Two-dimensional marriage (in Japan): It's not what you think

I justify the nights in front of the television because it's simply too damn hot to be outside (true), and I need to stay current on Japanese pop culture (also true).  No, I don't have much to say about Japanese television that falls into the complimentary category.  I make no apologies.  I am, however, relatively up to date on what passes for hip and funny in Japan.  As I said, it's hot in Tokyo.  I'm finding myself in front of television often and for long periods of time.  All for current events and odd comedy.

Which is where I saw it.  A Japanese man dresses in a high school girl's uniform on Sundays and walks the street of Harajuku.  Bald except for his long, flowing white hair complimented by a similar long and flowing white beard (tied with ribbons, no less) he's hard to miss.  Or so the reporter says.

He's quite a sight.  What makes him newsworthy is the legend (of the urban type) people who have their photo taken with this man dressed as a teenage girl receive good luck.  This middle-aged man in cosplay drag is a lucky charm?  Japanese youth swear by him.

Hence his appearance on Japanese television.  This is where it gets interesting because, let's face it, the story up to this point isn't sufficiently ridiculous.  He's asked a series of questions.

"Are you a cross-dresser?"
"Are you doing this to express something in yourself?"
"Would you consider yourself shy?"

Yes, yes, and yes.

Except for the last one.  He says he used to be shy but through this outfit can release his true self.  It is at this point he releases the zinger.  Asked about his wedding ring he shares the fact he married at 27 and divorced at 28.  This was his shy phase.  Is he married?  He smiles.  Yes.  He's in a two-dimensional marriage.

The comedians surrounding him on this particular show are confused.  No one comes out and asks, so he volunteers.  This ring is to signify his marriage to an anime character.  A famous cartoon girl whom I don't recognize but the comedians seem to know.  There's a mixture of gasps and laughter and confusion as to how one goes about marrying an anime character but this is the point I stop listening.  There are limits to my desire to follow trivia and this man crossed a line.

It must be an age thing.  I don't get this marriage-to-a-cartoon-character phenomenon.  How does this work?  Aside from the obvious, of course.  What are the rules and who defines them?  Your partner lives in your laptop and smart phone.  Seriously.  How does this work?

Should we be concerned?  Did people in the 1800s "marry" characters in literature?  Perhaps this isn't new and I'm clueless on romantic fiction?   

This is what I get (evidently) when I hole up indoors and refuse to venture out into the heat.  Now I don't know what to do.

The Downside of Cute Japan: When Mascots Fail

Cute Japan has long ago taken the world by storm.  Japanese girls dressed like dolls are kawaii.  Cosmetic surgery creates bigger eyes.  Hair is poofed up tied with big ribbons (if you're a girl).  Hello Kitty is now 30 years old?  Do people even know that?

Anime, Japanese manga (cartoons) has can also be seen, bought, and read in many corners of the world.  Except for the smut that is child pornography in manga form, I don't have a problem with this side of Japan.  You want cute?  It's here in many shapes, forms, and sizes.

On my mind of late is the subject of mascots.  There's a bit of a boom of these giant creatures.  Prefectures have their own mascots as do companies, agencies, government organizations.  For the most part these are seriously loved by the Japanese.  For the most part, these seriously confuse foreigners.

When I saw Alpha Male (my favorite Japanese man in Japan) awhile back I noticed something hanging from his cell phone.
"What is that?" I say, pointing to a red...dog?  Bear?  Except for the big bulb of black on its nose the rest of this thing is red.  Today on the subway I saw a giant doll of this red thing hanging off a violin case.  What is this?  Why do people have this thing?
"It's a mascot," Alpha Male says.
"Huh," I say.
"What?"  He's annoyed.
"Nothing," I say.  Then, "I guess I don't get it."

I used to interpret for cops who would visit Tokyo to visit their Japanese counterparts.  Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department has a mascot.  Again, it can only be described as a thing.  I think it might actually be a mouse or a rat crossed with an alien but I'm not at all sure.  Pee-Po as the mascot is called, shows up on the business cards of all TMPD officers, detectives, and officials.  Pee-Po is on signs and brochures and billboards outside police stations.  Pee-Po has a family:  mommy rat, baby rat, grandma rat, brother and sister rat.  American cops I worked with mocked Pee-Po and Tokyo cops that had a rat for a mascot.  "Imagine NYPD officers having a cartoon pigeon on their cards," one cop said to me.  "They'd be the laughing stock of cops everywhere."  I just smiled.  Here again is cute Japan.  To each their own.  If Japanese cops need a mascot to make themselves more likeable then so be it.  Sort of.

I draw the line at Fukuppy.  Fukushima tried to offer up Fukuppy as their mascot in October, 2013.  Fukuppy has since disappeared having been made fun of online by those who saw the name as mock-worthy.  On this, I stand with the mockers.  Really?  No one checked?  Fukuppy?

Not having the answer on why these mascots are as popular as they are I go back to Hello Kitty.  These mascots are giant versions of Hello Kitty.  If Hello Kitty can survive and make her way around the world for thirty years then perhaps there's some wisdom in having ambiguous creatures represent a prefecture.  Or cops.  Then again, I think one needs to be Japanese to appreciate this side of cute Japan.  Too many foreigners have said to me after looking at these things, "I guess I don't get it."  Yours truly included.

Random musings on things.

The honesty of children

The volunteer organization I first came to Iwate has come and gone.  They insert themselves into disaster zones, clean things up, and then leave.  I'm told over 1,000 volunteers, many of them foreigners, came to this area and did their thing.

"We've only seen foreigners in movies," one grandmother told me back in the spring.  "It's kind of strange to see you in person.  You're actually real."
"We are," I said, and tried very hard not to grin at the fact there are still those who think foreigners are some strange group of people that only show up on television.

The sense of "you're not quite real" is still present.  I stayed last night at a facility that hosts volunteers, foreign and domestic.  As I walked down the long hallway and passed an elderly man, I said hello.
"Hello," he says, and then looks at me long and hard.
"You're not from here."
"No, I'm not."
"Huh."  Evidently, we're still a bit of an oddity here.

My primary goal for this trip is to hang out with kids.  The sentiment held by some that while it's quite alright and appreciated for all these foreigners to have come in and dug out ditches, that they've now gone has left people feeling empty.

"It's a wrap," one volunteer wrote on Facebook.  No, it's not.  It's a wrap for you, but it's most definitely not a wrap for those left behind whose lives have changed in ways they still have difficulty articulating.

I was asked if I would be willing to continue the foreign exposure, focusing my time on being around children.
"Of course!"
"Really?" a principal of a local day care center asks.
"Really.  Use me.  That's what I'm here for."  Today was the first day I was "used."

We counted to ten.  We sang 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star', we practiced "hello" and "good-bye" and "how are you?" and "see you soon."  I was then shuttled off to the class of five-year olds and was asked to go into more detail.  I held up a large colorful card of a cartoon renkon (a root) and told them "kids your age don't eat renkon in America."  I look down at the kids and see looks of shock and awe.
"Why?  Renkon is so good!" One boy says.

I hold up colored origami paper.  We're going to practice our colors.
"What color is this?" I say as I show them a sheet of red.
"Red!"  Several kids say in English, while others call out the word for red in Japanese.  We practice saying "red" in English and more boys pipe up and start talking about their favorite anime characters who are dressed in red.  I hold up pink, orange, yellow, green, black, white, and blue.  All the kids know the English words for these colors.  I'm impressed.
"What about siruba?" another boy raises his hand and immediately starts talking about his favorite anime character who is evidently silver.  I look for something silver in the room.  Finding it, I point and ask "What color is this?" to which the group of 20+ kids all scream out, "Siruba!"
"Yes!  Silver!"  I then point to something gold.  "What about this?"
"Gorudo!"
"Good!  Gold."  I'm impressed.  Thank god for anime!
In my twisted and perverse need to stump five-year olds I look for a color they won't know.  Finding one and feeling slightly triumphant in advance, I point to a boy's sweatshirt and ask, "What color is this?"  The room falls silent.  That was mean.  Really, woman.  That was not necessary.
"Oh, I know this," one girl says.
"Really?  Think.  Try.  Do you remember?"
"It starts with pa," she says and starts silently mouthing something I can't hear.  I start to say "purple" and mouth it to her, at which point she jumps in her seat, her hand shooting up and not-quite screams, "papuru!"  So much pride in that little body of hers.  It's oozing.
"Right!  Purple!  Good girl."  I smile down at her and she beams back at me.  Success.

I'm invited to share their lunch.  I'm given an adult-sized tray full of food after being asked several times if there are things I can't eat.
"I'm okay," I say and secretly hope they don't serve fried eggs or natto.  I chance it.
It takes the class of 20+ kids and three teachers another 15 minutes to serve everyone.  I'm famished.  I skipped breakfast to get her on time, and the food in front of me has me wondering when we're eating.  I pick up my chop sticks and stick one slice of carrot in my mouth.  I try to sneak it but am caught.  Totally and completely caught red-handed.
"She ate!" the girl next to me says, pointing, and I'm busted.
"Sorry....." I say and try to change the topic.  Not a chance.
"She did!  She ate!" the boy across from me now announces to the rest of the class.  Evidently this faux pas was a lot more of an issue than I thought.
"I promise I won't eat again." I bow to the five-year olds I just tried to teach colors to.  They seem satisfied and we're silent for awhile.

Four kids in chef's hats and white smocks line up at the front of the class and lead the class in what seems a very elaborate ritual of before-we-partake-of-our-food sing-song chant.  I say the right things when I'm supposed to (making it up as I go along, sort of) and am finally allowed to eat.
"You had to wait for that," the girl next to me whispers.
"Okay," I whisper back.

So begins the first of many trips to Ofunato to hang with kids.  I will learn to mind my manners.  I'm sure I will continue to be impressed at how much energy they have, the English they already know, and their ability to call me out when I step out of line.  It's most definitely not a wrap.  There's much to do.