JAPANESE COMEDY
August 21st 2009 04:12
One of the last things my host family decided to force me to experience was a form of stand-up comedy called manzai. Unlike the traditional stand-up I was used to watching in Australia, the manzai I watched involved two people speaking insanely rapidly, and a lot of the time one person would be the serious guy, and the other person would be the goofy one who got slapped around a lot by the serious guy. I could understand a word or two, but for the majority of the two something hours I sat there, I didn’t know what the hell was going on.
“Give me candy!” I kept whispering to my host sister, who was sitting next to me and giggling, “Give me candy!”
After the show ended we exited the building and headed for the Doutonbori streets; as we cheerfully walked through the people and the lights I came to realise that I’ll be seeing the giant crab and the running man and the girls all dressed nice and the blonde hosts by the bridge for the last time. After the snow I hadn’t spoken to Natalie in a week.
“Comedy is a funny thing,” I told my host sister in Japanese.
“No shit.”
My host brother put his arm around my shoulder. “Do you want to drink some sake?”
We went to a restaurant that was set in the fifteenth floor of a building. It was packed. I looked at my mother, my father, brother, sister; we were all drinking warm sake and eating something raw. Had I changed? Had they changed? There were three days left for me to wonder under the famous rising sun and sift through the clean clean city.
“Give me candy!” I kept whispering to my host sister, who was sitting next to me and giggling, “Give me candy!”
After the show ended we exited the building and headed for the Doutonbori streets; as we cheerfully walked through the people and the lights I came to realise that I’ll be seeing the giant crab and the running man and the girls all dressed nice and the blonde hosts by the bridge for the last time. After the snow I hadn’t spoken to Natalie in a week.
“Comedy is a funny thing,” I told my host sister in Japanese.
“No shit.”
My host brother put his arm around my shoulder. “Do you want to drink some sake?”
We went to a restaurant that was set in the fifteenth floor of a building. It was packed. I looked at my mother, my father, brother, sister; we were all drinking warm sake and eating something raw. Had I changed? Had they changed? There were three days left for me to wonder under the famous rising sun and sift through the clean clean city.
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