56 Flowers: China tries to AKB

Here's an Asahi Shinbun article from a couple days ago:

“An idol group composed of 56 Chinese women has been born. It is called '56 Flowers.' One can't help but think that it is meant to compete directly with Japan's AKB48. That said, the sense of propaganda in songs like their fervently performed 'China is the most Beautiful,' embodying Chinese head of state Xi Jinping's 'Chinese Dream,' is quite strong. Will they really be popular?

“56 is the number of officially recognized Chinese ethnicities. It seems that 56 Flowers is attempting to appeal to a sense of ethnic unity and patriotism. The particulars of the group's formation are unknown, it is supposed that Chinese authorities were involved.

“According to local media, it is formed of various ethnicities of girls, aged 16-23, with skill in singing and dancing. At Beijing Park in June, they stood onstage in front of the Chinese flage and images of Mao Zedong, wearing white blouses and black miniskirts. Staff apparently said, 'Unlike groups from Japan or China, 56 Flowers is not selling sex or looks.'

“There have been comments on the Internet in the vein of, 'They seem like a North Korean group,' and 'It smells like the Cultural Revolution.' (Shanghai)”

Here's another article, this one in English, with a little more information. For good measure, here's a video.

So you get 56 girls between the ages of 16 and 23, dress them up in cotton blouses and short skirts, and have them sing and dance for our entertainment. Totally not selling sex though!

This “various ethnicities” thing is nice, especially given China's historical...struggles with that issue. It only really works, though, if each member is actually a representative of that group. Please let me know if I'm wrong, but something tells me this super isn't the case. At least Team 8 really did go out and recruit a girl from each prefecture. And while I totally understand concerns regarding propaganda, I'm interested to see where this might go.

Anytime I think about the China Century theory, I suspect that it will not really equal the influence of America during the American Century unless it occupies the same cultural space. I mean, setting aside the possibility that we may have entered a period in history in which globalization is so prevalent that no one country can possibly dominate – you could draw some parallels. A rising economic star. Flirting with imperialism. That kind of stuff.

But what made America into America in the eyes of the rest of the world was, I think, its popular culture. The average American on the street cared about Tom Cruise, not Ronald Reagan. I guess the same is true of a lot of countries – probably most non-Japanese people you know can picture Goku, but not Abe Shinzou – so maybe this is a shallow point, but what I'm getting at is that I've always wanted to see what China could give us for soft culture. I can name a couple dozen Korean pop music groups despite having never even been there, but I can only think of two Chinese groups, and one of them is SNH48.

We've got wuxia – that's identifiably Chinese. And that's cool. Wuxia is cool! Can't wait for Iron Knight, Silver Vase! “Hong Kong action movie” is basically a genre, and Sleeping Dogs rocked (that's if we're counting Hong Kong as culturally part of China, but let's not get into that). What else though? By and large I'm gonna go ahead and say that Chinese pop culture doesn't really get much play outside of China, at least not in the English-speaking world. Isn't that odd? China is kind of really big, you guys. This seems to mark a deliberate step towards changing that, and I'm excited! I'd love people to step more Chinese songs for In the Groove. Maybe not “China is the most Beautiful,” but you know.

I'm also not totally convinced that this won't be like the forced hallyu of the mid-2000s up to recent years, where Korean artists started recording songs in Japanese, SNSD appeared on Letterman and there was even talk of getting Americans into K-dramas. This publicity campaign was the subject of much derision by K-bloggers, and the “movement,” such as it is, tends to be regarded as a bit of a failure. This could easily go the same way. It's still interesting, though, and it will likely have a very different character, if only because of the Chinese government and all that it represents.

To close the circle: Does 56 Flowers have a credible chance of competing against AKB 48? Uh, no. They're completely different products. AKB sing about first love, and hair scrunchies, and teenage prostitution. These are very relatable, easily digestible topics that transcend differences in lifestyle and cultural boundaries. The glory of the People's Republic of China is not. To be fair, I don't think it actually says anywhere that they want 56 Flowers to spread its influence beyond China; maybe it represents more of a pep rally for Chinese citizens. If so, they've got work ahead of them, because sadly, nobody cares about politics anymore. Also, they may be a state-driven propaganda machine.

Canyon

During my high school exchange, I saw some people online talking about the first Iron Man movie, which had recently been released. And my first thought was, “Iron Man? I don't even remember seeing trailers for – oh, right.”

Similarly, in a once-recent post by Stupid Ugly Foreigner, he laments the disconnect from English-language popular culture he suffers while living in China. This phenomenon is exemplified in Pharrell's “Happy,” of which he was utterly unware until long after it had already become entrenched in our cultural constitution. Now that I'm back in Canada, I'm facing kind of the opposite problem, and when I get back I'm going to have to relearn everything.

An example: The first time I heard Kyari Pyamu Pyamu's seminal "Pon Pon Pon," it had already been popular for months. In fact it's almost strange to me now to think that there ever was a time when I'd never heard it – it's so clearly ingrained in the cultural landscape of its era. To not know at least that much was to have no idea what a certain type of Japanese person was listening to at the time, and that shit was important to me. I leaped aboard that particular ship as soon as I saw it, and then throughout the rest of the year I managed to catch everything new as it bubbled up into the cultural consciousness of Japanese young people. Unfortunately I've now effectively lost all knowledge of what's trending back there, and it's going to take time to get back up to speed.

I can use the Internet to keep abreast of the latest vicissitudes in television and idol gossip, but that's a poor substitute for everday immersion because it's all through my own filter - limited, not "off the street," not necessarily bearing any relation to what's actually popular. Metroid, for example, is more popular outside Japan than within it. In the Korean's account of his tour of the South by Southwest music show in Austin, I read that he saw a relatively new Japanese loli group called Starmarie, who were supposedly the most popular Japanese singers going. Except that my immediate reaction was “Who the hell are Starmarie?” Sure enough, it turns out that they are indeed a popular Japanese idol group – in America.

So what, you may say. It's just movies and music and other meaningless bullshit. You might have a point. A mild de-syncing with cultural developments that will no longer be relevant a year from now might seem like a fairly minor loss. But remember that anime and music and dramas and everything else are all things I have a certain dependency on, because they're my primary means of studying the language. I am constantly on the hunt for new material to consume, integrating its knowledge into my biomass, mining it for not only new vocabulary and grammar but cultural tidbits and talking points. Without the constant, effortless exposure you get in Japan, I am forced to subsist on what I can scavenge from YouTube or d-Addicts.

Access to this stuff also affects my studying habits. I've always been a proponent of self-motivation – that is, if you really want to learn another language, you just do it, every day, or else adjust your expectations. That means that on a day when you come home from work or school, exhausted, depressed, and without the slightest desire to study, you clench your teeth and do it anyway. So it'd be idiotic to say that lack of access to Japanese pop culture adversely affects my study regimen, but easy access to it does positively affect it. You should always be able to force yourself to study, but a spoonful of heroin makes the medicine go down.

Also, though I have no pedagogical training, I feel like all the studying I do while in this “engaged” state is more effective. Perhaps I am simply more receptive at such times, and thus better able to absorb new vocabulary and constructions. Or perhaps even more simply, I just pay closer attention when I'm interested. Or maybe it's just my imagination. Anyway I'm not going to stop.

Finally, a big part of a country's contemporary cultural identity either stems from or is resolved in its media trends. I don't think that's too grandiose a statement. The plot twists in big TV shows get people talking. Artists use their media to communicate a deeper message. People will resort to the refrain of “relax, it's just a movie” for as long as movies continue to be made, but that's utterly and obviously wrong. Our art, even our for-profit art, is both informed by our shared cultural experience, and adds to it. It's important. It's not World War II-level historical significance, but you can't just discount it.

And again, for me, soft culture is a part of how I connect with Japanese people - knowledge of what's trending in their pop music and television is often a good ice-breaker. And how many friendships are born from mutual interests? The early conversation of practically any first encounter is spent searching out common ground. Obviously don't hinge your identities on what anime you like, because if you want to be interesting you have to be interesting in and of yourself. But I can't count the number of times I've inspired shock and delight for merely having heard of something Japanese. If nothing else it shows that you're receptive.

On the other hand, I guess if not being quite up on the latest moves and grooves is my greatest concern, as compared to somebody arriving with no knowledge of Japan or Japanese, maybe I'm doing all right. There'll be a brief period of adjustment, but in no time I'll be slinging timely observations and relevant pop culture references like anybody else. Now all I have to do is find a job, win the lottery, or earn the favour of the yakuza, and I'll be good to go.

Nobody is allowed...

...to call Japanese culture weird ever again.

The Warrior Who Never Shaves

There is a Culture Festival held at my university every year, serving as an opportunity for all the various peoples on campus – noted as one of the most international in the province – to share of themselves, teach, learn, and party. It's fucking awesome. Since I've been doing international-type things since I was a little kid, it's always struck a chord with me, and as a member and later Vice President of the Japanese Club, I've been an enthusiastic participant for years.

Just one difference this time: President and I are retired now, so we didn't have to do a goddamn thing. I saw a problem, I told either the current President or Vice President about it and then I let them deal with it. Or not. What do I care? I don't want to see Club's reputation suffer but I don't feel responsible for it anymore either. Not like I used to. Anyway, all this meant a lot less work for us and not that much less glory.

Or should have, except that New President is kind of useless and couldn't lead either of the dances that Club was supposed to be doing...so President, ever stalwart, stepped the fuck up and took over the whole operation. And then I got in on that, and pretty soon both of the current executives were kowtowing to the will of the Ancients. Which was fine; I certainly don't mind being afforded the respect I'm owed. But it is a little worrisome considering that President and I have been trying to let go of the reins and let the next generation come into its own. It was kind of good, though. As much as I love the festivities themselves, I enjoy the weeks leading up to them nearly as much. The preparation, I mean – the heady feeling that you're putting in a lot of work that's leading up to something truly impressive, and you feel so driven to do the best you possibly can because your Club's reputation is on the line and you're trying to share of yourselves and show what you're capable of.

Although I wasn't slated to perform, I attended every practise, serving as DJ and then, more importantly, sort of micromanaging individuals. Chiefly, the issue was timing, which both President and I found bafflingly frustrating. She used to be in Cadets and taught music to the goddamn military, and while I don't have quite such impressive credentials, I am an avid player of rhythm games so I too have a pretty bulletproof understanding of how to keep a beat. Trying to work with people who did not was therefore pretty vexing for us, because trying to teach somebody to stay on beat is like trying to explain that the sky is blue. Fucking look at it. Blue. What the hell else can I do to help you understand? Why do you still think it's purple?

Overall, though, it was a fun experience, as it always is. There was a good mixture of both Canadian and Japanese students, with a group of six performing a relatively recent AKB song and an impressive 15 doing a rendition of Soran Bushi. The latter has gathered us surprising renown over the years, with our slot being gradually moved toward the back end of the program, where the audience size peaks. We wanted to live up to the prestige, so we tried to get it as close to perfect as possible, with President patiently putting the performers through their paces, and me shouting out corrections and accepting only the utmost quality, because people have a tendency to deliver what you expect of them. It's called the Pygmalion Effect, I learned that from Running Man.

Then, two days before the big event, an interesting thing happened, which is that President and I hooked up. And to be honest it was about fucking time, you could have cut the sexual tension with a goddamn knife. Both of us had been wanting it for weeks and weeks and weeks, but neither of us was willing to make a move for fear of hurting the friendship. Hilariously, everyone else in the universe predicted it and we chided them for being silly, but then, it's hard to get a good look at something if you're too close to it. Anyway, we did as much as we could and later it wasn't weird at all, it was awesome. Only thing was, I really wanted to bang her, so on Judgment Day, I was determined to obtain some condoms – not assuming anything, but also refusing to be unprepared.

Leaving my car at the arcade where they know me and let me park all day without giving me hell, I first checked Shopper's Drug Mart, but I couldn't fucking find what I needed. I don't know how that's even possible, and it certainly made me feel like a dumbass, but I was too self-conscious to just stroll up to somebody and go “Excuse me, where are the condoms?” So I decided to give Target a shot, and I saw the sign for the section called “Baby,” and I was like “No I'm looking for NOT Baby!” Luckily Jugs advised me they should be “with the women shit” but then when I got there, there were three pharmacists who do nothing but fucking stand behind a counter and judge you while you consider your purchases, so I couldn't even bring myself to look. So I went to cocksucking Safeway and...could not fucking find them there either. In a last-ditch effort, I visited my favourite gas station, and finally managed to get a three-pack. Oh, Husky...you've never let me down.

It was a condom quest as epic as it was asinine, made all the more difficult by the fact that I was wearing geta at the time, and so was limited to a speed of roughly 0 kilometres per hour. I mean I haven't moved that slowly in my entire life as I did while wearing geta, including when I was a baby. And to make the whole thing even goofier, I was dressed in a fucking jinbei and happi while I was going around trying to be inconspicuous and casual. In the end it felt too weird to go into a store and buy just three condoms, so I got a chocolate bar as well. Yeah, that'll throw 'em off.

With all that finally taken goddamn care of I made my way to the university and met up with President again. So far we'd taken in a Japanese tea ceremony and a photo-booth type thing with like various kimono and such for people to try, the latter of which has sort of become a staple of ours. But today was the best part: Performances. Sikhs did weapon demonstrations. Africans performed hip-hop. A Chinese guy did Shanghai-style street dancing. It was rad. And all of it was in an atmosphere of celebration and exultation, all the very best of all the countries smashed together into a delicious medley of colours and motion.

And President and I got to see all of it. It was...oddly disconcerting, actually. For the first time in our lives, rather than watching from the sidelines, we actually got to, like, sit down, in the goddamn stands, and like...enjoy the performances. Because the event's success or failure was not dependent on us in any way. No, things were going along just fine, without us, somehow. Bizarre. Without any obligations I actually kind of had trouble finding things to do, not because I was bored but because I was used to not a moment's rest, which was troubling because it was a five-hour programme.

I did, fortunately, get a taste of the old life, for just a scant few minutes. A bunch of countries and regions were, as always, given space to set up booths at which to showcase whatever the hell they wanted, be it pictures from the motherland, art, clothing, whatever. With President, New President, and New Vice President all doing Soran Bushi, I was the only person left who could competently man the booth during the twenty minutes or so they'd be absent. So, without any real preparation, I eased behind it, and...yup, turns out my skills haven't rusted. I can still speak eloquently, establish rapport with strangers, and promote like a motherfucker at the drop of a hat. I hadn't ever really doubted myself, but it was reassuring to know that I could still call upon those skills whenever I might require them.

“You must miss being Vice President,” commented New Vice President when he got back.

“There are days when I do,” I admitted. “Like today. But then there are also days when I really, really don't.”

To cap it all off, President and I went home and fucked. When we woke up we went for lunch, like it was no thing. And then bought condoms together, because evidently I can't be trusted to locate them for myself.

Raw and wrong

“Come on, let's sit down here.”

“Really? Just the two of us, sitting on the riverbank and drinking?”

“Yup.”

“Great, sounds romantic.”

“Of course! You know that I want to share all my love and affection for my very best roommate Rude Boy!”

“Wow, when did you turn into Insufferable Dumbass?”

Usually I turn Cologne down when he wants to hang out somewhere. I get lazy, and I hate hanging out with other foreigners. Plus, Cologne can be kind of annoying, and I have to spend enough time with him as it is. It doesn't help that he wants to be the King of Japanese Romance, either, and thinks that it is my express responsibility to attend to all of his translation and social lubrication needs therein. But he's lured me out with the promise of a new bar, so now we're pre-drinking amidst a gaggle of orange lanterns and a crowd of mostly ryuugakusei.

I have no idea what the lanterns are for, but they're clearly some attendant element of some kind of minor festival. A bunch of food stalls, nearly all selling identical udon, have been unfurled under Sanjou Oohashi, with entirely too many revelers packed into the narrow space remaining. It's like a small, fairly unimpressive festival. “I heard it's like a children's festival,” says Cologne, “but I don't see what this has to do with children.” Mother Russia and 18 should be somewhere in the area, the latter distinguishable by her eye-catching red hair, but we don't see them, and it's not like we're going to hang out anyway. Our interest quickly drains and we sit down to enjoy our beer.

We continue to mock Insufferable Dumbass for quite some time. Mercifully, he's left the dormitory several days before, and the ambient volume has plummeted. Cologne asserts the impossibility of a long-distance relationship, predicting a breakup within two months of his returning to Hawaii, which I think is rather optimistic of him. Just the night before, Jason Biggs said that she'd told the other Chinese girls that she was only dating him because she wanted somebody to take care of her while she was in Kyouto.

We extricate ourselves from the piles of people milling about the area and head to this bar Cologne has heard so much about. Fortunately he already knows where it is and we find it without much difficulty, on the second floor of a nondescript building next to that shady-looking Turkish kebab place, two turns down a mildewed and decrepit hallway. The lighting is dark, classic rock paraphernalia adorns every available surface, and we're immediately greeted in English. We order beers.

Of the fifteen or so customers already in the place, every single one is foreign. None is under 30. Only two are women. All look very American, and very English teachery. But the atmosphere is convivial and the music is good, even if the service leaves something to be desired.

“I've never had a nama biiru take this long. You just fill the glass. Is he brewing it back there?”

“No, I think he's still harvesting the barley.”

Cologne calls out the owner to let him know that we're there on a regular's recommendation. He's kind of a combination of a host club owner, Murakami Haruki, and Heath Ledger's character from Lords of Dogtown. Later, Ace of Spades comes on and Cologne and I start to rock out and sing along, because we're buzzed and because fuck you, it's a fun song. The owner catches our eye and when I look over, he rolls out his tongue and throws up the horns. I decide in that moment that I'll definitely be making my way back here sometime.

When we leave, we have the brilliant idea of trying to get down the stairwell without touching the floor. Cologne gives up immediately but I try to parkour my way along the banisters and wall overhangs, ducking spiderwebs and finally falling when I stab the shit out of my hand on the most jagged stucco ceiling in the world. It bleeds on and off the rest of the night.

Cologne takes me to another bar, one he's already been to, and which there is no way in hell you'd ever find if you didn't already know it was there. In fact, he has to forage around for a bit himself. It ends up being halfway down one of those little hallways leading between Kiyamachi and Pontochou. “Ah, this is it!” he finally says, victoriously grasping the handle of a small, square door that comes up to my stomach. It looks like a wooden wall panel, with absolutely no signage to suggest that it might conceal anything more interesting than a water pressure valve. But indeed, it opens into a tiny bar, slightly smaller than our bathroom, about ten customers squashed inside. Sadly, there's only about ten chairs.

Luckily we're not out of ideas, as there's one more place Cologne wants to show me: A small udon shop right nearby, just as nameless and nearly as hidden as the bar. He peers through the glass and recoils. “Ok, so do you want to eat udon and see me get my heart broken, or do you want to go somewhere else?”

A few weeks ago, he went out to some bar and spent a few hours talking with a couple of Japanese girls, and now he thinks he's the smoothest operator in the land. He got his comeuppance, though, by thinking that he was getting somewhere with one of the girls, who dodged his attempts at getting a date before finally fessing up that she had an “important boyfriend.” Reacting entirely too badly to such a routine failure, he's now been treating her like the one that got away. I don't really feel like udon but I do want to see how this plays out, so I usher us inside.

The girl, who introduced Cologne to both these places, immediately waves to him when we sit down, but he pretends not to recognize her. Can't say she's my type, but the two staff are another story. According to Cologne, this shop is very popular with male patrons for its flirtatious bottle fairy of an owner, and I can see why. Total jukujo. Tooootal jukujo. And the girl, she's 25, and gyaaru-ish, and she's got that whole oneechan vibe going for her, and every inch of her face and body is just plain fuckable. No other word to describe her. Was that crass? I'm not even sorry.

They take to me instantly, as Japanese women tend to do (and then immediately get bored after like one meeting). As soon as they figure out how much Japanese I speak they're all over me, and then they pass it back and forth like a couple of pros. I can be pretty shy, but tonight I'm also drunk, and not only that, they are doing absolutely everything right to make me feel comfortable. Flirting constantly, poking fun at just the right moment in just the right ways, teasing personal details out of me to get me to relax. They've got a perfect older sister/younger sister mentor type vibe going. The owner comes around and sits with me for a while. Even though I know I'm being gamed, it's incredible to watch in action, and who gives a fuck anyway, I'm enjoying myself.

In the middle, I realise: There's something off about these two. Something raw and wrong. I've finally found the dirt in this city. I knew where it was – Kiyamachi – but I could never make any of it mine. Well, never give up.

“I'm so jealous of you right now,” Cologne whispers as they shower me with attention.

He complains idly of the heat, so the owner moves us to underneath the fan, and, incidentally, right next to the love of his life. Now he's forced to acknowledge her. She claims to be 32, though Cologne swears she told him she was 25. She definitely doesn't look 25. I tell her she does.

“Listen,” she says, “tell him I'm sorry about what happened.”

“I'm fine with it,” he shrugs. “I guess I just misunderstood some things and I ended up disappointed. So yeah, I'm kind of upset, but I'm not mad or anything. Don't translate that!”

“...kind of upset, but he's not mad or anything. Mm? Oh, too late.”

“I have a very important boyfriend,” she says.

“And how old is he?”

“29.” Pause. “I...I have a thing for younger men.”

I relay the information to Cologne, and through me they exchange a few more pleasantries before she and her female companion leave. I manage not to point out that Cologne is totally a younger man (with six years' difference rather than a paltry three); I've caused enough trouble for one night. And it was completely worth it.

We finish our udon and stay for one more round of beer. The two staff pay probably a little bit too much attention to us (me), but the other men seem to get a kick out of the show anyway. I don't know how much is salesmanship and how much is the two of them just having fun, but it's a great vibe in any case. One of the other customers, a grinning, kingpin-looking guy in his 30s, randomly wants to shake my hand as we leave.

Zaza's isn't my favourite place in the world, but Cologne wants to smoke some shisya. For whatever reason, he also badly wants me to try.

“I don't smoke.”

“That's not a very Japanese attitude. You have to try new things!”

“The Japanese do not try new things.”

“Sure they do. You explain shisya to them and then everyone wants to try.”

Beat.

“...can it give you cancer?”

“No.”

“Ugh, fine.”

I give it a few rounds but I don't see the point. Smoking cigarettes is sexy as all fuck, at least when a girl does it, but this is just stupid. Although admittedly, carrying a hookah around with you would be pretty badass.

A couple of girls are sitting at the table next to us, and Cologne wants to break the ice by asking what flavour of shisya they're partaking of. It's not a terrible opener, so I go grab another round, to give him time to work. We've done this a couple times before, and it usually works pretty well if he establishes the connection and I come in afterward to keep things moving smoothly. The girls turn out to actually be Chinese, but fortunately speak Japanese well enough to communicate. Cologne takes down a number that he will never make use of.

They leave, and I manage to strike up a conversation with the group next to us. The one girl out of the five of them there is pretty darn cute, but, predictably, taken, and has been for a solid two years. I can't even imagine being in a relationship for that long. Thought the same thing when I found out Chappy had been with her boyfriend for three years, too. She and Plumfield's girlfriend thought that was a pretty remarkable reaction. We invite them back to the little bar from which we had earlier been rejected.

Unfortunately, this is where my cognitive abilities have walked up to the alcoholic cliff and thrown themselves right the fuck off of it. I act on the impulse to pay for everybody in there. We don't cause any trouble, but by the time we leave, I can barely stand. We all head down to Sanjou Oohashi so I can convalesce.

Fortunately, when all I have in my system is beer I'm a pretty cooperative drunk. Unfortunately, I drop my cell phone in the Kamo River, destroying the screen. I will take it back to Yodobashi Camera, but they'll tell me that I can only keep my current account, SIM card, and memory if I upgrade to a newer, better phone. I can't just buy the same one again. Fuckers. So I'll eventually decide to just leave it in my room, plugged into the wall. It's a land line is what it is. Worse, this doesn't happen soon enough to prevent me from messaging Mother Russia: “<333333333,” perhaps the single worst thing I could possibly have said. On the bright side, I don't die.

Total damage: 90,000 yen.

Deranged Dave

(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.

Deranged Dave, Part 3

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.

Deranged Dave, Part 2

Plumfield 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 a Japanese 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.

Deranged Dave, Part 1

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.