Monday, October 17th
I do not consider myself a movie connoisseur. I enjoy the classics, like the almost-goes-without-speaking “Casablanca,” “To Kill a Mockingbird,” and even Audrey Hepburn gets to me in “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.” But that does not an expert make. Even my best friend, who practically knows the theater attendants by name and gives me the dirty details on each film currently out has not yet made a film savant out of me.
I did not expect my lack of movie knowledge to come in to play, however, in my advisor’s Japanese politics class. As we were in the midst of a discussion on public servants I was waiting to join in by keenly observing the profound, “public servants are good” (the few words I knew how to say in Japanese). Without warning, my professor turned to me and asked me if I liked baseball and “have you seen that movie?” I almost didn’t have the heart to tell him that I had no idea on earth what he was talking about as his expression was full of awe, his smile brimming at the seems with the wrinkles on his forehead about to pop off his head. Not thinking I hesitated, and he proceeded to find the English translation to, but of course, only the most topical way to introduce public servants in Japanese politics: “Field of Dreams.”
I too was miffed as to how the correlation was clear. I tried to find some sort of remnant of understanding in the other students’ faces, but they too were as confused as I was (although I am happy to admit I was happy that for once we were all confused as to the words that were coming out of Kawata sensei’s mouth). To be honest, I still have not quite figured out why he thinks that baseball is an inherent metaphor to politics, but I did tell the class that I happily attended a Hanshin Tigers game and that yes, Japanese fans are much louder than American fans. Kawata sensei nodded in complete agreement, almost as though my words made sense to him, as if in some other cosmic universe computers turned on and wheels started churning the information that linked politics to baseball. All I know is that if politics had $2 hot dogs and beer until the 8th inning, a whole lot more people would be going to the polls!
Unfortunately I did not have the time to divulge on this topic with my professor because I had to rush off to my apartment to receive the delivery man who was bringing my gigantic suitcase from my friends’ apartment across town. The suitcase was so large that at the drop-off place earlier that morning, the kind shopkeepers’ eyes popped out of his head and he attempted to call the Kuroneko (black cat) delivery center to see if they had the manpower to transport a bag that could actually hold a kitchen sink (or two). Luckily, the luggage gods were watching over me, and the shop owner was happy to take my money, which left me anticipating the bag’s arrival later that night.
I waited and waited and waited some more until I eventually realized that delivery companies probably do not operate until midnight, and then I became worried. Had they lost my bag? In my head I hammered through the different scenarios that could have happened. Did national security want to inspect it? Had I written the wrong address? Did someone realize that the bag itself was probably worth more than the items inside and sell it on the black market? Of course I wasn’t worried about the bag itself, but the things inside. My research? My electronics, or even worse…my favorite pair of pants? (A girl’s got to have her priorities straight, folks). I went to bed with ridiculously neurotic thoughts dancing in my head. It left me thinking that when a black cat crosses my path next time: I’ll be sure to avoid it!
I do not consider myself a movie connoisseur. I enjoy the classics, like the almost-goes-without-speaking “Casablanca,” “To Kill a Mockingbird,” and even Audrey Hepburn gets to me in “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.” But that does not an expert make. Even my best friend, who practically knows the theater attendants by name and gives me the dirty details on each film currently out has not yet made a film savant out of me.
I did not expect my lack of movie knowledge to come in to play, however, in my advisor’s Japanese politics class. As we were in the midst of a discussion on public servants I was waiting to join in by keenly observing the profound, “public servants are good” (the few words I knew how to say in Japanese). Without warning, my professor turned to me and asked me if I liked baseball and “have you seen that movie?” I almost didn’t have the heart to tell him that I had no idea on earth what he was talking about as his expression was full of awe, his smile brimming at the seems with the wrinkles on his forehead about to pop off his head. Not thinking I hesitated, and he proceeded to find the English translation to, but of course, only the most topical way to introduce public servants in Japanese politics: “Field of Dreams.”
I too was miffed as to how the correlation was clear. I tried to find some sort of remnant of understanding in the other students’ faces, but they too were as confused as I was (although I am happy to admit I was happy that for once we were all confused as to the words that were coming out of Kawata sensei’s mouth). To be honest, I still have not quite figured out why he thinks that baseball is an inherent metaphor to politics, but I did tell the class that I happily attended a Hanshin Tigers game and that yes, Japanese fans are much louder than American fans. Kawata sensei nodded in complete agreement, almost as though my words made sense to him, as if in some other cosmic universe computers turned on and wheels started churning the information that linked politics to baseball. All I know is that if politics had $2 hot dogs and beer until the 8th inning, a whole lot more people would be going to the polls!
Unfortunately I did not have the time to divulge on this topic with my professor because I had to rush off to my apartment to receive the delivery man who was bringing my gigantic suitcase from my friends’ apartment across town. The suitcase was so large that at the drop-off place earlier that morning, the kind shopkeepers’ eyes popped out of his head and he attempted to call the Kuroneko (black cat) delivery center to see if they had the manpower to transport a bag that could actually hold a kitchen sink (or two). Luckily, the luggage gods were watching over me, and the shop owner was happy to take my money, which left me anticipating the bag’s arrival later that night.
I waited and waited and waited some more until I eventually realized that delivery companies probably do not operate until midnight, and then I became worried. Had they lost my bag? In my head I hammered through the different scenarios that could have happened. Did national security want to inspect it? Had I written the wrong address? Did someone realize that the bag itself was probably worth more than the items inside and sell it on the black market? Of course I wasn’t worried about the bag itself, but the things inside. My research? My electronics, or even worse…my favorite pair of pants? (A girl’s got to have her priorities straight, folks). I went to bed with ridiculously neurotic thoughts dancing in my head. It left me thinking that when a black cat crosses my path next time: I’ll be sure to avoid it!
posted by Kristin at 3:17 PM
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