(This is the original version of the posts I've put up over the last three days. I broke it up for readability, and now here it is again in its more confusing, more tiring format. Why, you ask? Because shut up, that's why.)
The more valuable you become as a human
being, the more people start asking for a piece of your time. On
Friday, I help Shiga edit his speech for a contest, help a new
English Club member (our kouhai) with his pronunciation for a
recitation contest, and then jet off into the southern reaches of
Kyouto, where I will be meeting an American couple and interpreting
for them over the weekend.
The assignment fell to me in kind of a
weirdly indirect way. The guy, Deranged Dave, is currently regarded
as the best In the Groove player in the US (and also the world), and
has been invited by the Japanese DDR community to come hang out with
their top players. The language barrier was significant, but Soymilk,
a personal acquaintance of Deranged Dave, was able to facilitate much
of the planning and scheduling, and even acted as interpreter and
guide for the Toukyou leg of their visit. Alas, despite his deep
desire to continue on to Kansai, he was simply too busy and too poor,
but, as I was once a somewhat ok ITG player myself, he tapped me to
pick up the slack. We determined that I would meet up with them at
the station near their hotel. The conversation went something like
this:
Rude Boy: My class ends at 2:30, and it
takes a bare minimum of an hour and a half to reach their station.
Soymilk: So you won't be there until
3:30?
Rude Boy: Um, no, because I don't
instantly teleport to the station the instant my class finishes. I'll
need at least half an hour to deal with my own shit. So, if I rush
and get somewhat lucky, I might
be there before 4. But I wouldn't count on it.
Soymilk: 4 is too
late. I'll just tell them “around” 3:30.
Rude Boy: Don't do
that. It'll probably be more like 4:15, or even 4:30 if I get held
up.
Soymilk: It'll be
fine. Actually, do you think you could get there by 3?
And so on. Luckily
we managed to work things out, and I meet up with them at 4:10 on
Friday. They've been walking around all morning and they look about
ready to die. Fortunately, we're going all the way to Umeda, so at
least they have a chance to relax. We're working through a system of
stations and lines that I never ride, but I manage to point us in the
right direction. Which is good, seeing as that's my one job.
Once aboard the
train, the three of us have a chance to get to know each other. I
quickly decide that both of them are awesome and I like them. That's
a plus right there, since I was worried I might not, and that the
entire weekend would be awkward as piss. Deranged Dave is a little
bit shorter than I, with a famously long ponytail; his girlfriend,
Bank, has like nine different colours in her hair. Both of them are
fun to talk to and have interests outside of rhythm games, which is
more than I can say for many of the ITG players I've met. They also
have what I often call a “good attitude” about Japan, that is,
going in without expectations, nor straying too far from the centre
of the sliding scale of kimono to anime.
Prior to a few days
ago, I'd heard his name but didn't actually know anything about him.
He makes stepfiles, like all of the big names, though he's never made
anything I liked. Soymilk informs me that he has an ITG machine in
his house, which isn't uncommon, and that he's the most famous
player, although I learn later that his overspecialization in speed
over technical skills has created some controversy over who the
“best” really is. Either way, if any lower-ranked ITG players
ever find out that I spent a weekend in Japan interpreting for him,
they're going to lose their shit, but I look at him and see just
another guy. The Japanese community is wild for his YouTube videos,
and indeed they will bring them up time and again, asking him to
explain the details of what exactly he does in various situations.
Also he's a particle physicist.
We
have a few hours to kill before we can meet up with Plumfield, who'll
be putting us up for a few days, so I walk them around Umeda, just so
they can see. Fortunately we're still in an area I know decently
well, which will change as soon as we venture beyond it, but by then
we'll be with our actual guides. We speculate as to Plumfield's
identity. We figure he's probably around 30. When he messaged me he
said that his “work,” rather than his “part-time job,” went
until evening, so he's probably a shakaijin. Plus, he offered to
straight-up pay for their plane tickets, on top of which he'll be
driving us around and boarding us for four days, so he's obviously
got money.
When we finally
meet him, it turns out that he's 26, a policeman, and has his fucking
adorable 20-year-old girlfriend with him. Introductions are awkward
and nobody's quite sure what to do. Why? Looking back, I will say
that it's probably because, in addition to the strangeness somewhat
inherent in meeting someone new for the first time, we haven't gotten
used to communicating through translation yet. Nobody's sure who they
should be looking at (answer: whoever you're addressing), or what
language they should be attempting (answer: your own). We also
haven't found a good translation rhythm just yet. You see, generally
speaking, you have to sort of pause every paragraph or so for the
translation to go through, even if you aren't expecting a reply yet,
because otherwise I am going to start to forget details from the
beginning, or get confused about what your real point is. Learning to
recognize those natural breaks takes a bit of practise, when you
aren't yet accustomed to international communication.
As the
hour-long drive to a Hyougo Round 1 goes on, though, we start to
catch it. The perfunctory questions start to lead into more
interesting territory, and soon we have a bit of an actual
conversation going on. I quickly realise that this is going to be
very different from my usual responsibilities; most of the people I
deal with regularly speak either English or Japanese and then some of
the other, and on top of that are usually trying to learn, so I'm
only called in when the conversation grows too complex for them to
carry on their own. Here I'm the only one who can bridge the gap at
all, so I have to start killing
the instinct that tells me I don't actually need to translate stuff
like “let's go” or “yes, I think so too.” For that matter, I
even have to provide context for things that have nothing to do with
language, like when Plumfield joked that we'd end up in Hokkaidou if
he took a wrong turn and Deranged Dave merely said “That's ok, as
long as we get there eventually.” Both Plumfield and Bank comment
several times that holy shit are they glad I'm there, because this
would not be happening otherwise. What can I say? I solve problems.
A bunch of the
Hyougo and Oosaka people receive us at the Round 1, and as one after
another wanders over and realises Deranged Dave has arrived, freakout
after freakout ensues. Everybody wants to stand with him and take
multiple pictures in multiple poses from multiple angles. Every time
a game ends somebody else scrambles up and announces that they want
to play with him next. Deranged Dave has gotten used to it by now;
basically the exact same thing happens in the US, and, he says, he
might as well make them happy, since they've brought him all the way
out here.
“Though to be
honest,” he admits, “I'm kind of bored.”
Nobody can play
anything higher than about an ITG 12, whereas Deranged Dave punches
20s in the face on a good day. But he bears with it. Since I have two
charges, I practise my positioning and observational skills, which
I'll be making use of a lot. The only grain of sand in my eyes is
Millimetre, some American guy living in Kyouto who basically everyone
makes fun of.
Bank: I just don't
like his attitude. Like he went on some forum and asked how to say
stuff in Japanese, but it was all asking how to say stuff like “I
got this score on this song” and “I can pass this.”
Deranged Dave: But
nobody cares about him.
Bank: He wants so
badly to be like a DDR celebrity, but he's always complaining about
how the Japanese don't acknowledge him and whatever, and he gets all
pissed off about it.
Rude Boy: So the
name is a reference to the length of his penis?
Deranged Dave: It's
a reference to the length he aspires to.
Indeed,
he spends much of the night trying to enter pictures uninvited, as
though anybody cared that he was there at all. (His Japanese is
pretty awful, as well, but he doesn't quite realise it.) To his clear
frustration, nobody actually wants to take a picture with him, they
just keep swarming around Deranged Dave and sometimes Bank. What's
really funny is when a
bunch of them decide they want some shots with me. I didn't
even play! The red carpet has
clearly been rolled out for Deranged Dave, and judging by the looks
of admiration people are shooting me, it seems like I, as the conduit
through which he speaks, have had some of his coolness rub off on me.
When we go to
yakiniku for dinner, I get to sit with Deranged Dave, Bank,
Bolognese, and a couple, 8nee and 8nii. The conversation is dominated
by Bolognese and Deranged Dave discussing cultural differences
between the American and Japanese rhythm games communities, and
various tournament structures that have been attempted. Bolognese –
an Oosaka man, I might add – is the undisputed DDR/ITG champion of
Japan, and so they make plans for a challenge match the following
day. 8Nee and 8nii have been dating for eight years, since he was 15
and she was 17. They met at an arcade, through Initial Dick. She's
quiet but sweeter than diabetes itself, and looks like Mayuyu from
AKB. President would die instantly if she met her.
I've
interpreted at many an event before, but it's never been my main
thing, nor have I been the only one. Usually, it's part of what I'm
there to do, but only as an accessory to the more important, concrete
task I'm there to accomplish. Here, it is specifically the task for
which I have been engaged, I am the only one capable of doing it, and
I am constantly in the thick of the action. I'm used to being just on
the outside, steering the conversation as needed and doing other
things in the meantime, so I keep trying to make sure everything is
being taken care of, only to be assured, no no,
Rude Boy, you are doing exactly what you need to be doing, in fact
don't go anywhere because we need you here. It was a pretty nice
feeling, actually. 10/10. I've watched interpreters before and felt a
little sorry for them; they they do a ton of the legwork and make my
father's job possible, but they are treated like furniture, they
sometimes don't even get thanked, they are often excluded from
official photos, and they might not even get fed properly. Exactly
the opposite is happening with me. People want my signature right
underneath Deranged Dave's, and Bolognese flatly refuses to let me
pay for my own meal.
Bank and Deranged
Dave pass the ensuing drive with Pokemon Black/White (respectively),
StreetPass Quest, and asking me about Japan. Something's happened
with Plumfield and his girlfriend and they're fighting quietly up
front, I guess because he didn't pay enough attention to her at the
arcade. They live in the far reaches of Hyougo, over an hour's drive
from where we are. I guess you could call it Koube, since the city
never actually stops, but I would just about kill myself if I had to
live there. Their house is gigantic for Japan, which is to say it has
a kitchen, living room, another room, and a bedroom. He's got a TV as
wide as my legs are long, and décor that would make the narrator
from Fight Club grimace with jealousy. On top of that he's going to
marry his girlfriend and she's going to become a housewife, and is
currently a NEET. I'm pretty sure beat cops don't bring in money like
that, so I can only assume his main source of income is taking bribes
from the yakuza.
He
puts the three of us in his own room, which is...fine, really. When I
wake in the morning, several guys have arrived from Nagoya, and
Deranged Dave is in the living room talking with them, or rather,
attempting to. I jump to action and go out to meet Shinpachi, a
27-year-old clean-shaven yeti. Official delegations usually have a
“delegation leader;” in the case of civic delegations it's the
mayor of the visiting city, and so of course here it's very obviously
Deranged Dave. But it's difficult to say who's the official
receptionist. You would think Plumfield, because he did much of the
organization and is providing home base. Bolognese is another
candidate, as the Number One Japan Player. But then there's also
Shinpachi, who's one of the oldest of everybody, the most physically
intimidating, and the clear leader of the Nagoya faction. All three
are cool as shit, as well, though especially Bolognese.
“We're at
Plumfield's now,” Shinpachi says into his phone. “They've got a
splendid interpreter with them, apparently he'll be with us all
weekend. His Japanese is incredible. I can't believe this, we're
saved.”
通訳者。That's
an awesome epithet to be known by. I like it. And that is my whole
job and actual function this weekend? I could totally get used to
this.
Today we head to a
slightly less shitty part of Hyougo where, at a small non-chain
arcade, there is a DDR machine running Stepmania. Both ITG and
modifications of this kind are strictly controlled by Konami, so this
is expressly forbidden, but the owner of the machine has kept it a
secret from management, who know nothing about the actual game. Both
Deranged Dave and Bank have a lot of experience modding, and they
teach the players there a few new tricks for making a DDR cabinet
more ITG-like.
“Hopefully
they'll take what they learn back to where they came from and the
knowledge will spread,” Bank remarks.
When we arrive, we
meet Chappy, a manic pixie dream girl and one of the top five girl
players in the country. I can't help but immediately notice that she
has a really nice body, at 25 years old and under 5 feet, with tiny
little breasts, a tight round bum, a waifish waist, thin muscular
legs, and biteable clavicles. Her face is a little bit fucked up, but
she talks constantly, which makes up for it.
I already have aJapanese older sister but I start calling her neesan anyway. So yeah,
the second the car touches down she just about swallows Deranged Dave
whole.
「本物だ！本物だ！本物だ！」
Deranged Dave
walking into a room full of rhythm game fans is like Sean Connery
walking into a room full of...Sean Connery fans.
Everyone gets to
work on the machine, and within seconds someone has pulled out a
video camera to make an instructional recording. Deranged Dave
explains all of what he's doing and why, and I translate, so possibly
there is now a video out there somewhere where a skinny white guy
explains how to do ITG maintenance in Kansai-ben. If you're
wondering, the point of the exercise is to use tape to raise the
panels slightly, so that there is relatively little difference in
height between the bracket and the panel, as opposed to DDR, in which
the panels are significantly lower. (This is why early-generation DDR
players, who started when the difference was even more pronounced,
started playing on the balls of their feet, i.e. it is why they look
so stupid when they play.) He can't quite get it perfect – partly
because he's worried that if he makes an incorrect guess on one of
his calibrations he won't be around to fix it, so he's erring on the
side of caution – but he manages to make it much, much better than
before, at any rate.
Everybody
wants to play with him again, of course, and the videos keep on
coming. I can only assume they're more for the memories, because he's
not even playing anything particularly impressive. I'm finding I have
my hands quite full with the hundreds of millions of things both of
my charges are having said at them at any given time, and am quite
enjoying the challenge of managing everything required for general
comprehension on both sides of the language barrier. I do manage to
get one game in myself, and it plays pretty well (although the up
arrow gets a lot of pad), but I almost fail a 9. I do pass a couple
of 12s but they're not even hard 12s. Apparently if you don't do
something for eight months you get worse at it.
Then
it comes. Bolognese and Deranged Dave square off, and the battle of
the century is on. Actually just kidding, it's not that exciting.
Neither is warmed up, but Deranged Dave beats him in three songs out
of four – two by a narrow margin and one by quite a large one,
although, interestingly, in the final one Bolognese absolutely
destroys him on his
own pick. He approaches us afterwards, complaining of back pain.
“My back has
never felt like this before,” he tells us. “I really think I
should go to the hospital. Shinpachi's going to drive me. Don't
worry, I'll be back soon.”
Bank: Well that's
scary.
Deranged Dave:
Shit, I can't believe I did that. I hope he's ok.
Rude Boy: I
wouldn't worry about it just yet, you know?
Bank: It's just
like the word “hospital,” it's pretty, like, WHOA.
Rude
Boy: That's just the Japanese system. You get a cold, you got to the
hospital. Need to
refill a medication, you go to the hospital.
It doesn't have the serious feeling like in English.
Bank: Yeah, I hope
you're right.
Bank wants to try
real Japanese okonomiyaki, so we find a place and Chappy sits at our
table. Yay! We start getting close, and she grills Deranged Dave on
various aspects of his ITG playstyle. It was his videos, you see,
that originally got her into DDR, and she's always tried to imitate
him, though she can't yet pass a 13.
“You'll pass me
by soon enough,” he assures her.
Bolognese hasn't
returned by the end of the meal, but we've set some okonomiyaki
portions aside for he and Shinpachi to eat later. We have them bagged
up and Plumfield phones in for an update, which he then has me relay
to Deranged Dave and Bank.
Rude Boy: Um, ok.
So it turns out, he's bleeding inside his back. And they have no idea
what caused it, it could happen to anybody at any time, and sometimes
it just happens. So they've got him in a brace, and he won't be able
to play for a month. And uh, he won't be able to walk for several
hours.
Bank looks like
she's plunged her face into a fishbowl. They both feel terrible.
Bank: I can't
believe we broke Bolognese.
After
a goofy purikura session at Aeon, we head back to Plumfield's, where
about 15 people will be staying in a home built for two. That's
always fun. Nobody from the Nagoya group has slept, but me, Chappy,
and Plumfield's girlfriend stay up until 4 in the morning talking
about all kinds of things, while Chappy's shy boyfriend looks on
quietly, taking in the conversation and occasionally offering an
opinion. Chappy and her man have already been going out for four
years. I can't even imagine a relationship that long. They ask why
and I give a condensed version of my personal history, leaving out my
Mother Russia drama, with an explanation on why I've pretty much
given up on relationships as a concept. “You can't think like
that!” Chappy exclaims. “Nobody's gonna show up,” I shrug.
“There will! Eventually you're going to find someone perfect for
you,” Plumfield's gf assures me, seemingly desperate to make me
trust her. For once, I almost believe that I actually might. Talking
to these two cute girls for hours has opened some kind of pressure
valve in my chest, and I feel better than I have in a long time.
Sunday
is mostly a day of relaxation in Nara. We take a leisurely wander
around the vicinity of Toudaiji and do Toudaiji type things, like
squeezing through the pillar that's the same size as Buddha's
nostril. Deranged Dave badly wants to climb the statue and clamber
inside his actual nostril,
and is convinced that he'll arrive in Nirvana if they'll only let him
try. 8Nii lends me his girlfriend for the day, and we take some
pretty great pictures together. She was born in Shizuoka so she's not
as loud as Kansaijin and doesn't tsukkomu me no matter how obvious an
opening I leave, but she's really nice. Doesn't talk much, but
listens like a motherfucker.
Chappy proves
surprisingly well-versed in Nara history and Toudaiji in particular,
and I am employed largely in tour-guide style translations, which is
definitely a first for me. When not interpreting, I spend most of the
day chatting with Chappy. She's great. Although, when we see a
steering wheel sticking out of the water and I want to pretend to
drive the lake, she won't let me, because a nearby sign warns that a
pervert has been sighted in the area.
Unfortunately, I
realise that I have a class early the next day that I absolutely
cannot miss, because while most of my teachers will let it slide once
in a while, this guy simply does not accept absenteeism. Chappy and I
devise a plan in which I stay the night at Plumfield's, help the
Americans get set up with a hotel for their last night, and leave
early in the morn'. I wake up at six and leave as discreetly as
possible, though a few people stir in the living room. The journey,
from Himeji all the way to my university in Kyouto, is relatively
arduous considering the main activity therein is sitting in a chair,
but you see, the sleep deprivation and the travel fatigue weigh heavy
on my shoulders, and heavier on my eyelids. With my class complete
and my
sexual harassment meeting behind me, I rush back down to
Oosaka.
Chappy
badly, badly wants to take Bank shopping in Nanba. Bank isn't super
into it, but she's not against it either, and it's certainly more
interesting than sitting at the arcade watching the boys play DDR for
hours upon hours. Chappy wants to bring some of the other girls, too
– specifically, she recruits Plumfield's girlfriend and another
guy's girlfriend, her own age. But wait! She wants there to be an
interpreter on hand – in fact she specifically requests me. Trying
on clothes is one thing, she says, but then there are the more
detailed and specific aspects of shopping, like explaining why
something is or isn't good, and what kind of thing might be closer.
And, she points out, I'll get to spend the day with four girls, so
there's that.
We move from store
to store, fortunate to have this other girl with us because she goes
to school in the area and knows it well. Bank, sadly, doesn't find a
lot; she has trouble finding her size, and more than that, the
current fashion in Japan is pretty baggy, which with her body type
just has the effect of making her look fat rather than cute. It's not
a total loss, though, and she manages to find a pin for her hair, a
shirt-tank top combo, and some stretchy pants. She fails to find
anything Engrishy that suits her style, though. Throughout it all,
the other three girls – mainly Chappy – troop through with
constant suggestions, comments, and questions, all in the name of
ensuring Bank has at least one enjoyable shopping experience in Japan
before she leaves.
I find out very
quickly that my vocabulary has a few gaps when it comes to shopping
for women's clothing, since for some reason I've never gotten around
to doing that in Japan, but it was mostly stuff like talking about
colours, patterns, and fit, so that was well within the bounds of my
everyday abilities. I know fuck all about most of what they're saying
so mostly I just pass their words straight across the board, but do
interject my own reactions from time to time. Over the course of the
weekend I've been pleased to find that I've actually reached another
level in interpretation – I can now often translate somebody's
words into one language while simultaneously listening to them,
rather than needing them to pause so I can do it paragraph by
paragraph. Damn does that feel cool. That's a great milestone right
there.
If you think it
must have been boring for me to follow four girls around while they
shopped, you severely underestimate how badly I require female
attention.
After this, there's
not a lot of time left. After a brief visit to the Pokemon Centre,
where I buy a ton more stupid shit that I don't need, we go back to
the Umeda Round 1, where the guys have spent most of their day, and I
unsuccessfully attempt to steal 8nee permanently. Next time! No, I'm
totally kidding. I stole a girl once before, but even if I could
steal 8nee I wouldn't do it. The two of them are too adorable
together.
We don't have time
for a proper meal, so we gather at a crepe stand, which is sold out
of everything I actually want, but blueberries are ok, I guess, even
if maccha and cheesecake would have been better. Not together. I
wanted one maccha thing and one cheesecake thing. Not together. That
wouldn't be very tasty. Actually, maybe it would be.
The Nagoya group
has already gone, but I'm sure I'll see them again, someday, since I
have friends over there anyway. 8Nee, 8nii, and Bolognese all live in
Oosaka, so really I can go see them anytime I want. Plumfield is a
little farther a...field, but he's collected the best photos from the
conference and is putting together albums for some of the people
involved, and he's promised to hand over mine “the next time we
meet,” so that'll happen.
It's Deranged Dave
and Bank that I'm sad to see go, since I may never see them again.
Maybe if they come back in a few years, or if somebody wants to pay
my ticket to America for when the Kansai players go to see their
home. That would be cool. But having spent a very short time rarely
more than 20 metres away from either one of them, I feel like we've
become friends, after a fashion. We walk to Oosaka Eki and the group
slowly drops members until only Bolognese, Plumfield, and their
respective girlfriends are sitting on the train with them while 8nee
and I wave goodbye. Then they're gone.
What a great
weekend.
