If it's Tuesday, you must be Kitsune..... Part 2

Continued from yesterday's ramblings.

In our real, everyday lives we are saddled with the names our parents bestow upon us. While some people will go so far as to legally change the name they were born with because they never liked it, most of us live with what we were given, whether we like it or not.

Same thing with nicknames. In most cases, nicknames happen because someone makes an observance about you and tags you with a nickname based on it. It could be a diminutive form of your name, based on a physical attribute ("Stretch"), where you come from, ("Tex"), or something you did that you'll never live down ("Barometer Boy").  In Japan's Imperial Court it was considered rude to refer to a person directly by name. This is one of the reasons that finding period Japanese names for women is so challenging. If all that ever gets written down about one is "The Mother of Mitchitsune" or "Tametoki's Daughter" or "The Wife Of Thus And Such Minister" or even "The Lady Who Lives Next To The Potted Plant" you can see the problem.

Traditionally, most translators decide, "Fine, we'll just call her Kiritsubo (The Lady Who Lives In The Pavilion With The Pawlonia Tree)" because that's what Kiritsubo means and it makes life a lot easier. Western readers interpret these nicknames as being real names. After all, that's what we're used to.

So I understand. Really I do. Picking an SCA name means I get to decide what people will call me. I want something that is meaningful to me, that proclaims to the world Who I Am, because I got into the SCA because I'm a shameless romantic or I want to be larger than life a few hours a week, or pick your reason.
So here you are, all bright eyed and enthusiastic and you've found The Perfect Name and someone says you can't use it? The nerve! What does she know? She's only the woman who wrote the book on medieval Japanese naming practices that is the bible on the subject for the SCA, BTW. He's only got a doctoral degree in Japanese. The rest of us have only been benefitting from their knowledge for longer than you've been in the organization and are trying to, well, help you on your quest to find something you can actually register.

There's a solution really. All is not lost. "Konichiwa, I am Saionji no Hanae. You can call me (Insert The Perfect Name Here)."

That's it. Do the homework - after all, if you're going to pick a name and a persona, it might be nice to know more about it than something you saw in a cartoon. Consult with a herald - they get lonely, that's what they're there for. Register a name that does what the College of Heralds requires of it.

Let your friends call you by The Perfect Name. 

So, what's a Tanuki?

It occurs to me that some of my Occidental readers who have been patiently bearing with the natterings of She Who Sucks The Least, that I mentioned tanuki recently and didn't bother to tell you what one is.

I was introduced to the tanuki by my friend Josh when he came visiting and we were exploring Japantown. In the window of one of the businesses was a three foot high ceramic garden ornament of a jolly,  big eyed, round bellied critter with elephantiasis of the testicles and a bottle of sake in each paw. Josh immediately went into transports of glee and wished that he could put one on his front steps without the condo association becoming completely
unhinged by it.  Feel free to cry "Squee!" or "Kawaii." I'll wait.
 

Yeah. They are kinda cute, aren't they? And in this country, a bit hard to find - I've been prowling the Japanese shops in San Francisco and the East Bay for a couple of years and finally found this little guy languishing in solitude among the maneki neko figurines. He has promised to guard my laundry quarters as long as I keep buying good sake.


The real tanuki is often referred to as a "raccoon dog." It's a canine with a somewhat raccoon-like mask.


In Japanese folklore, tanuki have a reputation as shape-shifters.

This charming little fellow appeared at Morin Temple in the guise of a tea kettle - in this iteration of the tale, the monks let him stay on. He looks a little melancholy being so well behaved.
 

And here's a cartoon from 1933 featuring tanuki and other playful spirits:

Watch on YouTube