After Capoeira practice last night, about 15 of us decided to go for dinner. We rolled to an Italian restaurant called the Spaghetti Factory. It was the first time I'd ever heard of or been to this restaurant, but apparently it's a franchise from the U.S. Thomas, the only other American in our group told me he'd actually been to the one in Chicago.
The restaurant was pretty decent, for about US $14 I got a spaghetti set which included a salad, drink, and a medium-sized plate of spaghetti. There was also "unlimited" complimentary hard crust Italian bread and super thin crust cheese pizza. I had a had a satisfactory amount to eat, which is a rare occurrence eating out in Japan.
After dinner, outside the restaurant, we were all talking a bit before we said our goodbyes for the night, and one of the Japanese girls in our group, made an offhand comment. Noticing that I was dressed in all-black, she pointed at my hat and said "black," then she gestured toward my jacket and said "black," next she pointed at my pants and said "black." Lastly, looking at me, she pointed towards her own face and said "black." I kinda looked at her sideways for a second. Now, this particular girl is really sweet and nice, so I know her comment was absolutely innocent. I just took it as her trying to say something cutesy. But I had to correct her with a little counter-conditioning; I pointed at my face and said "brown." She repeated "brown" after me. That whole little sidebar just reminded me how far and wide that the bent notions of race and color have spread. I've had kids at school point to my skin and say "black," yet when I asked them what color their own skin was, they would say "flesh tone." But the average American redneck would call any Asian person "yellow." Wrong again. It's all about perception.
Anyway, after dinner about 5 of us guys decided to hit the club. Only one of the guys was Japanese though. There was him, us 2 Americans and 2 Brazilians, including our instructor, Z. It was the first time for me to hang out with Z outside of class. Seeing how I'm not a big clubgoer, I was more or less tagging along with them. Someone decided to roll to some really lame, pretentious club called J Maxx that I'd been to once when I first got to Japan. Actually, it was the very first club I ever went to Nagoya. I'd almost forgotten the place because I hadn't been back since the first time. After we got there and paid a ridiculous 2,500 yen cover to get in, the memories of lameness came all rushing back to me. I ran into a DJ head I knew back from Radix, the foreigner-unfriendly club I'd performed at in the fall of 2002. Charles, from LA, had been deejaying well at Radix for a while, but never got his props there, and eventually left and had been gigging at this smaller, lamer club ever since. I hadn't seen this guy in over a year, but it was the same story from before: the Japanese management and promoters didn't wanna give him a chance to shine, even though they know he got skills, etc. etc." It's a shame to hear the same tale all this time later. I mean, he'd even opened for the Roots when they came to the Blue Note in Nagoya--how many more credentials does one need to get put on properly?
Anyway, there were two rooms in J Maxx: a small room full of pretentious people that spins HipHop, and then there's a big room full of pretentious people playing techno and retro pop dance music. We were bouncing back and forth between the two rooms, and at one point my crew was all in the big, wack techno room. I'm approaching the bar trying to get a drink and there's like three layers of people waiting to order. There were plenty of foreigners in the house. I ran into a Hungarian dude that I knew from my company, and we said whatsup. I'm standing near my white American capoeira buddy, Thomas, and we're chatting a bit, then out of nowhere, some stocky white guy near us looks at me and says "Man, how can I get a security job in this place" rhetorically, I thought. Trying to offer a clue, I said "You probably should holler at management." So then he says "Really? How the [insert expletive] did you get the job?" Eh?
It took a second for it to sink in that he actually thought I was security staff. Maybe it was by black clothing, or maybe it was the keychain around my neck. Now, I'm a fair-sized guy, but I wouldn't think someone would mistake my physique for that of a bouncer's, especially considering this guy was bigger than I was. Thomas and I chuckled before I let the guy know he made a mistake. I wasn't really offended, but Thomas made light of the fact that this white guy assumed that I (Black man) was working security. The guy was pretty embarassed by his mistake, and began apologizing profusely. I told him it was cool and shrugged it off. I think his assumption had more to do with my overall appearance rather than me being Black.
So after I finally got my drink, I found Z standing near the dancefloor by himself. He looked kind of bored so I thought I'd just hang with him for a minute to keep him company. We were standing there people-watching (re: girl-watching) for a minute, when some white British chick walked by. I forget how their conversation started, but Z went into instant Mack-mode. Personally, I thought the chick was A-IGHT looking and wouldn't have paid her any particular mind under normal circumstances, but Z was all into this girl. The only problem was that they were speaking two different languages: she was speaking English, and he was speaking Japanese, neither understanding what the other was saying. So, for the sake of keeping the situation from becoming a disaster, I kindly intervened to offer translation support. Maybe I should have remained a spectator, because I ended up playing the go-between for Z the rest of the night, as he tried tirelessly to hit on this girl. He had me telling and asking things I didn't really want to be. I had a fair time until the club closed at 2 AM (weak), and through no fault of my own, that British chick ended up hopping in some other dude's car, headed to another club, to Z's dismay. Doh.
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