One night I sat with Julian at Nine Mile. This was our reggae bar, and the master, Hiro, a good friend to this day, generally ensured the music was roots-reggae, though he'd occasionally supplement that with some live String Cheese Incident, which was a totally unexpected but surprisingly nice complement.

It was late and the party around us was live as always. Julian and I had become very accustomed to this. This was just a regular night.

I asked him, "Would you ever have predicted this, Julian? That while living here in Japan we'd party as much as we do, see so many live shows, and go to bars that blast reggae all night?"

Julian just shrugged, and then he said, "When in Rome...do as the Romanians do."

I hesitated for a second, until realizing he'd said something completely different than what I first thought I'd heard.

I nodded. It made sense to me. I loved a simple explanation.

Not to say I didn't do all the other stuff, too. I was up for nearly anything that my friends were up for. I wasn't strictly Romanian. I was all-inclusive.

For example, I loved being Roman any time I could. And by Roman I mean very traditionally Japanese, of course:

The Great Buddha in the ancient Japanese capital of Kamakura was very nearby, and a frequent and favorite stop of mine. I once participated in a tea ceremony, although it must be said, in classic gaijin fashion, I felt excruciating pain in my knees while trying to sit in seiza for longer than just a few minutes. I went to an onsen in Hakone with a group of friends—an onsen is a hot spring, and Hakone is famous for them. On that day I hadn't a sip of alcohol, but nevertheless, afterward I was so intensely relaxed that I almost didn't feel safe driving everyone home.

I donned a yukata, which is a summer kimono, and while wearing it I attended a fireworks festival in Yokohama. On that night I had several grateful and even adoring looks from some random passersby. One elderly woman even stopped me and thanked me earnestly. I didn't quite have the wherewithal to say that it was my pleasure, and that it was the absolute least I could do. Instead, I just thanked her right back, wholeheartedly, and for a few moments it was like the two of us were in a thanking contest with one another.

All throughout, I learned much about Japan. Or, at least I thought I did. As I stated once already, Julian was often my mentor—the one to try to explain things to me.

One learning experience occurred at a Denny's, and since this is my second example to occur in this particular restaurant, I guess you could say that strangely it is within this American franchise restaurant that I unexpectedly learned much about Japan.

It was late night, and Julian had gone to use the restroom. While he was gone, the waitress came by. Every instinct I had told me to say hello, and to ask how are you, which is exactly what you do in the U.S.—and that is only if the server doesn't ask you first.

Always eager to test my Japanese in real-world situations, I went ahead and said to her, "Konbanwa. Genki desu ka?" This translates in some degree to "good evening, how are you?"

She promptly giggled, looked confused, giggled again, and walked off. I was left thinking that I had must have had food on my face, or I somehow was missing some clothes, or something. But no, checking myself, I appeared fine, and when Julian returned, I asked him about what might have happened.

He knew. He almost always did.

While in America, "how are you?" is more or less a greeting to anyone, complete stranger or no, but in Japan, you asked "genki desu ka?" only to close friends, and it is an exceedingly strange thing to ask to a waitress whom you didn't know and have never met.

It's nice though, because (random Denny's waitress aside) as a gaijin you normally get a free pass in such situations. People don't expect you to know the fine nuances of the culture, and even if you're making a total ass out of yourself, people will generally have plenty of patience, and they will forgive you. That is, so long as the descriptors nice, humble, and apologetic apply to you, and the descriptors arrogant, rude, and continuous repeat offender do not.

Another culture clash can be a dangerous one:

At a social gathering, it is Japanese culture to always fill up a friend's cup anytime it is empty. Meanwhile, it is American culture to always finish your cup—we feel like the longer it remains unfinished, it might signify you don't like it and could actually be rude. In other words, Americans feel it is polite to drink it down, while the Japanese feel it is polite to constantly fill it back up. This is a deadly combination. On at least one occasion, I remember staring at my cup in bewilderment thinking, how is my cup full again? I swear I drank it all...

This culture clash is particularly dangerous if the beverage consumed is either sake or shochu. Proceed with caution. This can get you into a lot of trouble; but, it could also make you a superstar.