Why did 'Tamori Club' last for 40 years doing 'things that don't seem useful'? Waste was an adult's education.
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I had started to feel guilty about wasting time immediately.
Lately, no matter what I am doing, I immediately look for meaning in it.
When I read a book,
'So, what did I learn?'
I think.
When I watch a movie,
'Was there anything I could turn into a review?'
I think.
When I go for a walk,
'It's good for my health, so this is necessary time'
I justify it.
Even when I am just zoning out at a cafe,
'This is a change of pace, an investment to increase tomorrow's productivity'
I end up putting on a face like that.
Shut up.
The little manager inside me is so noisy.
I was just drinking a cafe latte and looking out the window.
I wish they wouldn't bring return on investment into that.
Before I knew it, I started needing a reason to enjoy anything.
I need a benefit even to rest.
I need a meaning even to play.
Even to zone out, I need an explanation about brain recovery.
Just fun.
Just liking something.
Just laughing.
That alone makes me feel a little anxious.
Even though I am just resting, for some reason, I sometimes find myself writing a proposal in my mind.
'Regarding this matter, please approve this as a temporary rest for the purpose of fatigue recovery.'
Who am I submitting this to?
My boss?
God?
Myself?
Perhaps the strictest one is myself.
I, who try to make everything useful.
When you become an adult, waste becomes a little scary.
Waste of time.
Waste of money.
Waste of effort.
Idle talk.
Wasteful spending.
A wasted trip.
The word 'waste' usually comes up when you are being scolded.
'That was a waste'
is rarely something people are happy to hear.
I, too, would probably look off into the distance a bit.
Because I have far too many things that come to mind.
Late-night online shopping.
Storage items I bought without knowing why.
I thought using them would organize my life, but now I'm struggling to find a place to store the storage items themselves.
My life is in a traffic jam before it can even be organized.
Once again, I was foolish.
That is why reducing waste is important.
It is truly important.
I want useless meetings to decrease.
I want useless procedures to decrease as well.
I also wish the pointlessly long password change rules would become a bit more lenient, if possible.
Humans are already cornered enough by alphanumeric characters and symbols.
But, I suddenly wonder.
Is it really true that we don't need any useless things at all?
Useless time.
Useless conversation.
Useless laughter.
Useless obsessions.
Hobbies that might not be useful.
Things you like that only get a 'huh' when you explain them to anyone.
If we cut out even those things, where would we be able to breathe?
Lately, I have been trying too hard to make everything useful.
Reading is for learning.
Movies are for output.
Walking is for health management.
Sleep is a fatigue recovery strategy.
Hobbies are candidates for side jobs.
Even a nap is just paying off a sleep debt.
Am I sleeping, or am I paying off a loan?
Even inside my futon, it's all accounting.
If you're not careful, even your rest becomes bookkeeping.
To me, 'Tamori Club' was a mystery.
For someone like me, 'Tamori Club' was a slightly mysterious program.
Relaxed.
Strange.
Late-night.
Maniac.
You can't tell at a glance what it's useful for.
But you end up watching it.
Adults are enjoying things that seem trivial with a level of intensity that is anything but trivial.
Foreign lyrics sound like strange Japanese.
They go out of their way to turn that into a video.
Adults seriously peer into worlds of overly specific hobbies.
Railways.
Topography.
Cooking.
Music.
Crafts.
Topics that are too specialized.
Unknown worlds.
Obsessions you don't understand.
Normally,
'What is the use of that?'
Tamori Club did not end things that seemed like they would just end with that.
Rather, that is where it begins.
I had always thought of 'Tamori Club' as...
a laid-back and strange late-night show
I thought it was that.
Of course, I feel that is not wrong.
In fact, it is a compliment.
That unique laid-back feeling that is only allowed late at night.
A feeling that, despite being relaxed, somehow strangely sticks in your memory.
But, when I think about it again, perhaps it was more than just that.
'Tamori Club' was a show where adults seriously enjoyed things that might not be useful, while they remained not useful.
It was a show that did not carelessly discard things that appeared to be useless.
And perhaps, within that uselessness, there was laughter, curiosity, and an entrance to a world unknown.
I am afraid of wasted time. But, a life without any waste is also a little scary.
I am afraid of wasted time.
This is my honest feeling.
I have to do something.
I have to study.
I have to tidy up.
I have to reply.
I have to move my body.
I have to do things that will be useful for the future.
I end up thinking that way.
But at the same time, a life without waste is also a little scary.
Everything has meaning.
Everything has a purpose.
Everything has a result.
Everything is streamlined.
That looks beautiful at first glance.
It is beautiful, but it is a little suffocating.
In terms of a room, it feels like the storage is perfect, but there is no place to sit.
Nothing is cluttered.
But, you cannot relax.
Such a life is a little lonely.
While researching 'Tamori Club', I was thinking about things like that.
Perhaps that show did not continue just to deliver useful information.
Of course, there was knowledge.
There was also an entrance to unknown worlds.
But, more than that,
it is okay to find things that might not be useful interesting
There was an atmosphere like that.
It's okay for adults to play seriously.
It's okay to laugh at silly things just as they are.
It's okay to peek at maniacal things without understanding them.
It's okay to be there even if you don't understand the meaning right away.
That might be something I have started to lose a little bit now.
The question this time is here.
Why did 'Tamori Club' last for 40 years with 'things that might not be useful'?
And,
Was the time that seemed useless really useless?
As I looked into it, I began to understand a little.
Uselessness is not just something to be cut away.
Uselessness might have been the margin for the heart to breathe.
I thought 'Tamori Club' was a loose and strange late-night show.
'Tamori Club'.
Just hearing this name makes the late-night atmosphere flow through my head.
That feeling, a little different from daytime television.
It doesn't get overly excited.
It doesn't rush to find the right answer.
It doesn't force you to be deeply moved.
If anything, it was a show where they talked about strangely detailed topics at a time when you were already feeling a bit sleepy.
But for some reason, you end up watching it.
At first, I understood 'Tamori Club' quite crudely.
In other words,
a show where Tamori-san does weird things in a relaxed way late at night
.
Crude.
Quite crude.
I had reduced the depth of the show to the thickness of a thin spoon you get at a convenience store.
I also thought I knew what it was about.
Of course, that impression wasn't entirely wrong.
'Tamori Club' had a sense of relaxation.
It also had a sense of strangeness.
It also had the atmosphere of late-night television.
But thinking about it again, perhaps that 'relaxed and strange' quality wasn't just simple relaxation or strangeness.
A 'wandering show' that lasted about 40 years
'Tamori Club' was a late-night show that ran for about 40 years, from 1982 to the end of March 2023.
40 years.
That's amazing.
If it were a person, it would be a very respectable adult.
It is the age where you look at your health check results and fall silent for a moment.
It is the age where you whisper, 'The numbers are worse than last year...'
For such a long time, 'Tamori Club' remained on late at night.
And it wasn't just long-running.
The term 'wandering program' suits this show perfectly.
Instead of being fixed on one theme, it would casually wander off into interesting side paths.
Railways.
Soramimi (misheard lyrics).
Topography.
Cooking.
Music.
Crafts.
Overly specialized tools.
Obscure industries.
Niche hobbies.
'Let's learn about this today'
Rather than that,
'This looks kind of interesting, so let's take a look'
was the general vibe.
I feel that this 'let's take a look' was quite important.
Usually, a program has an easy-to-understand sign.
Cooking for a cooking show.
News for a news show.
Travel for a travel show.
Health for a health show.
If you watch it, you generally know what you will get out of it.
But 'Tamori Club' avoided such easy-to-understand signs a little bit.
No, rather than avoiding them, it felt like it took a detour while still holding the sign.
'This is the front entrance'
they would say, while somehow turning into a back alley.
And before you know it, you are listening to a stranger talk about a very niche hobby.
What kind of flow is that?
But that is what makes it interesting.
Looking at the program's concepts alone, there are times when you worry about how they ever got approved in a meeting.
'Who is going to watch this?'
'Where is the demand for this?'
'Are the sponsors okay with this?'
That is none of my business.
It is completely the worry of an amateur.
But the concepts were often on a detour, enough to make you think that way.
And those detours were loved for a long time.
If it were just strange, it wouldn't have lasted 40 years.
If it were just laid-back, it wouldn't have remained in our memories.
I think 'Tamori Club' had a strange strength that allowed it to keep doing strange things just as they were.
It's laid-back, yet for some reason, you end up watching it.
The mystery of 'Tamori Club' lies in the fact that it doesn't try too hard.
It doesn't pull the viewer along forcefully.
'Now, please be moved here.'
It doesn't say that.
'This is today's lesson.'
It doesn't write that in big letters on a blackboard.
'Your life will change.'
It doesn't say that either.
In fact, sometimes,
'What on earth am I being shown?'
there are moments when you think that.
But that's what's good about it.
When you become an adult, whether it's TV, books, or social media, you tend to be expected to gain something from it.
It's educational.
It's useful.
It makes you cry.
It makes you laugh.
It makes you think.
It's useful from tomorrow.
It changes your life.
It's amazing.
It's all amazing.
But, it's a little tiring.
I already receive plenty of things at work.
Emails.
Requests.
Confirmation items.
Meeting materials.
Revision requests.
And, for some reason, the number of unread notifications keeps growing.
If I were forced to carry any more heavy learning late at night, my shoulders would give out.
My shoulders aren't really suited for corporate training.
In that regard, 'Tamori Club' was light.
It was light, yet not shallow.
It was laid-back, yet not boring.
It was playful, yet somehow intellectual.
This balance was unique.
Even though it dealt with unknown worlds, it didn't feel like a teacher lecturing from a podium.
Even though the topics were maniacal, it didn't feel like they were going to be on a test.
It didn't push viewers away by saying, 'Only those who understand will understand.'
It was just adults there, having a good time.
And so, I found myself wanting to take a peek, too.
That was the kind of show it was.
A place to enjoy strange things just as they are
I used to think 'Tamori Club' was a strange show allowed only in the late hours of the night.
But thinking about it now, that's a little different.
It wasn't that it was a strange show,
but perhaps it was a place where you could enjoy strange things just as they are.
That is a significant difference.
Usually, strange things are tidied up somewhere along the way.
They are made easy to understand.
They are shaped into something useful.
They are forced into a neat conclusion.
They are summarized with, 'In other words, this is what this means.'
But 'Tamori Club' never did that.
Of course, that is kind.
Clarity is important.
I also prefer appliance manuals to be easy to understand.
I would be troubled if I were suddenly handed a poetic rice cooker manual.
'The rice meets the water, and eventually becomes steam'
That is not it.
How many cups?
Where is the water level?
Therefore, making things easy to understand is important.
However, if you make everything too easy to understand, the strange charm of strange things can disappear.
'Tamori Club' did not rush to fix that.
Leaving things that seem trivial, just as they are, as trivial things.
But, not treating them carelessly.
Rather, adults watch them seriously.
Play seriously.
Laugh seriously.
This is what is amazing.
Enjoying things that you don't know if they are useful, while they remain not knowing if they are useful.
Finding fun in maniac things, while they remain maniac.
Taking a moment to look at things whose meaning you don't immediately understand, while the meaning remains unknown.
It was a place where that was allowed.
Perhaps that is what I was drawn to.
It cannot be dismissed as just a strange show
It is easy to call 'Tamori Club' a 'strange show'.
In fact, it was strange.
It was quite strange.
But that is not enough.
If it were just strange, you would watch it once and be done with it.
'What was that all about?'
That is how it would end.
But 'Tamori Club' lasted for about 40 years.
This means that within that strangeness, there must have been something that kept people hooked for a long time.
I feel it wasn't just about flashy planning.
It wasn't about luxury either.
It wasn't about tears.
It wasn't about major events.
Rather, it was about small detours.
Someone's overly specific obsession.
A theme that seemed trivial at first glance.
Laughter where you don't know if there is any meaning.
Knowledge that you don't know if it's useful.
But adults would take it seriously.
Then, things that seemed trivial would gradually become not so trivial.
A world you didn't know would open up just a little bit.
Perhaps that was the charm of 'Tamori Club'.
I thought it was a loose and strange show.
But in reality, it was
a show that could enjoy strange things as they were, without trying to correct them into a proper form
.
And to enjoy strange things as they are, you surprisingly need the composure of an adult.
It's hard to do if you're in a hurry for efficiency or the right answer.
Perhaps 'Tamori Club' was quietly leaving that composure for us late at night.
When adults play seriously, play might become education.
While researching 'Tamori Club',
I encountered the terms
'the cultivation of hobbies'
and 'intellectual laughter'.
I see.
Indeed, when put that way, I understand.
I understand, but it suddenly makes me sit up a bit straighter.
'The cultivation of hobbies'.
That's a strong set of kanji.
It's a phrase that wears a suit.
It sounds like something that would be written on a conference room whiteboard.
It makes me feel like the laid-back late-night show inside me has suddenly been asked to submit a report.
However, I thought what this phrase points to is actually quite important.
'Tamori Club' wasn't just messing around.
At the same time, it didn't exactly call itself an 'educational program' head-on.
It existed in a more mysterious place.
Between play and education.
Between silliness and intelligence.
Between seriousness and relaxation.
Things that wouldn't normally mix were, for some reason, blending together nicely in the late-night hours.
Enjoying things that seem trivial with a level of passion that is anything but trivial
If I were to describe the appeal of 'Tamori Club' in my own words,
it was a program that enjoyed things that seemed trivial with a level of passion that was anything but trivial
I think that's what it was.
This is it.
It's very much this.
At first glance, it seems trivial.
No, that's a bit of a crude way to put it.
But, to be honest, sometimes it looks that way at first.
'You're making a show out of that?'
'You're digging that deep into that?'
'You're spending 30 minutes on that obsession?'
I think.
But as you watch, you gradually stop knowing.
Things you thought were trivial slowly stop being trivial.
In a world you don't know, there is a passion you don't know.
Things that someone is truly passionate about have a depth that exceeds our imagination.
You start to see that.
I feel like this was the strength of 'Tamori Club'.
For example, in my daily life, there are too many easily understandable purposes.
Work is for results.
Shopping is for necessity.
Exercise is for health.
Study is for growth.
Cleaning is for maintaining life.
All of these are important.
If you don't clean, a room will quickly try to return to nature.
Clothes form herds on the floor, paper bags multiply, and something in the back of the refrigerator quietly becomes history.
Life requires a purpose.
But if you only focus on purpose, you get tired.
What is the point of doing this?
What is it useful for?
What can be gained from it?
If you only think about those things, your mind remains on the clock forever.
'Tamori Club' had an atmosphere that allowed that 'on-the-clock' mind to rest for a while.
What is the use of this?
Setting such questions aside for a moment.
Watching it because it's interesting.
Taking a peek because it's hard to understand.
Laughing because it's silly.
That is fine.
It had that feeling.
Adults were seriously messing around.
Adults messing around seriously.
This seems simple, but it is surprisingly difficult.
It is natural for children to mess around.
It's understandable to mess around when you're young.
But as an adult, it takes a bit of courage to mess around.
I'm afraid of being thought of as not being serious.
I'm afraid of being thought of as meaningless.
I'm afraid of being thought of as wasting time.
That's why adult play sometimes wears an excuse.
Because this is educational.
Because this leads to networking.
Because this is good for my health.
Because this is time to refine my sensibilities.
I want to say things like that.
I often say them too.
Even though I just did nothing on my day off,
I put on a face like,
'Today was a day to get myself in order.'
That's not true.
I was just sleeping.
I was sleeping quite a lot.
Rather than getting in order, I was becoming one with the futon.
But adults just can't help but want to attach meaning to play.
Because that is more reassuring.
'Tamori Club' seemed not to rush into giving things meaning.
Of course, as a result, there is knowledge.
An unknown world opens up.
Specialized topics also come up.
But from the beginning,
'This knowledge will be useful starting tomorrow'
it does not wear that face.
'If you learn this, your life will change'
it does not say that either.
It is just adults seriously enjoying strange things.
This is what is good about it.
It is serious, yet not pretentious.
It is playful, yet not sloppy.
It is laid-back, yet not careless.
This balance is quite rare.
Education does not only come when you are sitting upright.
I may have misunderstood what education is a little bit.
When I hear the word education, I somehow want to straighten my posture.
Thick books.
Difficult words.
History.
Philosophy.
Art museums.
Classical music.
Quiet libraries.
And an atmosphere where you must not get sleepy.
That is generally what one imagines.
Of course, that is also culture.
It is important.
However, someone like me gets a little guarded when culture comes at me too head-on.
'Please learn this now'
When I am told that, memories of my student days come back to me.
Notebooks.
Tests.
Red pens.
Deadlines.
Suddenly, my stomach feels tight.
But the culture of 'Tamori Club' was a little different.
It didn't come through the front door.
Rather, it comes in through the back door.
While you are laughing, you find yourself standing at the entrance to an unknown world.
While you are fooling around, professional talk enters your ears.
Things you thought 'what is that' gradually change into 'maybe this is a little interesting'.
This is a very gentle form of education.
Instead of revering knowledge, while you are enjoying it, you find yourself standing at the entrance to an unknown world before you know it.
Perhaps the goodness of 'Tamori Club' lay right here.
Do not place education on a high shelf as something to be revered.
Bring it down to your hands.
Mix it into laughter.
Sneak it into strange projects.
Moreover, it does not say, 'Now, go learn.'
Before you know it, you know a little bit.
This amount is just right for me.
Because it does not rush to be useful, curiosity remains.
We today tend to seek usefulness immediately.
What can this knowledge be used for?
What will this hobby lead to?
What will this time produce?
Of course, these are necessary questions.
It is not that everything should be unplanned.
Household accounts are important too.
Deadlines are important too.
Expiration dates in the refrigerator are important too.
Reality does not wait for our emotions.
However, I feel that if you seek utility in everything, your curiosity shrinks a little.
If you judge things beforehand by whether they are 'useful or not',
'I don't really know what it is, but I'm curious'
is cut off before that feeling can grow.
This is a bit of a waste.
Curiosity often does not have a grand reason from the start.
I'm just somehow curious.
I just like it somehow.
I don't know the reason, but I end up watching it.
It is a small sprout of that size.
If you question it every time with,
'What is the use?'
'What are the results?'
'What is the future potential?'
the sprout will wither before it even emerges.
Even curiosity doesn't like high-pressure interviews.
'Tamori Club' might have been a show that didn't rush that small curiosity.
It's not clear what it's useful for.
But, it's a little interesting.
And that's enough.
That sense of 'enough' looks very precious now.
When adults play seriously, perhaps play becomes education.
However, this is not about 'let's convert play into education'.
You don't have to turn play into something immediately useful.
If you cherish play as play, as a result, a world you didn't know might open up.
It's that kind of relaxed education.
I felt saved by that.
If you only collect useful things, your life might become orderly.
But, the power to find things interesting might become a little thin.
'Tamori Club' was doing the opposite of that late at night.
Don't over-organize.
Don't rush.
Don't jump to conclusions about meaning.
Take a detour.
Find it interesting.
And before you know it, you've learned a little bit more about the world.
I think that was quite an adult's education.
Why weren't we left behind, even though it was so maniacal?
Maniacal worlds are interesting.
But they are also a little scary.
I want to be honest about this.
Hobbies I don't know about.
Technical jargon.
People who are excessively knowledgeable.
Rules that only exist there.
An atmosphere where you don't know what to ask or where to start.
When I enter places like that, I immediately become like a cat on a leash.
And a very polite cat at that.
'I must not be rude.'
'I must not be seen as a novice.'
'I must not ask strange questions.'
I shrink back strangely.
But inside, I don't understand anything.
I don't understand, yet I put on a face as if I do.
There it is.
It is a camouflage for intelligence.
I was foolish again.
Sometimes, you cannot find the front door to a maniacal world.
Right in front of the entrance, there is suddenly a basement.
At the bottom of the stairs, the regulars are already getting excited using technical jargon.
I don't know if I should take off my shoes, if I need a membership card, or if this is even the entrance in the first place.
That is how I feel.
But I think 'Tamori Club' was a show that softened that fear a little bit.
It creates a side entrance into worlds you don't understand.
'Tamori Club' had many maniacal themes.
Railways.
Topography.
Music.
Soramimi (misheard lyrics).
Cooking.
Crafts.
Specialized tools.
Mysterious industries.
Hobbies that are too niche.
These are worlds you rarely encounter in everyday life.
You probably wouldn't search for it yourself.
It doesn't show up in your recommendations either.
It doesn't come up suddenly in conversations with friends, either.
'How have you been lately?'
'So-so. By the way, about this specialized tool...'
That rarely happens.
Well, maybe some people do.
I'd like to be friends with that person.
But in most cases, unknown worlds just pass us by without us ever knowing them.
'Tamori Club' would casually take us there.
And not head-on, either.
Not like a class where they say,
'Today's theme is this. Let's start by learning the basics.'
It didn't come at you like that.
It was much more relaxed.
Much more from the side.
Before you knew it, you were standing at the entrance to an unknown world.
And the entrance wasn't the front door.
It was the back door.
'Tamori Club' might have been a show that created back doors into unknown worlds.
Because it's a back door, it's a little easier to enter.
You don't have to be dressed properly.
You don't have to understand it perfectly.
'What's that?'
You can enter with that look on your face.
This is what I'm grateful for.
I'm not good with front entrances.
When I see an impressive gate, I suddenly straighten my back.
'Is it okay for someone like me to enter?'
That's how I feel.
But with a back door, it's a little more relaxed.
'I'm just taking a peek.'
You can enter with that look on your face.
The mania of 'Tamori Club' had that sense of ease.
A mania that doesn't leave the uninitiated behind
Maniac worlds sometimes leave people behind.
This is partly unavoidable.
When people who love something deeply gather, the conversation naturally becomes detailed.
Technical terms also come up.
The prerequisite knowledge also increases.
"You surely know this, right?"
An atmosphere like that also emerges.
Whenever I am exposed to that atmosphere, I instantly feel anxious.
I don't know what is 'surely known'.
I have missed the train of the 'surely known'.
I am just standing on the platform holding a bento box.
But on 'Tamori Club', even when maniacal topics came up, there was always an entry point that made you laugh.
They showed the passion of experts and enthusiasts exactly as it was.
But they didn't test the viewers.
"If you don't understand this, please go home."
They never said that.
Even those who didn't understand could still be part of the scene.
In fact, not understanding became an entry point itself.
"What is that?"
"Does a world like that exist?"
"You're that obsessed with that?"
This surprise became the fun of the program.
This is what is amazing about it.
If you dilute maniacal things too much to make them easy to understand, the fun can disappear.
But if it's too concentrated, you can't get in.
Perhaps 'Tamori Club' managed to balance its intensity with humor and Tamori-san's unique atmosphere.
It was specialized, yet never condescending.
It was detailed, yet never closed off.
It was eccentric, yet never exclusionary.
I think this balance was what made it so pleasant to watch.
Seeing someone's 'passion' makes you feel a little better
I love watching people when they are truly passionate about something.
Even if I don't understand it myself.
No, sometimes it's interesting precisely because I don't understand it.
Why can they get so fired up about that?
What makes them so happy about it?
What is the difference?
Things that look identical to me are being meticulously distinguished by the other person.
This is fascinating.
For example, someone who knows a lot about stationery.
They talk about the thickness of the paper and how it feels to write on it.
At first, I think,
'Isn't paper just paper?'
I think that.
That's terrible.
But, as you listen, you start to understand a little.
To this person, a piece of paper is seen as a world unto itself.
There is a real story behind the compatibility between a pen tip and paper.
When you think of it that way, paper suddenly becomes more than just paper.
Even if I can't become that knowledgeable, just by touching upon that person's 'passion,' the resolution of my world increases a little.
'Tamori Club' had moments like that.
People from worlds I don't know talking about the things they love.
It's detailed.
It's passionate.
Sometimes, I don't understand what they mean.
But, watching that intensity makes me feel a little better.
Can humans really love such detailed things?
Can they really get excited over such seemingly trivial differences?
That is quite a source of hope.
It might sound like an exaggeration.
But, I truly think so.
The world is not limited to the scope of what I know.
There are as many side paths as there are things that someone 'loves'.
Being able to think that way is a bit of a relief.
Not to mock, but to find it interesting
What is important here is that the humor of 'Tamori Club' did not simply make fun of maniacal people.
Of course, there is humor in the program.
There are also strange projects.
There are also moments where you think, 'Are they really going that far?'
But to me, it seems there was a sense of respect deep within that humor.
Not to mock, but to find it interesting.
This difference is significant.
Humor that mocks puts the other person below you.
'What is that, how strange.'
That is where it ends.
But humor that finds things interesting gets a little closer to the other person's world.
'What is that, it's strange, but show me a little.'
That is what it becomes.
This is the difference.
'Tamori Club' was not a program that judged unknown worlds based on correctness.
'Is this useful?'
'Is this common?'
'Does this have meaning?'
Before judging with these questions,
'That's interesting.'
I see it that way.
Because of this attitude, I think viewers didn't feel left behind even though it was maniacal.
It's okay to enjoy things you don't understand without needing to understand them.
This is a very welcome permission.
When we become adults, we tend to feel ashamed of not knowing things.
We feel anxious if we don't know.
We feel anxious if we can't explain it.
We feel like we shouldn't be there if we can't understand it properly.
But in reality, when entering an unknown world, you don't have to understand it from the start.
'What's that?'
It's okay to start from there.
Perhaps 'Tamori Club' was a program that accepted that 'What's that?' with a laugh.
Being maniacal is not about closing off, but can also be an entrance
The word 'maniacal' has a slightly closed impression.
A world only for those who understand.
A world that is too detailed.
A world that is hard to enter from the outside.
But watching 'Tamori Club', I come to think that being maniacal is not necessarily about closing off.
Rather, it can also be an entrance to an unknown world.
One person deeply loving something.
That depth becomes an entrance.
'If you like it that much, I'd like to take a look'
is what it makes you think.
Knowing things shallowly and broadly is also important.
But peeking from the side into a hole someone else has dug deep is also quite interesting.
Calling it a hole might be a bit rude.
But the world of hobbies is sometimes a hole.
Deep.
Dark.
The bottom cannot be seen.
And there are happy voices coming from inside.
It's scary, but I'm curious.
'Tamori Club' might have been a program that built a small staircase next to that hole.
You don't have to go all the way down.
You don't have to go to the very bottom.
You don't have to become an expert.
Just take a little peek.
Learn that 'such a world exists'.
Even just that makes daily life expand a little.
I felt that kind of expansion in the maniac nature of 'Tamori Club'.
It is okay to find things you don't understand interesting, even while they remain a mystery.
It is okay to take a little peek into an unknown world, even if you cannot understand it perfectly.
That might be something that has no clear use, but is quite effective for the heart.
Soramimi Hour might have been useless, but it was perhaps the pinnacle of laughter.
When talking about 'Tamori Club', there is something we simply cannot avoid.
It is Soramimi Hour.
Just the sound of these words makes the corners of my mouth relax a little.
Soramimi.
Hour.
What is it about this exquisite lightness?
It doesn't feel like it's going to save the world.
It doesn't feel like it's going to solve social issues.
It doesn't feel like it's going to improve tomorrow's work efficiency.
But for some reason, it remains in our memories.
This is quite an amazing thing.
Soramimi Hour was a famous segment that enjoyed the phenomenon where foreign lyrics sound like Japanese.
Moreover, it didn't just end with 'Yeah, it sounds like that'.
They added visuals to it.
They accepted submissions.
Tamori-san and Hajime Anzai watched them.
Laugh.
Win a prize.
When you think about it calmly, it's quite serious.
Facing a misheard lyric with such care.
Taking something that would normally pass by in an instant and going out of your way to provide a chair for it to sit on.
Perhaps 'Soramimi Hour' was a segment that went out of its way to dress up misheard lyrics in formal attire.
Taking a fleeting mishearing and deliberately giving it form.
Foreign lyrics that sound like Japanese.
This sort of thing certainly happens.
In a fleeting moment,
'Wait, what did they just say?'
It happens.
Even though the words are actually completely different, our ears automatically interpret them as Japanese.
A swing and a miss by the ear.
No, rather than a miss, it's a mysterious home run.
It flies off in an unintended direction.
Normally, you would just laugh on the spot and that would be it.
'That sounded weird just now.'
'It really did.'
'How silly.'
The end.
That is enough.
In fact, I don't know how else to expand on it.
But the 'Soramimi Hour' expanded on that.
Submitting misheard lyrics.
Adding visuals.
Showing them on the program.
Adults laughing seriously.
The effort involved is incredible.
If you ask if it's useful, it's highly questionable.
If you ask if it's useful for learning a foreign language, it's actually a bit risky.
There is a possibility that it will lead you away from correct pronunciation.
If an English teacher found out, they might make a troubled face.
But there was a joy there that could be found nowhere else.
Enjoying the fact that it sounds strange, rather than listening correctly.
Not treating mistakes simply as mistakes.
Creating a place for laughter there.
I think this was a way of playing that was typical of 'Tamori Club'.
They cherished useless laughter while keeping it useless.
The greatness of the 'Soramimi Hour' is that it didn't force misheard lyrics to be useful.
They wouldn't start saying things like,
'Learning cross-cultural understanding from these misheard lyrics.'
They wouldn't suddenly turn it into a university lecture,
like 'The potential for communication created by mishearing.'
Of course, looking back, it might lead to an interest in how sounds are heard or the fun of language.
But as for the atmosphere of the show, first you laugh.
It's silly.
But you laugh.
And that's fine.
This lightness was important.
I tend to try to attach meaning to everything.
If I have fun,
I think,
'What did I gain from this experience?'
If I laugh,
I think,
'What is the structure of this laughter?'
It's scary.
I analyze myself too much.
I should just be able to laugh when I laugh.
And yet, I immediately try to start writing a review.
The Japanese teacher inside my heart is too strong.
But 'Soramimi Hour' was a place where you didn't have to rush into that kind of analysis.
We don't laugh because it has meaning.
We don't laugh because it's useful, either.
We just laugh because it sounds strange.
We laugh because the visuals match it in a weird way.
That meaninglessness actually relaxes the mind.
There is a kind of laughter that relaxes the mind precisely because it has no meaning.
That is what I think.
Turning mistakes into play instead of blaming them
When I think about 'Soramimi Hour', there is one more interesting thing.
That is,
not blaming mistakes
that is what it is.
Usually, a mishearing is a mistake.
You haven't heard it correctly.
You have misunderstood the meaning.
As language, it is inaccurate.
When you become an adult, you want to avoid mistakes if possible.
At work, if you make a mistake, you have to fix it.
If you send an email to the wrong recipient, you break into a sweat.
If you get the numbers wrong in a document, your heart rate goes up.
If you use the wrong terminology in a meeting, a self-reflection session begins on your way home.
And all by yourself.
Inside your own brain.
It's long.
My internal self-reflection session is so long that it feels like it could leave behind meeting minutes.
But on 'Soramimi Hour,' mishearing is not blamed.
In fact, it is welcomed.
'You made a mistake'
instead of that,
'That's funny'
is what it becomes.
This transformation is very kind.
Of course, this is not to say that we should turn all work mistakes into laughter.
That would be dangerous in its own right.
You must not process invoice amounts as misheard lyrics.
Reality is reality.
But in our daily lives, there are moments where we can turn mistakes into a little bit of play.
Mishearing.
Misseeing.
Misunderstanding.
Mispoken words.
Turning what would normally end in 'wrong' into 'interesting'.
That is where human composure lies.
Perhaps 'Soramimi Hour' turned that composure into a segment.
Not just correcting mistakes, but laughing at them.
This is quite an adult way to play.
Adults seriously giving shape to the meaningless
The essence of Soramimi Hour,
adults seriously giving shape to the meaningless
might have been just that.
Seriously meaningless.
That is an amazing phrase.
You could never write that in a company's goal setting.
'This term, we will seriously give shape to the meaningless.'
The boss would quietly close the document.
But Soramimi Hour had that richness.
Instead of discarding things that have no meaning because they are meaningless, it gives them shape while they remain meaningless.
Adding visuals to misheard lyrics.
Collecting submissions.
Laughing together.
Just that.
But for some reason, that 'just that' is unforgettable.
We try to preserve things that are useful.
Convenient things.
Efficient things.
Things that lead to results.
Things that are easy to explain.
But what remains in people's memories is sometimes hard to explain.
I don't know what use it was.
But I laughed.
I don't know why I liked it.
But I remember it.
Those are the things that remain deep in our hearts.
I feel like the 'Soramimi Hour' was exactly that kind of thing.
Creating a place for things that have no meaning
The 'Soramimi Hour' was a segment that created a place for things that have no meaning.
Foreign lyrics that sound like Japanese.
In itself, it is not meaningful information.
Rather, it is a misunderstanding.
But, it gives a place for that misunderstanding to exist.
It doesn't end by saying, 'That is wrong.'
It says, 'That's interesting, let me see it.'
I feel this attitude also applies to 'Tamori Club' as a whole.
Things that don't seem useful.
Things that don't seem to have meaning.
Things that no one knows who needs them.
Things like that are not thrown away immediately.
You look at them for a while.
You find them interesting.
You give them shape.
From that, laughter and curiosity are born.
Herein lay the richness of waste.
Soramimi Hour cherished useless laughter while keeping it useless.
And that remained in the memories of many people.
This is quite mysterious.
But, at the same time, it is also quite understandable.
Humans do not live only on things that are useful.
In fact, I have been saved many times by laughter that I didn't know if it would be useful.
A night spent laughing at something silly.
A walk home where I felt a little better after a meaningless conversation.
A time when I finally felt my shoulders relax after watching a video that yielded no results.
Those kinds of things are hard to keep in the records.
But they remain in the heart.
Perhaps 'Soramimi Hour' was showing us the value of that small bit of uselessness quite seriously.
There are things you can laugh at precisely because they are meaningless.
There are things that put your mind at ease precisely because they are not useful.
Thinking about it that way, 'Soramimi Hour' was not just a famous segment,
but a symbol of the power to enjoy uselessness
I think that is what it was.
A program that stayed on the sidelines until the very end
When thinking about what makes 'Tamori Club' what it is, the story of the final episode is quite symbolic.
The final episode of 'Tamori Club' was broadcast late at night on March 31, 2023.
It was the end of a program that had lasted for about 40 years.
Normally, one would want to make a big deal out of it.
A collection of famous scenes.
Luxurious guests.
Moving letters.
Testimonies from the people who supported the show.
Bouquets.
Applause.
'Thank you, Tamori Club'.
I feel like I want to go in that direction.
Of course, I would want to watch that too.
I would probably cry.
I would cry alone in the middle of the night, clutching a box of tissues.
The next morning, I would go to work with my eyes slightly swollen.
I would say, 'It's hay fever'.
But the final episode of 'Tamori Club' was not that kind of grand, emotional episode.
The plan was,
to correct Tamori-san's cooking recipes
that was the content.
At the end of 40 years, a recipe correction.
Normally, you would want to give them a bouquet or something more.
But I couldn't help but feel that this vibe was incredibly 'Tamori Club'.
At the end of 40 years, a recipe correction.
A recipe correction for the final episode.
Just these words alone make me laugh a little.
Well, I'm not sure if I should laugh.
It's the final episode.
The end of a long-running program.
But, it's a recipe.
And what's more, it's a correction.
Not a grand farewell speech, but a confirmation of how to make something.
More of a kitchen than a sentimental mood.
More of a seasoning than a monument.
Here, there is a sense of standing on the sidelines until the very end.
Of course, this is just my interpretation.
I cannot presume to know what intentions the program side had.
But, watching as a viewer,
I think,
'Ah, they didn't return to the front entrance until the very end, did they?'
Just because it lasted 40 years doesn't mean they suddenly make it like the final episode of a historical drama.
They kept the lightness typical of a late-night program.
They didn't try too hard to make people cry.
Until the end, it was somehow strange.
Until the end, it was slightly off-center.
Until the end, even though I didn't know if it was useful, I found myself strangely drawn to watching it.
Perhaps this sense of distance was what 'Tamori Club' was all about.
I feel a bit comforted by this kind of ending.
We tend to want to find meaning in an ending.
Summary.
Gratitude.
Achievements.
Famous scenes.
History.
Those are important, too.
They are important, but not every ending needs to be grand.
Staying in the usual mood until the very end.
Laughing on a side path until the very end.
There is such a way to end things, too.
I feel like 'Tamori Club' showed us that.
A sense of distance that suits the late-night hours
'Tamori Club' was a program that suited the late night.
Daytime programs have a daytime face.
Bright.
Easy to understand.
Energetic.
Being useful.
Reaching everyone.
Of course, that is important.
If you go off on a tangent too much during the day, it can be a problem for us too.
If you are suddenly shown the abyss of an overly specialized hobby while hanging out the laundry, you might freeze with a towel still in your hand.
But late at night, it's a little different.
The day's chores are mostly finished.
Thinking about tomorrow, it would be better to go to sleep.
But I still want to stay up just a little longer.
It's that kind of time.
A time when people take off their serious masks just a little bit.
A time to distance yourself slightly from your daytime self.
I feel like 'Tamori Club' existed at just the right time for that.
'Come on, let's absorb some useful information.'
That's not it.
'Let's purify today's fatigue with inspiration.'
That's not it either.
'Let's change our lives.'
That's not it either.
Just watching something strange for a little while.
Peeking into unknown worlds.
Laughing at silly things.
And for some reason, feeling a little lighter because of it.
Perhaps that kind of program was necessary late at night.
When night falls, my judgment becomes a little looser than it is during the day.
Online shopping is also dangerous.
The me at night has looser purse strings than the me during the day.
Why do I buy storage goods in the middle of the night?
Moreover, when I look at them during the day, they aren't really that necessary.
The me at night overestimates my future self.
'If I have this, I'll be organized.'
I won't be organized.
The one who organizes is me.
But perhaps it was precisely because it was a time when people are a little more relaxed that the digressive nature of 'Tamori Club' was a perfect fit.
Late night is a time when a little bit of uselessness is forgiven.
It doesn't have to be impressive.
It doesn't have to be efficient.
It's okay to just find interesting things interesting.
There was that kind of atmosphere.
Perhaps originality was about protecting the digression as a digression.
When the show ended, 'Tamori Club' was spoken of as the 'face of late-night television,' and its originality was embraced as a significant asset.
Originality.
This, too, is a somewhat stiff word.
But I feel that the originality of 'Tamori Club' was not just about flashy novelty.
It was something much quieter.
Protecting the side path, keeping it a side path.
Not forcing things that might not be useful into a useful form.
Not diluting the maniacal too much.
Cherishing the trivial, just as it is.
Wasn't this also a form of originality?
In the modern age, to keep something going, clarity is required.
Who is it aimed at?
What can be gained from it?
What kind of value does it have?
What is its selling point?
Being able to explain these things is important.
It is important, but 'Tamori Club' existed in a place slightly removed from that.
No, it wasn't completely removed.
As long as it functioned as a program, it must have been properly produced.
But from the viewer's perspective,
'Who is this aimed at?'
That is the kind of project that was actually broadcast.
There was a sense of freedom in that.
Perhaps it was a program that set out chairs on a side street rather than at the front entrance.
A passerby would ask,
'What are you doing?'
And the reply would be,
'This is just a bit interesting.'
That was all.
But before you knew it, you were sitting next to them watching.
It was that kind of program.
Because there are side streets, life becomes a little broader.
Perhaps I had become bad at taking side streets.
The shortest distance.
Efficiency.
Purpose.
Results.
Easily understood value.
I might have been losing my ability to enjoy the side paths.
I need to find my way back to the side paths.
When you only look at things like that, you become afraid of taking detours.
Is it okay to be doing something like this?
Am I wasting my time?
What will this lead to?
The accounting department in my mind comes out again.
'What is the cost-effectiveness of this detour?'
Shut up.
I wish you would just let me walk down a detour in silence.
I feel like 'Tamori Club' was a program that affirmed those detours.
Not the useful front entrance, but the interesting side path.
There, you find hobbies you didn't know about.
There is strange laughter.
There is the passion of obsessive people.
There is time that you can't explain the meaning of, but for some reason, you can't forget.
Life is not made up only of the front entrance.
Work.
Housework.
Errands.
Responsibilities.
Schedules.
Those things are important.
But if that's all there is, it feels a bit suffocating.
Because there are side paths, the scenery expands.
Because there is uselessness, there is a place for the heart to settle.
'Tamori Club' may have been a program that stayed on those side paths until the very end.
At the end of 40 years, correcting a recipe.
In that slightly off-kilter feeling, I felt the aesthetics of the program.
It didn't carry the burden of grand meaning.
But it wasn't sloppy.
It properly enjoyed the trivial.
Until the end, it kept a chair out on a late-night side path.
I think that is the kind of program it was.
For those who want to know more
For those who want to enjoy a world where they don't know if it's useful a little longer
When I think about 'Tamori Club', I become curious not just about the program itself, but about Tamori-san's 'way of finding things interesting'.
Why is he so relaxed, yet we, the viewers, never feel left behind?
Why, even though he talks about things that seem insignificant, do we find ourselves standing at the entrance to an unknown world before we know it?
Why, even though he doesn't rush to find the right answer, does the conversation never get boring?
This is the mystery.
I sometimes find myself seeking results even in conversation.
“So, what were we talking about again?”
“What’s the conclusion?”
“And so, what happened?”
Always looking for a landing point immediately.
The moderator in my heart comes out again.
“Let’s start wrapping things up.”
Shut up.
I want to be allowed to go off on a tangent, at least during casual conversation.
However, when watching Tamori-san’s programs, I feel that going off on a tangent itself becomes the fun part.
He doesn’t go straight for the answer.
He doesn’t rush to organize the other person’s story.
He looks at things he doesn’t understand for a while, leaving them as they are.
Perhaps because there is that margin, both the conversation and the program seem to be breathing in some way.
For those who want to know a little more about this 'power to find things interesting,' 'Tamori-gaku' (Tamori Studies) seems like a good place to start.
Since it is a book that approaches his unique charm while deciphering Tamori-san’s remarks and episodes, I think you can see the
adult intelligence that finds things that look useless interesting
that I thought about in this article from a slightly different angle.
For another book, for those interested in Tamori-san’s 'conversational margin,' 'Learning from Tamori-san: The Art of Small Talk That Never Runs Dry' also seems like a good fit.
However, I would like to...
Rather than reading this with the pressure of 'I'm going to master the art of conversation,'
it feels more appropriate to read it as
a book to savor the atmosphere where, like Tamori-san, you don't rush to bring the other person's story to a conclusion
I feel it's just right to read it that way.
Small talk, when you think about it, is also a bit useless.
No conclusion is reached.
Nothing gets solved.
No minutes are kept.
No next actions are decided.
In a company, that's a time that might make you feel a bit anxious.
But in those useless exchanges, the distance between people can soften just a little.
While having silly conversations, you can let your guard down.
With a meaningless remark, the atmosphere warms up a little.
Things that cannot be conveyed through business matters alone can sometimes be conveyed through small talk.
Thinking about it that way, small talk might also be a side path for the heart.
Learning from Tamori-san: The Art of Small Talk That Never Runs Dry [E-book]
You don't have to fill your bookshelf only with useful books.
If you have some books that take you on a side path, it creates a vent for your heart.
Of course, practical books are also important.
Household budget management.
Health.
Work techniques.
Writing techniques.
All of these are important.
I buy them too.
And then I stack them up.
At the point where I'm stacking them, I start to wonder what work techniques even are.
But perhaps not every book needs to be 'usable starting tomorrow'.
It's not immediately useful.
But, for some reason, it's intriguing.
After reading it, the way you see the world loosens up just a little bit.
Just having one such book on your bookshelf adds small detours to your daily life.
For those who liked 'Tamori Club', those detours probably suit you.
It's not the shortest distance, but it's a slightly fun path.
You don't reach your destination right away, but it's a path where you find strange things along the way.
It doesn't dramatically change your life, but it's a path that makes your heart feel a little more ventilated.
Perhaps it's okay to walk such a path a little longer.
Summary: Waste might have been the margin for the heart to breathe.
I had become a little afraid of wasted time.
I felt I had to be useful for something.
It must be educational.
It must lead to results.
It must be something that pays off for my future self.
Before I knew it, I was assessing my time in that way.
Even when watching a movie, I look for a takeaway.
Even when reading a book, I look for a lesson.
Even when taking a walk, I look for health benefits.
Even when resting, I look for recovery efficiency.
My mind has become a constant review board.
'Please explain the utility of this time.'
Please stop.
I was just laughing blankly in the middle of the night.
But after looking into 'Tamori Club,' my thinking changed a little.
That show seemed to enjoy things that might not be useful, while they remained not useful.
Maniac hobbies.
Unknown worlds.
Obsessions that are too detailed.
Misheard lyrics.
Digressions.
The laid-back atmosphere of late night.
Normally,
'What is the use of that?'
The show didn't end things that would likely be dismissed with that question.
Take a look.
Find it interesting.
Turn it into a video.
Adults playing seriously.
Then, things that seemed trivial gradually stop being trivial.
Within things that appear useless, there was laughter, curiosity, and a gateway to unknown worlds.
If you fill your life only with useful things, your heart will have nowhere to rest.
Of course, useful things are important.
Work is important.
Housework is important.
Health is important.
Money is important.
You cannot pay bills with poetry.
No matter how emotionally you gaze at the moon, your electricity bill will still be deducted.
Reality is quite real.
Therefore, efficiency is also necessary.
Purpose is also necessary.
Results are also necessary.
I, too, would like to finish my work quickly if possible.
I want useless meetings to decrease.
I want useless procedures to be shortened as well.
I also hope that pointlessly complex password update rules will finally become more user-friendly for humanity.
But if you fill your life only with useful things, your heart will have nowhere to rest.
I believe this is also true.
Everything has a meaning.
Everything has a purpose.
Everything has a result.
That is neat.
But it is a little suffocating.
It is like a room that is so perfectly organized that there is no space to relax.
It is tidy.
It is beautiful.
But you feel tense when you sit down.
Perhaps life doesn't have to be like a model room like that.
It is okay to have a few strange things lying around.
It is okay to have things you can't throw away for some reason, even if you don't know what they are used for.
It is okay to have things you love that you cannot explain to anyone.
It's okay to have time that has no meaning but still makes you laugh.
I think that kind of margin gives the heart a little rest.
It wasn't that I hated uselessness, but that I had lost the capacity to allow for it.
Thinking about 'Tamori Club' this time, this was what stayed with me the most.
It wasn't that I hated uselessness, but
I had lost the capacity to allow for it
perhaps.
In truth, I want to laugh at silly things.
I want to talk about things that have no meaning.
I want to have aimless conversations that don't reach a conclusion.
I want to read books that have no apparent use.
I want to peek into unknown worlds without needing to understand them.
But, somewhere inside, I was afraid.
Is it okay to be doing this?
Shouldn't I be doing something more beneficial?
What will this time lead to?
Once again, the accounting department in my heart starts tapping away at a calculator.
It is a truly busy department.
Perhaps 'Tamori Club' was a program that helped stop that calculator for a while.
To cherish useless laughter, while it remains useless.
Enjoying a maniacal world without fully understanding it.
Adults playing seriously with things that seem useless.
Watching that, you start to think,
'Ah, it's okay to have time like this.'
It's not a flashy form of salvation.
It doesn't change your life dramatically.
It doesn't suddenly increase your productivity from tomorrow.
Rather, it is time to step away a little from the word 'productivity'.
But I think that small way of stepping away is important.
Uselessness was a margin for the heart to breathe.
'Tamori Club' was not just a laid-back late-night show.
At least, that's how it looks to me now.
A place where you can enjoy strange things while they remain strange.
A place that creates a side entrance into unknown worlds.
A place that provides a home for meaningless laughter.
A show that, until the very end, kept its chairs on the side path rather than the front entrance.
There, there was a freedom that adults tend to forget.
The freedom to enjoy useless things while they remain useless.
The freedom to enjoy things you don't understand while they remain unknown.
It makes you think that.
The freedom to laugh at nonsense just as it is.
I had forgotten that a little.
Waste was not just something to be trimmed away.
Perhaps waste was the margin for the heart to breathe.
Thinking that way, I feel I can forgive today's aimless time a little.
Meaningless small talk, too.
Strange videos I end up watching, too.
Books that don't seem useful for anything, too.
Nonsense that makes me laugh in the middle of the night, too.
They might not be useful right away.
But they create a small vent somewhere in the heart.
That alone might be enough.
Once again,
my 'illusion of knowledge' has decreased.
But there is still so much I don't know.
Next time, let's go together,
to graduate from 'I thought I knew.'
.