Okay, settle down here, because this will be a long post–not necessarily in words, but in inches (or centimeters, as the case may be. A friend recently taught me how to make gyoza (sometimes spelled ‘gyouza’), often called ‘potstickers’ in English. They are essentially a vegetable mix, with meat optional, encased in a small dough wrapping and steamed or fried before serving. I like gyoza, but the ones I get at stores tend to be far less than satisfying–but I found that I really like the homemade ones. The ones I’m showing today are made with chicken. Please note that the amounts of ingredients are approximate–they can easily be increased or decreased to suit your taste. Keep in mind I am no cook, nor a cookbook writer, so this could be a bit messy! Here is the basic setup for cooking:

1/2 head of cabbage or less (you won’t use it all by a long shot, but usually you can’t buy less)
1/2 onion
part of a clove of garlic (use however much you prefer)
one bunch “nira” (leeks)
one bunch “negi” (umm… also leeks, but a different kind. I like the thin type, shown above)
1 to 3 packages large gyoza wrappings (depends how many you plan to cook now)
Sesame oil (“gomayu”)
Seasonings (I use salt and pimenton)
Ground chicken meat (around 250 grams, or half a pound, roughly)

You’ll also need a little flour with water, a largish mixing bowl, a long, sharp knife, a regular spoon, and a frying pan with a cover. Keep in mind that these are just the suggested portions. You can change the amount of any ingredient to your taste, and even add or subtract filling ingredients.

First, slice some cabbage, perhaps three or so quarter-inch thick slices from the middle of the head. Discard any bulky pieces too close to the stem, then start chopping, until you’ve reduced it to tiny pieces. The amount you’ve chopped should amount to about a cup, slightly packed. When finished, throw them into the mixing bowl.

Next, take half an onion (just a regular white onion), and chop it into similarly small pieces. Then throw those into the bowl, too.

   
Then chop the leeks, not just slicing the bits off, but chopping those into finer bits as well. Each type should produce about a quarter of a cup. Into the mixing bowl they go.

Take whatever amount of garlic, if any, that you prefer–I took three lobes, or whatever you call them–and grate/crush them. Add this to the mixing bowl as well.

This is what you should have by now.

Now, for the meat, I like to use ground chicken. Ground beef was way too dry; ground pork was OK, but chicken makes the gyoza much juicier, in my humble gourmet opinion. I use the fattier ground chicken, in fact.

Update: At this point, you may want to add cheese. I have found that shredded cheese, added to taste, can make the gyoza even more tasty. I use mozzarella, grated, about half a cup.

After the chicken is added, top it off with the seasonings you prefer. Salt and pepper are safe bets. I use pimenton (smoked Spanish pepper spice) because, well, I use it on everything. So on it goes.

   
Finally, pour on some sesame oil. Don’t be stingy, but don’t create a flood, either. Maybe 1/4 cup or so will do, though I’m just estimating here. And then–eeewwwwwww!!–go in with both hands and squish, squash, and knead all of it together until it is well-mixed. Then go wash your hands, for god’s sake!

OK, here are the shells to use. They come in different sizes and thicknesses. I always go for the large ones, partially because I like big gyoza, but also because the smaller ones create a lot more work–you have to make more, and as you’ll see, the shell crimping can be time-consuming. I have no preference between the thick and thin types. Here I am using the thin ones. You can usually find them in your (Japanese) supermarket near the ground meats; if not, ask. The ones I use come in packages of 20.

Have the gyoza filling mix in the mixing bowl handy, as well as an empty plate to put the finished gyoza. Get a small dish or saucer, and put a small amount of flour (a teaspoon, perhaps, no more) onto it, then add a little water; mix some flour into the water until it becomes milky, but not very thick. Open the gyoza shell package, and take out some of the round shells; we’re gonna wrap some potstickers!

Here comes the difficult part of the recipe; it may take you several attempts to get decent at it, so be patient. First, take a shell into the palm of one hand, and then spoon out some gyoza filling into its center; see the photo above for the amount. Less than a spoonful to be certain–for the first few, less is better than more (when you close the shell, a few steps later, there should be maybe a third or half an inch of border around the filled center). There’s lots of filling here, so go ahead and waste a few if needed.

Next, dip the tip of your finger into the flour-water, and apply this to the border of half the gyoza shell (the same side the filling is on), so as to mark out a semi-circle. Only spread enough with your finger to cover the surface of the edge and make it sticky; it should not run wet. This acts like a glue, and is to get the shell to stay closed. In the photo above, I have set the shell on the cutting board only because I needed a hand free to snap the photo; usually, I wet the edges while holding the shell in my other hand.

Next can be the trickiest part:

You’re going to have to close the shell, but not just in a smooth, straightforward manner. You will have to crimp one side of the border, making creases along the way. Different people have different techniques for this. My way is to bring the two halves of the shell together and close them just at the center point, leaving the sides temporarily open. Then, working from the top/center, I take some slack from the far side of the shell (as you see in the above illustration, I start on the right side), creating the crease–then pressing down hard to seal them together. I do this twice on the right, and twice on the left, for four creases; you do what suits you.

The finished product should look something like this:

Note the creases in the shell are only on the one side (call it the “top” now), and the other side should be flat. Note also that the filling should not come close to the edge, with a 1/3 or 1/2 of an inch border.

Continue dalloping, gluing, folding, crimping and pressing, until you have the desired number of gyoza. Usually 12 or so are enough for someone with a good appetite; Hiromi, my friend Ken and I found that 40 gyoza serve three people quite nicely, along with a salad and drinks. The amount of filling that this recipe generates is enough for 40 gyoza, possibly 45 (or even 50 if you use less filling in each). If there is filling left over after you finish (as I had tonight), then drop it into a ziploc and refrigerate it; more gyoza for tomorrow!

In the end, your plate might look like this:

I made 14 here, just for myself (me, hungry).

Now, prepare the frying pan by pouring a small amount of oil (olive oil would be great here) into the pan, then spread it around with a square of paper towel; there should be enough to slightly ‘wet’ all the gyoza as you place them down. Do not pour so much that the whole pan bottom is covered; to the contrary, keep it very light, so that all the oil can be absorbed easily into the gyoza.

Next, place the gyoza into the pan; up to twenty should fit at a time. Don’t worry if they touch. Fry the gyoza at low heat without a cover, until the bottom of the gyoza are brown; then raise the heat a touch for a moment. Then, with the pan cover in one hand, take a cup of water in the other and pour it into the frying pan, then quickly cover the top as the water turns to steam.

Keep the top on for five minutes at least, perhaps more, checking periodically; when the water has all but steamed off and there is just a bit of water and oil left in the pan, the gyoza may be done. If the water has gone but you think more cooking may be in order, add a bit more water and cover again.

When the gyoza are done, take the pan to your kitchen sink. Drain any excess water (there shouldn’t be any if you did it right), then uncover the pan, and put a dinner plate, upside-down, over the gyoza. Holding the plate with one hand, turn the pan over with the other, then remove the pan from atop; the gyoza should now be nicely placed on the plate.

Congratulations–you’ve got gyoza! Gyoza need a dipping sauce, so in a small saucer, pour some soy sauce, and then some sesame oil. I top that with (of course) a little pimenton. Serve the gyoza from the central plate, allowing everyone to take from it and dip in their saucer.

Anyone who’s lived in Japan even for a short while is aware of the over-wrapping that sometimes occurs at Japanese stores. Once, at a food shop in the basement of a department store in Futago-Tamagawa, I bought an item of food that was already in a wrapper, This item was wrapped in paper, then placed into a baggie, and that was put into a shopping bag–or it would have been, if I hadn’t stopped the farce right there, then took the item from the baggie and walked off. I didn’t return the wrapping paper because I knew they’d just throw it out anyway (which they likely did for the baggie).

McDonald’s does a similar thing. You get one of the lunch sets, and they put the hamburger (wrapped) into a bag with the fries, and then the drink gets its own bag, and then those two are put into a large plastic bag. I always have to remind them, sometimes more than once, to forget the plastic bag, and even the paper bags–if I get nuggets, for example, I just carry the damned box and slip the sauce into my pocket. But I get the feeling that I’m the only one who does that.

Today, I went to the supermarket, armed with my backpack as usual. I don’t always refuse their bags, though–it’s like getting free trash bags, really, and saves having to buy them. But it’s more convenient to use the backpack, anyway (who likes the plastic bag handles cutting into you hands?).

But when you buy dishes, like I did today, you get more wrapping fever. I bought four mid-sized plates tonight, and at the checkout stand, the guy started to individually wrap each one in pieces of paper way to big–and it was clear he was going to put all of them into a paper bag to boot.

So I stopped him before he could tape up the first one; I unwrapped it part-way, still leaving the plate covered top and bottom. I put plate #2 on top and then covered that with the remaining paper, then put the other plates on top and bottom of that.

“There,” I told him. “That’ll do fine.”

He smiled, nodded, and said, “Thanks, and sorry, the store makes me do that.”

The dishes survived the trip quite well.

I used to preside over graduation at our college, when I served as coordinator for some five years (translate “coordinator” as “dean,” but without a Ph.D.), handing out the diplomas, making the speeches. You probably never imagined yourself doing that kind of thing, but then there you are. I came back to full-time teaching because teaching has always been my desire, and the administrative grind just really wears you out. But graduation was always fun. So now I just watch with the rest of the faculty.

…and there’s good food, too!

–photo from AP

Quite the scene in the Upper House of the Japanese parliament last Friday. The scuffle was set off when the majority party decided to send Japanese troops into Iraq, a live-fire region. The protesting lawmakers hold that this violates the pacifist Japanese constitution. Now if only we could get this kind of action in the Senate in Washington, D.C.

Soon after I first came to live and work in Japan, I ran into an interesting social and linguistic difference between Japan and my native country: the ability to say “no.”

It was when I visited a store to purchase a large item, and I wanted to see if they could deliver it to my apartment. I asked the clerk, in Japanese, if they could do that. The clerk gave me a bit of a puzzled expression, you know, the neck-tilting head-scratching gesture, and said, “Mmmm, muzukashii ne.” “It’d be difficult.”

So of course, I ask him, “but is it possible?”

“Hehhhh… sa, hmmmm, muzukashii.”

“Yes, I know it might be difficult. But can you do it?”

“Ano ne, … aahhhh … ya, Muzukashii.”

It took several of these exchanges for me to realize that the clerk was not trying to be obstinate, but rather was simply, out of reflex, trying to avoid saying the word “no.” Neither of us could break through this wall, and so we had the rather amusing feedback loop. Just so when you hear someone in a service position telling you that it will be “difficult” to do something, you’ll know what it means.

Finally!

This has been one of the longest rainy seasons for quite some time, and good riddance now that it’s over. Yesterday, we got patchy sunshine here in Tokyo, and today, we have nice, sunny weather.

For foreigners living in Japan, visiting the doctor or the dentist can be a stressful experience. Frankly, the quality of medical services seems substandard, especially for such an advanced nation. This is not all due to the insurance system–the fact is, many doctors, and especially dentists, seem to lack sufficient training, or are far too overworked, or perhaps just don’t really care too much about what level of service they provide.

A dentist I visited in my neighborhood is a prime example. I went to that office simply because it was close and convenient. Boy, do I regret that. I lost my second molar on my lower left side, and had to get a bridge because I was not discerning enough. I had gone to that office for minor treatment before and things went fine enough, so when I needed more important work done, I trusted them. But the doctor screwed up, and how. He was supposed to just replace a crown. While removing the prior dental work, he exerted a startling amount of force on the tooth, pushing, pulling, yanking and so forth; but I took it in stride, trusting he knew what he was doing. Some doctors and dentists will do that kind of thing, in my experience. Then he told me to come back after the weekend for the second visit, and gave me a temporary crown, and warned me not to bite down on that tooth.

Over that weekend, I took extreme care to not exert pressure on the tooth. I say this not in pride but in admission to being somewhat neurotic about such things. I chewed only on my right side, and would stop whenever any food migrated to the left side. I did not touch that tooth with anything. But when I visited the dentist on Monday, he told me that the tooth was broken, and scolded me for biting with it. I was rather upset, considering (a) the care I had taken with it, and (b) the violence he had exerted on it the previous Friday. But there was nothing to do about it–he showed me with a mirror, and lo, the tooth was split. I had no choice but to let him yank it.

He asked me when I would make an appointment for him to make a bridge to cover the tooth. I gave him a look, left, and never went back. I got the bridge at a different, reputable dentist (one who speaks English well, by the way).

Dentists in Japan have a bad rep with most foreigners for reasons more than just this. I hardly know anyone who doesn’t have a bad-dentist story or two to tell. An Australian woman I worked with in the countryside told me of a dentist who filled a cavity so badly, the filling actually fell out, and she had to come back to get it refilled. When we visited a restaurant later that week, the proprietor, who enjoyed chatting with customers, sat down at our table and told us the story of a dentist who had come in earlier and told a lamentable story. Apparently, he had done poor dental work on this Australian woman, and had told the restaurant owner that it was because during the first visit, he was so preoccupied looking down the woman’s shirt, he did not do a good job on her teeth. Predictably, my friend was not amused.

I had another nightmare experience of my own a few years back. I went to an office that I had visited during a previous stay in Japan, as it had dentists who spoke English and did a good job. It was a modern office in a Shinjuku high-rise. When I visited again later, however, the dentists were different and did not speak English well, but I decided to give them a try.

I should have been tipped off when the dentist, trying to explain what he would do to me, pointed at my ailing tooth and said loudly, “TOOTH… NERVE… DESTRUCTION!” Knowing the language difficulties many Japanese have, I again took it in stride. But this one, apparently, did not know how to anesthetize very well. Although I insisted to him that I could still feel in the tooth he was trying to do root canal on, he pooh-poohed my objections and carried on. A few moments later, I experienced pain like I had never experienced it before. It was so intense that I literally could not stop screaming for more than a minute. Luckily for them, I had a late appointment and no other patients were in the office. Naturally, I never went there again, either.

One of the more annoying (but far less painful) idiosyncrasies of dental work in Japan is the multiple-visit syndrome. This is also true for doctors sometimes, but dentists are renowned for it. Most patients who come in will have the Kokumin Hoken (National Health Insurance), which has a somewhat convoluted payment system. One way for medical practitioners to milk the insurance system is to require patients to make multiple visits; the more visits you make, the more money they can collect.

In the past, this has resulted in my having to visit the dentist a rather obscene number of times. Root canal, which can be dealt with in three or four visits maximum back home, takes as many as a dozen separate visits here in Japan. Once I just wanted to get my teeth cleaned, and they scheduled me for no less than four separate visits–one for each quadrant of my teeth.

Some sound advice: ask your dentist, in advance, how many visits the work will require. If they tell you it will take any more visits than are necessary (in your past experience), then leave and see another dentist.

But this is not limited to dentists. Recently I had a small bump on my finger and went to a recommended dermatologist in Shinjuku to have it taken care of. They did an excellent job in removing it, but the biopsy results they got back from the lab they used were less than conclusive. So I asked to get the biopsy sample, so I could take it to Keio Hospital, where I trusted their results on that kind of thing better. The dermatologist’s office called me and told me the biopsy sample was ready, so I went over to pick it up–and was annoyed to find that I would have to wait half an hour to see the doctor. I insisted that I was just picking up an envelope, I did not need to see the doctor–but they insisted. Fuming, I sat down and waited. As I expected, when my name was called, I went to the doctor’s office, and all he did was hand me the envelope. As I left, they stopped me, and told me to wait for the calculation of the bill. Well, that was a bit too much for me. It was clear that there was absolutely no reason for me to have waited, and all they were doing was trying to get a consultation fee out of me when no consultation was required–it was a package pickup, fer cryin’ out loud! It wouldn’t have costed me much–410 yen I think it was–but I was already indignant and refused. I told them that I got no medical treatment, and was made to wait for half an hour needlessly, and I was damned if I was going to pay them for that! The receptionist, probably aware that I had them to rights, let up and told me that they would let me go “this time.” Well, they’re not going to get away with it next time, either.

In case you were wondering, the dentist I use now is Dr. Nishibori, 1-30-8 Sendagaya, Shibuya-ku, phone number (03) 3403-8885 / 8886. They’re practically right across the street from Sendagaya Station on the Sobu Line, and they take National Insurance. I got a full checkup and a bridge made there, with only a few small blips; they seem like a good outfit. For example, when it came to doing some root canal work, they referred me to another dentist when they easily could have done it themselves; it was a slightly unusual job, though, and needed special care.

As you can see, I’ve been shopping again at the Tama Sakai Costco, near Hashimoto Station on the Yokohama and Keio Sagamihara lines.

This time much of it is fixings for a fireworks party next Sunday (if the rain will give us a break!). The fireworks display is nicely viewable out my dining room window; last year a half-dozen folks came for the party (though it was in October then).

Got some four-cheese ravioli (yum), walnuts (should be for cooking, but they’re great for snacking), limes, mints, Picante Sauce (like a thin salsa), some wine and liqueur, buns (for some polish dogs I got previously), and an apple pie (much better than the rather lame pecan pies they had a year ago, not surprisingly discontinued).

And you probably noticed the DVD player–region-free (you can play both U.S. and Japanese DVDs in it), and cheap–just about 10,000 yen.

The problem in that store is not buying stuff.

Getting it home can be problematic… They have delivery service, but it is based in Kanagawa and serves people in that prefecture best. It’s OK for really big hauls, but for ones like this–just bring your own bags, backpacks, and other goods for schlepping stuff around.

You might already know about it, but there is a chain of stores named “Don Quixote” which specialize in discount items. Not like Costco–you don’t buy in bulk, and the store is far from being a big warehouse. The shop might actually be large, but it is so crammed with stuff you might feel claustrophobic. The aisles are not regular, nor are they always straight. The stores look like they were designed by a pack rat–hardly any space to move, items crammed into every nook and cranny.

But that’s not a mistake–it’s a sales strategy. The stores are designed so you feel like there’s no end to the items there. Things are divided into ‘departments’ of a sort, but you will, by necessity, have to move through various areas before you get to where you want to go–and you’ll probably see some unexpected stuff you want to buy along the way.

If you want to locate a branch of the store near you, or see what they have on sale, you might want to check out their web site, which includes an English-language version.

Another language story: during the same homestay I mentioned in the Batman story, I was having lunch with my host mother and several of her friends–four middle-aged, kindly mothers living in a small, countryside town.

Upon finishing lunch, I wanted to say “onaka ga ippai,” or “my stomach is full,” a traditional statement indicating that the meal was enjoyable.

But I mistakenly transposed the initial vowels for the two main words in that sentence, and said “inaka ga oppai.” That roughly translates to “the countryside has breasts.”

Everyone started laughing aloud, and I had to ask someone to explain to me what I had said. At least I learned new vocabulary from it. I had never heard the word “inaka” (countryside) before.

Side note: my host mother had a pot holder in her kitchen that read “Joy Joy Cock.” (In Japanese, for some reason, the word “cook” is borrowed from English, but is pronounced closer to “cock” than “cook.” Why, I have no idea.)

Every five years, you have to renew your Alien Registration Card (aka Gaijin Card, or Gaikokujin Torokusho); I just got mine renewed today. (Image at left–sorry for all the distortion, too much personal info there.) For those of you not in the know, all non-Japanese are required to carry these gaijin cards at all times; if a policeman stops you and you don’t have it on you, then by rights he can take you in to the police station, where you must write a “gomen nasai” letter. You also have to get someone to bring in your gaijin card before you can go. If there is no one to bring your card in for you, you must give the police the keys to your place, and they will get it for you–unless they are kind enough to escort you home while you get your card out for them (happened to me once). Foreigners don’t get stopped just for being foreigners as much as we used to, but it still happens from time to time.

Another infamous point about these cards is the fingerprint. Now it is no longer required (it was done away with chiefly due to protests by the sizable Korean-Japanese community), but it was necessary until just a few years ago. A lot of people did not like this, not only because it made people feel like they were being treated like criminals, but also because the print was prominently displayed on the card. In an early attempt to appease card holders, they provided a plastic slip case with a Ministry of Justice logo positioned to cover the print. Rather lame, really…

They fixed a few other things over time, as well. One was the size of the thing–it used to be an actual booklet, many pages long, too big to fit into most wallets. A huge pain, that was…

After getting my new gaijin card, I left the shiyakusho (city hall) and saw a group of people dressed just like the illustration at right. These are the Japan Tobacco “Smokin’ Clean” clean-up team. Japan is getting better and better about smoking, but is still a relative smoker’s paradise. Many restaurants have no-smoking sections, but the smoking sections prevail, and are in nicer areas. Most workplaces, banks, rest areas and other public places are still smoking havens; the major exception is train platforms, which recently became entirely smoke-free.

The whole “Smokin’ Clean” campaign (when you hear it on television, it sounds like “Smo-kin’, CREEEN!”), aside from being a rather glaring oxymoron, is supposed to address the bad manners smokers are often famed for here, particularly littering. Japanese streets, of course, are far less tidy than is commonly believed overseas, and the major component of that street trash is from cigarettes. I long ago formed, tested and proved (well, to myself anyway) the theory that you could go to any place on any street in Japan at random, stop, and when you look around, see at least half a dozen cigarette butts laying there, often many more.

When you observe smokers here, it is not too surprising. Too often used to tossing butts on the street (and rarely even bothering to stomp them out), many seem to have gotten into the tossing habit. On more than one occasion, I have observed a smoker finishing a pack and approaching a vending machine to buy a new one–and instead of using the trash receptacle in or next to the machine, they crumple up and toss the empty pack on the street just a few feet away. Of course, this is nothing compared to the middle-aged businessman smoker, the guy who hawks loudly and spits disgustingly smack in the middle of the sidewalk or train station hallway. Yechh.

Seem like Japan Tobacco has a ways to go to reform the Japanese smoker….

This fellow is often seen standing by a pillar on the very busy basement-level area outside the West Exit of Shinjuku Station. A monk in traditional garb, holding a begging (alms) bowl, with the trademark monk’s hat (“Takuhatsu gasa”). Whenever someone drops some money into his bowl, he rings a bell.

The following text, from the Matsuyama Mokurai web site (a member of the Society for Creative Anachronism), describes this act in detail:

Despite attempting to be self-sufficient, most monasteries would practice alms rounds. Collecting alms was a symbolic act as well as a practical one and, thus, even if the monastery’s warehouse was full, the monks would go beg. … Monks might also stand silently on a street corner holding out their bowls for people to drop alms in. Sometimes ringing a small bell. This was typical of monks on pilgrimage. It is a practice you can still see today. Communication with lay people was usually limited. Monks kept their hats on and did not engage in conversation. Such interaction would cause the alms gift to become an act of favoritism. If kept anonymous, the begging is thus ennobling for both parties.

If you are interested in getting your hands on this kind of garb, or attire for various types of historical Japanese characters, go to this page of Shop Japan.

Old story time. It was my first trip to Japan, way back in ’83, and I was having a homestay in the countryside town of Iwata, in Shizuoka Prefecture (now the home of the Jubilo Iwata soccer team). After a month’s homestay, I was headed back to Tokyo for a week, and then home. My host father wanted to warn me of the dangers of the big city before I went. Well, compared to major U.S. cities, Tokyo is safe as houses, but to a countryside dweller in Japan, it’s a dangerous jungle.

So he sat me down, and as I could not speak Japanese very well, and he did speak English fairly well, he explained it to me in my language–albeit with a heavy accent.

“Luis,” he started (it sounded more like “Ruisu”), “when you go tsu Tokyo, you musto be bery, bery careful (“kerufuru”). In Tokyo, on za sabuway, zere is… Batman.”

A little taken aback, I reply, “Batman?”

And with a strictly serious expression, he confirmed: “Yes. Batman.”

I could not think of anything to say, so I just repeated: “umm… Batman? Is, uh, on the subway? In Tokyo?”

He nodded vigorously, happy that I understood. “Yes! Batman is on za sabuway, Batman is on za streeto. Batman is everywhea in Tokyo!!”

I then struggled to comprehend as he told me about how Batman would steal my money and attack me. More and more, I felt on the verge of breaking into a giggling attack, until finally I understood that he was trying to tell me about criminals, pickpockets, in other words, bad men, not “Batman.”

Though to this day, while on the subway, I still keep an eye out for someone with a cape.

I don’t use the secondhand shops today nearly as much as I used to, but they can be a real boon to those of us starting out in Japan, or here for the relative short term. It’s sometimes hard to find any shops like that worth visiting, though.

One fairly major shop I saw recently is part of a chain of secondhand shops. The branch I visited is called “News,” and is on Koshu Kaido (Route 20) just west of Chitose Karasuyama Station on the Keio line, in the outer area of Setagaya Ward (Minami Karasuyama 6-18-4). You can call the company toll-free at (0120) 666-801. They sell all the usual stuff, plus large furniture, western-style beds, scooters and so forth. Prices seemed OK as far as these shops go.

The entire chain seems to have shops all around Tokyo, in places like Itabashi, Sasazuka, Okubo, Suginami and a few other locales. You can visit their main page and get a listing of shops; the site also seems to list some of the items they have for sale, though I would expect these are of better quality and lower-priced than you could expect to actually find in the shops.

Or, if you’re up for a walk from the station, try visiting the weekly Salvation Army sale on Saturday from 9 am to noon at the “Kyuseigun Danshi Shakai Hoshi Center,” located at 2-21-2 Wada, Suginami-ku. Telephone number is (03) 3384-9114. Directions are on this page. The closest station is Nakano-Fujimi on the Marunouchi line (you have to transfer at Nakano Sakaue), though some people take the longer walk from Higashi-Koenji Station.

I wanted to touch on this story as a tangent to the greater current issue of press unreliability and the distortion of truth. It came up in a conversation I was having today having to do with how the view of our world is skewed through the reportage of the mass media. In “Bowling for Columbine,” Michael Moore pointed out how U.S. television overplayed images of black criminals and underplayed white ones. A current version of that in Japan is the kind of crimes committed by members of the U.S. armed forces based here, and how they are amplified in the press–things like a pizza delivery guy getting pelted by a toy plastic pellet gun wielded by someone on an Okinawan base–hardly news, but it gets national coverage because the perp was from a U.S. base.

What might have been the definitive example for Japan-U.S. media distortion, however, was the case of Yoshi Hattori, the young Japanese exchange student shot to death by Rodney Peairs. When it occurred, I was a student at San Francisco State University, and wanting to get the straight details on the case, I accessed the college’s LexisNexis account, and found court transcripts and other records which told a much different story than I’d heard popularly–and which put the incident in a completely different light than how it was represented in the press.

When I ask people to recall how young Hattori got shot, the general recollection was that Hattori went to the wrong address, was met by an aggressive, paranoid homeowner who raised a gun and yelled “freeze”; that Hattori thought he said, “please,” and walked towards him, and then he got shot. That is the general story that was released in the media, and if you do a search on the story on the web, you will find that even today, the story persists.

But it is far from the truth. Vital facts were left out; the story was abbreviated, and was not told from all perspectives. Here’s what I was able to piece together so many years ago from the materials I found.

First off, you should be made aware of two important facts that contribute to a completely new understanding of the case, facts which make the incident and some of its indirect causes far more clear. The greater of these two revelations was that Hattori wore contact lenses, but not on that night: he had lost one lens, and so went without. In other words, his eyesight was impaired. One would think this a fact of great importance to the case, but the press did not touch on it at all. The second fact was the friendly, almost puppylike nature of Hattori himself: when he saw his friends, he had a tendency to run up to them in greeting. This comes into play later as well. You should also know that Peairs’ neighborhood was a high-crime area; that police response time was around 30 minutes (indeed, the ambulance that came for Hattori took that long to arrive). This contributes to Peairs’ state of mind about whether he should handle the matter himself, or wait for law enforcement to arrive.

Here’s what occurred that night, October 17, 1992. Hattori and Haymaker, on their way to a Halloween party, unknowingly arrived at the wrong address (two numbers in the address had been transposed). They walked up to the house and knocked (rang?) at the front door. Mrs. Peairs did not answer immediately because she was putting the kids to bed. She wondered who was at the door that late in the evening, in that neighborhood, with no visitors expected. By the time she got to the front door, no one was there. Hattori and Haymaker, wondering why their friends did not answer, had decided to try the carport door.

Now, a carport is like an open garage, and the door for it is not as “public” as the front door. In terms of personal space and perception, the carport door is somewhat more of an “inside” door, a door strangers do not come to. It is similar to a stranger coming to your side or back door at night–it makes you feel a little insecure. The two boys thought it was OK because they believed it was a friend’s house. But when Mrs. Peairs, just having opened the front door to no one, heard the knocking at the carport door, it was far more worrying to her. She went to the carport door to see who it was.

However, by the time she got there, the boys, again wondering at the delay, had moved away from the door. When she opened the door, Hattori reacted as he did when he greeted new friends: he ran to the door to greet them. From the perspective of Mrs. Peairs, however, this was an entirely different event. She opened a private door to her home, saw two young men–one dressed as a bloody accident victim, the other as a disco star–and suddenly one of them ran at her. Her understanding of context–night in a high crime area, nobody expected, putting the kids to bed, strange youths who ditched the front door and came to an inside door–this made Hattori’s playful greeting run appear frightening. So she freaked out. She slammed the door, ran to her husband, and told him strange young men were at the carport door, and one ran at her, so get the gun!

It is important in understanding what Rodney Peairs did to know that Peairs did not answer the door originally, had not seen what had happened, and did not lay eyes on either boy until he stepped out into the carport with his gun. He entered the situation knowing only what his wife had told him: that strange youths had come to the carport door and one had rushed at her. This left no room for doubt in his mind; he could not possibly know it was a friendly exchange student. Rather, his understanding of the local context along with his wife’s frantic explanation and plea gave him only one clear understanding: young punks outside were threatening his family. Angry and perhaps afraid, he got his gun and went to the carport door.

And here was the critical error, the one that, more than anything else, caused the tragedy to occur–at least the only knowing error: Peairs went out into the carport. What he should have done was to make sure no one had come inside, locked all the doors and windows, called for the police, and waited inside with his gun, using it only if someone tried to enter. Going out and confronting thugs may be in accord with the macho code, but it is tactically unsound and generally unwise.

So Peairs stepped out, expecting that he was dealing with some kind of criminal element in his carport. By this time, Haymaker and Hattori had moved out beyond the parked cars in the carport; Haymaker was trying to explain to Hattori his suspicion that they were at the wrong house; Hattori still hadn’t gotten the idea somehow. Then they heard Peairs call out to them, and say “Freeze!” Peairs raised the gun in plain sight.

Here’s where the missing contact lenses came into play. Most people wonder, even if he didn’t understand “freeze,” why Hattori didn’t see the gun. The missing contacts were why. He couldn’t see. To Hattori, a friend had walked out, and Hattori rushed to greet him. But in Peairs’ context, a clear warning had been given, and a gun had been displayed in plain sight. And yet, one of the young thugs he perceived in his driveway started to run right at him, holding some dark metallic object (it was a camera) in his hand. To Peairs, it could not have been more clear at the time. He fired his gun, and Hattori soon died.

Knowing the whole story makes a difference. With all of these facts stated, the Peairs’ actions are far more understandable. There was still a tragic error and the fault was Mr. Peairs’, but one can see now that Peairs was not the violent, paranoid gun nut he was made out to be in the press. Context and perspective are crucial for a clear view. The public, especially in Japan, was outraged when Peairs was cleared of wrongdoing in criminal court; if one knew the true story, one would not be surprised at all. Although Peairs made the error of stepping outside and was ultimately responsible for Hattori’s death, what he did was within the law, especially under Louisiana’s “shoot the burglar” statute.

Returning to the thesis of this entry, the distortion by the press was obviously a factual one, but also there was the element of degree: the Hattori story remained in the press for years, and for the first 18 months, Japanese papers ran stories on it several times every week. But, like the stories about U.S. military personnel in Okinawa, the story was run way out of proportion to its actual importance.

One day’s second-page layout in the Daily Yomiuri exemplified the imbalance in ironic splendor. I saw it fully a year and two months after the Hattori incident, with Yoshi stories still running regularly. There was a 6-inch article on the continuing Hattori saga, about a planned film project called “The Boy Who Loved America”–talk about your bitterly ironic titles. But right next to it was a 2-inch piece about a death that had occurred just the day before. Somewhere in the Kansai region, a hunter had accidentally shot and killed a 62-year-old woman who was in the hills looking for wild vegetables to use during the New Year’s holidays. The story, though fresh, ran just for that one day, and only got those two inches.

Reading these two articles together, it occurred to me that the Kansai story was in many ways identical to the Hattori story. A man, legally owning a gun and using it for legally allowed purposes (hunting, defending one’s home), mistakes an innocent, on a holiday outing, for an acceptable target, shoots and kills them. The Kansai killing took place in a country where guns are as rare as gun deaths–and yet the incident barely made a ripple in the press. But the Hattori case, already more than a year old, demanded a story three times the length of the new story.

This is not what one could call “balanced reporting.” But then, this is my contention: that the media does not balance, despite their claims to do so. They print what sells. They cater to stereotypes, reinforcing them.

Don’t trust what you read. Don’t trust that you’re hearing all the pertinent facts or perspectives. Don’t trust that anything is presented in proportion.

So how do we get the big picture? We don’t, and that’s what is important to realize: in this information age, we expect that it is possible to get all the facts, but it never is. When you regard an issue, keep in mind that you do not and will never know the whole story. Most people forget this and believe their conviction to be a virtue.

A nice photo of a platform on the Keio line, Chofu Station, a few nights ago. A larger version of the image is here.

OK, I am now officially getting screens for my windows, or else finding some other way to keep cool for the summer. Did I ever mention that large insects completely freak me out? They do. Under a few centimeters in length, I got no problem. But if they’re as big as a medium-sized cockroach, I start to climb the walls. Call it a weakness. I just hate ’em.

So imagine my joy at laying in bed tonight, and seeing movement out of the corner of my eye. On the wall across from my bed, a 12-cm-span spider, I kid you not, is crawling right along near the ceiling. As advertised, I freak out. Not enough to kill my instinct for good blog fare, so I grab my camera and venture as close as I dare to snap the thing’s picture. Between further attacks of the Willies, I run to the kitchen to get a large metal bowl and something thin and hard (a plastic hand fan does the job). I come back, and in a feat of stupendous bravery (or sniveling cowardice, depending on how you define it), I trap the spider underneath the bowl and toss it out the window.

It was either him or me, and I pay the rent here. I mean, really, look at the picture. Look at the FANGS on that thing!

YyyeeeEEEeessshh!

Hiromi and I climbed the local observation tower atop a nearby hill for a view yesterday; that’s me, with my apartment complex in the background.

It’s a really nice location–in front of us, you get a nice view of Tokyo, and to the back, noting but wooded hills for a few kilometers. But it’s not too “inaka”; it’s only a 30-minute train ride into Shinjuku–though it’s a 5 minute bus ride or a 20-minute walk to the train station. But I love the green, the parks, the wide open areas, the feeling of escaping Tokyo without getting too far from it.

And this isolated pocket of apartments up against a hill is priced right, too–I pay about 130,000 yen per month, but I have an 84-square-meter apartment for it. That’s an 8-mat bedroom (all the rooms are hardwood floors despite the tatami size measurement), 8-mat living room, 5-mat dining room, 4-mat kitchen, a 6-mat room off the dining room, and a 4.5-mat guest room–not counting the genkan, bath and toilet rooms and a walk-in closet thrown in for good measure. Try finding that downtown without breaking the bank!

A few street scenes from today.