Tokyo Parties

(So what did I do the night before Christmas eve?)

Last night I went out to a party with Shiori and our friend Mifumi: a Japanese house party!! When the talk of going to a house party first came up, I hesitated. I knew that house parties in Tokyo weren't really house parties. Images of one high school 'house party' flew into my head. I had gone to only one and never wanted to go back to another house party thereafter that because of what made (broke?) the party: marijuana, cans of beer, and lots of high kids, with the night ending with some passed out in the bathroom, others passed out on couches and anything soft, and still others making out et al in the master bedroom(s). That certainly was not the way I wanted to spend the rest of the night. Despite my hesitation, we decided to go and find Mifumi first and play it by ear.

What I encountered there was something interestingly different from any house party I had been to, in Tokyo and Vancouver. My idea of a 'true' house party usually took place at someone's house and the host would be drunk by the time any of the guests arrived; there might be a keg or two; with enough alcohol and some good music there would be dancing; and most importantly, the night ended with people leaving the house to go elsewhere to drink more, dance more, or make out (more), and rarely did people stay until the next morning.

Well, this particular house party was different in a few ways. First, the house was rented out. Meaning, the host of the party--or anyone else at the party for that matter--wasn't a resident of the house. This was probably the weirdest concept to me. Secondly, music came briefly from a CD player and then was replaced by the more entertaining karaoke machine that people didn't hesitate to use. Thirdly, everything was kept relatively clean. This I liked very much, especially the clean and unsticky floors. Fourthly, I realized that Japanese girls appealed to men differently than did North American girls, mainly in that the fantastical was synonymous with the sexy. Shoulders, cleavages, legs, stomachs--all of these main spots were completely covered by a nice formal dress that underscored their 'girliness' (which is significantly different from the western feminine). Shiori had jeans on and I had a pair of khakis, and both of us wore a white spaghetti strap tanktop. Needless to say, in our uber-casual outfits we felt like bums surrounded by girls who were, for all intents and purposes, dressed formally. When a group of girls joined the party in Santa-girl outfits--with all erogenous zones covered, of course--this was welcomed by a slew of whistling. Shiori and I looked at each other, slightly confused.

Right: Roppongi, party central>
Don't get me wrong: the party was fun. There were two guys dressed in reindeer costumes, alcohol was amply served, and the people were fun, if only to watch. It was the first time in years--possibly the first in my life--to have partied with native Japanese people who didn't necessarily speak English. Although I must admit, I didn't end up leaving my comfort zone too long, as I mainly stuck with people who spoke English and Japanese. When that party began to dwindle a bit, we moved our venue to a club, in Roppongi. In my opinion the Caprice, or even the Plaza was a better club, and they weren't really that great, either. The club was far from being a Celebrities. More like Lola's or Loft.

We stayed out until 4 in the morning, which I hadn't done in a while (Vancouver clubs closed at 2am at the latest), and by the end of the night (early morning) I comfortably sat on a bench by the dance floor with a glass of amaretto on rocks. I was used to doing this with Alicia, and it was too bad she wasn't there with me to enjoy the view. By that hour I noticed that there were lots of African Americans dancing with Asian girls. As these girls were skimply dressed, I felt kind of at 'home', which was also a weird realization. The man dancing in front of me had small holes in his sweater, as if it were used to extinguish cigarette lights. Two men approached me and I told them politely that I would rather sit there than dance with them, and they were politely offended. There was even a man at least 50 years old, hitting on a girl at least 20 but no older than 25--this was disturbing; he must have a lot of money, I judged, from his clothing. Girls here, I also observed, had no clue how to dance. They awkwardly shifted from left to right, and the hardcore ones who wore shorts and midriffs and fishnet stockings and black hooker boots danced in a overtly sexual way and could not be considered to be, in any sense of the word, attractive.

I'm exhausted.