Let me be clear. I'm not complaining as much as I am noting a recent experience. In short, it's a repeat of what many of us experienced in school during recess, in playgrounds, at play dates. The you-can't-play-with-us-because-we-didn't-invite you, or you're-not-one-of-us phenomenon--how many of us have been the recipient of such behavior? The protagonist? It's a form of bullying. Less obvious perhaps, less overt, possibly even less painful than the blatant "I hate you" or "you're weird/too different"but let's call it what it is. It's exclusion.
I can't think of any instance when bullying is acceptable. When adults take part it's just dumb. Be honest. This resonates. We've either seen it happen, heard of it, or taken part ourselves.
The latest such experience is taking place not near me, but around me. Hypothetically, let's imagine there's an event taking place somewhere far away that involves a community of Japanese locals. Let's also hypothetically assume there's been an attempt to sell Tohoku-related goods at this event specifically meant to help those who made these items. Now let's "pretend" (and I'm being generous with this word) some of the sponsors of this event decided they needed to intentionally block the sale of goods made by those in Tohoku (to whom the money would go) because -- wait for it -- it wasn't their idea.
Let's call it as we see it. This is a I-didn't-think-of-this-first-and-you-didn't-ask-my-permission-so-I'm-going-to-block-you response to an act that would otherwise be considered common sense, right, proper, courteous, and kind.
I don't get it. It's silly. This is what people do when given a bit of power and they feel the need to exert it. I'm also really sorry this kind of behavior is necessary. Clearly, some people aren't able to see the big picture. It's sad, really.
Thirty years after we've played in parks, living rooms and playgrounds, evidently some of us still don't know how to play nicely in the sandbox.
Maybe I am complaining.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Friday, November 16, 2012
Thirty Minutes on a Train
No one to date has been able to understand how a spouse, mine in particular, would just say "Go."
"Go into an active tsunami zone."
"Go where the aftershocks are hourly and often large."
"Live apart for an indefinite period of time."
"It's okay."
"I miss you but what you're doing is worthwhile enough that we can handle it."
My spouse has said all this since immediately after the March 11th earthquake and tsunamis. He is a large part of my reasoning for coming to Japan. I couldn't and wouldn't do this without his complete support. For that, for the freedom he gives me, for his patience, for his kick-in-the-pants ("Go!") I am most definitely grateful.
Knowing I still can't say when I'm leaving Japan for good, it's important we're on the same page. I need to know he's fine with this ambiguity. I'm often asked, "How long are you staying?" I smile and say, "Until I'm not needed here anymore, and when my husband says 'That's enough. Time to come home.'" People nod in response.
On the Marunouchi Line last night, as we make our way towards downtown for a Friday-night-in-Tokyo-date-night, we continue chatting. Let's make one thing clear: Skype cannot and does not replace what live, in-person chatting accomplishes. I'm grateful for Skype. Don't get me wrong. While my husband and I e-mail daily, it's the multi-hour Skype chats that keep us connected. Sitting in the subway, however, I'm reminded how much of this personal connection is missed when we talk laptop-to-laptop.
I bring up (again) the fact I can't say how long I'm going to be here.
"I know," he replies. "I knew that when you left."
I know he knows. But, but, I need to hear it again. I need to make sure he's okay with this no-end-date-in-sight reality. I also need to know how and why he's okay with it. I need to hear it again.
"When we sat in that coffee shop in Ofunato the other day," he begins, "and that spider started dropping towards my head you immediately freaked out, right?"
"Right."
"You got this box of tissues and you were adamant I should get rid of it."
Of course. It's a spider. It probably has fangs.
"That's how I know you haven't changed."
Evidently, I looked confused.
"That's the spiders-are-evil part of you that came out right then and there. Things like that make me realize you're still you."
Okay.
"Then, an hour later, you take me to this apartment building in Rikuzentakata that looked like it had been bombed." He leaned in as he told me this. "You did that as if it was no big deal."
I don't get where he's going.
"So, see. You've changed. Part of you still hates spiders, but there's another part of you now that has a purpose. You were bored with the past several jobs you had back home. You did them and did them well, but you were bored. Here," and now he laughs, "you're anything but bored." He sat back then, as if he'd made his point clearly, taking another sip of his tea. "I like that. The ways you're changing--they're good changes. That's how I know you're okay here. So long as you're changing in ways that make you grow, make you do new things, give you a purpose, so long as you're doing that you should stay. It's when you tell me spiders no longer freak you out that I'll worry."
Evidently that's it. Evidently, for him, it's as simple as that. I decide to take him at his word.
This is the kind of support that keeps me going. I couldn't and wouldn't stay without it. I still don't know how long I'll stay in Japan, but my husband's words warm me up. I hit the jackpot with this man--that he's fine with not knowing (so long as I'm growing) feeds my soul.
Thirty minutes on a train and I realize all over again how lucky I am. Gratitude on a Friday night: a lovely way to start a date.
"Go into an active tsunami zone."
"Go where the aftershocks are hourly and often large."
"Live apart for an indefinite period of time."
"It's okay."
"I miss you but what you're doing is worthwhile enough that we can handle it."
My spouse has said all this since immediately after the March 11th earthquake and tsunamis. He is a large part of my reasoning for coming to Japan. I couldn't and wouldn't do this without his complete support. For that, for the freedom he gives me, for his patience, for his kick-in-the-pants ("Go!") I am most definitely grateful.
Knowing I still can't say when I'm leaving Japan for good, it's important we're on the same page. I need to know he's fine with this ambiguity. I'm often asked, "How long are you staying?" I smile and say, "Until I'm not needed here anymore, and when my husband says 'That's enough. Time to come home.'" People nod in response.
On the Marunouchi Line last night, as we make our way towards downtown for a Friday-night-in-Tokyo-date-night, we continue chatting. Let's make one thing clear: Skype cannot and does not replace what live, in-person chatting accomplishes. I'm grateful for Skype. Don't get me wrong. While my husband and I e-mail daily, it's the multi-hour Skype chats that keep us connected. Sitting in the subway, however, I'm reminded how much of this personal connection is missed when we talk laptop-to-laptop.
I bring up (again) the fact I can't say how long I'm going to be here.
"I know," he replies. "I knew that when you left."
I know he knows. But, but, I need to hear it again. I need to make sure he's okay with this no-end-date-in-sight reality. I also need to know how and why he's okay with it. I need to hear it again.
"When we sat in that coffee shop in Ofunato the other day," he begins, "and that spider started dropping towards my head you immediately freaked out, right?"
"Right."
"You got this box of tissues and you were adamant I should get rid of it."
Of course. It's a spider. It probably has fangs.
"That's how I know you haven't changed."
Evidently, I looked confused.
"That's the spiders-are-evil part of you that came out right then and there. Things like that make me realize you're still you."
Okay.
"Then, an hour later, you take me to this apartment building in Rikuzentakata that looked like it had been bombed." He leaned in as he told me this. "You did that as if it was no big deal."
I don't get where he's going.
"So, see. You've changed. Part of you still hates spiders, but there's another part of you now that has a purpose. You were bored with the past several jobs you had back home. You did them and did them well, but you were bored. Here," and now he laughs, "you're anything but bored." He sat back then, as if he'd made his point clearly, taking another sip of his tea. "I like that. The ways you're changing--they're good changes. That's how I know you're okay here. So long as you're changing in ways that make you grow, make you do new things, give you a purpose, so long as you're doing that you should stay. It's when you tell me spiders no longer freak you out that I'll worry."
Evidently that's it. Evidently, for him, it's as simple as that. I decide to take him at his word.
This is the kind of support that keeps me going. I couldn't and wouldn't stay without it. I still don't know how long I'll stay in Japan, but my husband's words warm me up. I hit the jackpot with this man--that he's fine with not knowing (so long as I'm growing) feeds my soul.
Thirty minutes on a train and I realize all over again how lucky I am. Gratitude on a Friday night: a lovely way to start a date.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Gone Native
I'm out with Alpha Male, my favorite Japanese man in Japan. He's good company as usual. I'm at ease. With him, I feel safe. I can be myself. One of the consequences of being this relaxed is that I speak freely. I don't edit. I don't think before I speak.
Which is why the word "consequences" is so appropriate. Somewhere in the conversation with Alpha Male I evidently said, "Why's that?" It came out naturally. It went downhill from there. Sort of.
"What did you say?" He's driving so he doesn't look at me.
"I said, 'Why's that?' Why?"
"Say that again?" He's smirking. Instantly, I'm annoyed. What? I'm not enunciating?
"I said..." and before I can finish, he says "'Why's that?' Right?' You think you said, 'Why's that?' Right?"
I'm not amused. What is this? I think I said? I know what I said. I said....
And then it hits me. Ohhhhh. I did it. It happened. I spoke using the Tohoku dialect. I did say "Why's that?" but I said it Tohoku-style. No one outside of Tohoku would ever say it that way. It actually doesn't even make grammatical sense. It's not technically Japanese, except that it is for those in Tohoku. Crap. Crap, crap, crap. I look over at him about to concede, confessing this country-bumpkin dialect has now crept into my vocabulary when I see he's trying ever so hard not to laugh out loud. I decide right there not to concede. It is funny. Yes. But, far be it from me to let him have any fun at my expense, I get defensive. Except, I don't know what to say. No quick retorts today.
"What?" he says. I still say nothing.
"Oh, come on." I'm still silent. I've honestly got nothing.
"Are you mad?" and now he's not actually asking but more insinuating I'm being unreasonable, albeit possibly, could it be? Does he think I'm being cute?
"I'm not mad," and now I'm the one trying to keep a straight face.
"You're pouting." He laughs, guffaws actually, and I'm afraid we're going to crash.
"Watch out!" Instantly my hand shoots straight out hitting the glove box, propping myself as if I'll be safe if this way.
"Sorry." He swerves, avoiding a moped.
We're silent again, both still half-smirking, half-smirk-hiding.
"You gotta admit, it's pretty funny," I hear.
Instead of defending myself, possibly even complimenting myself for being able to sound like a true Tohokuite I say, "It just popped out! What am I going to do? Honestly? I can't even tell when I'm using the Tohoku dialect? It's that natural now? Oh no.....Who else have I said this around?" It's funny. I get it. Except, it's not. Alpha Male is laughing again.
"I think it's a good sign."
"Good sign?" Indignant, I fly off the handle.
"Good sign? It just popped out! Seriously! I didn't even know I said it until you pointed it out. I don't speak standard Japanese any more? This is not good! What am I going to do?" He's still laughing.
"Look," he says, "It is funny. Everyone knows you're working up there. It's natural you'd..." and he laughs all over again. "Sorry," he says. Is he crying? He's wiping the corner of his eye. Come on. It's not that funny. "Sorry," he says again, trying to sound normal. Then it hits me.
"You know," I start. "It's true." I tell him the following story.
"I was out to dinner with a bunch of guys from Ofunato, and they asked me what I wanted to eat. So I said, 'I'll start with sashimi,' at which point they all laughed." Alpha Male is laughing again. I know why.
"I said to them, 'What?' and they said, 'You've gone native,' and I was totally confused. I asked what they meant and they said, 'That's how we'd say it in Tohoku.'" I continued to explain to Alpha Male how they'd corrected my Japanese, giving me instructions on how people in Tokyo would say "I'll start with sashimi" and while I knew the difference, I had no idea the way I said it was Tohoku-style. "So, it's true. Evidently, I now have enough of a Tohoku dialect that I don't even know I'm using it." I ponder this for a moment. Is this a problem? Evidently guessing what I was thinking, Alpha Male says, "That's a good thing."
"Is it?"
"Sure. It means you really have gone native."
"But, when I'm in Tokyo..."
"No, we get it. I'll bet I'm not the only one who thinks it's..." and here he stops. Is he looking for the right word? Is he about to say, "...who thinks it's cute"?
"It's not cute," I finish his thought for him, guessing.
"Yeah. It is. It's good."
So, the consensus is, or so I assume, it's okay for me to speak this way. I'm not sure I believe this, and I'm certainly not sure I like it, but I decide to accept the inevitable; I now have gone native and it's taken as a good thing.
I sure hope it is.
Which is why the word "consequences" is so appropriate. Somewhere in the conversation with Alpha Male I evidently said, "Why's that?" It came out naturally. It went downhill from there. Sort of.
"What did you say?" He's driving so he doesn't look at me.
"I said, 'Why's that?' Why?"
"Say that again?" He's smirking. Instantly, I'm annoyed. What? I'm not enunciating?
"I said..." and before I can finish, he says "'Why's that?' Right?' You think you said, 'Why's that?' Right?"
I'm not amused. What is this? I think I said? I know what I said. I said....
And then it hits me. Ohhhhh. I did it. It happened. I spoke using the Tohoku dialect. I did say "Why's that?" but I said it Tohoku-style. No one outside of Tohoku would ever say it that way. It actually doesn't even make grammatical sense. It's not technically Japanese, except that it is for those in Tohoku. Crap. Crap, crap, crap. I look over at him about to concede, confessing this country-bumpkin dialect has now crept into my vocabulary when I see he's trying ever so hard not to laugh out loud. I decide right there not to concede. It is funny. Yes. But, far be it from me to let him have any fun at my expense, I get defensive. Except, I don't know what to say. No quick retorts today.
"What?" he says. I still say nothing.
"Oh, come on." I'm still silent. I've honestly got nothing.
"Are you mad?" and now he's not actually asking but more insinuating I'm being unreasonable, albeit possibly, could it be? Does he think I'm being cute?
"I'm not mad," and now I'm the one trying to keep a straight face.
"You're pouting." He laughs, guffaws actually, and I'm afraid we're going to crash.
"Watch out!" Instantly my hand shoots straight out hitting the glove box, propping myself as if I'll be safe if this way.
"Sorry." He swerves, avoiding a moped.
We're silent again, both still half-smirking, half-smirk-hiding.
"You gotta admit, it's pretty funny," I hear.
Instead of defending myself, possibly even complimenting myself for being able to sound like a true Tohokuite I say, "It just popped out! What am I going to do? Honestly? I can't even tell when I'm using the Tohoku dialect? It's that natural now? Oh no.....Who else have I said this around?" It's funny. I get it. Except, it's not. Alpha Male is laughing again.
"I think it's a good sign."
"Good sign?" Indignant, I fly off the handle.
"Good sign? It just popped out! Seriously! I didn't even know I said it until you pointed it out. I don't speak standard Japanese any more? This is not good! What am I going to do?" He's still laughing.
"Look," he says, "It is funny. Everyone knows you're working up there. It's natural you'd..." and he laughs all over again. "Sorry," he says. Is he crying? He's wiping the corner of his eye. Come on. It's not that funny. "Sorry," he says again, trying to sound normal. Then it hits me.
"You know," I start. "It's true." I tell him the following story.
"I was out to dinner with a bunch of guys from Ofunato, and they asked me what I wanted to eat. So I said, 'I'll start with sashimi,' at which point they all laughed." Alpha Male is laughing again. I know why.
"I said to them, 'What?' and they said, 'You've gone native,' and I was totally confused. I asked what they meant and they said, 'That's how we'd say it in Tohoku.'" I continued to explain to Alpha Male how they'd corrected my Japanese, giving me instructions on how people in Tokyo would say "I'll start with sashimi" and while I knew the difference, I had no idea the way I said it was Tohoku-style. "So, it's true. Evidently, I now have enough of a Tohoku dialect that I don't even know I'm using it." I ponder this for a moment. Is this a problem? Evidently guessing what I was thinking, Alpha Male says, "That's a good thing."
"Is it?"
"Sure. It means you really have gone native."
"But, when I'm in Tokyo..."
"No, we get it. I'll bet I'm not the only one who thinks it's..." and here he stops. Is he looking for the right word? Is he about to say, "...who thinks it's cute"?
"It's not cute," I finish his thought for him, guessing.
"Yeah. It is. It's good."
So, the consensus is, or so I assume, it's okay for me to speak this way. I'm not sure I believe this, and I'm certainly not sure I like it, but I decide to accept the inevitable; I now have gone native and it's taken as a good thing.
I sure hope it is.
Monday, November 5, 2012
Rude, Stupid, and Clueless: Those Who Get It and Those Who Don't
On the eve of another US Presidential election, I sit in Japan (not eve here) and wonder what's going to happen over the next several days. Often struck by how angry my friends are at those who disagree with them, violently at times, absolutely sure they are right in their opinions and thoughts and beliefs, the election and whatever the outcome will be......it all feels like a lose-lose situation. How much more divided can the US be? The polls are split at 49% for each candidate. Will we know for sure in 48 hours, or will there be another recount, postponing the inevitable for another several weeks? I dread this. It's depressing.
At which point I tell myself "at least I get to vote." I may be voting for the "one I dislike less" but I still get to vote. Those in Japan do not. That's just the beginning of the list of countries where ordinary citizens do not get to cast a ballot for their leader. I would not handle that well, especially considering there have been rumors, promises, and challenges surrounding the current Japanese Prime Minister and his Cabinet. As in, they're out by the end of the year. I would want a say in picking someone, in the hopes they'd stay longer than eighteen months. I'll stop there, as anything else I write will be cruel.
The gap between people with such strong opposing viewpoints--this seems to be a real trend. Or, perhaps I'm just seeing more of it, having been thrust into the middle as of late. With both sides convinced, truly convinced they're right, often I find there's no point in continuing the discussion. If I don't agree with them, I'm simply wrong. The opposite is true as well. That's the part we don't often admit. We judge others who disagree with us just as harshly as they do us, except when they don't agree with us we tend to think they're small-minded and stupid (which we mostly don't say out loud), and when we don't agree with them we're just wrong.
Apply this to what's going on in Tohoku, and very possibly in the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy. (Or, any natural disaster for that matter.) There's a word tossed around Japan that outlines the gap between those affected and those far removed. The literal translation is "temperature difference." The distance between those who get it (from the Tohoku locals' perspective) and those who don't is, simply put, a major problem. Everyday I hear a new story about someone who says or does something unbelievable. Locals shake their heads saying, "If you're not here, you simply don't get it" meaning they're not fond of, nor do they appreciate those in Kasumigaseki (Japan politics central located in Tokyo) who create policy and have yet to come to Tohoku, all while formulating plans and solutions in their heads with no practical knowledge. I point out there are plenty "here" who don't get it either. Here are examples of both.
Federal funds allocated to Tohoku relief are used for impish projects. The latest is money sent to fix a highway in Okinawa. That, for those unfamiliar with Japanese geography, is as far as you can get from Tohoku. The press had a field day with the "injustice." As they should.
Then there are the locals who move forward, getting things done, getting publicity for doing so who are criticized in ways that hit below the belt. Just recently, the wife of a prominent and active Ofunato man received criticism for accepting a donation of vitamins from a friend for her brother recently diagnosed with a grave illness. "If multivitamins work then you don't need hospitals. What's the point of him getting treatment? And, how are you special enough to get a donation of vitamins?" This is helpful how? That it was said on Twitter (can't say it to your face?) makes it all the worse.
In the end, we're all mean to each other. This temperature difference, those who say things that really shouldn't be said and those who just think things that shouldn't be said, those who truly believe they're right and look upon others who don't agree with them with a "how stupid are you?" look and attitude...this scares me.
There are plenty of times in history where we did some pretty horrific things to each other because we were so convinced we were right. Careful, people. Be nice. Whoever becomes the next US President, and whoever says cruel things to you, careful how you respond. Someone has to take the high road, and the more of us who can and do the better.
At which point I tell myself "at least I get to vote." I may be voting for the "one I dislike less" but I still get to vote. Those in Japan do not. That's just the beginning of the list of countries where ordinary citizens do not get to cast a ballot for their leader. I would not handle that well, especially considering there have been rumors, promises, and challenges surrounding the current Japanese Prime Minister and his Cabinet. As in, they're out by the end of the year. I would want a say in picking someone, in the hopes they'd stay longer than eighteen months. I'll stop there, as anything else I write will be cruel.
The gap between people with such strong opposing viewpoints--this seems to be a real trend. Or, perhaps I'm just seeing more of it, having been thrust into the middle as of late. With both sides convinced, truly convinced they're right, often I find there's no point in continuing the discussion. If I don't agree with them, I'm simply wrong. The opposite is true as well. That's the part we don't often admit. We judge others who disagree with us just as harshly as they do us, except when they don't agree with us we tend to think they're small-minded and stupid (which we mostly don't say out loud), and when we don't agree with them we're just wrong.
Apply this to what's going on in Tohoku, and very possibly in the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy. (Or, any natural disaster for that matter.) There's a word tossed around Japan that outlines the gap between those affected and those far removed. The literal translation is "temperature difference." The distance between those who get it (from the Tohoku locals' perspective) and those who don't is, simply put, a major problem. Everyday I hear a new story about someone who says or does something unbelievable. Locals shake their heads saying, "If you're not here, you simply don't get it" meaning they're not fond of, nor do they appreciate those in Kasumigaseki (Japan politics central located in Tokyo) who create policy and have yet to come to Tohoku, all while formulating plans and solutions in their heads with no practical knowledge. I point out there are plenty "here" who don't get it either. Here are examples of both.
Federal funds allocated to Tohoku relief are used for impish projects. The latest is money sent to fix a highway in Okinawa. That, for those unfamiliar with Japanese geography, is as far as you can get from Tohoku. The press had a field day with the "injustice." As they should.
Then there are the locals who move forward, getting things done, getting publicity for doing so who are criticized in ways that hit below the belt. Just recently, the wife of a prominent and active Ofunato man received criticism for accepting a donation of vitamins from a friend for her brother recently diagnosed with a grave illness. "If multivitamins work then you don't need hospitals. What's the point of him getting treatment? And, how are you special enough to get a donation of vitamins?" This is helpful how? That it was said on Twitter (can't say it to your face?) makes it all the worse.
In the end, we're all mean to each other. This temperature difference, those who say things that really shouldn't be said and those who just think things that shouldn't be said, those who truly believe they're right and look upon others who don't agree with them with a "how stupid are you?" look and attitude...this scares me.
There are plenty of times in history where we did some pretty horrific things to each other because we were so convinced we were right. Careful, people. Be nice. Whoever becomes the next US President, and whoever says cruel things to you, careful how you respond. Someone has to take the high road, and the more of us who can and do the better.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
The Ultimate Telling Off
The 2012 Best Television Commercial Award in Japan went to Toyota and the series of ads they created for the Prius. Here again is one of these "I can't make this up" stories. Look up on YouTube "Toyota Prius CM" and "Kimura Takuya" or "Beat Takeshi." The commercials are called "Toyota ReBorn" numbering quite a few. Try to start at the beginning. Here's the storyline.
Oda Nobunaga and Toyotomi Hideyoshi, two lords notorious for betrayal, rivalry and war in Japanese history meet in modern-day Japan as Kimura Takuya and Beat Takeshi, two major and current celebrities. Kimura and Beat go on a road trip, with Beat giving the younger Kimura instructions. "Take the highway up north," and several commercials later they end up in Tohoku, Ishinomaki to be exact. Along the way they pick up Matsuko Deluxe, an popular and obese transvestite who's seen hitchhiking in a flowing black gown (looking very much like the grim reaper to me) who ends up being the wife or mistress of one of the two men. (I've forgotten enough of my Japanese history that I don't understand the historical significance of this woman. Google "Oichi-no-Kata" for more details.)
Once in Ishinomaki, they visit what used to be an evacuation shelter (now boarded up). While there, Beat says to Kimura, "Let's go to the ocean." What comes next is the best, most honest telling off--of the ocean. Beat screams, face twitching, the ultimate Japanese version of "F*** you." Technically, yelling "Bakayaro!" at the ocean that destroyed Ishinomaki and countless other cities and towns along the coast, he's calling the ocean stupid. Anyone who knows this man, however, knows he doesn't just say "stupid." His language is much more coarse. Not known for being nice or polite, Beat is absolutely, most definitely saying anything akin to just "stupid." In this one word, he does what we've all wanted to do since March 11th. The commercials are strong, powerful, and painful all at the same time. They deserve the award. If I were creating these commercials, I might have added Bolero as the soundtrack, but that's just me.
The commercials are worth watching. I applaud Toyota's audacity, their ability to take a subject not the least bit funny, taking two men admired and loved and turning a hybrid car into the medium by which to tell a story, express anger, and remind people to care. Watch it. Laugh and cry. Care.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=afzj_J8MizM
Oda Nobunaga and Toyotomi Hideyoshi, two lords notorious for betrayal, rivalry and war in Japanese history meet in modern-day Japan as Kimura Takuya and Beat Takeshi, two major and current celebrities. Kimura and Beat go on a road trip, with Beat giving the younger Kimura instructions. "Take the highway up north," and several commercials later they end up in Tohoku, Ishinomaki to be exact. Along the way they pick up Matsuko Deluxe, an popular and obese transvestite who's seen hitchhiking in a flowing black gown (looking very much like the grim reaper to me) who ends up being the wife or mistress of one of the two men. (I've forgotten enough of my Japanese history that I don't understand the historical significance of this woman. Google "Oichi-no-Kata" for more details.)
Once in Ishinomaki, they visit what used to be an evacuation shelter (now boarded up). While there, Beat says to Kimura, "Let's go to the ocean." What comes next is the best, most honest telling off--of the ocean. Beat screams, face twitching, the ultimate Japanese version of "F*** you." Technically, yelling "Bakayaro!" at the ocean that destroyed Ishinomaki and countless other cities and towns along the coast, he's calling the ocean stupid. Anyone who knows this man, however, knows he doesn't just say "stupid." His language is much more coarse. Not known for being nice or polite, Beat is absolutely, most definitely saying anything akin to just "stupid." In this one word, he does what we've all wanted to do since March 11th. The commercials are strong, powerful, and painful all at the same time. They deserve the award. If I were creating these commercials, I might have added Bolero as the soundtrack, but that's just me.
The commercials are worth watching. I applaud Toyota's audacity, their ability to take a subject not the least bit funny, taking two men admired and loved and turning a hybrid car into the medium by which to tell a story, express anger, and remind people to care. Watch it. Laugh and cry. Care.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=afzj_J8MizM
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