by Anna Kunnecke
By late fall, the chrysanthemums are magnificent. Earlier in the year it was all about showing off a prize dahlia or an iris in everything from Styrofoam boxes to antique china pots, but now the chrysanthemum is the new 'it' bag, smugly displayed on fashionable arms and front steps. The flower's status as the national flower does not save it from the indignity of plastic sticks, fluorescent string, and bamboo rakes being required to hold it up, because it is as top-heavy as a burlesque dancer. A very dignified and symmetrical burlesque dancer.
When I worked in a Japanese flower-shop during college, I was puzzled by the identical bouquets you always saw in one rack: an upright lindo, some spray mums, and one or two big fluffy chrysanthemums. They were there all year long, and the formula changed only a little as the seasons determined what sort of frilly filler would be added. I once tried to group several of them together into a more substantial bouquet for a customer who wanted an armful of seasonal flowers, only to have the wrath of the shop owner descend upon me like a dry-cleaners bag. A quiet, furious, deadly sheath of plastic. If the customer hadn't been present, I think she would have happily whacked me over the head with those damned chrysanthemums. You see, those bouquets are for decorating graves, and ONLY for decorating graves. That little tip might have been a useful part of my store training, but oh well! So just take it from me, if you want to take flowers to a party some time and you see these nifty pretty bouquets all pulled together, just the right size and price for a hostess gift--don't. Just don't.
And then it gets cold, which is a relief after those itchy chrysanthemum days, with their stalks that must be broken by hand, not cut, and the resulting hives and scratches, and the piles of yellow pollen that make everyone sneezy and grouchy.
And pretty soon before you know it everyone is cutting bamboo and twisting rice straw to make the traditional end-of-year decorations. Stalks of pine, straw-wrapped casks, wreaths festooned with red berries and white sacred papers for good luck--it's hurry, hurry, hurry, because it's all about to end.
Only of course it's just starting over. The camellia trees have been yawning and preening. Their leaves go glossy in the crisp air and you can spot hard little knobs forming like secrets. The buds are swelling, bursting, potent with new life. And there we are, right back where we started, waiting for the petals.
By Emily Connor
I realize that I write about food quite often, and I apologize for this. However I think one of the most interesting and unique aspects of Japan are the many foods and variations that are put on them. Traditional Japanese cuisine is of course splendid, but I'm much more intrigued by the Western foods that come over here and are quickly given face lifts by the Japanese. Sometimes these changes are good, but most of the time they're just bizarre and unnecessary.
A popular US pizza chain has recently been popping up around Tokyo, and at first glance I was shaking with excitement... Upon entering the store though I was aghast at the display of Japanese-styled pizza toppings before my eyes. Potato corn pizza, tuna mayonnaise pizza, teriyaki chicken with mayonnaise pizza... They just don't get it! Although mayonnaise on pizza surprisingly doesn't taste awful, the concept of it is just immoral and unthinkable. Who ever thought of putting corn and mayonnaise on a pizza to begin with? Were there not enough options readily available? Growing up I always thought that the 'Hawaiian-styled' pizza with Spam and pineapple was as weird as it could get, but I was gravely mistaken.
Bacon is another food that is just never right in Japan. Seeing as how I'm a vegetarian I really shouldn't be complaining about meat, but cut me some slack for a minute. Bacon in Japan is always served limp and soggy. I don't think anyone ever decided to tell them that it's supposed to be crispy--instead they just take it out of the package, grill it for maybe one minute on each side so that the meat is still a bit translucent and pink and then serve it up. I'm sure that the meat quality in Japan is a thousand times better than the quality of meat in the US, but still... Who wants to eat soggy bacon? I once knew a Japanese person whom upon coming to the US and eating properly cooked crispy maple bacon for the first time gained ten pounds in a month and could eat half-a-pound of bacon in one sitting. Maybe that's why bacon is only served soggy here--the Japanese government must be doing it in an attempt to save this country from an obesity epidemic. If it were too delicious everyone would eat it uncontrollably and gain massive amounts of weight. Clever, I must say.
I could go on and on, but the last food that bothers me immensely would have to be pancakes. Pancakes are one of my favorite foods in the entire world, and although they're available in Japan, very few people seem to really understand the proper way to eat this breakfast classic. First of all, seeing as they are a breakfast food, pancakes should be served from early in the morning. Pancakes cafes in Japan, however, all seem to open up at 11AM or noon... Where can I get my pancake fix at 8AM? You could argue and say that McDonalds serves them on the breakfast menu (you would be correct, by the way)--but McDonalds pancakes aren't heartfelt! They're corporation pancakes, and corporation pancakes are filled with hate. Menus in pancake cafes are much too complicated, too. Pancakes are served with curry, or salmon, or salads or a whole bunch of other things that are just not necessary with pancakes. Pancakes should only be allowed to be served with eggs or a breakfast meat product. Also, there must be more than two pancakes on the plate. For some reason two seems to be the magic number when it comes to pancake cafes in Japan, when everyone knows that pancakes are counted in 'stacks' and two pancakes does not equal a 'stack'. It's just a lonely number.
The argument could be made that Americans are equally as guilty when it comes to how badly some restaurants mess up Japanese food. Sure, California rolls are not really sushi. Also, chicken fingers made with panko instead of normal flour are not automatically 'tempura chicken'--they're just panko-crusted chicken fingers. But still--! I just wish I could get a bit more authentic American food in Tokyo without having to go to T.G.I. Friday's every time I want food like from back home. Maybe I should open up my own restaurant--a place that serves crispy bacon, stacks of pancakes and pizza without mayonnaise. That would be the day.
By Claytonian
Next month, it will finally be the point at which I have spent 5 years in Japan. Which is interesting, because it I have been telling foreigners who inquire about it that I have lived here that long for the last six months. Further amusing is the odd fact that when Japanese people ask about the same thing, I claim I have only lived here about a year.
The reason why I lie to foreigners is that it's bothersome to say 4 and 1/2 years. That's, like, a whole extra syllable that I would have to utter. Plus, 5 sounds like an impressive, a veteran Japaneer's number. Why when I was first here, young whippersnapper, lemme tell ya, we didn't have no fancy smart phones! It was all rotary back then!
The reason why I lie to Japanese people is centered around trying to impress them. If I claim that my time in Japan has been only a year, they're like, Whoah, this dude must be a genius to speak my language--Japanese is officially the hardest language ever according to most any Japanese person you ask--to such a degree and I totally must rain adulation upon him!
But I am also scared of what will happen if they know the truth. Because if they do, they will surely think to themselves, This losers been here five years and he still makes all those grammatical and accent-related mistakes? I knew Japanese was the hardest language ever and foreigners can't learn it.
But you know, I really do it for the children. Those poor foreign children--or, even unluckier yet, children of partial Japanese heritage--who have to go through life in Japan not having their perfect Japanese believed. If I can pass myself off as being better at my Japanese than it should be after just one year, I can improve the image for every non-native speaker here.
What, you think I'm making that last motive up? I've never told a single lie during my whole year in Japan.
By: Emily Connor
I recently got the opportunity to go to Osaka for the first time in order to do a few live shows. Living in Tokyo you never get the chance to hear too much about Osaka--other than the fact that they invented 'okonomiyaki' and that the famous comedy duo 'Downtown' hails from the region. So I really had no clue as to what expect when I got out of the car from the eight-hour car ride from Tokyo to Osaka.
The first area that we drove into is a place called 'America-mura', a bit of a dingy American-inspired shopping district filled with hip-hop wear and junk food stands. Apparently Osaka is famous for its junk food, and it was really made clear by all of the 'takoyaki', bubble tea and ice cream stands lining the streets. I even spotted one ice cream place that served soft-serve ice cream in a hotdog bun, and one place that sold Arizona Green Tea imported from the US. Impressive, I must say.
I was honestly flabbergasted by all of the hip-hop clothing stores, though. I've never really seen clothing stores in Japan that blast the music quite as much as the hip-hop clothing stores do in Osaka. Not only do a lot of people really embrace hip-hop fashion, they also sport a lot of tattoos. It's not highly uncommon to see young guys with a few tattoos in Japan, but I've never seen quite so many girls with tattoos as I did in Osaka. A lot of girls had their arms and backs inked in a really similar way to the girls back at home, and it was pretty surprising. I guess that a lot of people in Osaka really embrace Western culture.
Of course not everything in Osaka is hip-hop. I found one high-fashion shopping area that was absolutely beautiful, and many chic cafes that were easily just as lovely as cafes around Omotesando. I was only in Osaka for 2 days, so I didn't get to see as much as I would have hoped to see of the streets... But from what I could see at a glance Osaka seemed like a really chill place that would be nice to live in. People in general didn't seem nearly as rushed and panicked as a lot of people in Tokyo tend to be, so it was nice to be able to walk around slowly and take in the area.
I guess the only thing that I didn't like about Osaka was the takoyaki. Fellow foreigners and Japanese people alike have always told me to try takoyaki, and so I made an oath that if I ever had the opportunity to go to Osaka that I would give up my vegetarian-tendencies for a moment and try it. I wouldn't say that takoyaki tastes bad, I just personally don't see what all of the fuss is about. Okonomiyaki, on the other hand, is one of the best foods ever. I got the chance to go to a small okonomiyaki restaurant in Osaka, and it was quite fantastically delicious.
Anyway, I really enjoyed my time in Osaka and hope to be able to go back someday for leisure purposes... Or for a few more concerts, I wouldn't complain either way. Honma ni.
By Kevin Cooney
I recently went home to America, which is not to say the country I call home. It's a weird thing landing in Narita and thinking to oneself "I can't wait to be in my futon." That's an odd feeling to have for some one from the ol' US of A, because though I am American, I feel after 9 years abroad less and less at home there. When I do the math, I've spent nearly a third of my life in Japan. I'd never envisioned this when I was young. Even when I made the decision to live in Japan, I had intended to stay for just one year. Life has a funny way of surprising you. Home is where the futon is I suppose.
I've never understood the concept "culture shock." I had exactly zero when I came to Japan. Nothing was or is shocking about Japan to me. Sure things were new, but that's what I was expecting, even hoping for when my plane landed that first time in Narita. Ooooooohhhh they eat raw horse meat! I wasn't shocked, because a foreign place should be... well, foreign. Seriously, who is "shocked" that things are different in a foreign country, even surprised.
What does shock me, however, is the return. "Reverse culture shock" is actually something I understand. It shocked me, because I truly was surprised. This last trip home bewildered me. It had been about 2 years since my last trip back to the US. More than ever before I felt out of place. It was as if I was a second or two behind everyone else. I felt out of sync with society. I got cut in front of in lines. I didn't know how to banter with sales staff. I saw famous people on TV I didn't know. I heard songs by top selling artists I've never heard. It was like visiting a foreign country, where they spoke English. I felt like a non-native. My own english having devolved over the years I found myself muttering Japanese reactions like "Ehhhhhhhh" in the middle of conversations and getting awkward looks from friends.
I have no new opinion of America. I will always love the US and consider myself an American; a New Yorker. I have no interest in becoming Japanese either culturally or legally. That said I was surprised by how foreign the place seemed. It's hard to put a finger on exact details. The sass from the girl at Starbucks. The size of the oven in my parents house. The rifle and shotgun section in Wallmart, where I could have bought a .22 had I the need for one. Which, frankly, on the packed and crowded streets of Tokyo I think I might.
Again, I'm neutral on all these things. I'm not saying attitude from a barista is bad. In fact, I kind of miss it. But I had never noticed it was there before my long years abroad. It just was. The returning is odd because you notice that you never noticed it before. You take for granted that things are the way they are supposed to be because that is "how it is." It's strangely alienating, yet I'm a non-alien. I love America, but it now befuddles me. I never expected that. You could say, I was shocked.
By Anna Kunnecke
Early fall is my favorite time of year to go to Mashiko, that venerable old town of potters and sculptors and total unapologetic artiness. (If you do a blood test your first day in Mashiko, the output will read: artiness saturation level 60%. You have to consume copious amounts of cynicism to keep it from going higher than that.) Each shop is stacked high with plates, bowls, pots, and every form of earthenware container you can imagine. This is the perfect season for all this heavy pottery, and the bright colors of autumn flare against the dark earthiness like a poem.
I learned about white space in Mashiko, the art of mu, the aesthetic of leaving empty space around one dramatic or quirky form. (This also describes what happens at parties when you drink too much shochu. Consider yourself warned.) A heavy brown urn will sit at the far right end of a tansu chest with a single red-berried branch sweeping out over the emptiness. Stunning. This isn't the studied elitism of ikebana, heavens no, it's just 'house flowers'--a sprig of geranium poking out of a little creamer, a fiery bunch of maple leaves floating on a platter, a drooping poppy pod trailing out of a lumpy teapot's spout. One white blossom rearing up over a swath of deep indigo cloth. Mashiko is one of my favorite places, and its rough, dramatic beauty is the Japanese aesthetic I find most endearing.
Back at home the fruit trees are practicing indecent exposure. The kaki (persimmon) trees are just ridiculous--they're adolescent girls with makeup, they just don't know when to quit. The luscious orange orbs are dangling everywhere. The trees don't even have room for leaves anymore, they're as urgent as a woman in labor. People leave plastic bags of persimmons on neighbor's doorsteps; entire neighborhoods stink with the sweet smell of fruit going sour.
Berries burst into color out of nowhere. Vines that used to hold flowers now hold up only themselves, gnarled and brown and respectable. The shops are full of grasses--golden tipped wheat, billowy thistle, dusty sea-green grass. Branches twine and curl. The florists begin tucking tiny apples into their bouquets.
Hordes of people travel to the countryside to see the trees change colors in the mountains, watching the leaves churn from yellow to orange to red almost before their very eyes, like watching the season do a paint-by-numbers routine. I don't find it necessary to travel that far, because I can gauge this season by the bonsai that the local shoe guy keeps on a shelf next to his store. He has an interesting approach to selling shoes; he covers his merchandise in thick yellow drapes to protect them from the elements and the annoying gaze of customers. But his bonsai trees are always ready for a roll in the hay. (It's all I can do not to go up to him and suggest that he start offering the bonsai for sale instead of the shoes, but so far I've resisted. Life coaching career hazard.) Most of the tiny trees are mysterious evergreens, depressingly static to someone as impatient as me, but there is this one tiny maple in a black square box. Its entire branch spread is smaller than my daughter's backpack, but no one told the maple that it's a minor player in the scheme of things. It flames red right on cue, licking from a fiery red to a crimson so deep and brilliant, it seems to feel that it is personally responsible for containing the spirit of autumn. And come to think of it, a surly shoe merchant is as good a cover as any for the god of autumn fire. You never know. Maybe it is.
To be continued...
By Emily Connor
I never thought I would ever have a chance or even a reason to make this statement, but here I go.
I despise parasols.
Do people outside of Japan even know what parasols are? Because I think in every country except for Japan they've been out of style for say... Since the 18th century, somewhere in England. Parasols are umbrellas that people use in order to keep the sun off of their bodies. I guess they're similar to the huge umbrellas that people stick in the sand at the beach to stop from frying under the suns death-rays, which is perfectly understandable... However in Japan many Lolita-type young women, and Ginza-style old women feel it's necessary to have absolutely no exposure to the sun so that their skin stays pale and they can appear to never have any reason to go outside. I think back in the old days parasols were used by upper-class Socialites. Now they're used mainly by women who want to appear to be upper-class Socialites, although everyone knows that real upper-class Socialites just drive everywhere in their Mercedes-Benz and thus have no need to walk outside or carry a parasol.
I usually don't care much about what other people do. However I'm sick and tired of tiny women running around extremely crowded areas (for example, Shibuya crossing) with their parasols at the exact same height as my eyes. I've almost been stabbed in the eye by the sides of parasols on so many occasions I can't even begin to count. You could argue by saying 'Well, don't you have the same problem when it rains with normal umbrellas, then?' and the answer is no. When it's raining I expect everyone to have an umbrella and thus my mental guard is up-- but when it's a beautiful sunny day outside my mind isn't usually in umbrella/parasol defense mode. Someone will suddenly sneak up behind me with a parasol and clip the side of my face with the stupid thing. I've slowly adapted to raising my hand to shield the side of my face whenever a parasol comes into my peripheral vision, though-- but that skill took time and patience to develop.
What I want to know is what ever happened to sunscreen? I mean, my skin is so pale that I look like I could spontaneously combust with any exposure to the sun, and yet I refuse to use something as ridiculous as a parasol. Instead I just slap on some SPF50 lotion on my face and arms and am ready to go out and face the sun. When did women of this day and age decide that it would be a good idea to bring back the good old parasol? Isn't it tedious enough carrying along an umbrella and trying not to forget it somewhere on rainy days? Why inconvenience oneself so much on sunny days?
Maybe you won't be able so understand exactly why parasols bug me so much unless you come to Japan and experience it for yourself. They're just absolutely absurd. A lot of Japanese women wear black UV-resistant sleeves in the Summer, which I still find to be a bit much but at least gloves aren't putting my eyes or face in any danger of being cut by the metal prongs of parasols. Oh Japan. I love you and yet you confuse me so much.
Great memories about this
little sushi restaurant lost in Kanagawa (Kamoi station)! When I first
came to Japan, I went there a few times to eat delicious sushi. The
master (oyasan) and his wife (okamisan) used to "test" me in many ways :
by serving me liters & liters of beer & sake (good memory for
me, bad memory for my stomach & my head the following day), by
making me eat some unknown sea life (actually it was a sea cucumber !),
and by putting more wasabi in some sushi to see if I could handle it !
They also served a feast of fugu (the fish that can be lethal if not
cooked properly because of its possibly lethal poison) only for a few
lucky selected customers! I trusted him because he received the official
diploma that allows him to properly prepare fugu. Fortunately I didn't
pass away. Besides, it was delicious !
Great memories about this
little sushi restaurant lost in Kanagawa (Kamoi station)! When I first
came to Japan, I went there a few times to eat delicious sushi. The
master (oyasan) and his wife (okamisan) used to "test" me in many ways :
by serving me liters & liters of beer & sake (good memory for
me, bad memory for my stomach & my head the following day), by
making me eat some unknown sea life (actually it was a sea cucumber !),
and by putting more wasabi in some sushi to see if I could handle it !
They also served a feast of fugu (the fish that can be lethal if not
cooked properly because of its possibly lethal poison) only for a few
lucky selected customers! I trusted him because he received the official
diploma that allows him to properly prepare fugu. Fortunately I didn't
pass away. Besides, it was delicious !
