Harajuku Sunday (9 page)

"WHOS THE HOTSHOT NOW, COWBOY???"

I remember distinctly the first moment when I hear of the nerdboys' opening salvo.
 
The reason why is because ever since the fiasco with the police cars and Fannet calling me into the embassy, I am walking on eggshells and terrified that any moment, Japanese police will rush out of siren-screeching vehicles and apprehend me for some unknown crime that I haven't committed.
 
Just as I felt a strange surge of guilt after Dominique ran out of the apartment, I feel somehow unsettled and wrong, as if I had done something wrong, as if I'm missing something important.
 
How did Shan find Dominique again?
 
Where are all these accusations and charges coming from?
 
What is this talk of a coffee that Shan denies so eloquently by pointing out that he's never had coffee at all?
 
It is with a shiver of terror that I read the first thread on the online bulletin board where the nerdboys are organizing against Soren; the wording and anonymous posters' names seem almost to allude to me.

“So what REALLY happened on that day...”

“Rockstar rockstar rockstar.
 
Drugs?
 
Or knife-wavers?”

“And oh, I hope I don't crash my car again...”

Because the posts and log-in names are ambiguous, for no less than six hours I feel this incredible wave of terror that everyone is turning on me, and that for some reason, everyone thinks I've committed some kind of crime.
 
I find myself logging on and using an anonymous Internet handle (just as the commentators are all anonymous), trying to speak obliquely to cover myself, when in fact, actually, everyone is talking about something completely different; for some strange, bizarre reason, everyone is actually turning on Soren.
 
The accepted rumor is that Soren has committed some kind of crime.
 
Apparently, everyone thinks he's pulled a knife or something, and nobody is at this point even talking about Shan, who is the one who is in fact accused by police.

Soren doesn't have to say anything.
 
He has in fact been reclusive for several weeks now, and of course online accusations don't add up to criminal charges.
 
But what is great about him; and this is a beautiful moment; what is truly awesome about this individual, such that everyone will remember it for years to come, is that Soren, slowly figuring out that the majority of people believe that he is the one charged with a crime, instead of denying things, decides to pretend to completely admit doing it.
 
He doesn’t have to do a thing.
 
He has work, an apartment, a more settled group of work friends.
 
But Soren decides that he doesn’t actually give a rat's ass about Internet nerds typing furiously online and out of some inspired internally-driven lust for madness, Soren decides to pretend he actually committed a crime.

“Yo S*O*R*E*Nstyle here.
 
I know you've all been hearing static lately about me layin the law down on one of my bitches.
 
But don't get your panties in a twirl; this is just the price of the game—don't hate tha player, hate tha game.
 
I know haters gotta hate, but South Side Crew don't take bones from NEone.
 
If a jigga' makin his way in the world, u all gotta get to the SIDE if you can't STEP UP!!!! ---SORENs*T*Y*L*E”

For no less than two minutes I sit there looking at the bulletin board post agog, physically unable to move a muscle in my body, as almost everyone else who sees is, thinking up and discarding all the dozens of theories of what might be going on (somebody impersonating Soren, Soren having flipped, one of the nerdboys writing something earlier that was misinterpreted, etc.) before realizing exactly, precisely what Soren is doing—and how inspired it truly is.
 
Soren, sitting in his lonely tower and feeling in a perverse mood, has decided purely out of utter and overwhelming contempt for the nerdboys and Beta-male Witchita Japanophile English teacher monkeys with American flag bowties, to lie right through his teeth and claim to have assaulted Dominique.
 
He is doing this because he is totally safe—in truth, there are no police charges that he is the one—so in this zone of freedom offered by the Internet (and this is one final factor in all this; the technologies are just so new and poorly understood, this is around the turn of the century), Soren can come off a thousand times more brash and insouciant than even the Great Persona he projects in real life.

Redd: "Soren, you need to shut up, right now.
 
Everyone is really pissed off at the way you act, coming to this country and giving everyone a bad name like we're all here to just hit on Japanese girls.
 
Your actions are completely unprofessional and now you appear to be admitting to have committed acts of violence against a fellow expat.
 
Take a moment to consider the ramifications of your actions and how it affects how foreigners are treated in this culture."

Redd, poor simple Redd unsophisticated and proud of his teaching certification, five feet seven and one hundred ten pounds, so excruciatingly aware of just who he is, naively and unthinkingly blunders into warfare tricked by the simplest of strategems.

"Dude, maybe everybody doesn't want to become a genki English teacher dipshit.
 
Some of us actually know how to act around girls, and actually can pick up in countries other than
Japan
.
 
And don't think every girl who coos and says how cool you are actually believes it, you stupid McDonald's fry clerk.”

“Soren, your behavior is exactly in life with the serious legal charges that have been levied against you. Your behavior time and again has caused concern to many people, not just me.
 
When you behave in this fashion, all of us have to pay the price in the impact to our reputation and indeed, our treatment by the people so kindly hosting us in this nation.
 
If you have indeed assaulted someone in your apartment, I strongly encourage you to turn yourself into the police and confess your crimes.
 
Maybe in this way you can at least to some degree ameliorate the impact of your actions.”

“Listen you stupid A.L.T.
 
You are not even a teacher let alone the lawyer you think you are.
 
I have no idea why you think you are regarded as some kind of professional, when all you are is just another backpacking punk-on-a-lark who's discovered a clever way to make a half-way decent salary without too much effort.
 
Go back to being a tape-recorder: all you are is a trained monkey who speaks when and only when the Japanese teacher allows you to.” (etc.)

In the first few weeks of the Great Expat Cyberwar, it seems that the nerdboy/anti-Soren coalition is going to win.
 
Soren has made one critical misstep—posting originally under a recognizable log-in, (S*O*R*E*Nstyle) he assumes that everyone else that steps in will pay the same courtesy.
 
Instead, his log-in is immediately under assault by seemingly dozens, even hundreds of separate people, but who may in fact only be just an obsessive, dedicated cadre of computer nerds generating multiple accounts.
 
Or, of course, it may not be; there are, actually, scores of people that Soren has offended or insulted in some way over the previous two years, and some of these people, having gotten wind of the unfolding crisis, log-in just once or twice to put in a bad word against the man.
 
The first thread, the one on which Soren first clashes with Redd, is just six or seven people with a total of seventy or eighty page views.
 
In two weeks time, page views for threads involving Soren and Redd are totalling over two hundred, on average, and by the end of the month, as soon as either party (or their closest allies) post something, immediate emails are being flashed around Tokyo, and the thread is immediately viewed upwards of seven or eight hundred times within a matter of hours.
 
The snowballing is self-evident and the drama has five hundred people enraptured the first week; pushing five thousand by week two.
 
Then people (always anonymous, quite possibly sock-puppets of Redd or Julian) start putting up pictures of Soren—a car crash they claim is his and Photoshopped Soren heads on monkeys or other absurd situations, sometimes half a dozen or more a day, such that the entire site goes down and has to be reinstalled due to sheer bandwidth consumption.
 
Coalitions war on each other, dissolve, reorganize, start up anew. It seems every single weirdo and nutcase in Tokyo, every little weird guy with a psychological tic come to Japan, comes out of the woodwork to point out various flaws or outrages committed by Soren or his gang, every wrapped-up nutjob or freakcase, every loser and weirdo. And this is true; this isn’t hyperbole; I actually see some of these people shortly later, and it’s like every mental defective, Tourette’s syndrome weirdo, and mental hiccup in
Tokyo
is out.
 
These are people who couldn’t pick up a girl in a
Paris
bar.
 
And even I am drawn into this battle, not quite an ally of Soren, but certainly a clarifier of the worst charges; I think my stature within the expat community rises because I do my part to put out some of the easier-to-put-out fires posting now under my real name; I am to some degree a person of moderation and diplomacy, despite the initial awkwardness when I thought people were accusing me.

Redd: “The problem with Americans is that they think they can just barge into anywhere and start taking over.
 
What's true for foreign policy is true for individuals.
 
As an Australian, I know there are certain culture differences that each country respects and obeys that American people just can’t...”

There are certain generalized topics—international politics, religion, sexual mores—that draw in just about everybody and whose page counts and viewer numbers exceed even the usual Soren vs. Redd sniping.
 
In these battles, the line between the two sides becomes blurred, such that instead of AB vs. CD, it's A vs. BCD or ABC vs. D and many one-time posters.
 
There are even these extremely rare times when Soren and Redd actually agree on something or at least find a common ground on which to respectfully disagree.
 
It becomes this regular thing; this habit of our days to jump online once a day during lunchtime or at a coffeebreak, on some weekend afternoon between other responsibilities and see what fresh outrages have erupted, and everyone jumps in; I mean really everyone. Julian the filmmaker makes it his specialty to write ambiguous posts that at first sight aren't what they really are.
 
Trashy fast-talking ditzy American girls post off-topic remarks, completely missing the point.
 
But it is at the same time that I begin to learn what genuine hatred is, because Redd, despite all voluminous posting, despite his maniacally over-written entire paragraphs and pages, is not really offering up actionable critiques of our old gang, things we have done, or organizations in the world that appear in the news. Rather, his rage is really a function of the fact that he really is a loser and does not have any particular skill, quality, or achievement that he can be proud of.
 
He is the red-haired English monkey.
 
I think he knows who he is; I think he feels a considerable amount of self-hatred at the person he has become: a late twenties middle-school assistant language teacher making eleven hundred yen an hour to grade his thirteen-year-old students and the mannerisms, put down by the tenured Japanese teaching staff, lectured on his teaching style, and with the artificial personality of a forcibly and perpetually cheerful “Hey boys and girls!” English assistant that he has been for so many years, junior status at work, junior status on weekend nights, junior status at life.
 
This itself, of course, is not truly contemptible.
 
What is contemptible is that what his writings show is that he really wants everyone else in the world to be like this too.
 
He wants a world in which there are no achievers, no excellence, no urban sophisticates or dangerous sex appeal.
 
No crazy parties and drama that leaves you spending the night in jail, calling up your friends frantically.
 
Everyone will become a lower-middle class Ozzie expat with a fat girlfriend, crappily living in a plastic prefab apartment.
 
And when he starts attacking me; when he makes these outrageous claims about things I have said or done at parties that he wasn't even invited to, I feel my teeth grit; I feel myself go on edge.

By the third month of the Cyberwar, mid-October, the student government types—
Tokyo
's Coordinators for International Relations, decide to step in.
 
Ours is not actually the only crisis unfolding that overwhelming, suffocatingly hot summer.
 
A random American girl who ends up staying in
Japan
for only four months has a fit of hysteria and claims a Japanese or Chinese was waiting for her on her balcony.