Do the Shuffle!

I am not entirely missing out this year. Many things, seemingly unique to western culture, are still present here. A couple of the holidays that I have grown up with, have been adopted for one reason or another by my new culture. A couple of weeks ago was Halloween. Many stores set aside departments stocked in costumes, plasticy items, and candy excess. Window displays let you know who was Halloween headquarters, and everyone wanted to be. The inventory was there, but for who? The locals know Halloween, but they know it like I know Ramadan. I do nothing for Ramadan. Halloween comes to the stores, and it leaves. The merchandise actually begins to shift towards Christmas the week leading up to Halloween.


Being that our jobs involve, in part, the sharing of our culture, and we are such workhorses, many of us ALTs observed Halloween this year. We each came out in flair. Ranging from “Hey didn’t you wear that yesterday?” to “Geez, I am glad you are on my side!” The night happened at a bar on one side of town, a dance club at the other, and a packed train in between.

Among the witches and the cats, the pirates and the superheroes, there were a sad sort of souls. If you could be so kind to describe them as having souls. What they were is something that none should want to claim. An evening so full of life, and they had none. A night where the dead are walking. But dead? No, something more, maybe less.

Not living. Not dead. More shuffle than walk. And perhaps, more dance than shuffle…


ZOMBIES!!!

But not just any zombies. These three dancing zombies were straight out of the epic music video for the 1982 Michael Jackson hit Thriller. Equipped with synchronized dance routine and all! The idea popped up over dinner less than two weeks prior to the big night. We found video dance lessons on the internet and donated a solid six nights to learning the Thriller choreography. Knowing full well it was Michael Jackson, and he is an incredible dancer, it still was more difficult than expected. The week was a pain. I was sick and getting sicker. But we stuck to the task.


Friday night, the performance. After dawning our costumes, applying makeup, and a final rehearsal, we shuffled our limbs across town to Shimizu. If zombies are to be found anywhere in Shizuoka, it is in Shimizu, the shipping port neighborhood that is dead during the day, and deader at night. A friend dressed as a witch organized a small get-together that served to start off the night. She was a good witch, in that she looked bad, and not like a super-sexed-up witch of the neo-Halloween persuasion. (I have a mild distain for costumes that favor sex appeal over scare appeal, its Halloween) The pub was a pleasant beginning, where we could show and tell costumes and do some chatting. The floor was small, and mostly occupied by stools and tables. It was requested, but Thriller would not happen there.


We smartly exited in just enough time to catch the night’s final train. At 11:30, the train was surprisingly loaded with suits. Suits, and the men inside them are not uncommon on the train. But most of the benches being occupied by such this near to midnight, was peculiar. More fun for us. For the 25 minute ride I managed to make very little eye contact and still engage my audience. Mouth agape, staring unfocused into space, I sat next to various passengers. I had my photo with some, some had their photo with me. I moaned on occasion. Some of the guys got quite excited by the influx of strange foreigners in costume, others did as they always do on the train, just stare at their lap.


We found our club, and for 1000Yen were in the door. As good a price as can be had in this town. And apparently this place has better music. Still bad hip-hop music, but better than the worse hip-hop music we could find for more money elsewhere. We danced. I wish that I could always dance like a zombie. Staying in character is so easy, as it requires complete avoidance of fluid movement. My body has a natural aptitude for ignoring fluid movement while dancing!


After establishing our zombie presence, I crept over to the DJ. Being Halloween, and Japan, Thriller should have automatically been on the playlist, but just in case, I requested it. He seemed uncertain of having it, and I was worried that he would settle for some other Michael Jackson ballad, or worse, just a sample. One does not invest a week to the study of a unique dance routine, and arrive unprepared. I reached into the pocket of my tattered jacket, and emerged with a compact disc of the very track I wanted. Mr. DJ seemed quite pleased at my undead foresight and took the disc.


It may have been another hour to pass, but our song did get played. A stage presented itself as the room’s occupants cleared to the walls. It was obvious to everyone what the song was, what we were, and what we were here for. A small dance floor that was little better than the practices on my small apartment tatami floor. We did our thing, and were pleased with it. The DJ graciously observed the entirety of the song and did not attempt to improve upon it as DJs so often do.


The club was dark, and bore no videos of our number, but we did manage to capture an alleyway encore. As originally recorded, the rough alley take, had only the music in our heads. But friends have managed to add sound after the fact.