Did we really do that last night?

We now explore the fascinating subject of drinking culture in Japan, a subject which I have immersed myself in for your enjoyment and cultural understanding. When I first came to Japan, I heard fables and tales about the antics and debauchery at Japanese drinking parties. I heard odes to openness - teachers who had been hiding their surprising mastery of the English language during working hours reveal themselves to you as coherent angels on golden wings. I was enraptured with reported feats of tolerance - cultural as well as liquid. When I finally went to my first party, I wasn't let down. The beer flowed like wine and the table somehow always had more of those delicious fish-type-tasting-whatchamacalits on it. Or maybe they were thin slices of pork with that salty dark brown sauce. Hell, I can't remember what I ate. I was drunk. Besides all the speeches at the beginning that I didn't understand, it was an orgy of merriness. Luckily for me, it continues to be just so. When I think, 'work drinking party,' I think, 'college frat party for people with disposable income and perhaps children.'

These parties are akin to frat parties in all manners of silliness, randomness, zeal, peer pressure, age-defined status, and camaraderie. The difference lies in the next day. In Japan, it's like the party never happened. Often this is a relief, but maybe even more often this is maddening. I'll get to that later, though. First, please see two days in my life...

On Monday, December 22nd, my school had its annual 忘年会 (pronounced bounenkai) which literally means 'forget the year party.'  Everyone's goal, as explained to me, is to black out the past year.  To set the scene, I must explain that all us teachers got on a bus and rode out to an 温泉 (hot springs bath) resort, most of us to stay the night.

12/22 (night of the 忘年会) - 6:30 pm. Sitting naked with my teachers in hot water, not saying much.

12/24 (first day of work after the 忘年会) 6:30 am. Sleeping.

12/22 - 7 pm. Let the madness begin. The principal says a few words (he kept it short this year) The people who organized the party say a few words. Then, everyone says the magic word (kanpai, or cheers) - no one can drink before all 70 of us start together - and thus begins a two hour free-for-all on booze and food. We are sitting Japanese style - on the floor - in a big room, each person on a chair with no legs and a mini table in front of him or her. Each mini table has a smorgasbord of delictable delicassies on it. This year, there is a bowl of three thinly sliced pieces of raw fish, a bowl of rice with more raw fish on it, a tiny bowl of sea pineapple (I think), a hot plate of chicken in a delicious red sauce with vegetables, a bowl of soup with tofu and fish in it, a plate of cold french fries (why?!) and cold pork, a small bowl of something else tasty, and another small bowl of something else tasty. Oh, there is also a mediocre salad. But! Next to the table is a little bowl just wide enough for the butt of a big beer bottle. The hotel is even kind enough to provide circulating faries whose only job is to make sure that little bowl always has a bottle with something in it in it.

During Japanese drinking parties, no one is allowed to pour his or her own drink. You must pour for your neighbors when they are running low, and you must wait for them to pour yours before you can get a refill. It is perfectly acceptable to offer your neighbors more beer or wine or liquor even if thier cup is full. First, they will be shamed into drinking more. Second, they will realize that you are really saying, 'Don't you forget about me.' (It's ok to sing it...) In English we have a saying about this. 'Birds are generally alcohol poisoned with one stone.' If I've forgotten the exact wording, forgive me, I've been away a while.

12/24 - 7 am. My cell phone alarm rings. Damn. I have to walk around my 40 degree apartment to the shower. Oh wait! I forgot to take the towels out of the washing machine! I have nothing to dry myself with. Well then, I guess there's no way I can a shower this morning, even though I really want to. Sweet! An extra 30 minutes of sleep...

12/22 - 7:45 pm. I'm finishing the food laid out in front of me. Delicious. Now, if only there was something to wash it down wit- OH! Thank you Kodama Sensei! I could definitely use some beer...

12/24 - 7:45 am. If I skip breakfast, that's an extra fifteen minutes I don't have to walk around in 42 degree air. Plus, I can sleep a little more. Yeah, let's do that. I have eaten breakfast approximately four times in Japan...

12/22 - 8:25 pm. Who the hell is this guy sitting next to me? Does he even teach? Oh well. Let's use that Japanese language I've been hearing so much. 'Would you like some beer? Oh, your glass is full? Whoops, sorry. Well...yes, now that you mention it I could use a refill. Thanks for your kindness. Oh, you can say, 'You're welcome,' in English. That's fantastic. Thanks for the olive branch. Oh, you can also say 'malnutrioned youth of Somalian refugee camps.' Wait, what the hell subject do you teach? Math? But you love foreign languages? Why haven't we met before?...

12/24 - 8:25 am. How the hell am I almost late again?! I have to stamp in by 8:30! (Derek runs to desk, fetches stamp, runs to enormous attendance sheet.) It's that dude! The one who knows about starving youths and gerunds! Good morning! 'おはようございますデレックさん。　おとといどうもありがとうございました。' he says. What the hell?

12/22 - 8:40 pm. The principal speaks to me for the first time in English. He was an English teacher for 35 years! Who knew?! We talk sports, he tells jokes, some too inappropriate for this blog. All in English, of course.

12/24 - 8:40 am. He maintains, and explains to me, in Japanese, that his command of English knowledge is more theoretical than practical. He was always fascinated with reading English literature, and is not a very good speaker. As he says this I am wondering which Shakspearean play he learned the word 'titties' from.

12/22 - 9:15 pm. I am teaching Ogake Sensei, a low level black belt (still better than what you have!) the basics of boxing that I learned at my rental Tuesday school. (In an effort to engage some of the more 'colorful learners' at this other school, I started going to the boxing club after school, which is where they can be found once the bell rings. They're very excited when I go and I think they want me to spar (hit me) soon. I'll let you know how that turns out...) He shows me some karate stances. He also rolls up his sleeves and presents hideous bruises that he recieved while trying to level up his black belt last weekend at a tournament. Since I am a 'sportsman,' as many here call me, simply because I played high school baseball, he asks me if I know any American tricks to cut down pain and swelling. I shake my head no but only because I don't know the Japanese word for amputation.

12/24 - 9:15 am. 'Hey Ogake Sensei!' 'Hello Derek.' 'How are your bruises?' 'What bruises?' 'The really black ones on your arms from the karate thingy?' 'What are you talking about?' I really thought he was joking for a while, but he was serious. His refusal to even acknowledge our conversation actually made me question my sanity - or wonder if Japanese beer is laced with acid. I thought about tackling him and pulling up his sleeves to show the world (and me) his bruises. Then I realized that no matter whether he had bruises or not, I would be less than pleased with the result. If indeed he had bruises, it would then be true that he was in fact a black belt in karate. Attempting to tackle a black belt would probably get me thrown through a wall. If, on the other hand, he didn't have bruises, then I would be immediately compelled to check myself into a mental institution...

12/22 - 9:40 pm. The vice principal wants to know more about my trip to Poland. He tells me that he went to Korea about 20 or 30 years ago. I express that I would like to see pictures. He says of course. He'll bring them.

12/24 - 9:40 am until forever. No pictures. Of course forever hasn't happened yet, avid reader. But I'm willing to put money on this one.

12/22 - 9:50 I talk to Mimori Sensei about an interesting phenomenon betwixt the English and Japanese languages. In Japanese, there are completely seperate words for different rices and preparations of rice, not simply adjectives on the word 'rice,' like we have in English. For example, uncooked rice is 米 (kome) while in English its 'rice.' Cooked white rice is ご飯 (gohan) while in English its 'rice.' Fried rice is チャーハン (chahan, spelled out with the characters reserved for foreign words because fried rice is originally a Chinese cuisine - I think, please correct me if I'm wrong) while in English its 'fried rice.' もち (mochi) would be 'pounded rice' in English. おかゆ (okayu) would probably be 'boiled rice' in English. There are undoubtedly more that I don't know or can't think of now, but you get the idea. In English, its all rice, with adjectives to distinguish. But in Japanese, these 'rices' have separate, very distinct words, reserved. Just like in English we have a ton of words for the word 'penis.' That was my enlightened thesis to Mimori Sensei, an English teacher. He agreed.

12/24 - 9:50 am. Yeah, ok... I guess it's not appropriate office banter no matter how you slice it...

12/22 - 10:10 pm. Kiyoshi Sensei is practicing WWF pins on me.

12/24 - 10:10 am. Kiyoshi Sensei is coming out of the kitchen and I am going in. Saying no words, we maneuver through the door so that we are as far apart as we can be.

12/22 - 12 am. Sleep time...

12/24 - 12pm. Sleep time... (Just kidding. I do work. Really, I do!)

Now, it is very nice that in Japan what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, because if the saying is true then Vegas is probably the only place in America that that happens. In college, the night life was more relevant than the day, and reputations were built and destroyed by what one did after the sun set. And of course, these feats or defeats were chronicled tirelessly, whether one wanted to remember or not. In the workplace, which probably should be a level up from college, even as a lowly intern, I was privy to the information that so and so puked in the water fountain and took off his pants at the Christmas party two years ago.

In Japan, that doesn't seem to happen.  At last year's 忘年会, there was an incident involving robes and drag and puking but no one has talked about it since. And it's hilarious. If this were college or work I'd be talking about it right now instead of writing this.

And because no one talks about it, the action doesn't define the person. I look at K Sensei everyday and I see a superior that I respect and listen to, not an overweight fool whose naked body is hanging out of a woman's robe. Those two people are different people. But, in America, to me, the man who stripped and puked in the fountain is the same man who is telling me that I need to get the next set of data tapes quicker. 'Ok ok ok.  Keep your pants on,' I think.   

At all three of my schools' parties in Japan so far, and countless other functions, work is work and play is play.  There are social disconnects in relationships depending on what clothes you're wearing, or not wearing as might be the case.

But which man is the real principal?!  Does Ogake Sensei have bruises or doesn't he?!  Is Kiyoshi Sensei my wrestling buddy or not?!  My Japanese co-workers slough off and put on their personalities so much more easily than I can.  If a teacher who doesn't drink alcohol talks my ear off at the party but then seems put off by me in the workplace, what does that mean?  Does she like talking to me or not?  And how do I ever find out?  I never feel like I know exactly where I stand with most people.  

I have the same struggles with students.  The kids that don't do jack in class are all over me in the hallways or when I run into them in the mall, lit up and asking questions, and the bright stars of class crawl up into shells when I say hello to them at a restaurant.  The number of people who interact with me on the same terms all the time is far outdone by the people who don't.  And because these personalities are like night and day, it feels fake.  I feel like I'm starting my relationships from scratch every time, even though I've known most of my co-workers and students for a year and a half.  

I've gotten more and more used to it as I've been here longer and longer, and I'll bet that I probably do it now as well.  But I don't have to like it.  Maybe I should just have fun with it.  Perhaps I'll start using accents and fake histories and backstories at parties since the personalities are disposable anyway...

A letters

Letter was being finded in a bags on eyeland on top of Hokkaido. 3 years-ish ago. Ununderstandableing. Can you making things of it?

My Dearest Mother,

I fear that I am fighting a losing battle. Every night I see the faces of the casualties, grotesque and distorted in their multitudes, asking me why I couldn't save them. I weep, begging for forgiveness. Please don't forsake me, I shout! I tried, I tried, I did! But they can't hear me, their bodies pushed up against the bars, their hands searching for me. If you can't save us, then join us! But I don't let them touch me. I'm too frightened to become one of them. Were I to become one of them, what hope would anyone else have? Tractors approach, dumping more and more bodies into the pit, swept under the rug and forgotten. All that's left is the hole in the world where they used to be.

The epidemic will soon be on par with God's wrath. It's coming. Oceans can't stop it. Take confession mother, for it's our only reprieve. Very soon the world will be thrown into confusion. Just five days ago, during a research trip to the uppermost reaches of the country, my colleague and I discovered the horrible fact. The epidemic has mutated.

Are you familiar with the island of Rishiri, just off the coast of the winterlands to the north? Perhaps not. Famous for its natural seclusion and beauty, it will soon become infamous for what it unwittingly spawned, that is if history itself even remains. Upon arriving at the port, my colleague and I sought a bit of sustenance. The journey through the winterlands was harsh and sapping. We saw signs of the epidemic everywhere. People of all ages were conjugating their verbs in the foul manner. "Let's going this way," they would say. I'm sorry for bringing up such a vile topic as I know your health is ailing, but I beg you continue reading this letter. I have no one else to tell, after what happened to my colleague. I know your mind is strong, if your body is not. Pray continue.

Where we had time we tried to save the young. But more often that not, we had to run lest a mob broke out. Oh! How it tore me up inside when I had to run away from a woman who had brought me her baby. It was clear that she was gone. "Let's saving my baby! Let's saving my baby!" she shouted hysterically, the tears welling in her eyes. The babe was merely eight, and of slight build. I had the English inoculation all set for him, but he looked me in the eyes and said, "Please am saving me." Hopeless. His grasp of the present continuous was incurable, probably learned from his mother in her best attempts to educate him herself, the poor fool. I ran. The inoculation would be better served on someone in the earlier stages, perhaps misplaced modifiers or maybe even plurals... She shrieked, "Don't running! Stop run!"

What could I do mother?! I know you've taught me that everyone must be valued and saved, but I can't! There's not enough of me. I can't miss the forest for the trees! How unfair this is, to be pushed into this position. This field seemed so glamorous when I was young and watched your work. The way you and your generation manipulated the English was astounding. But at some point you became too cocky with your power, and now me and mine are fighting against the depressing inevitable. Why aren't you here with me?! It was you who stood idly by as computers with spell check and grammar check took people's accountability away! You promised a world where everyone would be Gods with the English, infallible and terrible. It was you who applauded hacks like Vonnegut as they gashed the English, bending it to the point of breaking and abusing it for the amusement of the masses like a tamer beating an elephant. But tamers get old, and elephants never forget. Did you even think what would happen if people who weren't ready for the responsibility of the new English discoveries suddenly had it at their fingertips?

People in Japan experiment with the English, producing grotesque abominations of nature, flaunting them on T-shirts and buildings, not knowing the destruction they are perpetuating. And now, in America, in some pagan circles, those horrors are sought. The reverse shock will be terrible, and it's your fault.

I'm sorry. It's not all your fault. I know that. It's just sometimes I see how hopeless is it, and I look for someone to blame. Oh well, it won't matter soon. The next phase of the epidemic is upon us. Yes mother, it has happened. I have proof of the first case of 'noun conjugation.' What started as misplaced words and tenses has now evolved into something entirely different altogether. There is not even a semblance of sense anymore. I'm at a loss. I don't know how to fight this. It's too big for me. I'm sorry.

My colleague, hungry and tired, pointed to a restaurant and said we should eat there. At once I saw the sign and his disturbing non-realization of the egregious error. I gained control of myself and pretended like nothing was wrong, in case he tried to infect me. I immediately conjugated 'eat,' with all subjects and tenses, four times just like we practiced during lessons. I still don't know how my eyes didn't give me away.

At first chance, I took his wallet and fled the island, leaving him there with them...

Your ever loving son,

Derek

Enclosed is the picture. Please sit before looking.