(Near) Death from Above

Today at the beginning of an advanced class I had the students asking each other about their weekends. One student, in her forties, said she visited her grandmother-in-law in the hospital. She is 95 years old and going strong. The next student shared an exciting tale of shoe shopping with her husband. Next one of my older students, whom we will call Mrs. Y, spent about 10 minutes telling about her ongoing battle with a department store over a carpet washing problem. She didn't ask for it to be washed, they washed it anyway, the color was changed. She has been demanding that they replace it for 3 1/2 years, to no avail. Not one to give up easily, if at all, the powerful and persistent Mrs. Y did not stop trying. The entire time she has been carpetless in an uninsulated house. At 70 years old that means something. At the end of her story Mrs. Y said, "I am proud to say that yesterday I won. They finally agreed." She proceeded to share all the details of how she got a $15,000 carpet for only $4,500, and then when she was finished, she asked if I thought she had done well. What else could I say but "Congratulations!"? Clearly this is a woman who values principle highly.

Last a young man who is still in college shared about how he and a friend went out to eat, and even though it was windy and pouring rain, he refused to take a taxi (which would have cost each of them $3). Instead he insisted they ride their bicycles while holding umbrellas, even though the restaurant was more than a 15-minute bike ride away. He said his friend, who had suggested a taxi or a nearer restaurant, was noticably annoyed, but eventually went along with him. I asked him why he didn't just take a taxi. Eventually I got two reasons: 1) "I don't like going to a restaurant by taxi because somehow it seems like an empty way to behave." and 2) "I wanted to make sure I was hungry when I got to the restaurant so I could eat a lot, so I rode my bicycle to get an appetite." I told him that if I were his friend he would have been pedalling alone, and I would have been warm, dry, and laughing at him when he eventually made it to the restaurant and I was already enjoying appetizers and beer. But I have to give him credit for knowing what he wants and sticking to his guns, even if it did mean getting himself, and his friend, soaked.

Near the end of class I thought it would be fun to ask if any of them had ever had a near-death experience. All of them shook their heads with one exception, Mrs. Y. From previous experience and today's carpet story, I know she is not one to be trifled with. She carries a certain amount of authority, and demands respect while at the same time being able to joke and laugh. As a result of that, plus her often dry sense of humor, it can be hard to tell whether she is trying to be funny or serious. "I have had a near-death experience," she began. "When I was a child, I almost died when the B-29 Bombers flew over Kobe. They dropped so many bombs. They were falling all around me. Those planes and those bombs came from YOUR country, right?" I have shared many laughs in the past months with Mrs. Y, but she was not laughing when she said this. It was more than a little uncomfortable. But Japanese People who remember WWII well enough to talk about it, and talk about it in ENGLISH, are few and should be treasured. So I asked her if we could talk about it again sometime one-on-one. She agreed. That seemed to lighten the mood slightly, and then class was over. I am looking forward to talking with her. And I'll be sure to post the pearls that are bound to come from that encounter.

More Gyrating Geriatrics

Last night I was chatting with a friend at his apartment when out of the corner of my eye I saw something that instantly distracted me from our conversation. I walked to the window to get a closer look. Sure enough, in the apartment building across the street there was an old man dancing and singing, in a rather animated fashion. He was waving and jumping, twisting and shouting. His room appeared to be rather empty, from what I could see, except for the microphone he was holding and the television displaying the lyrics to the song he was singing. Also the room had wallpaper that was memorable: broad, bold vertical stripes in eight-to-a-box crayon colors, with white alternating between. I took it all in, knowing that I may never again have the opportunity to witness such a spectacle. Then, just when I thought the show couldn't get any more interesting, he ripped his shirt off and flamboyantly threw it into his imaginary audience. I was unable to avert my gaze until it occurred to me that I ought to save this moment for progeny, or at least blogeny. I went to get my camera and when I returned, he was closing his curtains. And then I woke up.

Why did I dream of an old man singing karaoke in his apartment? Why in my dream was I such an unashamed voyeur? Why did the wallpaper make such an impression on me? And why, unlike most of my dreams, did everything flow and make sense? Am I that old man? Was it a prophetic vision that will one day be dismissed as mere deja vu, as I am sometimes inclined to think happens? And one more thing: what was he singing?

Step left, around, and together with the right

Today I made Mexican food for a friend and myself and then crushed her at Mariokart Double Dash. She could not understand why victory, without exception, eluded her, and frankly I didn't want to go to the trouble to explain to her that I practically majored in Mariokart in college. I thought it best to humble her quietly, consistently, and relentlessly. The Mexican food, chimichangas, was dang good too, if I do say so myself. Of course I left the room many times in order to spare my friend the after effects (and myself the embarrassment). If there had ever been any danger of defeat, though, a potent secret weapon had I. Fortunately it was never necessary.

After that I had two classes, one with five elementary school girls, the next a private lesson with a rather eccentric young man who knows nearly everything there is to know about major league baseball. He is one of those people that is easy to caricature, even in a second language. I always look forward to our time together. It makes me wonder, though, if he might not be mimicking me to his friends as I do him. Am I a bad person? Yeah, OK.

Next I went to yakiniku (Japanese do-it-yourself bbq) and karaoke. I do these two things so often that I usually don't even mention them. This time I am mentioning them, though for what reason I do not know.

Moving on.... Picture if you will a covered street for pedestrian traffic only, with various and sundry shops on each side--everything from very sexually oriented bars, clubs and video viewing centers to Hello Kitty theme stores. Now on this street imagine thousands of people walking to and fro, on their way to who knows where, talking and minding their own business, trying to avoid bumping into the other people surrounding them. Kind of like the video game Asteroids, but instead of shooting all you can do is dodge. On second thought, more like Frogger. Right, so I have mentioned three video games, actually four, in this posting so far. Yet here I stand; I cannot recant. Anyway, on the street imagine a girl in her twenties with an open guitar case, a mic, amp, and her axe singing away to any who will stop, or for that matter pass, and listen. As she sings one person, and one person only, finally stops to enjoy her musical stylings. This person just happens to be in her sixties or seventies, wearing a white hat and a white surgical mask because she has a cold and wants to protect others from her virus-infected breath. She stops, listens, and before long begins to dance rather conspicuously, Pee Wee's Playhouse style, right in front of the performer; or should I say her fellow performer. For not long after the dance began, the onlookers, myself of course included, increased exponentially. Not only that, but the passersby could not help but rubberneck as they moved on, slowing down noticeably to take in the scene. I captured the whole phenomenon on video with my cell phone, everything from the growing crowd and double takes to the singing, strumming and dancing. It was, I must say, hilarious. It made me wonder what the dancing lady was like forty or fifty years ago. I would have liked to meet her. What am I saying? I would like to meet her now! It is people like her that add that indefinable flavor to the casserole of life. Though I may never be able to truly understand such spicy people, I hope I will always appreciate them. People like her amaze me. Their oddity is simultaneously thought provoking, instructive and unifying. (If you were to accuse me of overanalyzing, you would be in good company.) The most amazing part of all was not, however, the shamelessness of the old lady in a society that is in many ways ruled by shame, but the incomprehensible and commendable ability of the singer to keep from laughing as she performed, with the masked dancing grandma boogeying away two feet in front of her. Very impressive. Perhaps one day I will attach a photo. But probably I will not. Let your mind's eye take you there. Imagine your own grandma. She won't know.