Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Hot Blooded

Hi there (Konichiwa!). I'd like to share with you part of a letter I wrote to my friend Rob in Toronto back on June 28, 1993. In it, I describe the hottest dance club going on in Japan at that time - Juliana's Disco.

I know, I know... I wrote the word disco (twice now!) which is sacrelige for a for a guy who loves his rock and roll. Still, one must evolve or get wiped out in the next mass extinction.

At this point in time I was going out with my Japanese hottie, Nobuko. In my letter to Rob I noted that Nobuko was studying for some civil service exams and was unable to see me that weekend, but for some reason, I was asked and accepted a dance date by some woman named Mika.

Who is Mika? What does she look like? Why was I out with her? I have no freaking idea. And, though I am loathe to admit it, she's not really pertinent to the blog entry.

Here goes:

(re: Nobuko) All of our difficulties and my 'fright' have been put aside. I'm comfortable. We seem to be a good match for each other. I just wish this language-thing wasn't such a drag. It will be difficult for her to find a job. Hell, me too. But, I'm afraid it will quickly demoralize her. Yes... she's coming to Canada. Perhaps even to stay. The wedding is next week. Can you come? Ha. It just seems that fast. And, in truth, I suppose it is.

I mentioned in my last missive that I was going to go down to the trendiest dance club in Japan with a girl named Mika. After I got back to my hotel room (separate), I called Nobuko. Guilt? Oh yeah. Even though nothing happened - just that I was out with another woman. I don't ever want to do that again - because, quite frankly, the guilt is killing me.

Juliana's Disco is a bizarre place. Located in Tokyo's Ariake district, once you forget that it costs you Y7500 ($75) to get in--women are charged Y5000 ($50), they give you a bunch of food and drink coupons to help you get over the sticker shock - and then you can begin to have a good time.

Well, let's see... all of the women are dressed in outfits that look like underwear. The good kind.

The dance floor is huge. In the back there's a DJ booth where the lone black man sits (except for the other one guarding the door). There two white guys, also... they open the door for you to enter the place. There are also some Japanese guys to park your car and some Japanese chicks standing around outside to catch your eye so you'll want to come in.

Back to the inside. There, opposite the DJ booth is a wall of televisions that are joined up to make one single image. There are 60 televisions - 10 across, by 6 high, and dammit it's like maybe 20 feet tall.

Ahhh, screw it.. take a look at my drawing (photo above). I don't feel like writing a description for everything. This is the first floor.

Beside the DJ booth are stairs leading up to the next level. It's really a catwalk so you can check out the action below.

See those rectangular boxes (tachida) near the dance floor. That's for the fan dancers. That's what I call them. These air-head Japanese girls get up on the risers holding a feathered fan in their hand wearing a very tight dress that is never more than four inches (10 cm) below the waist. They dance by never lifting their feet off the ground. Swaying their hips hypnotically from side to side (getting sleepy... sleepy).  In their right hand they hold the fan high above their head and wave it in the opposite direction for their butt swinging. By lifting their hand above their head, their already short dresses rise up a little more. It's inspiring, actually. Perspiring, too.

The single guys stand below them and stare up at the women, trying to see if they are wearing panties. They are. Hey! I had to look. I'm sure it was expected of me. Besides, I'm a curious journalist.

The single women at the club stare at the fan dancers and wish they could be up there, but they can't because they don't have the guts - or perhaps they lack a nice dress (looking around, that's not true). Whatever it is... they aren't being paid to dance - and the fan dancers are.

On the dance floor by 9PM, there is no more room to move - even with a big gaijin (foreigner) like me around, people are actually beginning to crowd me. I suggest to Mika that we leave. I mean, I'm tall enough to be able to get the air above the shorter crowd, but Mika - she's not. Uh-oh... here's comes the dry ice from a fog machine... now no one can breath.

It's okay... it was bloody hot in there. I had slugged back three beers and didn't get a buzz because I was too dehydrated for it to affect me.

Mika and I walked around, played a few coin-operated video games, ate some McDonald's and went back to our hotel rooms. I opened up a box of 30(?) baseball card packages I bought and read a comic book that had previously won a Pulitzer Prize - Maus. It's about the Holocaust. And then I phoned Nobuko.

We chatted for about 10 minutes. I got off the phone because she was studying for an exam the next day.

Early the next morning, I got up and went with Mika to a CD shop - buying the Best of Jethro Tull, one by Ministry, and a Romantics CD for my pal Colin. Later near the Electricland district, I bought a CD of classical Japanese music - no singing, thank kami (god)!) and one CD of music to do sumo wrestling by. There was also one for Yakuza (gangsters), but I was on a budget. Not.

We went to a foreign buyers supermarket where I picked up a couple of PEZ, a box of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese and four bottles of world-wide beer.

Oh yeah... it was 30C and humid, unlike Saturday when it was 30C and humid and raining. Of course, I was carrying around a lot of unnecessary stuff like a raincoat and a Stetson hat. Okay... it's actually a Biltmore - and I looked good in it, but I chose not to wear it at the club last night.

I arrived back home in Ohtawara-shi totally exhausted. Nobuko came over about 30 minutes later. We tried to watch the Temple of Doom (Indian Jones 2), but our hormones were running amok.

Somewhere sweaty,
Andrew Joseph
Today's title is sung by Foreigner: HOT BLOODED and was recorded in Japan (!) back in 1985.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...