A Short Story for the Holidays

"I hate this country"

The man said as he stormed from the tall office building. He then became self-conscious of his statement, and looked to others around him, but he saw no one that looked like they spoke his language, and even if they did, they did not show any type of recognition. He relaxed, took out a cigarette, and casually walked down the street with the lit cigarette in his mouth.
He had heard rumors that this country does not approve of smokers, and that his kind are banned from any buildings. He scoffed at this. He thought that it was just another example of people alienating each other in order to finally ban all social contact with anyone else. He did not feel strongly about smoking, but it is something introduced to him by friends, and and hence turned into something he thinks of as friendly. He always enjoyed making friends and talking to new people.

He wanted to make friends with the foreign business partners that he left at the tall office building, but there always seemed to be a wall between them. He had to rely on a translator for the entire meeting, since he does not speak the native language. This annoyed him greatly. His favorite part of human interaction was when he would suddenly interrupt a person and say something very insightful. The people would laugh and nod at his intellect. With the foreign business partners, he thought he looked like a fool, constantly having to confer with the translator whenever he wanted to say something. The translator, he thought, was terrible at timing. Whenever he would tell a joke, it would go through the translator, and land into blank faces of the foreign business partners. He figured that perhaps theyweren `t as funny as he supposed, or perhaps his jokes just don`t translate well. Either way, He began to detest the translator. Even the tone of voice from the translator annoyed him. It was high pitched and unsure of itself. He thought the whole situation was doomed from the start.

He walked for 15 minutes around the city, put his cigarette in the proper receptacle (he always took pride in his cleanliness), and began to return to his hotel. He knew that he had to report back to his boss (though he had no idea what time it was back home) and explain the situation. He tried to remember everything that happened. He got to the building, had problems with the receptionist (they got his name wrong and almostdidn `t get a room), met the translator (who started to visibly sweat right when he met him), met the foreign partners, went to dinner, talked (or attempted to), then returned to the building to discuss business. He remembered being pleased that he could hold his alcohol better then the foreign partners. Then it begins to blur when he got up to the office. He offered his price, and then the foreign partners began to talk rapidly. He could not tell if they were excited or angry, and he repeatedly asked the translator what they were saying. The translator began to sweat even more profusely, and kept on saying "hold on a minute, hold on!" He was frustrated at this. The translator seemed completely incompetent to him. At the end, the foreign partners calmed down, the translator relayed that the foreign partners were "glad to see you," and "appreciate all the trouble it came to get here." He appreciated the sentiments (though he wondered if these same sentiments were not already expressed at dinner) but he wanted to know if the foreign partners would accept the deal. It the end, everyone shook hands and the foreign partners said one last thing. "Enjoy your trip back!" the translator said. He wondered whether that is what the foreign partners said, or was it the translator`s own sentiment.Then he found himself outside the building alone, emoting his feelings to this foreign country.

Though to be honest, he did not hate this country. In fact, he enjoyed the big city atmosphere that was missing from the city he came from. He did not come from the biggest city, or even the biggest city in his country, but when he came to this foreign city, he felt like came to the biggest in the world (a feeling he never felt before). The only problem with a big city he figured, is that when you are alone, you really are alone. He felt happy that he had to go back to his hotel, for it was somewhere he belonged. He wondered what what being homeless in a city so big would be like (though, he admittedly does not really know how it feels to be homeless in his own country). Then dread began to set in. He has to now call his supervisor. What was he going to tell him? "Well, uh, they wished me a good trip back!" (he then fantasized that they both would laugh at this joke, and all would be well). He was not even sure if the foreign partners actually refused him or not. He damned that translator, and damned himself again for not checking any references or knowing nothing of the language other than "thank you." He then remembered the tone and timbre of that voice from the translator, and he suddenly remembered a woman he met was he was younger.

He met this woman at a "guy`s night" that workplace decided to have at a bar, and while he was at least 10 years older than all his co-workers, he decided to go anyway. He was frequently embarrassed that his supervisor and he was the same age, while all his co-workers were much younger than he was. Even worse was that no matter how old he was, starting in college, he looked like a 40 year old man. He was prematurely balding at 20, had jowls at 30, and now at 40, it looks like he could have grandchildren. He hated his progressively older looks, and thought everyone at work excluded him from any events because of it, but in truth, the co-workers in fact looked up to him because they thought of him as their superior and did not invite him to most things because theydidn `t think it was their place to. He often got in trouble for looking more mature than he looked (adults often chastised him as a child, because he was doing things that adults thought that were too childish for his age), but now that he is actually older, he enjoys the implied maturity.

It was because of this implied maturity that he got the attention of a woman at the "guy`s night." She and him talked, and while she was enjoying his company, he slowly, but surely, got annoyed at how she would phrase certain things. She would say a statement, and then said an opposing statement in a sarcastic, low voice. Hedidn `t understand her need to do this, but he supposed that perhaps that she just had too much to drink. He laughed with her, they had a good time, but he was hesitant. That voice began to ring in his head. Whenever he went to the bathroom that night, he would hear that voice in his head. He thought maybe he himself drank too much. They exchanged phone numbers, but when she called him, he told her that he was too busy, and they never talked again.

By the time he was done reminiscing, he was outside his hotel door. He was not quite sure how he got there so easily (he got lost last time, despite the room number, 231, being the same number that his apartment is at home), and reached for his room key in his left pocket. It was not there. He began to panic, and began to search himself. He then went back to how the woman`s voice and the translator`s voice were so similar, and how that probably means that the answer to that little doubt he always has when he rejects someone was a definite "no." But he began to think maybe he was biased, and the hate for that voice was just an excuse. He then thought of all the relationships he has had over the years, and then maybe, in the end, he was really attracted to this girl, and the hate was just his own anger at his own inability to express something that has been bothering him since he could remember. As he was about to enlighten himself to what that could have been, and how he could solve all his problems, he found the room key and dismissed all his thinking as being only caused by stress and the drinks he had before.

He took off all his things and threw everything at the chair. The chair barely held anything he threw at it, most of the objects just falling to the wayside. He then flopped on the bed and tried to figure out how he would exactly phrase this to his supervisor. "They were loud, the translator was incompetent, and they threw me out" was his first instinct of what to say, but he wanted to soften it up a little bit. He wanted to say they declined, but leave enough room to imply that they may accept later. He wasn`t sure if that was true, but he figured it couldn`t hurt to be optimistic. He laid in bed, to tried to think up something clever, and decided to tell the supervisor the truth. He used to be very clever with lies, and he took pride of how convincing he could be, but now-a-days, he was usually too tired to think up anything that anyone would consider the truth. He called up the supervisor. He was first taken aback of how alert his supervisor was. Hewasn `t sure if it was because it was the middle of the day, or perhaps he surprised him early in the morning, but continued to give his report regardless. The supervisor interrupted him as soon as it was clear that the foreign partners did not accept and said. "Well, good. Get back here as soon as you can and give me the full report then." The supervisor hung up, and left him laying on the bed, alone. He did not understand why hecouldn `t just give the report then and there on the phone. He began to go on in his head about how the supervisor is so old fashioned and how they needed "new blood" like himself to rejuvenate the company. He then remembered that he was the same age as the supervisor, and this made him smile a little bit. He decided that he was going to get one more good look around the city and take one last smoke before he went to bed. He could not resist spreading his own smokey kind of social interaction.

He stepped out of the hotel and noticed for the first time that it was snowing. The sidewalks were filled with people and the streets full of cars. He remembered that it was around Christmas time and people are probably out to buy gifts. Neither him, or any of his friends were Christian, so they did not really take the holiday too seriously. It was just an excuse to buy presents for him. His parents did not like giving gifts, and while he hated this as a young child, he eventually appreciated the fact that his parents were trying to teach him to be self-reliant. As a youth, he often viewed other children as spoiled, and enjoyed appreciating all that he was given. Now he finds himself in the middle of a parade of excess, and for once he decides to partake. He wanted to buy a present for his co-workers, and especially something for his supervisor. Nothing major, just something that his coworkers could be impressed with and ingest quickly. He wanted it to be uniquely foreign, yet something recognizable enough that they would not be adverse to it. He walked into what looked like a department store, and started his search.

It was a sea of people. He could barely get into any aisles to shop, or even figure out what they even sold here. At first he hated the closeness of everyone, but began to enjoy watching all the people much more stressed than he was. He often found himself hurrying to a meeting or being late to something, and noticing the looks of other people. He was very conscious of his profuse sweating when he was in a hurry. He hated sweat, he found it unclean. The greatest joy he has is taking a bath after work and cleansing all that away. For some reason, the sweat on these people did not bother him as it usually would. He found a peace there, that they were like him, hurrying and rushing around. With a smile on his face, he walked to the lavatory with a new sense of kinship. He was about to walk into the men`s room when he felt a slight breeze. A door was slightly open at the end of the hall, and he decided to take a look. He was usually not a curious person, but his new bond with the sea outside the bathroom gave him hope of possibility. He opened the door a bit more and saw a short man with vibrant green and red clothes on with a cigarette. It was a very curious sight, something he had seen before. He got closer, he began to realize that he was much closer than he intended to get to the man. The short man reminded him of something he saw on TV once. He could not pin down when or what it was, and before he knew it, the man was pushing him back into the store and kept on pushing. He wanted to ask the short man who he was, or how was smoking in this country was really like, though it became apparent to him that the real question he should be asking was where the short man was taking him.

The short man puts him at the end of a long line, and runs off. He is a bit bewildered, but decides to wait in the line. Perhaps it is a special line for gifts that he could get for his co-workers back home. The end of the line was no where in sight. It was so twisty and segmented that he did not really know where the end of the line even was. It began to resemble anouroboros , which is something he remembered being obsessed with in college. He did not recall exactly why he was obsessed with it, but it was a time in his life where he liked to obsess about things. It was something he looks on about with a sense of nostalgia. His mind became like the self-eating snake, trying to remember all the philosophy he studied, and only remembering when he tried to make a point in class and instead having his class laugh at him for pronouncing "Baudrillard" wrong. Then he saw it, an old man sitting in a throne. It was a catastrophe. Clashes of red and green, blinking lights, crying children, and a giant man with a long beard attempting to control the situation. It was almost too much. He had saw this man on countless billboards and ads in his native country, and he knew what his name was (or at least the name of who the giant man is trying to imitate), but to him, the man became his grandfather. Grandfather would always dress like that when it got cold, try to tell him stories, try to appeal to him, but he would not listen. He was a difficult child. Then Grandfather got sick and then when his parents would always leave him alone with a babysitter to take care of him. He began to hate Grandfather. At the funeral, he refused to cry, and found solace when other relatives seemed to exude a sense of boredom and indifference.

When he saw the man on the throne, he remembered how he regretted that day, and how he always wanted to apologize. He wanted to thank Grandfather for teaching him the importance of memorializing those who have given up so much for you. But the manwasn`t his Grandfather, he is just a giant man. He froze up. He liked being smooth in these types of situations, but he wasn `t even sure if he was going to laugh or cry. He hated being out of control, but now he was in front of the line, and the giant man was beckoning him. He approached the giant man, uttered the only phrase he knew ("thank you"), and the giant man said something. He likes to think it was something inspirational, something that would bring him happiness for the rest of his life (though he realizes it was probably just an inquiry of what he was doing there). He smiled, laughed nervously, and spied the nearest exit. And then he ran. He ran like hehadn`t run like since he was a child. A child chasing something, it didn `t matter what, just something, anything. He exited the department store, completely out of breath. He checked his pockets, found the hotel key in his left pocket, but his carton of cigarettes was empty. He walked back to the hotel, got in the bed, and the last thought before he went to sleep was that he should`ve bummed a cigarette from that short man.

My Musings on Twilight

I remember when I came back to America and asking my sister what the big deal about Twilight was. I had spent a year in Japan at this point, and managed to avoid just about everything about it except that it had vampires, it was meant for 12 year old girls, and that it was terrible. My sis answered that it basically is a fantasy romance targeted to tween girls that focuses on that certain fantasy that some girls have about a pretty man obsessing about them. I thought this was a reasonable explanation, and didn`t really need any other explanation. That is, until New Moon came out this year. Twilight has become a craze, a giant monolith in pop culture. It has come to the point where even in my isolated Japan apartment, I can not avoid it any longer. It is on the news, it is plastered all over the internet, and it is getting harder and harder to find people who don`t know about the tribulations of Bella and Edward. When I saw that Rifftrax (the same guys who did MST3K making fun of modern movies, find them at http://www.rifftrax.com/) had done a parody commentary track for the original Twilight movie, I decided to watch the movie for myself and see what the big deal was. I was ready for just a terrible movie made fun by the Rifftrax people, but what I got was so much more than just a terrible movie.

When the movie starts, we see the protagonist, Bella, moving from her home to the east coast to live with her dad. She enters a new life, and has to make entirely new friends. Now, in a normal situation, this would mean that the protagonist would find herself in a "fish out of water" situation, and the audience would understand the character and see her develop as the she struggles with a new environment. This doesn`t happen in Twilight. I was amazed. Bella instantly makes friends with a seemingly interesting group of people and is very popular. She also has all the boys of the group fawning over her and all the girls remarking how pretty and clever she is. Then, she meets Edward, a pasty white guy who seems to be actually physically disgusted at the sight of her. Normally, if someone finds me disgusting enough to the point of physically gagging, I might find myself utterly confused, and probably annoyed at this person. Bella, on the other hand, finds herself obsessively attracted to this behavior.

At this early point in the movie, it had already lost me. I couldn`t understand for the life of me why in a romantic story that any type of character development seemed to be tossed away so the vampire and the lady can do their best to look sexy while they stare at each other. I was ready to turn it off, when came the scene where it is revealed that Edward had been stalking her and watches her in her sleep, so they decide to make out. There is all this action and whatnot, and then they have a montage of Bella and Edward having conversation throughout the night. Twilight had gone so long with bizarre two dimensional characters, and their one chance to develop character, to make this romance make sense to people other than the author, and they purposefully flub it. Then it struck me (as my coffee cup was falling down in slow motion), of course they didn`t want to develop the characters, of course the plot of the movie makes no real sense, of course they use vampires and werewolves and use them without really considering the myth behind them or what would even make sense in the real world, because Twilight was never meant to be a movie to be analyzed on its own merits. Twilight is all about the story the audience is making in their own heads. Twilight is fan fiction, just add imagination.

The story, characters, and events of the movie are all just set pieces for the viewer to make their own stories. Why does Bella and Edward love each other? You decide! Why does the evil vampires want to hunt and kill Bella? Who knows! Why do vampires like to play baseball? Why not! Oh sure, all these actions probably have explanations in the fiction, but the movie never presents them this way. Twilight just likes to show you things, and then let the audience fill in the plot holes. That is why Bella and Edward just stare at each other, why make dialog when the audience already has their dialog right in their head, perfect just for them. Twilight is a terrible modern film, but as a post-modern film, it is a perfect cipher for imaginations of those 12 year old girls.

So what does it all mean? It means that in this age of youtube, blogs, and other user-created content on the internet, Twilight is a perfect storm. It gives something fans can obsess about, and gives haters something to complain about. The scariest thing is I am not sure if it is necessarily a bad thing. Mediocre films will come and go, but something this terrible on this many levels brings a smile to my face that I can`t deny. Ed Wood would be proud.