r_pendragon's journal

Had quite an entertaining experience this evening. Grabbed dinner at McDonald's, which I should be ashamed to admit, except that the Japanese McDonald's (Maku to the Tokyo locals, though I loyally call is Makudo in honor of the Kansai) gets its beef from Australia, and, lo and behold, it actually tastes like beef.

This is a miracle not only in the scope of McDonald's, which never has real beef, but also in the scope of Japan, since all meat here is nauseatingly fatty. It's enough to make me consider vegetarianism.

In any case, what really matters is that I was at McDonald's. And across from me, at a table on the other side of the room, was a young couple, probably in their twenties or so. This in itself is, of course, unremarkable. What disturbed me enough to write this entry, though, is that, when I first walked past them, they were licking each other. For a country that considers even a quick peck on the lips as foreplay, this is pretty damn scandalous behavior for a McDonald's. From the licking, they proceeded to groping, and from there, the girl took off the guy's shoes and socks and gave him a foot massage. Neither of them seemed concerned about the fact that it was a public place.

I was bemused-- what kind of value meal, I wondered, did that guy order? "I'd like a Big Mac with cheese, a Coke, and a foot massage?"

But mostly, I felt like I was in a warped alternate dimension, the Happy Meals and Playplaces of my childhood having been replaced by licking and, at any moment, I'm sure, a porn movie soundtrack.

Who does that kind of thing in a friggin' McDonald's?!

This post was edited by r_pendragon on Jun 23, 2004.

In the following, names have been changed to protect, well, the not-so-innocent.

My apartment building has this adorable old man for a security guard. He's very sweet, and his fundamental purpose seems to be watching comings and goings on his security camera screens, and occasionally sweeping up nonexistent garbage from outside my apartment door. (This always amuses me and my roommate no end on our days off, as we'll hear the *clunk* of his little broom and dustpan outside our door about 4 times during the day. As if someone has wandered by and littered that often up on the 9th floor?)

My first encounter with him was quite amusing– he wanted me to fill out a form with my name, cell phone number, and work address. I asked him if he wanted my roommate's name and cell phone number as well, but he insisted repeatedly that just my info was fine. From then on, he'd greet me in the hallway with "Good afternoon, Schneider-san!" When he finally met my roommate and accosted her as to what apartment she lived in, she responded with 909 and he said "Oh! Schneider-san's roommate!" And now that's her name-- she's my roommate.

Anyway, after that our interactions with him have been consistently pleasant. Then, one afternoon at work, my boss, Ayako, who is friends with my building's owner, told me that she'd had a chat with our security guard. Apparently, he'd asked her about us, and the conversation went something like this:

Security Guard: Nakagawa-san, do you know those cute foreign girls who live in 909? [aside: old men here seem to always think I'm "cute." I try not to think about this.]

Ayako: Yes, they're both my employees.

SG: Well, they are very cute girls. But don't worry about them. (At this point, as Ayako tells the story, he puffed out his chest.) I will protect them from all the crazy Korean and Chinese men in the neighborhood!

Now, when I heard this story, I was entertained-- though Ayako only speaks a little bit of English and my Japanese is only so-so, she's a killer storyteller: facial expressions, vocal pitch, everything. And the mental image of our tiny, elderly security guard (on whom I have about 6 inches of height) proudly offering to protect us– well, it was too cute. After all, what's he going to use to fend off these rampaging hordes of loonies? His broom and dustpan?

But in retrospect, I'm a bit horrified. Not just by Japanese culture, where subtle anti-Asian racism is pervasively present, but also by my own casual tolerance of such an attitude coming from someone I deem "harmless." Which leads me to wonder, is tolerance subjective? If a young American security guard had told me he'd protect me from [insert any race or nationality of your choice here], I'd have told him off and probably reported him to his superiors, and then I'd have told people about "the asshole that works in my building."

But for an elderly Japanese man, I subconsciously cut some slack. First, for his age, secondly, for his culture, thirdly, for the language barrier. But I'm positive I heard Ayako correctly: "Boku ga kawaii gaijintachi o mamotte ageru. Shinjuku ni henna kankokujin ya chugokujin ga ippai iru kara." (I will protect the cute foreign girls. Because Shinjuku has a lot of strange Koreans and Chinese men.) So that just leaves me with age and culture.

I think what ultimately frustrates me the most about this is the fact that it took me awhile to really think about it. I've spent enough time in Japan to subconsciously look the other way when it comes to the racism here, and I'll allow things that I wouldn't allow someone from my own culture. I'm not trying to judge the Japanese, and I don't want to suggest that all Japanese people are nationalistic or racist; far from it.

Mostly, I'm just angry that I've let it affect me at all, that what's here has seeped into me enough that I'll look the other way.

I don't want my tolerance to be subjective; frankly, when it comes to racism, I don't want to be tolerant at all. But where's the line between accepting the sometimes painful cultural differences and sacrificing your own moral determination?

This post was edited by r_pendragon on Jun 21, 2004.

In the past year or so, I've noticed that I'm becoming an increasingly critical person. This really struck me when I left the theatre after Kill Bill Vol. 2 and realized I hadn't liked it-- as an ardent Tarantino worshiper, this was a painfully startling revelation.

Then I read "American Gods" by Neil Gaiman. (I'd liked "Good Omens" quite a lot, which was why I read "Gods," but I realize now that everything I liked about "Omens" was all Terry Pratchett's doing.) And I had to restrain myself from throwing the book at the wall about 17 times. Gah-- how has that man ever gotten himself published? Honestly, a batch of monkeys with typewriters could crank out a better plot.

For every film I've seen recently, the best rating I've been able to give is mediocre-- I just haven't liked anything since "The Return of the King." And with the mediocre rating, I've felt I was being generous. I mean, honestly, did the screenwriters for "Troy" even go into the same room as a copy of "The Iliad?" Homer must have been spinning in his grave faster than a tilt-a-whirl.

However, I'm pleased to report that there's either been a slump in my irritability, or something's finally managed to slip past my shields. I rented the Chinese film "Hero" today and absolutely loved it-- the drama, the ironic comedy, the martial arts, the filmography, the colors, the staging, the story, everything. And the fact that the sequel, "Lovers," will have its Japan release on my birthday-- marvelous.

So now I'm left to wonder if it's just things that have the taint of Hollywood that irk me.

From now on, I'm going to content myself with the label of "discerning," rather than "critical." It has a better ring to it, and makes me look less like a pessimist.

Riiiight.

This post was edited by r_pendragon on Jun 20, 2004.

A random observation will follow. I think this must be what happens to me on the days my roommate and I don't make the commute to work together-- my mind whirls off into the strangest eddies and currents all on its own.

To give a bit of background information so this is grounded somewhat, in February I moved from the Tokyo 'burbs into the city proper-- to Shinjuku, for anyone who knows the city.

For those who don't, Shinjuku is the core of Tokyo, from seedy red light district to the metropolitan government offices. I was incredibly lucky to get an apartment here-- a thousand thanks go to Ayako and her god-like connections.

In any case, the other day I was meandering past Kabuki-cho, the red light district that is the financial lifeblood for some of Japan's biggest mafia families. (It's quite amusing to walk past and watch the yakuza punks pose and strut for their glitter-and-paste girlfriends).

Anyway, walking past all the signs advertising sale in sequined flesh, I started to think about the idea of guilty pleasures and the human moral conception of such an idea. People seem to particularly love admitting to their guilty pleasures on internet message boards-- "Whatz your fave. [insert Harry Potter, random anime, or BtVS names here] guilty plsr pairing?"

Queries like these will inevitably be followed by gushing responses of heterosexual fifteen year-old Presbyterian girls who pretend to be horrified by the fact that they read so darn much slash.

But I really wonder why we trap ourselves by such ideas. I'm the first to confess that I do have some moral compunctions, probably rooted deep in the midwestern Lutheran upbringing that I can't quite seem to excise, but in general I feel that with the concept of guilty pleasures, people get themselves all worked up over nothing.

I think too often the line between perceived morality and actual right and wrong is blurred. Why do all the people I see ducking into Kabuki-cho shops have to look furtive or feel guilty about what they're doing? Sure, it's not the sort of thing I'm interested in, but I guess if everyone involved is a consenting adult there's no harm done. (As an aside, I realize that with the sex industry there are a lot of young girls who are caught in desperate circumstances and feel it's the only job available to them-- that's a separate issue from what I'm addressing now.)

The issue I'm examining, I guess, is not solely related to what goes on in Kabuki-cho; I'm more interested in the idea of guilt as a whole. Why should someone feel guilty about something they want to do that doesn't hurt anyone else? Why should someone feel compelled to say "Chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream is my guilty pleasure"? What's wrong with just plain liking it?

Ultimately, what I really wonder is, do people feel they get more enjoyment out of something because of a society- or self-imposed perception of guilt? Are the prostitutes sexier because they're not the businessmen's wives? Does the cookie dough taste better because it isn't healthy?

What is it about the allure of the forbidden?

**No heterosexual fiteen-year-old Presbyterians were harmed in the writing of this post**

This post was edited by r_pendragon on Jun 18, 2004.

"What matters isn't what you're like, it's what you like... books, movies, music, these things matter."
-paraphrase of John Cusack's line in "High Fidelity," one of my top five, all-time favorite movies.

I was thinking about this quote yesterday, after having a conversation with one of the other teachers at my school. It was evening, classes had wound down, and we were just sitting in the office, killing time before we could leave. We started discussing books, movies and music, and it turned out we had identical taste in all three-- we even obsess over the same television show.

We'd never really talked much before, and we probably have very little in common as far as life, morals, goals. Yet, when it comes to books and films, she was clearly exactly on my wavelength. Which led me to wonder....

Are some people just your pop culture soulmates? (When I say "soulmate," I don't mean it in the romantic sense, but just in the sense of "kindred spirit.")

It led me to wonder, also, just how I define my friendships; reflecting on my closest friends, the greatest things we have in common are a love of the same books and movies, with the addition of a sarcastic, offbeat sense of humor.

Yet I know that there has to be some other fundamental spark that creates a friendship. I'd hate to think that all my friends and I share is a passion for Terry Pratchett books and action movies.

I'm meeting the other teacher tonight to watch the extras on the LOTR Two Towers DVD... we'll see in time whether or not it led to a truly great friendship, or if we're just "pop culture soulmates."

-Rachel

Today should have been a good day. I had it off. I got together with a friend this morning. I bought groceries and made it home before the typhoon-like rain began. I even opened a new bank account, and was rewarded not only with a cute ATM card that has the JR East Furikawa Football Club mascot on it (a fox in a green uniform), but also a "thanks for joining" package that included, bizarrely, a travel-sized pack of Kleenex, a Tintin & Snowy notepad, and three band-aids. (I have no idea what the reasons behind this strange combination could possibly be.)

However, I've spent the entire day feeling rather irritable and just kind of off. I rattled around my apartment all afternoon, but didn't do anything productive like clean it...

I finally found a few sources for my disagreeability, though.

The first thing is the small pile of garbage that has been accumulating next to my trash can. I've stuffed it into a plastic shopping bag, but cannot bring myself to put it in the actual garbage bag. The reason behind this? The city I live in requires you to sort your garbage. This isn't really that strenuous a request, except that they want it sorted into six bags. Blue, green, brown, yellow, white, and red. And if things aren't properly sorted, they won't be picked up.

This led me to a dilemma at dinnertime. Feeling too lazy to cook, and definitely not enthused by the prospect of dishes, I made a bowl of instant noodles; that way, all I'd have to wash were the chopsticks.

However, I wasn't terribly hungry, and I didn't eat the entire bowl of noodles. This presented me with a few options; I could just throw the whole thing into the brown bag of "burnable rubbish."

But that leads to the guilt of throwing away something (the plastic bowl) that can technically be recycled in the yellow bag, which is meant for plastics.

Now, I could dump the noodles into burnables, but I'd still have to wash the bowl and then put it into the plastics bag... but dishes washing was precisely what I'd hoped to avoid.

So I'm torn. On the whole, I'm a firm believer in eco-friendliness, and I feel I should recycle as much as possible.

But part of me is rebelling against the thought of washing my garbage.

The other part of my irritation tonight stems from something entirely different. I'm in the middle of writing a rather long piece of fanfiction right now, and although it's not the best thing I've ever written (I mean, well, it is a fanfic, after all!), I'm still rather pleased with it. The plot's decent, I've made (I think) some fairly interesting use of the canon, and I've gotten some good reviews.

*grits teeth* However, the majority of the reviews I've gotten lately seem to come from adolescent girls begging me to have the two main characters "get some action." I even got one threat via e-mail from a reader that said "if those two don't end up together, I'll think you're mean forever!"

My thought-- Um, okay. I guess I'm mean.

It just annoyed me no end... here I'd created two rather amusing, sarcastically snarky characters (at least, in my own opinion), and I like them, but a romance between them is in no way the focus of my plot.

I really do write for myself, so in the end I tell myself I don't care...

But I guess I must, to some extent, or it wouldn't be frustrating me the way it is. *sigh*

Final rant: I am so tired of spam mail! I received seven spams today just for penis enlargement! While I'm female and therefore technically any enhancement would be a big change in size (ha, ha), I find it difficult to believe guys want to receive these, either. I know complaining about spam isn't really a worthwhile rant, since everyone has to deal with it, today was just a deluge of useless mail.

Hopefully I'm done whining, now. *rolls eyes at self*

-Rachel