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my futon. Most Westerners, when they think of a futon, think of a heavy mattress on some sort of wooden or steel frame. As far as the Japanese are concerned, that's not a futon, that's a bed, and they're marketed as such in Japanese furniture stores. What you see above is a real Japanese futon.
There are two general categories of futon: shikibuton and kakebuton. The word "futon" is written with two characters meaning "cloth" and "lump." Add "shiki-" and you get "cloth lump for spreading;" add "kake-" and you get "cloth lump for putting on top." In other words, the former is the mattress, and the latter is basically a quilt or comforter.
One spreads the futon out right before going to bed, and puts it away in the morning. Leaving it out all day (hikippanashi) is the mark of a slob, and actually kind of a bad idea, as the futon absorbs moisture from the floor (especially if it's spread on top of tatami matting), and gets all damp and icky. Sticking it in a closet does seem to mitigate this--somewhat.
Otherwise, one combats the damp by draping the futon over one's balcony whenever there's a sunny day that doesn't happen to be too humid. Beating it with a bat or broom handle helps redistribute the cotton stuffing and get the dust and hairs out.
I bought the shikibuton in this picture at a local bedding mom and pop. It was run by a darling elderly couple named Nishikawa, who were quite terrified by my sudden appearance in their store and apparent determination to actually purchase something. It was cute but kind of sad the way they kept stumbling over each other to make sure the futon was actually large enough for a hulking foreigner like me to lie down on (it is but just barely), to make sure that I didn't want it in another color (I did waver between this one and the peach), and to bring it down from their second storey storeroom.
For my part, I couldn't figure out why so much fuss was warranted--I was speaking Japanese after all, and at the correct level of politeness. It wasn't till I left that I realised that a) foreigners really do not visit my neighborhood, b) the couple had probably formed their impression of Westerners during WWII, and c) I do have spikey hair and a lot of metal in my face.
Still, the transaction went quite well, despite all that.
That will be all.
my futon. Most Westerners, when they think of a futon, think of a heavy mattress on some sort of wooden or steel frame. As far as the Japanese are concerned, that's not a futon, that's a bed, and they're marketed as such in Japanese furniture stores. What you see above is a real Japanese futon.
There are two general categories of futon: shikibuton and kakebuton. The word "futon" is written with two characters meaning "cloth" and "lump." Add "shiki-" and you get "cloth lump for spreading;" add "kake-" and you get "cloth lump for putting on top." In other words, the former is the mattress, and the latter is basically a quilt or comforter.
One spreads the futon out right before going to bed, and puts it away in the morning. Leaving it out all day (hikippanashi) is the mark of a slob, and actually kind of a bad idea, as the futon absorbs moisture from the floor (especially if it's spread on top of tatami matting), and gets all damp and icky. Sticking it in a closet does seem to mitigate this--somewhat.
Otherwise, one combats the damp by draping the futon over one's balcony whenever there's a sunny day that doesn't happen to be too humid. Beating it with a bat or broom handle helps redistribute the cotton stuffing and get the dust and hairs out.
I bought the shikibuton in this picture at a local bedding mom and pop. It was run by a darling elderly couple named Nishikawa, who were quite terrified by my sudden appearance in their store and apparent determination to actually purchase something. It was cute but kind of sad the way they kept stumbling over each other to make sure the futon was actually large enough for a hulking foreigner like me to lie down on (it is but just barely), to make sure that I didn't want it in another color (I did waver between this one and the peach), and to bring it down from their second storey storeroom.
For my part, I couldn't figure out why so much fuss was warranted--I was speaking Japanese after all, and at the correct level of politeness. It wasn't till I left that I realised that a) foreigners really do not visit my neighborhood, b) the couple had probably formed their impression of Westerners during WWII, and c) I do have spikey hair and a lot of metal in my face.
Still, the transaction went quite well, despite all that.
That will be all.
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I wish he were more prolific.
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I totally love the fact that he's not afraid of writing about the language. I'm learning Japanese despite myself. I will be learning some soon anyway, but I like stuff like this.
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To the best of my knowledge, yes, especially given all the discrimination that still exists. Japan was at the height of its economic bubble in the 80s, so its citizens were not inclined to be deferential to non-Japanese.
What's really obnoxious about the situation of "foreign Koreans" is that many of their families have been in Japan for four generations, they no longer speak Korean or have distinctively Korean lifestyles, and the only reason anyone knows they *aren't* Japanese is because the government refuses to legally acknowledge them as Japanese citizens--like me, they have to register with the ward office everywhere they live, inform the authorities if they move, can't vote, and are legally barred from holding certain types of employment. Do a search on "Zainichi Koreans" and you should bring up a lot of stuff.
Real foreigners (i.e. people who were actually born in other countries) fall on a social hierarchy. At the top are English-speaking Caucasians (especially if you're male with blond hair/blue eyes), then Europeans, then Eastern Europeans, Latin Americans, and people from Southeast Asia. The lower you are on the totem pole, the more likely you are to be in sex or labor slavery.
And on that major downer, yeah, Chadwick is an awesome author precisely because he gives you the whole picture of what it's like to be foreign in Japan, including the linguistic cockups that frequently occur.
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So you can know how to write someone's name and still have no idea how to pronounce it correctly.
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