it in Japanese. I do stuff like that all the time. The teacher asked me, “Why do you learn these silly things in our language?” during class. Such and easy question. “If I make learning fun, I learn.”
Or there’s the other day when I listen to a teacher give a ten minute speech in Japanese how Japanese people have a disadvantage in speaking English compared to Chinese people because of the language phonetics. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry because the irony here is dual—not only is he discouraging students from speaking English, he’s ignoring the chance to actually speak English in class and use me. Oh, no, I’m sorry, threefold, he’s also showing them that it is useless to try to communicate in a second language. Brilliant teaching methods.

Enough complaining. I’ve been trying to avoid the English department as much as possible. The less I’m there, the less chance that a certain sensei will try to have me give him a synonym for “inorganic,” or another equally ridiculous task.
I’ve gotten to sit in on some homeroom classes, where kids are practicing for the coral competition, the likes of which I’ve never seen in America. The way the whole class works together…it’d be impossible in America. It’s great. I’d have thought that the guys would mess around or refuse to sing or something, and they do kind of joke around, but when it’s time to sing, they turn into good choir boys and listen to the quick-tempered, 4 and a half foot-tall girl conducting.
Another thing I do is I’m working on the workbook that second grade elementary students use to learn to write—which is tough, by the way—and then ask students to translate sentences. There’s even some racy sentences like “I wash my head and face in the shower.”
The teachers of course think it’s funny that I’m learning this way—as they do every thing I learn in Japanese, but ironically, they are blown away when I can read a note they put up on the whiteboard. “How did you know we had a meeting then?”

Well, I forged a letter from Bush to Prime Minister Koizumi, complete with southern vernacular speech rhetoric, stutters and spelling errors, officially giving Texas to Japan, but it must not have worked since some government officials visited me the other day. Talk about touchy. Someone got to tell them to lay off the coke or something.

So I went to the Ise Shrines and Gifu castle over break. The Ise shrines are supposed to be like the Mecca of Shinto, so they were pretty sweet. And Gifu castle was built on a big hill. I got kicked out for yelling “bonsai” too much and pretending I was a drunk samurai. They should put up a sign or something if they don’t want you to do that. It’s a freaking castle, what the hell else are you supposed to do?

My friends here are all debating whether they’ll stay another year, including me. I’m pretty sure I’ll stick around, but most of them are calling quits. If it weren’t for a certain teacher in my department, who continually invades my workspace and gives me projects centered around his neurotic learning of the English language, I would happily stay.

Not only my foreign friends are leaving, but many Japanese are leaving. The population here is actually decreasing. A similar trend is happening in America, with the expatriate thing, but they’re being replaced by lots of immigrants, of course. The most intelligent people are leaving, say the stats. It reminds me of Tolkien—the Elves are leaving.

The students continue to win me over. The other day two girls came to talk to me in the English department for like an hour. Then one of them wrote me a letter thanking me for my time, with no grammar or spelling errors. It was incredible. And she’s a first year student.

It’s taken me a long time to get them to speak to me freely. I’ve had to continually praise them and smile and nod when they actually attempt speaking for the last five months, and they are still scared about speaking and even listening. I’ve got enough Japanese so that I can sometimes translate difficult words and phrases, but there’s still times where they just smile and shake their heads. The most precious ones are the students that get really excited about something, making hesitation noises and hand gestures, but are forced to resist the anticipation and communicate at the speed of second language.

I had a long lunch with one of the Canadian ALT’s that comes on Fridays. He’s been at my school a long time and we talked a lot about how to deal with the old, controlling, curmudgeon teacher. He suggested that I get my recontracting papers signed, and then stand up to him. While he can get other teachers transferred for refusing his delegations, it is almost impossible to get me to leave. And he knows that after his excommunication of my predecessor.

It’s really amazing what culture shock does to people, especially under the influence of alcohol. At our weekly izakaiya (traditional Japanese family restaurant) last night, I refused the last 5 or so sake shots, as I don’t enjoy hangovers. But as to culture shock, Mr. E, for example, asked me permission to have one of my Japanese friends--he phrased it somewhat less elegantly (I gave my permission, knowing he had no chance), tried to seduce one of our mutual Japanese friends unsuccessfully, and after being refused, repeatedly stood during the rest of the evening and offered to show what—in his exact words—“would be missing out on.” I had a good time, but I do miss, to a certain extent, dignity and grace, but not yet enough.