Round, Flat, and Good with Mayonnaise

It’s finally happened: my Japanese test has come and gone, and while I’m certainly relieved that it’s over, I can’t exactly rest easy. The grammar and listening sections weren’t too much trouble, but I’m pretty sure that I made a fool of myself in the kanji section, which counts for a quarter of the grade. I suppose it’s possible that I managed to squeak by with a score in the low 70s, but I won’t know until February. Guess I should start studying for the next session in July, just in case.

That aside, school is also proving to be a handful, thanks to the end of the second term. The old lunar calendar calls the twelfth month Shiwasu, meaning “teachers run,” and with the presentations, meetings, random lesson schedule shifts, and review preparations, my legs are starting to get tired. I’m buoyed by the thought of soon being able to use a computer that doesn’t make horrible grinding noises when it ought to be asleep, as well as the upcoming New Year’s-related festivities, but they seem like such a long way away from now. On the bright side, I can at least indulge my appetite for some good Japanese-style cooking.

I’m sure that most of you are familiar with sushi, teriyaki, and ramen. These are well and good, but they are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to food here in Japan. This is especially true in Osaka, which is known as “the Nation’s Kitchen”, where you can “Eat Till You Drop”. While Tokyo is known for its high-end restaurants, and the ancient capital of Kyoto for its haute-cuisine and traditional Japanese sweets, Osaka has good, old-fashioned, artery-clogging comfort food.

For starters, there’s takoyaki: this is a fried ball of gooey batter that contains, at its center, a chunk of octopus tentacle. It’s far better than it sounds, and it’s sold by street vendors and dedicated takoyaki sellers alike. It tastes a lot better than it sounds, and is easy to snack on while you walk down the street – just make sure to let them cool off first, though. They can burn the tongue straight off the griddle, as I learned the hard way.

There’s also yakisoba, which is a stir-fry consisting of noodles in a tangy sauce, cabbage, a variety of meat (pork, shrimp, and squid are popular here), and some other ingredients I’m not exactly privy to. Nevertheless, it’s quick, cheap, and not difficult to make – all plusses in my book. But my favorite Osaka food is the round, flat, and apparently untranslatable okonomiyaki.

Literally meaning “cooked favorites”, “okonomiyaki” is often rendered in English as “Japanese pizza” or “Japanese pancake”. While the first sort of conveys the interchangeability of ingredients, and the second the general shape, it’s really not that close to either. At its heart, okonomiyaki is a pan-fried batter-cake where you can choose the ingredients that go in it. Generally, this means cabbage, a kind of meat (or several), sometimes cheese, and occasionally shallots.

When it’s done, you smear okonomiyaki sauce on top, crisscross that with some mayonnaise (Japan loves mayonnaise) and then sprinkle over that bits of seaweed and tuna flakes. These last seem to dance in the heat of the freshly-cooked food, which is both oddly fascinating and disturbing at the same time. If you’re at the right kind of restaurant, it gets served directly onto a heated pan in front of you, where you can then use a special spatula to cut it up and heap it onto your plate. Some places even let you make it yourself. (Japan is less litigious in general and thus seemingly untroubled by the thought of burns or food poisoning from letting hapless customers do their thing.)

There are regional varieties, too – Hiroshima, out west, prides itself on a layered (rather than mixed) version with only a thin kind of batter, while Tokyo has monja-yaki, which is like okonomiyaki but runny. My personal preference, however, is for modan-yaki, a homegrown Osaka favorite that includes yakisoba noodles right in the mix. It’s like the best of both worlds in one, and a high-calorie guilty pleasure I can justify by the fact that I go to the gym. As long as I don’t have it too often, anyway….

At any rate, Osaka provides a wealth of less-than-healthy food for me to sample, and eating out with friends is a sure-fire way to ease the pre-holiday blues. I mustn’t forget, however, that Japan has a variety of regional specialties, which is why I also intend to travel during the upcoming holiday. After all, someone’s got to eat that food, right?

Dazzled by technology

December is here at last, and with it, I have taken up a new hobby: shivering. While winter temperatures in the vicinity of Osaka never get anywhere near what they’re like back home, there is a whipping wind that comes down off the mountains and helps make everything feel colder than it really is. The lack of insulation also helps with that. Anywhere in this country south of Hokkaido has an annoying tendency to skimp on materials to prevent the temperature outside from getting in, which leads to near-unbearably hot summers and – wouldn’t you know it – freezing winters. Schools are likewise unheated, though the teachers’ room ought to have heat; it’s just broken right now. And so, I throw on an extra layer, hoping to keep out the chill of what would otherwise be above-freezing weather.

That aside, I am studying like mad for my Japanese test, which is now less than a week away. As the date inexorably approaches, I am feeling less and less prepared, and more and more certain that I’ll have to take it again. Maybe it’s just pre-test jitters, and maybe it’s a reflection of the steep jump between level 2 (which I passed last year) and level 1 (which I’m taking on this coming Sunday). Either way, I’m wedded to a near-daylong test that I won’t find out the results for until February, so I might as well make the attempt.

Nevertheless, my thoughts are buoyed somewhat by the thought of the approaching holiday season. While Christmas in Japan pales in comparison to the version back home – a topic I will discuss more in a week or two – stores are still brimming with decorations, and there’s still something of that festive cheer floating about, thanks to the equally enthusiastic embrace of New Year’s as a time to eat, drink, and be merry. Just knowing that multiple end-of-year parties will be coming along after a busy month is a much needed respite from the continuing grind.

And while Christmas shopping may not be quite as big, December is still a big consumer season in Japan, for one reason in particular: the winter bonus. Salaried employees in Japan usually receive a rather substantial part of their regular yearly income in semi-annual chunks, and one of those comes right in December. Naturally, stores are keen to take advantage of this, offering sales on all sorts of items, from luxury goods, to household appliances, to gifts for that special someone. (You’d think no one told them about the recession.)

As fate would have it, though, my major purchase for this season is already determined, thanks to an ailing computer creeping ever closer to its last gasp. It gave up trying to read CDs and DVDs ages ago, and of late, it’s been making some pretty scary noises and throwing up the occasional cryptic error message. (And as I was typing this column, the sound went. I wonder if it knows what I’m planning.) But while my contribution to the Japanese economy is born of necessity, it’s still really neat to walk around and see what’s on offer.

Nowhere is this more clear than at the major electronics stores in Osaka: Bic Camera in Namba and Yodobashi Camera in Umeda. Both are sprawling, multi-storey behemoths, and both contain far more than just cameras. Yodobashi Camera in particular has not only its own food court and multiple clothing stores under its roof, but an entire floor dedicated to computers; another for peripherals and other accompaniments; one for A/V equipment; one for household appliances (and furniture!); one for toys and games; one for cameras, watches, and jewelry; and a basement level dedicated to bicycles, luggage, and other odds and ends.

Strolling through a place like this is nearly surreal, just seeing what’s on offer, but I am continually struck by the ingenuity that goes into household technology. Manufacturers are continually shrinking both the space and energy requirements of their appliances, and to stack them against their American counterparts would make ours seem big and clunky by comparison. (If that sounds familiar, it’s because it also applies to Japanese cars; I’ve simply noticed since coming here that the mindset that drives vehicle philosophy in Japan applies equally to other things, as well.) This is quite nifty, of course, but I always gravitate towards the electronics. Flat-screen HDTVs are on offer here at sizes that wouldn’t let me sit far back enough to watch them in my tiny apartment, with a host of features I don’t recall ever reading about back home. Even the stuff that’s comparatively normal seems to have a futuristic sheen about it.

Maybe time has marched on in the US, too, since I left, but when iPhone has been criticized here for lacking many of the features common to Japanese cell phones, maybe not so much. That features viewed as nifty back home are taken for granted here says a lot about the way that technology like cell phones has so completely permeated the public consciousness. And by the time that level of “standard” features reaches the US, Japan will probably have moved on to something better. The pace of development just seems that quick.

One thing that surprised me, though, is that high technology here seems at par, if not a bit more expensive, than back home. I had always thought that since so much stuff is made in Japan, it would have to be cheaper here, but that tends not to be the case. Instead, in a country where things are usually 1.5 to 2 times as expensive as in the US, it’s about the same. This makes it practically a steal if you live in Japan, though not so much for anyone hoping to find a discount by looking to the Rising Sun. In fact, it probably would work out to more money to have something shipped back, so, more likely than not, it’s best simply not to bother. Even so, I can’t help but be captivated by all the shiny things. If I can’t have it, at least I can bask in awe of its sheer awesomeness. A guy can dream, can’t he?

Let's talk turkey

With Halloween now nearly a month behind us, it’s time for those of you back in the US to shift gears and engage in another one of those mystical American traditions: the Thanksgiving Day feast. I have to admit, while it’s always seemed rather odd to me why we have two harvest festivals in short succession – one to decorate pumpkins and the other to eat them, I suppose – I have never been one to shy away from generous portions of food (as those who know me can attest). It is therefore with some disappointment that I have discovered no direct equivalent for our American habit of stuffing turkeys with which to stuff ourselves, accompanied by copious amounts of sleeping and watching of televised sports events.

It has, however, been something of a pleasure instructing my first-year students these past couple of weeks on the many and varied foodstuffs we shovel by the mouthful on this day, among them the aforementioned turkey and stuffing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes and gravy, salad, string bean casserole, a variety of vegetables, and a plethora of pies (but chiefly apple, pumpkin, and sweet potato). They are interested in my own pictures of the event, as well as the impossibly large feast that Japanese people rarely indulge in at home. But they are mostly curious about the food itself.

It may not strike people in the US as unusual to eat things like turkey even year-round, but the bird is native to the Americas (the name comes from its general air of the exotic when first introduced to Europe, not an Ottoman pedigree). Other items, such as pumpkin, are also technically from the Americas, but the general unavailability of turkey here gives it an air of mystery to the students, perhaps not unlike that which greeted it when it first arrived in the Old World centuries ago. OK, so maybe I’ve exaggerated the size a tiny bit – they are big birds, after all – but I think they’d still be fascinated otherwise.

Of course, all this talk of Thanksgiving has left me with pangs of longing for a home-cooked meal, and to be around family and friends back in the North Country. Last year, my experience was still too new for me to be all that concerned, but for this time, I’ve requested (and my parents have obliged) a shipment of stove-top stuffing and cranberry gelatin dessert, just to give something of the proper feeling. Obviously a turkey is out of the question, but maybe I can find a smallish chicken to substitute (and to fit inside my microwave that doubles as an oven). We’ll see.

Of course, Japan is not totally bereft of feasting; the main concern is simply one of space and adequate kitchen apparatus. With the typical apartment not being very conducive to large gatherings, and the typical kitchen lacking anything like the requisite number of burners or oven space for proper cooking, these events are usually held at restaurants, where the food is plentiful and the elbow-room more generous.

These feasts come chiefly in two varieties. The first is enkai, which most readily translates to “banquet”. At a restaurant or inn, large groups of people are presented with a multi-course meal of a pre-planned menu, interspersed with important announcements, games (sometimes with prizes), and a slightly more formalized atmosphere. These are generally held to commemorate specific events (welcoming or going-away parties, celebrations, or other similar milestones), and are either paid-for by the group in advance, or through a predetermined contribution from each participant. The second kind is the uchiage, or “party”, usually held after participating in some kind of event and through the voluntary attendance of its members. The menu is not set, but items are ordered by individuals for the entire table, providing a sampling of finger-foods that accumulate until you start wondering who ordered that last round of fried squid rings, or where the beer in front of you came from after you’d already decided you really ought to walk home under your own power that evening. It’s a lot of fun (and with the chorus, there’s some spontaneous singing mixed in there too), though when the bill comes, it always seems impossible that any one person could have eaten as much as they’re claiming you ought to pay for. Maybe the fun is calculated into the total, as well.

There is actually one meal for large groups that’s usually eaten at home, and that’s nabe, or hot-pot cooking. It’s something that can be had year-round at most restaurants, but it’s especially common in winter, and that goes double for the end-of-year party, or bonenkai. Basically, you boil vegetables along with some kind of meat (in Osaka, often a non-poisonous variety of pufferfish) in a special pot at the center of the table, throw in more ingredients when it starts to get thin, and repeat until no one can eat anymore. There’s also a point where you throw in rice to make ochazuke and use up the rest of the broth, but last year I didn’t make it that far. We’ll see how I do next month. Until then, I’ll just have to make do, and quietly give thanks for the many things I can do here.

Taking out the trash

In every person’s domestic life, there are unpleasant realities that must be faced every now and again. While overall, things may be quite decent, we are forced to come to terms with something that is distasteful, perhaps even disgusting. For me, this is more than a constant annoyance; it’s a fact of life. I am talking, of course, about what to do with my garbage.

I must confess, the Japanese system for dealing with one’s household waste is one of the areas of the country that truly mystifies me. While I do empty my trash regularly and take it out to be collected, those who have encountered me along the way have always told me that I’m doing it wrong (while, in typical Japanese fashion, neglecting to give me anything more specific to go on). I don’t think I could possibly be alone in this.

For one thing, there are very specific rules about how you are supposed to divide up your garbage. Ideally, you ought to have a bag (translucent) for burnables, abag (translucent) for non-burnables, a bag (translucent) for recyclable bottles (washed, de-labeled, and de-capped), a bag (translucent) for cans, bundled newspapers, and a somewhat-less-than-helpful category indicated by “other”. While I have tried to hold to this ideal, I have to admit that there are times when I maybe didn’t completely adhere to these rules completely, or occasionally, at all. I don’t think I should be blamed for this, though: Japanese laws on the subject of trash are complex, draconian, and above all else, somewhat arbitrary with regards to what fits in what category. Back when I did my homestay in 2006, I was constantly being hounded for putting something in the wrong receptacle, even if (to me, at least) it looked like it belonged there. I mean, where’s the harm, right?

The other thing that earns my constant ire is figuring out which day is supposed to be trash day. Apparently, there are several: one – or possibly two – day(s) for burnables, one (maybe more) for non-burnables, one for recyclables, etc. The only problem is, no one I know can explain to me which day is which. There is a sign outside my apartment (as well as many others) that threatens fines towards individuals who violate the proper trash day to leave articles sitting outside in plain view until the day they’re supposed to be picked up, but the chart which gives those days is either blank or faded to the point of invisibility. Someone I talked to told me it was somewhere on the city’s website, but I haven’t been able to find the schedule there, either. Maybe Japanese people just communicate this information by chemical signals or something, like some tree species. Sometimes, I can’t help but wonder.

One of my fellow ALTs, the Welshman, seems to have taken to the sorting and disposal of rubbish here in Japan a bit better than me, but even he is at a loss to try and explain what I have to do. Maybe he’s started picking up the chemical signals too. At the very least, we can both be slightly amused at an odd Japanese trend we’ve both noticed: while the US and the UK cannot agree on standard terminology for waste (we Americans prefer “trash” or “garbage”, while the British insist on “rubbish”), most Japanese trash cans we’ve seen use neither, opting instead for the (perhaps Japan-only) term “dust box”. Very odd.

At any rate, the supposed fines threatened by the sign have thus far failed to materialize, so I mostly just try to take stuff out with some semblance of regularity. After all, my apartment is by no means large, and small amounts of trash can quickly accumulate to a level I just can’t keep lying around. Against regulations or not, it ain’t staying in here. Just don’t tell the city government I said that – as a public employee, I should at least maintain appearances as a law-abiding citizen. One cannot always play the role of the oblivious foreigner…

I think I'm turning Japanese

When you live in a foreign country, there eventually comes a certain time where you realize that you have long passed the initial culture shock, and have more or less adjusted to the daily rhythms, expectations, and societal norms of the people around you. On an intellectual level, you may still regard the local customs as curious, quaint, or any number of other things, but on some level you have begun to internalize the unspoken assumptions, expectations, and even speech habits of your neighbors, which helps you get by. You may never truly “fit in” or “pass” as a local, but you have nevertheless been indelibly marked by the place you have made your home. (Then, if you ever move on, you get to experience the whole process of acculturation all over again, starting with a fresh round of culture-shock.)

I suppose it’s inevitable; stay anywhere long enough, even in the same country, and you begin to take on something of the local color. My parents, raised and educated in New Jersey, have spent the last twenty-five years or so in Clayton, and now their accents are much more North Country than Garden State. And while I may not have been here in Japan for nearly as long, I’m definitely exhibiting signs of having absorbed some Japanese habits.

Two recent incidents in particular have drawn my attention to this development. The first happened just the other day in class, as I was demonstrating a conversation with the Japanese-native English teacher. But at the end of the skit, as my character was about to say goodbye, turn, and walk away, I did something entirely unintended: I bowed. In Japan, it’s not out of place to do so at that particular moment; in fact, it’s expected. But the gesture is – from the standpoint of Anglophones – entirely unnecessary, and at any rate, it was completely involuntary on my part. I had simply become so used to bowing at that particular social cue that my spine, as if obliging some innate need, dutifully curved forward for me. As you can imagine, this was embarrassing, to say the least, and it drew some unsolicited laughter from the student audience. I just grinned sheepishly and told the students they didn’t need to imitate that part. But somewhere deep inside, I was thinking, “I just know I’m going to be that guy who bows to the pizza delivery boy years after I’ve gone home.” If, years later, you do see me deferring a little too much for any sensible American, please be kind.

The second incident happened just the other day at Mister Donut, as I was sitting, drinking coffee, and reading (as per my usual custom). My coffee was just about to run out, and I intended to avail myself of the free refills. But when I looked over at the counter, they were swamped. A big crowd of people had just come in, and the staff were evidently preoccupied. Now here’s where a funny thing happened: I actually caught myself thinking, “well, I don’t really need another cup of coffee right now, do I? They’re obviously busy enough as it is; far be it from me to bother them about some trifling need.” For an instant this seemed perfectly rational, but then I remembered, “waitasec, you’re the customer here! It’s their job to serve you! And what are you hesitating for, anyway? You’re an American, aren’t you? Just go up and say something, already.” I did just that, and the staff were happy to refill my cup even as they juggled multiple customer orders at the main counter. A little American directness goes a long way, but that I had to remember how to use it caught me off-guard.

And while I’m ashamed to admit it, there are even times where, walking down the street, I’ll spot someone who isn’t Japanese and think, “Hey, a foreigner. That’s something you don’t see every day,” before regaining my senses and reminding myself that I’m a foreigner too. I don’t think it’s entirely my fault, since Japan tends to be extremely homogeneous – the society tends to promote sameness in whatever isn’t inborn – to the point that anyone who bucks the trend becomes a visually interesting novelty by comparison. Nevertheless, it’s embarrassing to be caught staring, especially when more than a few Japanese people have been guilty of staring at me while I go about my business, for no other reason than the fact that I look different. Luckily for me, resident aliens in Japan share a secret code for when they pass by one another on the street: a flash of recognition, followed by a knowing nod. It’s not much, but it seems to suggest, “I know what you were thinking, because I just thought the same thing. We’re in the same boat, you and I.” It’s conspiratorial, subversive, and in an odd way reassuring. Lots of foreigners in Japan have had similar experiences to mine, and that one look tells me that I’m not the only one on whom Japan is slowly, almost imperceptibly, working its strange magic. I may be turning Japanese, but at least I’m not the only one.

Architectural malaise

By the time you’re reading this article, the 2008 Elections will have already concluded. It’s certainly a relief, considering the way they dragged on, and no doubt everyone back home is breathing a sigh of relief. For my part, I’d like to extend my congratulations to [ELECT], our next President, as well as my sympathies to [RUNNER-UP], who ran a disciplined and hard-fought campaign but came up short this time. Here’s to the next four years. This article, however, is (mercifully) not about politics this week. Instead, I’d like to turn your attention to something that bugs me.

As I’ve mentioned previously, I have decidedly mixed feelings about the urban sprawl that characterizes much of Japan’s major metropolitan areas. The public transportation and the conveniently-located shops are certainly a plus. Nevertheless, the unbroken lines of buildings can get depressing at times, especially when I can only find the time to get out of the area on weekends. Even this wouldn’t be all bad, though, if not for one, little thing: the architecture.

Don’t get me wrong – I think traditional Japanese architectural is fantastic. The exteriors of contrasting dark wood supports and whitewashed walls topped with decorative tile roofs, and the interiors with their high floors, tatami mats, sliding doors, and rigid geometry are all nigh-inseparable from the notion of Japan itself. The problem, here, is that traditional Japanese architecture makes up a relatively small part of the makeup of any given town, and it is steadily shrinking. What exists in its stead is something that I view as just plain ugly.

Japanese buildings constructed over the past 50 years or so, both dwellings and commercial space, are afflicted with what I like to think of as “modern-itis”. There’s nothing wrong with building to a modern aesthetic in itself, but Japan’s problem is the tendency to rely on two things: boxy prefabricated construction and wildly incongruous architectural styles. The first grows out of simple cost concerns. When building a new house, business, or what have you, it is easiest and cheapest to build something whose plans already exist, rather than design it from scratch. You don’t have to work out any serious design flaws in revisions, and since the constituent parts are already made it’s much faster to construct. But the upshot is that most of these buildings are unimaginatively ugly at best, and completely out of place at worst.

The ones on the “completely out of place” side of the scale grow out of the second sin of Japanese building, which is the wildly incongruous building style. I have nothing against a stately brick house, or a Southwestern-influenced stucco look, or even something vaguely neoclassical. But none of these things belongs in a Japanese neighborhood, and the “brick” houses (thanks to cost concerns and earthquake codes) aren’t even real brick. And if it’s not something new and ridiculously out of step with its surroundings, it’s often being left to decay until it can be replaced with one of these styles. When I walk down the street, I just have to shake my head.

It is entirely strange to me that Japan would have so little attachment to its own signature buildings, but in some ways I guess it makes sense. After all, this is a nation where since time immemorial, periodic floods, tsunamis, fires, earthquakes, wars, and bombings have regularly leveled entire cities. Combine this with the wabi-sabi aesthetic that celebrates flaws and impermanence, and you get a recipe for the seemingly random distribution of new and old, Japanese and Japanese-idea-of-foreign. People are looking ahead instead of back; it’s part of what makes Tokyo seem so futuristic. But at the same time, is it really so much to ask to take better care in preserving what historical buildings remain for a new generation? There are nice old neighborhoods in places like Kyoto, Nara, Kanazawa, and elsewhere that show it can be done and well, but at this point I’d be happy with reasonable facsimiles. You can’t convince me for an instant that a nation as technologically advanced as Japan is incapable of mimicking the traditional architecture with modern materials, safety features, and accessibility. If anything, it seems to be more a matter of building preference than anything else, and to me that’s just a shame. Change and progress are all well and good, but there are some things that are better left not tampered with. It’s too bad more Japanese people don’t see buildings the same way.

Japan's supernatural side

Season’s Greetings, everyone! I hope you’re all having a fantastic week leading up to the holiday… by which of course I mean Halloween. Back in my youth, Halloween was the source of many a fond memory involving candy, costumes, haunted houses, and being frightened out of my wits by innocuous things. In fact, I think it’s pretty safe to say that overall, Halloween was my second-favorite Christianized-pagan-holiday-turned-secular, just behind Christmas.

It’s something of a problem for me, then, that All Hallows’ Even has yet to make much of a dent over here in Japan. Sure, Universal Studios Osaka is running a Halloween-themed party all month with Peanuts characters in costumes, but aside from that and some decidedly inadequate decorations, all it really seems to offer here is green squash passed off as “pumpkin” and a few novelty baked goods. Trick-or-treating, among the 31st’s many other sublime joys, is simply unknown. I’ve made an attempt to educate my students, who do seem curious about “those pumpkin face-things” and the opportunity to get a month’s supply of sugar in a single night, but the lack of enthusiasm is telling.

And that’s a shame, because when it comes to the supernatural, Japan is a veritable hotspot. Japanese folklore is replete with tales of mystical creatures roaming the mountains and forests, and the hauntings of vengeful, wronged ghosts told and retold in bunraku puppet-theatre and kabuki plays. You would think that when a country has such a stockpile of home-grown ghouls just lying around, they would put them to work repurposing a perfectly workable holiday for native sensibilities, but it just didn’t happen. Nevertheless, they at least provide me with a fascinating glimpse into the stories that have kept generations of Japanese up at night.

For starters, there are a ton of mythical creatures to be had in Japan. Aside from ghosts, the (legless) apparitions of the deceased, there are also oni (ogres who are alternately evil antagonists and mischievous-but-dumb troublemakers), tengu (strange avian creatures with long, beaklike noses), kappa (man-sized, turtle-like river creatures with a taste for young children), noppera-bo (humanlike-but-faceless tricksters who enjoy freaking out unsuspecting people by wiping off their features after lulling their mark into a false sense of security), tsukumogami (inanimate objects that gain life and creepy faces after 100 years of existence), and kodama (tree spirits that inhabit forests by the millions). Even real animals get in on the act, with foxes, badgers, and tanuki (think: the special suit in Super Mario Bros. 3) portrayed as shapeshifters who make sport of humans who ought to know better. If I were a Japanese child, I don’t know if I’d ever feel truly safe with such things lurking all around me. I mean, who wants to pull out an umbrella only to find it staring back?

As if that weren’t enough, if it’s a ghost story you want, there’s a ton of those to choose from too. There is the Yotsuya Kaidan, where a Samurai plots to kill his wife Oiwa and remarry, only to face the consequences of his actions; the Bancho Sarayashiki, where the servant Okiku is framed and killed for destroying an heirloom plate of the samurai who covets her; Yuki-Onna, whose snow maiden of the title lures men in the mountains to their deaths; Botan Doro, with a man’s otherworldly lover, and Hoichi the Earless Minstrel. These and many more were first compiled in English by Lafcadio Hearn (otherwise known as Koizumi Yakumo) at the turn of the 20th Century, and that’s still one of the most convenient places to find them all in one spot; check out Kwaidan or In Ghostly Japan for more like these.

For those wishing for something a little more modern to scare them senseless, however, Japan has a flourishing genre of horror films, or J-Horror, which have made a splash big enough for at least some of them to get big-budget Hollywood remakes. Perhaps you’ve seen a few of them already. One such film is The Ring (Ringu), the story of a cursed videotape that kills those unfortunate enough to watch it. It also draws liberally from older Japanese ghost stories, with the well borrowed from the story of Okiku, and Sadako / Samara’s appearance based more-or-less directly on Oiwa from the Yotsuya Kaidan. There’s also The Grudge (Ju-On), where the curse of a vengeful ghost begins to spread its influence along with its victims. And then there’s Dark Water, where what seems to be a leak in the ceiling above a young mother’s apartment turns out to be far more sinister. And just this year, there was another remake: One Missed Call (Chakushin Ari), where cell phone calls presage doom.

Generally speaking, the American versions of the above films change the characters and setting to the US (with the notable exception of The Grudge, which stays in Japan but brings in some American characters for the audience to indentify with), while polishing the visual effects and making the storylines more straightforward. As for whether the originals or their remakes are better, I think that’s a decision best left up to the viewer, but I do tend to prefer the originals. There are subtitled versions out there for those who don’t understand Japanese and are feeling particularly adventurous.

For Japanese horror even more off the beaten path, there is Suicide Club, where a rash of seemingly-unrelated suicides in Tokyo is just the tip of the iceberg. This is something of a cult film, even in Japan, with the public divided over its subject matter and the goriness of certain notorious scenes. And lastly, there is Audition, which I only mention because I’ve seen it, and not to recommend. I watched it once, and it was the closest I came to being physically ill due to a movie. Perhaps for those accustomed to more recent things like Saw or Hostel it’s nothing new, but I have to say this: piano wire should only be used for pianos. Ugh.

But enough on films to scar impressionable young minds; the important thing is that, with a wealth of ghost stories and other curious tales here, I can at least keep myself in the Halloween spirit, even if the only evidence that it’s Halloween comes from a few cutesy decorations and green squash being passed off as “pumpkins”. That, and the prodigious amounts of Halloween candy my parents have sent me, in an apparent ploy to thwart my efforts at the gym. Now if I could just get Japan to adopt Halloween as readily as it absorbed Valentine’s Day…