Vitriol and girls
The rainy season is overdue. June is meant to be charged with humidity and buildups culminating in massive downpours, but so far, zilch. Today was the hottest day since I've been here; sweating in airconditioned spaces, the sense that the air is still and pregnant, growing. Then, on the train home I saw it - a giant cloudmass, grey, roiling over Osaka-proper.
--
I had an enlightening, rather stereotypically male conversation with T, one of my students at the conversation school I moonlight at. T speaks pretty much perfect English, so this time we talked about his lovelife. He'd been wary of women since his last live-in girlfriend left him an envelope and a key on his table after finding out about his indiscretions once too often. He'd been seeing about ten girls, most as a casual thing. Astonishing, I said, is that normal? I mean, I know Japan is free from all the Christian hangups about sex, but this is quite extreme. Not common, he said, but people are freer these days, even girls. Women used to be fiercely loyal to their boyfriends while their men often strayed, but these days, infidelity is equalising.
He mentioned that he'd dated an Australian girl and my interest was piqued. White-guy-Japanese-girl is a relatively common combination; white-girl-Japanese-guy is damn rare. His face turned a trifle rueful. Everyone used to call me hero, he said, it was very embarassing. Hero? Is that because Japanese guys resent Westerners dating Japanese girls, I asked. No, not really resent, he said, but, you know how it is. Anyway, Western guys have completely different tastes in girls anyway - they go for girls with more traditional features. The conversation shifted to Kiyono and he asked why she wouldn't come back to Australia with me, and I said it's because I think cross cultural relationships are damn hard work, long term, you see all these jaded married gaijin hanging round Japan looking uncomfortable, never quite at home. The lesson finished and I sauntered out, happy and intrigued, only to realise that the rest of the teachers and my boss, who are all married to Japanese women, had been listening in. Changing my saunter to a skulk, I left hurriedly.
---
Last weekend Row and I tried to hitch to Shikoku. We failed, miserably. We caught the bus as far as we thought necessary and jumped out, keen. A cardboard sign, a giant smile - who wouldn't want to pick us up? Unfortunately, we'd managed to find our way to Limboland, a nowhere place, and cars trundled by every five minutes with the drivers looking curiously at us. Two hours went by, and we decided to give up and catch the bus. The bus driver drove straight past, ignoring our frenzied waving and we slumped back into our little concrete hellhole of a bus shelter. The sun was blistering, and the shadows slowly lengthened as we waited for the next bus, two and a half hours away, with no real idea what we'd do if this one failed to stop too. The bus arrived, and disgorged some passengers. Wait, we shrieked, wait, please, and the driver said sorry, this place is drop-off only, and we begged and pleaded and made pathetic noises and clawed at the earth and he relented. We were nearly the only passengers and once our fellow passengers left, our driver turned to us, gave a broad smile and charged us a miniscule fee. So in a way we hitched after all. Then he turned private tour guide and took his massive bus down the side streets of Naruto to show us points of interest which were certainly not on his Defined Route. That night, we camped in an overgrown cemetery/playground, found a karaoke joint and sang horrible (we weren't drunk) duets to Grease before serenading each other with the likes of Maroon 5, Oasis, Radiohead, anything British and suitably loaded with emotion (you feel good after singing those type of songs). The next day we saw some whirlpools - strange seeing the sea acting like a river, with eddies and massive outflows - and caught a slow train to Hiwasa. This was traditional Japan; the train wound around lotus root paddies, past farming towns and rice paddies, small figures bent double, planting rice (gohan means both 'cooked rice' and 'meal'); thick rainforest. The heavens opened as we reached Hiwasa and we took refuge in an onsen, steaming ourselves outside while rain chilled the air. We swam in the sea; tried to espy the elusive sea turtles who came to lay eggs on the main beach with no success and pitched our tent at night, waking in the morning to discover we were on the main path leading to a temple.
---
I've decided to start the Fuckhead Gaijin Files because I have a large pool to draw upon and it makes me feel better. So: Matt B, you're first.
It was to my complete and utter dismay to discover you working at my kindergarten. I found you objectionable within ten minutes, and horrible after a day. I waited out the two weeks you were there patiently, safe in the knowledge I'd never have to see you again. Can I perhaps remind you of some of your more dubious statements. Remember when G was walking ahead of us up the escalator and you said nice ass, but you'd have to cut out her voicebox. Or when you thought it a good idea to boast of your laziness and of how easy the job was to the exact same people who had to make up the slack, you worthless fuck. Yes, you were charming, but like many charming people, you had it neatly counterbalanced with the nastiest underside of any creature I have ever encountered. Why did you get married? It's not like you regard it as a constraint on your sex life. Was it perhaps for the visa, to gain access to this supposed Land of Easy Pussy? Dare I ask, have you ever had a female friend. No, fucking someone doesn't count as friendship. It's when they're more than meat. What else? Misogyny, stupidity, plain nastiness, bitchery. Ah! Racism, of course. Everything and everyone is stupid here? Then please, go home and die.
Phew. I've been holding onto that one for a while. What a complete fuckhead. Of course, he's good friends with the atrocious Ponyboy. Sigh.
Who else, who else? Well, misogyny and racism are popular pursuits, with a sideline in violent homophobia. What was it D said recently after being ticked off by J, who's Filipino? In my country, she'd be washing dishes or cleaning toilets her whole life. Who's she think she is to tell me off? Who else? Ah! Of course. P, the rapist. Now one of the single mothers at the kindergarten is worried she's pregnant. She used to be in love with you, you know that. You know her silence meant no. Didn't you?
Right, enough vitriol for now. But god almighty, So Many Utter Fuckwits.
---
A guidebook is quite a lot like porn. Often, when I descend from its lofty fantastical depictions of reality, I realise I am already in Japan, on a Japanese train surrounded by Japanese people, and I am being very, very mundane. Fuck, I need money. I've been offered the possibility of doing a medical experiment for 5000 bucks in October. Will I do it? Of course.
The rainy season is overdue. June is meant to be charged with humidity and buildups culminating in massive downpours, but so far, zilch. Today was the hottest day since I've been here; sweating in airconditioned spaces, the sense that the air is still and pregnant, growing. Then, on the train home I saw it - a giant cloudmass, grey, roiling over Osaka-proper.
--
I had an enlightening, rather stereotypically male conversation with T, one of my students at the conversation school I moonlight at. T speaks pretty much perfect English, so this time we talked about his lovelife. He'd been wary of women since his last live-in girlfriend left him an envelope and a key on his table after finding out about his indiscretions once too often. He'd been seeing about ten girls, most as a casual thing. Astonishing, I said, is that normal? I mean, I know Japan is free from all the Christian hangups about sex, but this is quite extreme. Not common, he said, but people are freer these days, even girls. Women used to be fiercely loyal to their boyfriends while their men often strayed, but these days, infidelity is equalising.
He mentioned that he'd dated an Australian girl and my interest was piqued. White-guy-Japanese-girl is a relatively common combination; white-girl-Japanese-guy is damn rare. His face turned a trifle rueful. Everyone used to call me hero, he said, it was very embarassing. Hero? Is that because Japanese guys resent Westerners dating Japanese girls, I asked. No, not really resent, he said, but, you know how it is. Anyway, Western guys have completely different tastes in girls anyway - they go for girls with more traditional features. The conversation shifted to Kiyono and he asked why she wouldn't come back to Australia with me, and I said it's because I think cross cultural relationships are damn hard work, long term, you see all these jaded married gaijin hanging round Japan looking uncomfortable, never quite at home. The lesson finished and I sauntered out, happy and intrigued, only to realise that the rest of the teachers and my boss, who are all married to Japanese women, had been listening in. Changing my saunter to a skulk, I left hurriedly.
---
Last weekend Row and I tried to hitch to Shikoku. We failed, miserably. We caught the bus as far as we thought necessary and jumped out, keen. A cardboard sign, a giant smile - who wouldn't want to pick us up? Unfortunately, we'd managed to find our way to Limboland, a nowhere place, and cars trundled by every five minutes with the drivers looking curiously at us. Two hours went by, and we decided to give up and catch the bus. The bus driver drove straight past, ignoring our frenzied waving and we slumped back into our little concrete hellhole of a bus shelter. The sun was blistering, and the shadows slowly lengthened as we waited for the next bus, two and a half hours away, with no real idea what we'd do if this one failed to stop too. The bus arrived, and disgorged some passengers. Wait, we shrieked, wait, please, and the driver said sorry, this place is drop-off only, and we begged and pleaded and made pathetic noises and clawed at the earth and he relented. We were nearly the only passengers and once our fellow passengers left, our driver turned to us, gave a broad smile and charged us a miniscule fee. So in a way we hitched after all. Then he turned private tour guide and took his massive bus down the side streets of Naruto to show us points of interest which were certainly not on his Defined Route. That night, we camped in an overgrown cemetery/playground, found a karaoke joint and sang horrible (we weren't drunk) duets to Grease before serenading each other with the likes of Maroon 5, Oasis, Radiohead, anything British and suitably loaded with emotion (you feel good after singing those type of songs). The next day we saw some whirlpools - strange seeing the sea acting like a river, with eddies and massive outflows - and caught a slow train to Hiwasa. This was traditional Japan; the train wound around lotus root paddies, past farming towns and rice paddies, small figures bent double, planting rice (gohan means both 'cooked rice' and 'meal'); thick rainforest. The heavens opened as we reached Hiwasa and we took refuge in an onsen, steaming ourselves outside while rain chilled the air. We swam in the sea; tried to espy the elusive sea turtles who came to lay eggs on the main beach with no success and pitched our tent at night, waking in the morning to discover we were on the main path leading to a temple.
---
I've decided to start the Fuckhead Gaijin Files because I have a large pool to draw upon and it makes me feel better. So: Matt B, you're first.
It was to my complete and utter dismay to discover you working at my kindergarten. I found you objectionable within ten minutes, and horrible after a day. I waited out the two weeks you were there patiently, safe in the knowledge I'd never have to see you again. Can I perhaps remind you of some of your more dubious statements. Remember when G was walking ahead of us up the escalator and you said nice ass, but you'd have to cut out her voicebox. Or when you thought it a good idea to boast of your laziness and of how easy the job was to the exact same people who had to make up the slack, you worthless fuck. Yes, you were charming, but like many charming people, you had it neatly counterbalanced with the nastiest underside of any creature I have ever encountered. Why did you get married? It's not like you regard it as a constraint on your sex life. Was it perhaps for the visa, to gain access to this supposed Land of Easy Pussy? Dare I ask, have you ever had a female friend. No, fucking someone doesn't count as friendship. It's when they're more than meat. What else? Misogyny, stupidity, plain nastiness, bitchery. Ah! Racism, of course. Everything and everyone is stupid here? Then please, go home and die.
Phew. I've been holding onto that one for a while. What a complete fuckhead. Of course, he's good friends with the atrocious Ponyboy. Sigh.
Who else, who else? Well, misogyny and racism are popular pursuits, with a sideline in violent homophobia. What was it D said recently after being ticked off by J, who's Filipino? In my country, she'd be washing dishes or cleaning toilets her whole life. Who's she think she is to tell me off? Who else? Ah! Of course. P, the rapist. Now one of the single mothers at the kindergarten is worried she's pregnant. She used to be in love with you, you know that. You know her silence meant no. Didn't you?
Right, enough vitriol for now. But god almighty, So Many Utter Fuckwits.
---
A guidebook is quite a lot like porn. Often, when I descend from its lofty fantastical depictions of reality, I realise I am already in Japan, on a Japanese train surrounded by Japanese people, and I am being very, very mundane. Fuck, I need money. I've been offered the possibility of doing a medical experiment for 5000 bucks in October. Will I do it? Of course.
posted by Doug @ 6/10/2005 08:22:00 pm
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