The 1980s were a challenging decade. Recession, cultural upheaval, and probably the worst fashions in human history--and yes, I am familiar with the Baroque d^_~b. I was born in 1980, so my awareness of the world doesn't really start until about 1984, with He-Man, Superfriends, Transformers, and (early in 1985) Thundercats. I wasn't a G.I. Joe fan, but yeah, I watched that too sometimes.

Anyway, in 1986 we got The Karate Kid, Part II. Somewhere in there, the Disney Channel aired Unico in the Island of Magic, which both terrified and fascinated me. I would not see another anime--or even know it was called anime--until the 1990s, but my on-again, off-again love affair with all things Japanese is clearly another bit of memetic 80s detritus, washed up by the storm that brought MTV to our televisions--and Nintendo to our shores.

Chapter One: Plus Ça Change

My last heavy anime phase ended about six years ago, when I caught up on a number of series that aired during my mission. I took a year of Japanese as an undergraduate, I read some manga, I imported a toy or two. Like most of my hobbies, I got into it enough to frighten normal people, but not enough to impress any of the real fanatics, with their cosplay and encyclopedic knowledge of all things Japanese. I never could lay claim to the title of "otaku," let alone "weeabo." I do not eat fish, and rice but rarely, which limits my ability to absorb the food culture. I enjoy a game of Go but I would rather play Agricola. I am a fan of Nintendo, but I am also a fan of several American and Canadian PC game studios.

In other words, I skim the cream. I did watch The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, but it's the only feature-length non-Ghibli anime I've seen in years. That's right--at present, my love of Japanese culture is pretty much right back where it started, with Disney-class animated children's films.

This is because, at 29 years old, I spend at least as much time watching movies with my kids as with my wife. And my daughter is pretty much obsessed with Miyazaki's latest, Ponyo on the Cliff by the Sea.

Oh, she likes My Neighbor Totoro and Spirited Away and Princess Mononoke, sure. But she loves Ponyo. There is a scene in Ponyo where the mother makes ramen in bowls with lids made for just that purpose. We bought some disposable instant ramen bowls at the Lee Lee Oriental Supermarket (it's the Wal*Mart of imported foods, it is awesome--they have a larger variety of fish than most aquariums). The kids now call this "Ponyo ramen."

Well, most of you know that I am a sucker for an awesome Christmas. So we imported something (shhh, it's a surprise!) from Japan for Audrey this year. It arrived today.

Chapter Two: Service With a Smile

I have in the last five years or so imported goods from the UK, Hong Kong, Canada, and Japan, and of course various States of the Union. Sometimes from companies, sometimes from eBay sellers or the like... and never, never in my life have I received the kind of responsive, detail-oriented service from anyone else that I always get from the Japanese. Audrey's present arrived, carefully boxed, covered in the most legible handwriting you've ever seen. In the box, the gift was bagged, with a fancy sticker. A complimentary postcard was included, as well as a personalized note from the seller thanking me for my business. A tiny origami Totoro was pasted to the note.

Is it any wonder I love this culture!?

Now, I love American culture, such as it is. I love German board games. I'm a fan of British television, Mexican cuisine, and even some Russian literature. As Kipling put it, the world is wondrous large and it holds a vast of various kinds of man. Everyone has something to contribute.

But while a lot of Americans dig Japanese video games, graphic novels, animation, food, martial arts, and cars... what I really wish we could import is some of their collectivism.

Chapter Three: Individualists, Unite!

Yeah, that's me, the rabid individualist, the guy who wears a black mandarin-collar shirt to a church where white arrow-collars and ties are the norm, telling you that I want some collectivism. Let me explain.

What I initially typed there was, "what I really wish we could import is some of their commitment to quality." As I sort of unpacked the statement, I realized that quality is something the Japanese are committed to because anything less would be insulting, or shaming, or something along those lines. Not that every member of Japanese society is so honor-obsessed that the only alternative to brilliant workmanship is seppuku. Rather, the underlying cultural norm, the zeitgeist if you will, is that shoddy work is bad for everyone.

You might say that their commitment to quality is in some sense a commitment to the comfort, well-being, and even the exacting aesthetic tastes of other human beings. This is what it means to be a society, to be a culture--to benefit from the "commons," as it were, without despoiling them. To do something because it is worth doing in the long term, not because it has obvious and immediate short-term benefits. To realize that every "transaction" is a personal interaction, no matter how much you might want it to be "just business." I can't say I favor Japanese collectivism in its entirety, but in this narrow range of circumstances, its potential benefits are manifest.

Which dumps us back at the usual conundrum, namely, static versus Dynamic, group versus individual, conformity versus rebellion. I'm sure there are more than a few citizens of Japan who flee to other countries in search of a less formal, less stifling existence. I am also familiar with some of their more bizarre cultural excesses that occasionally make international news. Every culture has its challenges as well as its triumphs.

But when I get meticulously constructed, personalized papercraft receipts with my purchase of stuffed playthings, I have to say: it's hard to be anything but impressed.